Sinful Behavior
Part 4 of 4

	One of his hands had slipped lower over my rear, to the backs of my thighs, and I purred softly as way of encouragement, but he surprised me when the hand there, and another he'd moved to my back, actually just lifted me straight up.  I felt my feet leave the ground and resisted the urge to kick and struggle against his grip.  He wasn't restraining me at all, just. . . picking me up, for some reason.  I was perplexed, but I let him.  
	He carried me over to his 'bed', and again, I was calling it that loosely because it was essentially just a bedroll on the floor, with a thin blanket and no pillows.  As he set me down, absurdly gentle about it, I couldn't help but give a somewhat girlish smile.  “You're quite the gentleman,” I murmured.
	“Allow me some small measure of chivalry,” the man said as he settled down beside me.  “It makes this all feel a bit more normal.”
	“I'm not complaining,” I assured him, rolling onto my side and reaching out to run my palm up his chest again.  This time, he didn't stiffen or halt my progress, only gave a long, deep breath, and swept his eyes over my figure.  The man's normally grey gaze seemed darker, with his pupils blown wide in the darker corner of the room.  The lantern light here was dim, flickering, and cast the two of us in a low orange glow.  His silver pelt caught the light when I pressed my fingers through his unusually thick, long fur.  It wasn't like a wolf's pelt, or even mine during the winter.  It shifted when his body shifted, obscuring much of his shape beneath.  But I was getting a feel for that shape, finally. . . and enjoying it.
	The man was tall and lean, but had a stronger, more firm figure than I'd imagined.  His body had little give beneath his fur, which made touching him a textural experience.  Feeling planes of muscle beneath shifting, soft leaves of fur, especially when he occasionally shuddered at my touch, made me feel strangely empowered.  Perhaps because his fur shown the same color as a sword, especially in the dim light.  Like steel that was soft to the touch, and pressed back into me, restrained but wantonly.  He wasn't a vocal man, but I could tell even from his withheld responses that he hadn't been touched much in a very long time.  Let alone intimately.
	His own large, calloused palms had found their way to my hips again, and much to my surprise and pleasure, he was holding to his promise to not be hesitant.  His touch moved slowly but certainly up the curve of my spine, his blunt claws pressing just enough into my skin as he dragged them upwards to send a pleasurable shiver through my entire body.  He repeated the gesture several times, until I was purring uncontrollably, my tail flicking against the bedspread, arching my spine into the gentle scritching.  
	“Ohhhh. . .” I groaned, amazed that something as simple as having my back scratched could feel this. . . intimate.  But he seemed to know exactly what he was doing, and gave a deep, quiet chuckle.  His strong, skilled fingers worked down my lower back and over the base of my tail, before they began to run tantalizing patterns down the thick, protective fur along the backs of my thighs.  I'd always been a little self-conscious, I suppose, of women with sleeker pelts.  Even some of the other women from my tribe had finer fur, less thick and coarse.  But mine had always been more utilitarian, not as soft or 'feminine', and my time spent in the elements over the last two years certainly hadn't done much to change that.
	But a man with fur like his certainly must have had experience with a thicker pelt, and he showed no aversion to putting his fingers through it to reach my now overly-warm skin.  With the care he was showing, one might even think he was enjoying it.
	I'd probably have to accept I'd never really get an inner peek into the secret wants and desires of a man like Johannes.  But pondering was amusing.
	He took his time in touching me, and so did I.  It was. . . new.  Exploring someone this way.  Even with Grant, there had always been a fevered desire to hurry things along.  Perhaps mostly because I'd been dealing with more nerves, then.  But also, just a lot of long-restrained want.  When we'd finally decided to give in to our desires, it had been like a bowstring snapping.  A lot of relief of tension, not much time spent taking things slow. 
	It was an odd thing to realize, but a fact- I had never even considered Johannes as a bed partner until this very night.  Maybe there'd been some distant admiration there, and I suppose I'd probably found him attractive, in the way canines were, from the first moment I'd met him.  But it hadn't been anything quite so magnetic.
	This felt more. . . casual, I suppose you could say?  Two leaves drifting together in a lake by slow currents, rather than rushing down the rapids of a passionate love affair.  But, I was getting flowery now.  
	To be fair, it was hard not to let my mind drift.  The man was good with his hands.  The way he was stroking them over the curve of my hip, walking his fingers over the planes of my body, and kneading gently at thighs was turning my body into the consistency of something akin to stew meat.  My own ministrations must have paled in comparison. . . they were honestly serving my own enjoyment more than his, I was fairly certain. . . but the occasional twitch or thump of his tail assured me they weren't entirely for naught.
	Still, if this kept up, I'd be completely useless, so I steeled myself to take the next step.  One of my paws had been running in lazy circles around the soft trail of thicker fur beneath the man's navel, and I let it slip the final, bold few inches further downwards, to run the tip of one paw-pad over the hard ridge in his smallclothes.
