Drusilla Lovellcontinued from this thread

His promises soothe the fire in her heart, banking it steadily until that raw determination is just hot coals in the back of her mind instead of a raging flame. She nods against Amoux's chest, placated by his steady presence and calm reassurances. The gravity of the situation is not lost on her, she just needs a minute to breathe before she pulls the trigger—and enough foresight to not get caught with the smoking gun in the aftermath.

Drusilla can sense the shift in Amoux the moment he drags in a slow inhale of her scent, like he's an addict starved of his favorite drug. She responds to his low growl with a shiver beneath her skin, and suddenly, all her other worries are forgotten. She can't help but recall the last time she'd been at his mercy—how desperately she'd begged until he rutted her into the forest floor like she was his own personal harlot. She flushes hot at the memory, and hotter still when his breath ghosts down the length of her spine.

Amoux trails a blazing path across her skin, lighting up every nerve ending, coaxing soft noises of encouragement from her throat. "Right here?" she breathes as though she might refuse him, even as she arches into his hungry teeth and leans indecently back into the burning heat of his leg planted between hers. "In the middle of the floor?" Drusilla teases, unable to keep the almost husky purr out of her voice. She isn't trying to deter him—she's goading him.

AMOUXShe had always been a woman who was quick on her feet, but quicker with her mind. She knew how to tempt him, and even still she had such a tender way of doing so. Her words flattered his ears as if she was implying she wanted it somewhere else. The softness of her voice caused a single ear to flick as his muzzle drew close to the velvet of her ear. “No,” he responded gently into it, though his voice held a hint of mystery. Amoux pulled back and away from her, leaving her to assume that he would not take her at all. That was not his intention though. He rounded near the front of her until they were facing one another and dipped his head as he drew it under her chest. With one swoop he lifted her atop his broad shoulders, it was easy considering their size difference, and began to walk down the lengthy halls until he reached the very end.

When they reached the last door at the end of the hall he swung it open, a large, velvet colored bed waited for them, coated with crimson colored silk sheets. This was the one part of the house that he kept up with since he refused to lay in filth, or bed her in a state of disarray. When he reached the foot of the bed he threw her onto the plush bed, closing the gap between them quickly to fill the spot between her legs. He placed gentle kisses at her throat, each press to her skin causing him to grow more aroused. He slowly pressed himself into her, feeling her warmth envelop him, but he slowly pulled out, missing her warmth in an instant. He pressed into her again, feeling her wrap around his length with an undeniable tightness, his head rolled back and a growl bubbled in his throat. In means of teasing her he would very well be teasing himself. “You feel so good,” he huffed, repeating the motions, “you can’t have it all yet.” He added in, nipping her chin gently as he teased her.

Drusilla Lovell"No," he says, leaning away from Drusilla and leaving her suddenly cold and flustered, her muzzle swinging over her shoulder to find him. There's a determination on his features that keeps her still and silent as he prowls up alongside her, and she watches him curiously until he's in front of her, dipping his head so that he can hoist her into the air without warning. Drusilla squeals in surprise, wrapping her forelegs around his neck and holding onto him for dear life as he tows her down the hallway. It doesn't take long for her to recover from her momentary shock, and then she's taking advantage of Amoux being otherwise occupied, pressing nips and kisses against the parts of his neck that she can reach.

She's vaguely aware of a door opening, and then she's falling through a stretch of air, landing in the softest sheets she's ever felt in her life. Drusilla couldn't give a damn about the sheets, though. Amoux could have her literally anywhere he wanted and she wouldn't complain; Drusilla doesn't think she's even capable of denying him. She'd let him fuck her in a room full of witnesses if it meant getting another drugging hit of him. She doesn't care—when it comes to Amoux, she is utterly spellbound.

Not even a heartbeat passes before he's upon her, caging her in an embrace she eagerly returns, her forepaws curling around the back of his neck, her nails skating down his shoulders. Each kiss to her throat fans the flames, until her skin is scorching all over—but most notably, between her thighs. She's like Pavlov's dog when it comes to Amoux; she had already been aroused, but it only takes a few teasing kisses to have her body responding, wetness pooling between her legs and dripping onto the sheets.

There's no resistance when he finally slots himself against her entrance and pushes into her, torturously slowly. Drusilla shudders, her head falling back at the sensation; after all the months that have passed since they were last intimate, she's already dangerously close to tipping over the ledge. Amoux seems to know it, tormenting them both with slow, teasing strokes—leaving her dangling. Impatiently, greedily, Drusilla rolls her hips up against him, forcing him deeper in a way that has her seeing stars—and is almost certain to flare his temper. "Please," she whines in protest to his goading words; if he hasn't stopped her already, she'll flex her pelvis against him again, a desperation entering her voice, "please, Amoux, I'm so close."

AMOUXHe watches the way her body flexes and twists, the way her brows knit together and how she idly bites at her lip. His orange gaze intensely fixates on her, but she demands his attention by bucking her hips causing him to slot deeper into her. He lets out a hungry moan as he follows through with his own movements, picking up the pace of his rhythm. She is wet and wound tightly around him, each thrust deeper into her makes his head tip back as his grip tightens more around her body.

And then she bucks her hips again.

His head rolls back as he looks into her eyes once more and she pleads, begs, for him to get her to reach her climax, but he isn’t done with her yet. He slowly pulls himself out, his dick dripping with her juices, he could smell her in the air. His mouth waters and his eyes grow dangerously dark. Amoux pulls away from her and brings himself down to the foot of the bed, resting himself between her legs as he gently brushes the velvet of his tongue over her slit. His tongue is coated with her and he draws it back into his jaws, enjoying her taste before he goes back again. Slowly he works at her, nipping the inner of her thighs between tongue strokes. Occasionally he dips his tongue into her and brushes it back up over her slit, only drawing back for a moment with a husky demand. “You don’t come until I tell you.”

He takes one final taste of her before being hovered over her again, rubbing himself over the wet of her pussy as he dips it in only a quarter of the way. Again and again he repeats this, and when she least expects it he plunges it deep into her and holds himself there for a moment so she could feel him in the depth of her gut. His pace begins to quicken as he tightens his grip against the sides of her thighs, holding her pinned onto the bed so she can’t squirm away. His muzzle finds her ear, his pace so quickened now he could hear the wet of her thighs from the accumulation of her juices sticking and smacking off his own. “Now you may finish.” He doesn’t slow, and he could feel his own climax building. Each minute he’s in her feels better than the previous. The way her body yearns for him shows in the way she tightens around his cock. She is his, and his alone.