Life's a Golden Platter, Baby

A brief heartbeat of hesitation from Ziva - a minute jolt that flickered down her whole body like a twitch of movement down a rope, her velveteen lips quivering at their corners - and then her mouth parted to let him in, and their tongues coiled together like mating serpents. Idal could not hold back the long, starved groan that boiled from his chest. The young Tempest tasted exquisite, warm and sweet, and he reveled in the sensation of the the sharp points of her fangs grazing the sides of his pink muscle: ambrosia fenced by danger. Would the girl bite him if he went too far? Would the snap of her jaws close their kiss? Idal almost wished she’d show a little fear, a little uncertainty - he needed to find her boundaries and he needed to find them quick because this playdate had gone from mutually enjoyable flirting to something that promised far more carnal delights. Groan vibrating into a growl, Idal smiled and swirled his tongue around Ziva’s bottom daggers before tasting toward the back of her throat, forcing her to open wide, his grip firm on those slender flanks of hers, although the strawberry blond brute had no idea if he were trying to pin the maiden there or trying to anchor himself to something solid.

With a gasp, Ziva finally pulled herself away, breaking the contact of their dueling mouths. To Idal’s delight, a glimmering thread of saliva still connected their lips . . . and that sight, coupled with the sultry smolder of her half-lidded eyes, threw the older male into a torment of heated lust. He had made her look at him like that: dark blue light rippling between the fans of her eyelashes, breath humid against his muzzle, her chest heaving with each breath she struggled to control. And Idal could smell her . . . smell her body’s treacherous response to their dance, a beautiful aroma that spiced her natural perfume in such a way that Idal’s jaws clenched and his mouth watered and his groin ached too painfully to ignore. Fate had brought him this magnificent creature. Her youth, her lack of experience, was not a barrier to overcome or an obstacle to pleasure - but a challenge to enhance the game, make it so dreadfully perfectly worth it, because Idal knew that he must have this female one way or the other. She’d been waiting by the sleek black river just for him. Ziva did not know it, but a plan greater than the stars glinting off the inky current had placed her in Idal’s way. It was her lucky night, honestly. All she’d come here to do was stare into the quiet flow of the water . . . and instead her very heart would catch fire like a phoenix taking flight.

“Is that all? Tell me what more I can do, Princess, to earn your time.” Grinning a shark’s grin, Idal nuzzled into the hollow of her throat, forelimbs not moving from where he encircled her waist, absolutely loving the way he could feel her pulse bouncing against her skin. One wall among many, he was sure, Ziva would attempt to erect to keep her virtue. Too bad that was not the only thing she’d managed to, ahem, erect. His nose drew a line from the base of her neck all the way up toward her jaw . . . and then along the underside of her chin, where - if she let him - he would press the front of his muzzle to hers in a chaste kiss that only made their previous one seem that much more forbidden. If the pretty thing turned her face away, no matter. Idal would still trace his way back to her cheek, attempting to get her to look at him directly. That exotic, almost vulpine face wore an expression the golden prince could have sworn was a pout. How adorable!

Trying valiantly to hold back a chuckle, Idal suddenly licked the rim of one aud and then blew gently on the moist trail his tongue left behind, hoping to make Ziva reflexively quiver or cringe. “Kiss and touch all I like . . . that’s quite a bit of freedom you’ve given me.” He deftly repeated the same treatment on her other ear, front legs locked about her hips to keep her right where he wanted her. If his sweet Tempest wanted to be freed, she’d have to be vocal about it - would need to willingly break the enchantment that shimmered around them both like the aura of a campfire. “If you aren’t going to have morals . . .” Mouth opened wide, tongue lathing down the line in her throat where her jugular pulsed. “. . . then at least have standards.” A final puff of air against the slick flame-hued fur, chilling what had been warmed. The prince had gotten plenty of femmes to dissolve into shuddering, whimpering messes with this fun diversion. Of course, Ziva seemed like the type to follow any sort of helpless whimper with a furious snarl.

Abruptly, he all but tossed her backward, shifting back to all four paws to stare down at her with a wicked smile curving across his mask. Let her be angry with him. Let her get pissed. Let her roll over onto her spine with her tender belly up, begging him to continue. Idal cocked his head at her, pale azure eyes narrowing as he riveted his full attention upon her heaven-lit features. “If I were a worse brute, Miss Ziva, I would tell you that I never need to work for anything I want. Ever. If I were a better brute, I might actually try.” A teasing wink, tail wagging jovially behind him. “Perhaps we’ll pick this back up when you’ve learned another trick or two? I’d hate to win you over so effortlessly, although . . .” And here the spoiled heir conspicuously sniffed the balmy evening atmosphere, rife and delicious with Ziva’s perfume. “It seems as if I might already have you.”

Better Eat it UP

Avian Prince | Abandoned his throne | Heartless | xathira