	He might have hissed through his teeth, it was hard to tell.  He was a restrained man.  But he couldn't hide the way he responded beneath, especially when my touch was only separated from him by a thin layer of fabric.  I slid my palm up the length of him, slowly, feeling by the heat where his sheath ended and his shaft began. . . the latter of which seemed to have slipped further free, and was testing the restraints of his only remaining garment.  I was still feeling him through it, and trying to wrap my head around how to rid him of it, when I felt his paw come down to mine and grip my wrist.
	Abruptly and without any real chance to resist, he'd turned me onto my back and moved over me.  I felt my breathing still, that familiar fear stabbing me at being even partially restrained.  But every time I'd felt it with Johannes, it had been quicker to pass.  I knew the man meant me no harm.
	Still, it was very clear he was wresting back some of the control of the situation, and I was in no mood to begrudge him that.  I'd sensed from the start of things that the wolfhound was, while kind, not one to be lead.  His hand had released my wrist once he'd put me beneath him, but only so he could thread his fingers through mine, his braced arm lying above my shoulder, but still effectively pinning me down beneath him.  He was supporting his weight above me, but his thigh had slipped up between my legs, and I instinctively parted them.  Which had likely been the point.
	For a brief moment, I was worried we were just going to begin, just like this, with no further ado.  That felt at odds with the pace we'd been taking before, and I considered saying something, but there apparently wasn't any need.
	His muzzle returned to my clavicle, where I'd so enjoyed it earlier, and this time, the nuzzling did not stop there.  The man nosed his way down my chest, his breath warm as it settled into the thick, soft ruff of fur down my breastbone.  The hand that had been resting against my hair slowly slipped down my neck to follow the path his muzzle was tracing, and soon his thumb was circling the tip of one of my breasts.  He must have been earnest about his preference earlier, because when he cupped the soft mound, he gave the first low, pleased noise I'd really heard from him since we'd gotten in bed.  I wasn't able to enjoy it long before the wet warmth of his tongue had found my areola, however. . . and then everything got a little fuzzy.
	A shudder of awakening rippled down through me, pooling in my lower stomach.  My whole lower body began to warm like I'd sunk into a hot bath, and I felt my back arch reflexively into him, pressing my chest into the front of his teeth.  His only response was to nip softly at me, and the soft breath I'd been holding released at that, along with a rather helpless noise I'd have been embarrassed of at any other time.  He seemed able to wrap his large paws entirely around my hips, and did just that as he set himself to making the most of my left breast the same as he had my right.  I felt like I was being devoured.
	I stretched my arms up until I felt the wall behind us, my body writhing beneath his, completely beyond my control.  He gave a low, rumbling growl against my belly, and then one of his thick, calloused paw-pads was caressing the soft dip beneath my navel.  When he finally stroked it down over my mound, I was more than ready for the touch, and anything like my earlier panic was a distant memory. 
	He circled my crease with a few lazy circles of his thumb, before rubbing it excessively softly up the center of me, on a very certain path.  He found my bud with practiced ease, and unhurriedly set to teasing me.  I arched my back against the thin bedspread and felt my foot-paws batting at the air, my tail curling up along my inner thigh.  I sucked in a soft gasp, letting it out slowly as he stroked at me for a few moments. . . then lifted the fingers to his muzzle. . . and returned them wet.  The texture of his paw-pad was just rough enough to afford an intensely-satisfying friction into the very slight, but purposeful motions, and the slickness made them all the easier.
	I'd been trying until that moment to play-act femininity, I, to be honest, didn't really possess.  But that undid me.  I gave a throaty, shameless moan, pressing my toes into the sheets and feeling them catch in my claws.  I didn't really give a damn about acting demure any more.
	Judging by the way he hummed in his throat and nipped possessively at my hip, the wolfhound didn't mind.  He curled his fingers against me, slipped one inside and continued toying at the sensitive nub I'd only just recently discovered I even had. . . which he seemed to understand far better than I.  Absurdly, I considered asking him for advice after this was all over.
	“Gods, you need to stop. . . !”  I huffed out in a breathless pant, when I felt I could take no longer.  My knees cinched inwards towards one another, and I gripped his wrist.  He seemed mildly surprised at first, his grey eyes sweeping up to mine questioningly, before I shook my head to dispel his concern.  “Just. . . I-I don't want it to be over so fast,” I said, shivering a little bit.  And it certainly wasn't because I was cold.  I actually felt overheated, even without the thin blanket up over the two of us.  His body heat was falling over me, pinned as he had me beneath his far larger frame.
	I felt him shifting up to his knees, likely to finally rid himself of his smallclothes, and acted fast, rolling to my side and catching his hips in my paws, pressing my nose into his abdomen.
