The breeze from his wings swirled the cloak. Pandora watches him come in for a landing and something primal raises its head deep inside. Ob ROARS out his claim, gathers her in his arms, and launches them skyward. His great wings make short work of the distance to the hilltop they had lazed upon so long ago.
Ob draws the rough pad of one finger along Pandora's arm, then traces a path along the bare skin above her neckline. His eyes take in the hardened peaks of her nipples, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts with each breath. He says nothing, feeling the rising heat, scenting her rising arousal.
"Strip for me, Bruha. Wear nothing but the cloak..." His eyes begin to darken from pale ice blue to summer sky. His tongue flicks out, and he hisses softly. "Please...?"
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