At some point, Kirastasia had not been able to hold herself back . . . so tempted, so fascinated was the young woman by the mystery and novelty this darling virile creature represented. The inherent prestige of his masculinity felt so delightfully different compared to the softness of the femmes Kira had courted; she leaned brazenly into his taller frame, gently tested her teeth against the hard resilience of his musculature, ran her sensitive lips over the satin texture of his cream-painted fur as if she were blind and learning the shape of a wolf through every other sense. At one point, she had pressed herself flush to his side—her chin skimming along his spine as she hummed—and when her curious amber portals glanced backward she noted the sapphire glow of his lanterns shimmering off the pristine whiteness of her own robes. His very gaze stroked her . . . and this realization somehow entranced Kirastasia so ruthlessly that her lungs hitched with her next breath—unable to swallow the air needed to gasp. She needed him to touch her. Claim her. Immediately. Each and every cell in her body suddenly rang with the all-consuming desire to enfold Drizzt as closely into herself as she possibly could—as though the base intimacy of lust-starved animals might somehow forge a spiritual connection her sieve-shaped heart could support. If she could swallow him whole—a black abyss consuming a star—she would have, just to harbor that incredible azure light inside herself forever.

Lyrics slipped from her parted maw in a snow-soft whimper to match the liquid emotion brimming in her honey-colored pools. “Drizzt . . . I want . . .” But she did not finish articulating what it was she wanted. Oh no . . . it was so much more efficient to show him instead. First, by sleekly reorienting herself so that her shapely swan’s hindquarters pushed into his chest, her luxuriant tail slithering up the side of his neck to draw him closer to the treasures she wished to share. And then . . . the only other words—if they could be called words, groaned and mewled as they were—that escaped from her vocals from then on were intonations of breathless encouragement and squealing appreciation. Rarely did true, unexpected pain punctuate her ecstasy—but then the moments where they failed to fit just right were quickly overcome and corrected with a twist of hips here, an adjustment of limbs there, a swooping dip of the back at precisely the right moment. In an odd way, Kirastasia was also a virgin, for she had only ever taken females to her bed. The experience of Drizzt mounting her unlocked an entirely new portal of pleasures . . . a path where she could be filled in more ways than one, stretched to limits she had not known existed, exquisitely sore and yet shuddering all over with the kind of delirious satisfaction that made her irises roll dreamily to the back of her skull.

The snowbird could not possibly understand how long they made love. At some point they’d thrashed and rolled their way into the waving grasses of a meadow, and then the next time she managed to take note of their surroundings, they were tearing apart the ground beneath the shielding branches of a willow tree with frantic claws and squirming bodies. Exhausted—euphoric—the pair of paramours collapsed in the shade of their makeshift boudoir, smelling of sex and sunshine and each other. Smoky eyelids fluttering, Kirastasia just barely managed to swipe her tongue cheekily over Drizzt’s cheek before sinking with a sigh to snuggle against the curve his silhouette made next to hers. “Not bad, Tempest . . . forgive me?”