	When he again looked down at me uncertainly, I explained, “I want to.  Please?”
	“If you wish. . .” he murmured.  He slowly got to his feet, and I only followed his ascent as far as my knees would take me, dragging my muzzle down the thicker trail of fur beneath his navel.  I could feel his abdominal muscles tense as I blew out a soft puff of warm air into his fur.  I didn't bother to cover the deep purr of contentment that bubbled out of me when my nose ran down the satisfying length of the hard ridge below, restrained by little but thin cotton.  I could even feel the thicker bulb still hidden beneath his sheath, which I knew from his earlier promise I'd have to contend with soon.  Honestly, I was relishing the thought.
	I hooked my fingers beneath the hem of the garment, but before I began to tug it down, I couldn't help but notice the bead of wetness near where his tip was very obviously outlined in the fabric.  My tail thrashed against the back of my thighs. . . I hadn't known I'd gotten the man that excited.  Hell, I hadn't known the wolfhound could get that excited.  His stoic demeanor didn't betray much.  It was good to see that having his hands on me had had an effect on him.
	Without really considering why, I leaned forward and closed my mouth over his tip, or rather the shape of it, even still restrained by his undergarments.  I dragged my tongue up the small slick spot, pulling the first real 'groan' I think I'd heard out of the man yet, and savoring the subtly musky, salty taste of the bead of precum.
	“Did I not say earlier,” the wolfhound managed between a thick, shuddering breath, “that I wanted to avoid soiling my clothing?”  
	I shrugged.  “You're the one who left them on,” I teased, with a slight smile.
	“You're perpetuating the problem,” the man grit out, and I fought the urge to stick my tongue out at his grumping.  But he was right, so I gave him another lick for good measure before deciding that amusing or no, cotton felt odd on my tongue and I wanted more of him.  I finally began tugging the smallclothes off, being mindful not to drag them too roughly over his manhood as I freed it.  But honestly, I think no matter how I'd done it, he would have been relieved at that point.
	When his length finally fell free and he helped rid himself of his final garment by kicking it off with one foot, I had to hold back from following the slow bob of motion with my eyes, lest I surrender whatever dignity I had left here.  If I wasn't already in heat, this night seemed certain to induce it.
	 I captured his length in my paw before he could lower himself back down onto the bed, wanting him just where he was for now.  I didn't care that he was towering over me, or however subservient I might appear like this. . . I knew that wasn't what was in either of our minds, anyway. . . but I couldn't deny that this was just a very convenient position for the two of us to be in, height-wise.
	He was watching me with that intense gaze, one of his ears flicking as I slid my palm softly up the ridge of him, urging what had to be the remainder of his length from his sheath with the slow, deliberate motion.  It was molten in my hand, pinker than my pawpads and thick with the scent he'd been denying I smelled on him all evening.  The unmistakable aroma of canine arousal.  It shouldn't have had the effect it did on me, considering we weren't the same species.  But if anything, the smell of my own people's men had become anathema to me ever since my husband.  I loved that canines smelled so different.  
	And Johannes wasn't like the unwashed, poorly-groomed masses of Otherwolves here in this colony, or in the Otherwolf settlements back home.  Some dogs could be downright repulsive to my senses, but he clearly took care of himself.  He also wasn't exactly as dandy as Grant had been. . . he didn't use any sort of scented soap, groomed himself only as much was necessary to be utilitarian, if the coarser tufts of wiry hair in places were any indication, and there was still dirt beneath the man's chipped, rough nails, from long days spent patrolling and scouting the forests.  His musk was stronger than the husky's had been, also. . . likely because he was more mature.  But he was just clean enough to not stink of the settlement I didn't want to remember I was  in, but not vain enough to care about smoothing out his rough edges.  I decided I liked it.
	“What are you doing?” he asked suddenly, as I nuzzled up his inner thigh.  I suppose I'd probably been stroking my palm over him for some time now, not establishing any particular rhythm, but still. . . who was he to complain?
	“I'm getting to it,” I said with a mock-offended huff, nosing his length and smirking.
	To my surprise, he actually took a step back at that.  “That's not. . .” he paused, and I caught the first sign of hesitation I'd seen in the man yet, “. . . you shouldn't.  Do that.”
	I blinked up at him, not retracting my palm from where I was still lazily stroking him.  He hadn't yet moved far enough away from me that I couldn't reach him, and I didn't intend to let him.  I inched forward on my knees to close the gap he'd made.  “Why not?”  I asked, leaning forward to confirm he was in fact denying what I thought he was.  I gave a timid, gentle lap at his tip, and the tremor that went through him settled it.  I smiled at his sudden shyness.  “It won't hurt,” I promised.  “Are you worried because I'm feline?”  Our tongues were rougher than a canine's, but Grant had said he'd actually enjoyed it more.
