Using his own words against him? Oh, dear wife. His voice was cast low, his golden eyes smoldering. Winning, indeed...

Not that the words held any real meaning at this point; he was lost to the haze, lost to her so completely. He groaned into the kiss, his arm slipping out from beneath her head to pull her tighter against his body as he nuzzled into the hollow of her throat.

As much as I enjoy the sweetness of these damn berries, there’s something even fucking sweeter I’m craving, he whispered against the side of her neck. He began to trail gentle kisses and affectionate nips along her throat, her shoulder, her collarbone, moving down, down, down, following the plushness of her fur.

If not for the abuse her nipples had taken from their young, he might have spared them more energy, but he decided there were more efficient ways to send her soaring. Instead, he lathered tender licks along the sensitive skin of her stomach, catching the soft flesh between his teeth and tugging gently.

Her heat was so close now, vibrant and pulsing against his senses. Lower still he crept, lavishing intentional kisses to the inside of her thighs, closer and closer, but never quite where she wanted him most. His golden gaze flicked upward to meet her stunning eyes, his tongue lulling from his mouth with a shit-eating grin. He hung so tantalizingly close to her sex, yet remained just shy of true contact.

Beg, little sprite.

A single sentence. A sharp command. She would earn it.

Sarge, please! Please, touch me. Taste me.

The words were music to his ears, and they flicked forward to catch every vocalization she graced him with. Hm... I don't know, little sprite. Do you deserve it?

Truthfully, he wanted nothing more than to delve into the wetness soaking her core, to taste the delicacy of her on his lips. But that was too easy, too kind. No, he would tease. She would earn it. Letting out a slow, hot breath against her sex, he held her gaze.

You can do better than that, my spitfire. How badly do you want it? Convince me.

His tail swayed behind him smugly. The sheer control he held over the situation only aroused him further, his length now fully unsheathed and throbbing painfully against his stomach. It knew exactly where it wanted to be, where it needed to be.

Patience. Tempering himself, he let out another slow, hot breath against her core before carefully dragging his tongue just to the right of her folds, then directly to the left. Never touching, but so damn, insufferably close. He wanted to hear her melodies, the symphony meant only for his ears.

There was no doubt in his mind they would be earth-shattering, and he knew his restraint teetered on but a single wire. Sarge desperately wanted to feel that snap, to release his control and ravage the beauty that was his alone to claim.

But he would wait. She would earn it.

Are you challenging me, little sprite? He purred deeply, nipping at the inner part of her right thigh. I can most assuredly tease you all night... but what's the fun in that?

The word baby sounded like a piece of heaven coming off her tongue. It was as though she had spoken his sleeper phrase; suddenly, his tongue found her core with a slow, long lick. The wetness that collected and glistened between her legs was delectable, and he felt his shaky self-control rapidly fraying.

Continuing those slow, long licks against her folds, he watched her face, watching for the bucking of her hips, the arching of her back, the cry of his name. His arms came up to lock her hips in place, giving him free reign and denying her the ability to pull away from what was his.

From this angle, she was gorgeous, beyond gorgeous, absolutely breathtaking and devastating all at once. And this was merely from between her thighs. The shift he would experience when he finally sank into her hot core... He groaned lowly at the image, the vibrations trembling from his lips as he began to feast more vigorously.

Soar, little Wisp, soar. Fly high, fast and steady. Sarge would catch her when it all came crashing down.

Pressing his nails into the soft flesh of her stomach and thighs, his eyes went half-lidded with a hunger so deep it was as though he were a starved man. And perhaps he was. When had he last taken her? That night by the blue flame? Too long. Far too long. The image of her beneath him, moving with urgency, made his hips begin to quiver, a stickiness developing where his length rubbed desperately against his stomach.

Dear fucking god. And just like that, all sense of control was gone.

His golden eyes went wide, pupils blown. All there was, was her. His Wisp. His wife. Every sound she made only spurred him further as the frenzy finally consumed him. Before he knew what he was doing, he flipped her onto her stomach. Surging forward, he gripped the scruff of her neck firmly in his teeth, a low, possessive growl rumbling from deep within his chest.

Paws found her curvaceous hips and pulled them upward. The size difference was comical in a way, but it did not make him falter. Lining his aching length with her soaked heat and brushing her tail aside, he thrust roughly, plunging deep into her.

The resulting snarl that left him was animalistic, primal. His hips quickly fell into a brisk pace, the sensual sounds of their connection making him damn near feral. She felt incredible; the way she clenched and spasmed around him, the sheer, soaking heat of her core providing all the lubrication he needed to hilt his queen.

His eyes fell closed as he anchored her hips with one arm and braced the ground in front of her with the other. Drool began to dribble from the corners of his mouth, his grunts and groans deep and needy. It simply wasn’t enough. Fuck, he needed more of her.

Thoughts did not exist in this state, merely sensation, merely need. It was exquisite. Never had he known such longing, such desperation, such burning satisfaction. The way her body molded to his, arching, pressing, trembling, it was all consuming. His little sprite. His glorious spitfire.

Releasing her scruff, he let out another snarl at the intensity of the sensations shooting through him. His breathing was ragged against her neck as he struggled to gather some semblance of sentience, but the best he could manage was a low, guttural growl of Braves Mädchen (Good girl) in her ear. There was so much more he wanted to say, but it was like fighting through quicksand: sticky, defiant, resistant.

Fuck... he managed to grind out, his pace turning erratic. Meins. Verdammt nochmal meins. (Mine. Fucking mine.)

His rhythm shifted from speed to intensity; each thrust pulled him clean out of her before he slammed back in to the hilt. Her name fell from his lips like a prayer before his teeth refound her scruff, steadying her under the barrage of his movements. The only thought left in his mind was to please her, to feel her explode around him, to coat him in her greatest reward, and to leave her womb heavy with his seed.