Meadow

Solomon

Like a match stuck against the rough edges of her anger, her pride catches light, and with a cupped hand and careful handling he brings it to the kindling that allows it to grow. Solomon is no stranger to a mare's pride, having no shortage of his own arrogance, and he is happy to feed it for her. The way her body bows to his suggests that she is not immune to his flattery, and he waits with baited breath for her words to tell him what he already knows.

This is a dance he has danced many times before. His body knows the rhythm even if he were to sidle alongside her deaf and mute, given only the give and take of her soft skin to guide him.

Buoyed by the sultry tones of her rejoinder, he grins and stretches to join her. The tender touch of her muzzle to his own is welcome, and he drinks in the feminine scent of her. Even beneath the sticky-sweet hit of the season lurked the girlish notes of her breath, and he vows to memorize them so that he might never forget her in this moment.

'It seems only proper for you to atone for such sin,' she says and he presses his lips to the concave of her neck before trailing them down the dark fall of her mane, a chuckle vibrating against her skin. He teases his way through the lush strands of her mane to brush against the sleek coat beneath before he pulls away to speak again. His voice is a lower murmur in the space between them, inviting her to lean in closer to hear them. "Of all the sins I have committed, this must be the least of them."

He returns his lips to the bay mare's hide, utilizing his teeth to massage along the strong ridge of her back with slow circular strokes. As he reaches her loin he pulls away again, swallowing the rush of desire that urges him to continue. He breathes against her skin, not shy about letting her know the effect that she had upon his body and murmurs more words with a wicked smile that he offers with his neck draped over the strong lines of her back. "Maybe we should test which sins my atonement would cover."

Solomon drags his head back to his side of her body, letting the whiskers on his chin tickle across her body. He was a man of touch and sensation, always in search of more of it. Even now he reaches for her again to trail his lips down the far end of her ribcage.

"Unless you'd prefer the privacy of the Cove first." He says, exhaling a smile against her. rich gold brown coat. One way or another, he had vowed to have her in all the ways that he could. And there was no better backdrop for a mare of such exquisite beauty that the proudly jutting mountain of the Cove.

Dutch Harness Horse Mutt | Champagne Grullo Tobiano Stallion | 17 Hands | The Cove