	“I know that,” the man countered.  “It's just. . . dirty.”  When I arched my eyebrow, he sighed, “It's not religious this time, I swear.  It's just. . . .”
	My eyes widened.  “You've never tried this before, have you?”
	His silence was telling.
	“I. . . hadn't either, until this year,” I admitted, trying to keep my tone from sounding at all patronizing.  That wasn't my intent.  I was just honestly shocked I'd found something I had more experience in than the older man did.  But he'd presumably only had the one partner, and Amurescans were so proper. . . I could certainly see why this might not be something quite so common on their shores, even between married couples.  “I was a little put off at first, too,” I admitted with a shy smile.  “But it's. . . really nice.  I-I don't mind.  At all.  I mean I'd even. . . I sort of enjoy it, I guess?  If you. . . but we don't have to.  It's okay.  I can tell it makes you uncomfortable.”  The tumble of words had all come out sort of fast, and I felt embarrassed suddenly, for some reason.  Like I was. . . well, as he'd said. . . 'dirty'.  I'd never felt that way with a man before.  It was a whole different sort of vulnerable feeling.
	I'm not sure if he picked up on my sudden bout of under-confidence, or if his reasons for having a change of heart were less altruistic and more carnal, but he was silent for only a few moments following my outburst, then simply mumbled, “. . . it's fine.  You may continue.  If you. . . desire to.”  
	Turning him down at this point would only make this more awkward, I was certain, so I nodded and leaned forward.  And hoped my rather minor amount of experience with this wouldn't disappoint.  At least he had no frame of reference.
	I nuzzled up against his length first for a few moments, pressing his tip into the crease of my muzzle and purring softly.  He gave an answered rumble of his own, which sounded partially encouraging, and partially intimidating.  A sudden realization occurred to me then.  What if the real reason he'd been hesitant was because he didn't trust my teeth so near his most vulnerable area?
	Well. . . if that was the case, then. . . after this he'd have to trust me.
	I sucked gently at his tip as I gripped at the base of his shaft and steadied him in my palm.  I tasted more of that mildly musky, salty precum, and it encouraged me to take him deeper. . . so I did.  I knew there was no chance I'd be able to take the man's entire length, but I also knew from my relatively limited realm of experience that I didn't really need to.  My hand could do some of the work.  
	When I dragged my muzzle back up to his tip for the first time, I hesitantly glanced up to see any reaction I might have gotten from the man.  He looked. . . I don't know.  A mixture of mortified, and yet enrapt.  He was covering much of his muzzle with a hand, but his eyes were pinned squarely on me.  Guilt lanced through his expression when I caught his gaze, but despite that, he still didn't look away.
	My pace was slow at first as I tried to remember how this was essentially done, but once I had a rhythm down, it wasn't too hard.  I dragged my tongue up the underside of his length inside my muzzle whenever on an upstroke and made sure to linger near the tip. . . those were the only two particulars I could really remember that had worked before.  Apparently they were fairly universal, or at least enjoyable to all canines, because the wolfhound's steady breathing from earlier had grown somewhat labored, and tended to hitch whenever I stopped to suckle and lap specifically at his tip.  I gently stroked his base in time with the motions of my muzzle, or as close as I could manage, and I could feel through where my one free hand was stroking up his thigh that his body was quivering ever-so-slightly.  
	One of his hands- his good one- had been fidgeting against his hip, the fingers twitching as if readjusting over a ghostly hilt of his sword.  I knew the desire was born from want, so I reached up to slip my fingers through his, and guided them to one of my ears.  He took the invitation, perhaps just wanting something to hold, but the gentle stroking motions he made against the velvety ridge of my ears were actually very pleasant, and I purred contently to let him know as much.
	I'd nearly forgotten he was inside my mouth, so when he muffled a gasp that trailed off into a low groan, it made me wonder what I'd done different. . . and then I realized it.  Emboldened, I tried to take him a little deeper, managed, and then purred again, as I slowly slipped my muzzle up his length again.  I swear, his knees went weak.
	“Please. . .” he groaned out an actual word, at last, “I'm. . . in need.  Are you ready for me?”
	“More than ready,” I purred, giving one last lick at his tip that might have elicited a whine, but he bit back on it.  One of these days I would have to see if I could get the man to stop holding back.
	He dropped to his knees, and I leaned back on my elbows as he moved over me.  His movements now were purposeful, and while not aggressive, they certainly felt dominant.  Like a Dyre stalking towards me, with intent. He wrapped his paws around my hips and urged me to part my legs with one of his own.  Not that I needed much further inducement right now.  Everything about him radiated a calm, collected aura, but when he leaned in to nuzzle once more beneath my chin, I could feel him panting hot and quickly against my neck.  He was just as on-edge as I was.
	He braced himself with both arms above me, although the one that was still healing shuddered a bit, and eventually he dropped down to his elbows, instead.  I pressed up to nuzzle against his neck, wrapping my legs around his waist to let him know I wanted him that close, and he returned the gesture by rubbing his muzzle against my cheek.  My hands spanned his lower back and slipped slowly upwards, feeling the hard planes of muscle up along his shoulder-blades.  I clung to that warm, solid presence when I felt his tip pressing into me.  He was slow about it, thank the Gods, because even if the man was proportionate for a canine, he was still far larger a person than I.
	I won't lie and say it didn't hurt a bit, at first.  It had been some time for me, for one, but also, I would never entirely forget the demons of my past, when it came to this.  So, some of it was probably residual pain stemming from memories, not the present.  It's hard to say.
	But the pain faded to a low, aching, and somewhat satisfying burn before long, and the feeling of being full was something my body had been wanting for too long for it to be unpleasant.  I gave a breathless, satisfied sigh as I slowly began to accommodate him, and the vibration of a rumble through the wolfhound's chest answered mine.  When he'd filled me all he could, he let himself remain deep inside me for a time and his shoulders loosened from their rigid stance, his head dropping into my clavicle as some of the tension drained from his body.  Neither of us said anything, but we basked in a moment of mutual satisfaction that didn't really need words.  Just an overwhelming sense of well-being, and a promise of relief to come.
	I stroked my hands slowly up and down his back, threading them through fur and following the arch of his spine, and he reciprocated by tracing the curve of my body from hip to thigh with his good hand.  He lifted his head enough for a moment that we caught one another's gaze, and I was glad that we were able to do so without feeling the need to look away.  I think that's probably the true test of whether or not you want to be with the person you're being intimate with. . . or if you just wanted intimacy, and it didn't matter who it was with.
	We were both aware of who our lover was, and that might have seemed obvious, but sometimes it really wasn't.
	I dug my toes gently into his calves as my body gripped his in every conceivable way, and he let slip a gruff rumble as he began to pull from me for the first time.  I half-panted a moan, feeling the same tight pressure he was, if even more acutely.  What he may not have realized, judging by the concern that passed over his features, was that I was enjoying it.  If I did anything, I never did it halfway.  This wouldn't have been enjoyable to me if there wasn't at least some challenge involved.
	Thankfully, the wolfhound was not a man in need of constant reassurance.  Rather than asking me if I was alright, or stalling mid-coitus to question whether or not we should be doing this at all, he only slowed his pace some, and took the next stroke a bit slower.  The hand that had been stroking running soft circles around my hip moved lower to slip between my legs, and he brushed his thumb lazily over my bud, in time with the easy motions of his hips.
	It was all I could do to keep breathing.  Beyond the fact that I hadn't done this in a very long time, I was overwhelmed with both how excited, and how relaxed, this was all making me feel.  It was a staggering bevy of mixed body signals.  My heart was thudding in my chest from arousal, punctuated by every deliberate, well-placed stroke of his thumb sending occasional jolts through my nerves.  But the remaining twinge of pain, and the slow build of pressure inside me from receiving the man's patient, steady thrusts was a more distant promise, and one I very badly wanted to see delivered.
	As if sensing my thoughts, the wolfhound growled a whispered, “Don't hold back,” against my ear.  
	I shook my head, gasping.  “. . . d-don't want it to be over. . . so soon. . . .” I moaned, an edge of embarrassment in my voice.  I was all about equality for women, and I figured that meant I should be held to the same standard a man would be here.
	He only chuckled.  “I'll hardly be offended. . . it's actually rather encouraging,” he murmured with a nip at my earlobe, which he couldn't know was such a sensitive spot for me, but it was.  I gasped again, this time with a soft whine beneath it.
	“Besides,” the man continued in that same deep, compelling brogue I realized now I'd probably always found enticing, “we have all night.”
	His words sunk into me with all the promise and want they were likely intended to, and I knew with a fluttering in my belly that I'd hit a tipping point.  Unwilling to let the inevitable surrender of my body fizzle like popping coals in a futile attempt to stave it off any longer, I instead rode the next wave of pleasure that came, and rolled my hips up into his, encouraging him to take me through it with more fervor.  And he didn't disappoint. 
	I tipped my head back against the rough sheets and squeezed my eyes shut as his thrusts answered the roll of my hips at an increased pace, and he seemed to know I could take them harder- wanted them harder – so he was outright rutting into me when I came.  My body felt like it was winding to a crescendo in those last few seconds, and when the pleasure slammed into me, it was like a wave breaking.  
	“Gods-!” I cried out, and then I was gripping at him, in every sense of the word, for dear life.  It felt too good to feel ashamed that it had come so fast, too intensely-satisfying to doubt that it had been right to surrender.  I was nearly numb in the wake of it, but I could sense at least that he'd begun to slow.  Not stop entirely, but his thrusts were leveling out to a much easier pace, now.  
	When I looked up, though, he didn't look calm anymore.  His eyes were nearly shut to slits, and a breath was barely escaping from between his teeth.  He was still looking down at me, but the light was only barely catching in his dark eyes.  'Smoldering' would not be too dramatic a term.
	  “Don't stop. . .” I half-panted, half-begged.
	He shook his head.  “No intention to. . .” he gave a tense groan, “. . . you're just. . .hard to move in, when you're like this. . . .”  
	I opened my muzzle to say something, but he interrupted me with a low chuckle and leaned down to nuzzle me.  “I meant that in the best way, I assure you,” he promised me.
	I soft purred against his nose, and I felt him smile.  Then he was sheathing himself to the hilt in me again, and my breath caught in my throat.  I'd. . . never really gone much further past this point, before, and I'd thought that from here on out, I'd pretty much just be a vessel for him to find his own pleasure in.  But that wasn't the message I was getting from my body.
	I experimentally rolled my hips up into his, both to encourage him and to see how well I could do it.  I was a proactive woman, but when it came to sex, I'd never really had the chance to do much more than receive.  That needed to change, and considering I'd initiated. . . nay, even pushed for. . . this encounter, I couldn't imagine a better time than now.
	He growled into my collarbone, and I shivered.  It could be hard to tell the pleasurable growls from the more possessive, dominant ones, when it came to canines.  But in this case, it almost felt as though it had been both.  Like he was reminding me not to subvert his authority here, but unable to stop himself from enjoying it.  It felt strangely empowering.
	So, of course, I did it again.
	This time he nipped at my neck, but I was establishing a rhythm here, and as soon as he began pushing back into it, neither of us could argue it was working for us.  His hips met mine in steady, deepening thrusts, as I grew accustomed to answering him with a pace of my own.  I almost hate to make the comparison, because it seems so trite, but. . . it really was like riding a horse.  I had to match his rhythm with my own, and that meant answering his body's movements.
	Which of course meant I was paying more attention to his body than I had been before.  I loved listening to him drag in harsh breaths as his thrusts slowed whenever he pulled out, my body wanting to pull him back in.  I loved feeling the slight tremors passing down his spine, usually followed by a hitch in breath, and a harder nuzzle at my neck.  I dug my fingers into his hips, both to follow their pace more easily, and as an anchor.
	As his pace began to heighten, to answer my own undulations almost faster than I could follow, he rumbled something against my neck I didn't catch.  It didn't sound like Amurescan words I knew, and that wasn't all that common these days.  Being as surrounded by it as I'd been over the last few months, I'd gotten a pretty good grip on the language.    
	“. . . hmmm?”  I purred against his neck, smiling serenely.  My body felt easier now. . . not wound-up and tense as it has been when I'd been on the edge of my release.  I'd never really felt this way before. . . for better or for worse, all of my past experiences had been far more brief. . . so I was curious what might happen.
	When he didn't answer me, I nuzzled up beneath his throat, purring curiously.  He hadn't said much this whole time, so if he was saying anything now, I wanted to know what.
	He nuzzled me back, easing his strokes some, and I was briefly amazed this could feel so casual. . . so relaxing.  But then he murmured something again, and again, I didn't catch it, and this time I pressed my nose to his and chuckled breathlessly.  “What on earth are you saying?”  I asked, almost hiccuping as I caught my breath with a more eager thrust than the rest.
	“. . . it's Amuraic. . . .” he murmured, burying his nose against my clavicle again.  “Language of the old scripture.  Don't worry. . . .”
	I couldn't hold back the light laugh at that, clutching at his back and squeezing my legs around him.  “Are you,” I panted, “talking dirty to me. . . in a holy tongue?”
	He paused enough at that that I highly suspected I'd guessed right.
	When I started giggling, he pulled up and looked down at me for a few moments with an arched eyebrow, as if I'd been the one who'd broken the moment by doing something silly.  I was about to point this out to him, when he simply pulled from me, took hold of my hips, and turned me onto my belly.  I gave a soft noise of surprise, but then he entered me again, and all I could do was moan and dig my claws into the rough blankets.
	Unsurprisingly, this felt a lot more intense, and I found myself bracing against his thrusts.  It was also a whole lot more fulfilling, in a way that felt almost primal.  I couldn't stop the sighs escaping me from becoming full-throated moans, but I saw no need to hold back, so I didn't.  It must have been encouraging for him, because he began taking me harder. . . but it still wasn't enough.  I felt greedy, but I softly begged for more, nonetheless.  Shame had no place here.
	I gave a sharp exhale into the blankets beneath me, my nose pressed down hard into the rough cotton.  Almost impossibly, I felt. . . .
	My feet dug in against the blankets and I groaned, arching my back and pressing my hips back into him.  We were at a feverish pitch now, but I'd never felt this unhinged before, and it felt amazing.  I knew, if he could just give me a little bit more. . . .
	“Don't stop-!” I begged through a gasp.  I could hear his strained breaths, and knew he had to be poised on the edge, himself, but that selfish desire was still there and I couldn't fight it.  I just needed-
	The man gave a deep, guttural growl, and suddenly, I felt him butting up against me with something far thicker.  I'd almost forgotten, and I'd told myself I was prepared, but the feel of him pushing his knot slowly into me was – first intimidating – and then all at once, intensely-satisfying.  It was so much thicker. . . on the edge of painful, but so fulfilling.
	My heart sped and I toppled into a release so sudden, and so powerful, I momentarily forgot how to breathe.  A year ago, I'd never known my body could do this, and now, I'd learned something yet again.
	It was even better the second time around.
	I felt warmth filling me, and his body slumping over mine, muzzle pressing into the back of my neck.  He was still a very quiet man, but I could feel the rumble of a groan in his chest, as his body emptied into mine.  I purred softly in return, rubbing my hips back against his.  I could feel the relief in his body, echoed in mine, but it seemed almost more profound for him.  The tension, the rigidity I'd felt in him before, was slowly draining away.  I wanted to turn over and wrap my arms around him, but I knew full well we'd be trapped like this for a little while.  Still, his muzzle had nuzzled in over my shoulder to press against my cheek, and that was enough.
	“. . . you'd better not fall asleep like that,” I warned him, at length.
	His chest rumbled with a chuckle, and he nosed my cheek.  “Of course not.  That wouldn't be very gentlemanlike.”
	I smiled.  “You actually are a real 'gentleman'.  That word translates. . . very literally, but I've always assumed that's not exactly what it meant.  I think I have a slightly better idea now.”
	“I'll take that as a compliment,” he murmured.
	“You should,” I said with a soft whuff of laughter, “I didn't even know I could do that twice.”
	“Takes patience,” the man replied.  “And. . . experience.  Young men rarely possess either, let alone both.  Not that I'm boasting.  It's just one of the few benefits that comes with age.”
	“Boast if you want,” I muttered, closing my eyes.  “I think you've earned it.”
	The man was silent for a little while.  Then, at length, he murmured, “I was.  You just don't know Amuraic.”
	I elbowed him, and he grunted in mock annoyance, and nuzzled me harder.  I laughed and tried to wiggle away from him, and finally, with a release that made me gasp, felt him pop free.  The wolfhound gave a soft groan, and slid himself entirely free of me slowly, before pausing for a few moments and giving a concerned, “Ah. . . don't move yet. . . .”
	I peered over my shoulder curiously, and saw him leaning over to reach for the chair where he'd folded his clothing, pausing a moment before choosing his shirt, and handing it to me, looking a bit embarrassed for the first time.
	“. . . I doubt you want to sleep in it,” he said by way of explanation, having trouble meeting my eyes.
	It took me a moment to grasp his meaning, until I felt it, and then I blanched and laughed awkwardly, cleaning myself up some with the sacrificial garment.  I felt a little bad, but he had given it to me.  And he was sort of responsible for. . . well. . . .
	“Don't worry about it,” he said, as though sensing my thoughts.  He took the shirt back from me and threw into the pile of clothing on the chair.  “I needed to wash it, anyway.”
	By the time he turned to look back down at me, I was up on my elbows, smiling at him.  He slowly smiled back.
	“Thank you,” he murmured.
	“You don't have to thank me,” I replied.  “This has been extremely mutual, I promise you.”
	“Thank you. . . for pushing me, then,” he said after a few moments.  “I've gotten stubborn in my years.  I've. . .” he glanced down for a few moments, his tone dropping.  “I've never stopped. . . loving her.  But. . . I knew a long time ago that holding on to solitude wasn't strictly the best way to honor her memory.  I knew it.  But I couldn't push myself past my own barriers.”
	“I have a certain skill for pushing down barriers,” I admitted.
	“I think 'pushing' is too gentle a word for it,” he replied, with an arched eyebrow.  “ 'Demolishing'. . . might be more apt.”  
	“Nothing needs to change between us,” I said.  “I mean it.  I'm. . . fine with just this.  I don't think I want anything more than occasional comfort from a man right now, anyway.  I. . .” I paused, “. . . I have my own. . . memories. . . I'm trying to make peace with.  And I'm not certain I'll ever move on from them, to be honest.  From him.”
	He looked somewhat sad at that, and leaned down to brush a hand through my mane, gently.  “You're young,” he said, “don't say that.  You have time.”
	“If your wife had died when you were young, would you have been able to move on from her?”  I asked him.  It wasn't a challenge.  I just honestly wanted an answer.
	He looked painfully uncertain at that.  And then less so.  “. . . no,” he said after a few moments.  “I don't think I would have.  I'll always love her.  Sometimes two people are meant to be together, and there is quite literally no one else in the world who could fill that void.”  He looked down at me.  “It saddens me to think you might have had so little time with the man you were destined for, though.”
	I swallowed, and nodded into the blanket.  “. . . me, too,” I murmured.
	I lay there for less than a few seconds before I felt the weight of him settling down beside me.  He wrapped his arms around me. . . even the one in the brace, and pressed his muzzle against the nape of my neck, tugging me in close against his chest.  I eagerly accepted being held, and turned, so I could nestle into him more completely.  His fur was warm, and now it smelled like the both of us.  I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the feeling of having him there, of being in someone's arms, of not being alone.
	And it really did help.  It really did.  It wasn't just because we had so much in common.  It wasn't just because I knew he understood my pain.
	Mostly, it was because I knew that tonight, I wouldn't be sleeping alone.  Wouldn't be dreaming alone.  And that small comfort made warmth blossom in my chest, made everything just feel. . . better.
	I fell asleep faster than I had in months.

	I woke unexpectedly at some point too early in the morning for much light to be entering through the window, the chill of the night's cold still in the air.  At some point while we'd been asleep, the small blanket we'd been sharing had shifted, bunching up underneath the sleeping wolfhound's shoulder.  I shifted in the near-dark, trying to tug some of it free, when I noticed he was actually moving in his sleep.
	It must have been unconscious, because it wasn't like the easy movements that came with a person waking.  He was more. . . twitching, his arm shuddering against the bedspread.  I could only imagine that's why the blanket had shifted.
	I slowly reached for him, intending to ease some of the blanket free, or if I accidentally woke him, at least wake him gently.  Unfortunately, that's not what happened.
	I knew the second he woke, because his body stiffened before his eyes even opened, and before I could so much as open my mouth to speak, one of those broad, powerful paws I'd been admiring the night before was on my throat, shoving me down forcefully into the bed.  I twisted instinctively, before he could pin me, and rolled with his weight, the momentum working against him.
	He had me on strength and I knew he wasn't lucid yet.  I maintained my calm enough not to try to breathe yet, because I knew it wouldn't do any good.  Right now he was just holding me. . . if I struggled he might squeeze. But I could black out if this got serious, so, before he could turn the tables on me and with a silent apology, I grabbed his injured wrist and twisted.  
	The pain brought clarity to his eyes, and I stopped twisting as soon as I saw the blank stare transform to one of horror.  He recoiled from me like I was on fire, and stumbled back on his rear, off the edge of the bed.  I sat up, watching him stumble through half-asleep apologies, before I narrowed my eyes and launched myself at him, landing with my knees on his chest, and pinning him to the ground, hard.
	“Before you start moaning and groaning out apologies and swearing you'll never touch me again,” I growled, “I would like to remind you,” I punctuated the last two words with a hard shove, “that I can kick your ass now, and every day of the week.  I am not afraid of you.”  I snarled down at him, to make my point.  “Or your demons.  So no whining about how you could have hurt me tonight, got it?  I can handle you.  I can handle this.  I am fine.”
	I leaned back up, slowly releasing my hands from his shoulders.  He'd fallen silent, looking up at me with wide, shocked eyes.
	“So,” I said a bit more softly, “were you going to apologize to me?”
	The man blinked slowly, and then in a subdued, but quietly amazed tone, murmured, “. . . no?”
	“That's what I thought,”I said with a triumphant smile, my tail thrashing against his stomach.  I took a long, deep breath, and blew it out slowly.  “My heart's. . . beating really fast,” I admitted with a slight laugh, at length.  “Hell of a way to wake up in the morning.”
	“It wouldn't have been my preference,” he admitted.
	I glanced down at the wolfhound, still pinned beneath me.  It occurred to me then that we were both still very much nude.
	“Hey,” I said with a sly smile, leaning slowly down over him.  “I didn't hurt your wrist too bad, did I?”
	“No, it was just. . . alarming,” he said, flexing it some.  “It's mostly healed, anyway.  I can probably remove the brace today.”
	“Good,” I smirked, “because that was. . . actually kind of exciting.  Do you. . . um. . . .”
	The wolfhound looked at me incredulously.  “I. . . was having a fairly vivid nightmare,” he stated.  “I don't know-”
	“Can't think of any better way to get your mind off of that,” I countered, and he didn't seem to have an argument for that.  When I began nosing my way down his abdomen, he still seemed on the edge of uncertainty, though, so I murmured, “You know, the longer we delay getting out of bed, the longer I can delay returning to the Manoratha.”
	The wolfhound glared at the window, at that, as though he could see the Privateer from here.  Then he reached down, took me by the shoulders and rolled me back onto the bed, moving over me.
	“In that case,” he said, matter-of-factly, “you should stay the day.”
	I laughed, and smiled.  “That sounds good.”