Chapter 16 — Bound by Secret Vows

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Chapter 16
Bound by Secret Vows

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♣

She licked the tip.

Direct.

Bold.

A slow, obscene gesture that left him breathless.

Fireheart’s cock throbbed violently under that wet caress, and a spasm shook his spine as if an electric current had passed through his bones.

“I was left wanting this yesterday,” she purred, and her voice was deeper, huskier, as if the words came from some dark corner of her body. “You fell asleep.”

The memory hit him like a claw. It had been after he had penetrated her forcefully, after the first whirlwind of passion. He had surrendered to sleep, exhausted, not knowing that Bluestar had remained awake, wet, unsatisfied.

The tongue moved again. Slow. Clearing a path from the base of his erection to the tip. Each lick was a declaration of power, a demonstration of feline dominance that left him unable to protest. Fireheart moaned beneath her, trying to bite the moss, clenching his teeth to keep from howling.

But Bluestar showed no mercy.

She put the tip in her mouth and sucked. Her tongue swirled in a spiral, wet, hot, applying gentle pressure that made him hit his head against the ground, eyes tightly closed.

“Nnnnh… ahh…!” The sound escaped him unintentionally, and she smiled with her mouth full.

“Shhh…” she purred against his skin. “You already said you didn’t want anyone to hear us.”

And she sucked him again. Harder. With rhythm. Her mouth slid along the entire length, went down, licked him with swollen lips, letting the saliva mix with the remnants of the previous ejaculation, which still partially covered him.

She wasn’t cleaning him. She was making him dirtier. Smearing him in a mixture of scents that were pure sex, pure Clan, pure unleashed instinct.

Fireheart couldn’t take it anymore. He was trembling. His abdomen contracted, and his cock throbbed against his leader’s tongue as if it had a life of its own. Each suck was a lash of pleasure that made him see stars. Bluestar held him with one paw, firm, ensuring he didn’t move, that he didn’t escape. She didn’t want him to hold back. She wanted him to feel everything.

“Bluestar… I’m going to…” he panted, his body shaken by involuntary spasms.

She released the tip only to look him in the eyes.

“Do it. In my mouth.”

And she sucked again. Faster. Deeper. Taking the entire cock to the back of her throat. A gesture that didn’t seem possible, that didn’t seem real. But it was. Oh, it was. He felt it so deep that it hurt, scratched him from the inside.

And then he exploded.

Fireheart moaned loudly, teeth clenched, throat tense. He came violently, with ejaculations that seemed endless, filling Bluestar’s mouth, which didn’t pull away, which swallowed every drop with a satisfied growl.

Her tongue kept moving during the orgasm, milking him, devouring him, making the spasms last until his body completely collapsed.

Bluestar licked her lips. Without shame. Without guilt. With the look of a cat that had hunted, that had won, that didn’t intend to apologize for anything.

However, Bluestar didn’t stop.

With her tongue now a sinful artifact, she continued licking, sucking, savoring every hot pulse that still remained in Fireheart’s cock.

He trembled, panting somewhere between agony and ecstasy, not knowing if he was melting or catching fire from within.

But she wasn’t doing it just for him. Oh no. Her tongue worked with a devotion that wasn’t simple desire. It was deeper. Dirtier. More personal.

She pulled back slightly, leaving a shiny thread of saliva and semen hanging from her mouth. She looked at him with narrowed eyes, her breathing controlled. And then she spoke:

“I treasure this taste,” she purred, her voice laden with something that was both desire and confession. “You don’t know what it means to me to have it again.”

Fireheart blinked, his breathing quick and uneven, as if he had just run from the Four Trees to the WindClan territory. His cock was still exposed, wet, vibrant. But it was her gaze that left him still: a mix of lust and something more intimate, more vulnerable.

“Bluestar…” he started, but couldn’t finish.

“It’s been a long time since I tasted it,” she continued, lowering her muzzle to lick the tip with a slow caress. “Since Oakheart…”

The name fell like a stone into a lake of silence. Fireheart felt an involuntary spasm, not of jealousy, but of surprise. She never talked about that. Never with that tone, never with narrowed eyes and her tongue still wandering over his member as if she couldn’t detach herself from it.

“In my youth…” she whispered, now licking the base, caressing the testicles with her nose, “I was addicted to this. To having it inside, to tasting it. Oakheart gave it to me in secret, far from the Clan, like a sin he didn’t want to let go of.”

Fireheart swallowed. It wasn’t what he expected to hear. But there was no reproach in her voice. Just a naked truth, dragged from the depths of her memories to her tongue laden with saliva and desire.

“But now…” she purred, and looked at him with a smile that was pure heat, pure abyss, “now that we are a couple… I don’t need anyone else. Just you. Every morning, afternoon, and night.”

And she put his cock back in her mouth as if it were her right. As if she were sealing the vow with her throat. This time she did it with more technique. More intention. Using her lips like a soft ring, going down slowly, then coming up in a spiral with her tongue enveloping, licking, squeezing.

Fireheart opened his eyes, let out a gasp, and tried to speak.

“Wait… that thing you said… couple…”

But he couldn’t finish the sentence. Because Bluestar pressed with her tongue just below the glans, turning her mouth in a rhythm that turned off his mind. She sucked as if she had been born for it.

As if her mouth knew things that his body hadn’t yet understood. She sucked him to the back, and then released him only to lick the entire length, letting the cock throb freely before trapping it again.

“Bluestar… nnnhh!” Fireheart had no air left. His legs trembled. His tail thumped against the ground as if trying to cling to something. His cock hardened again brutally, each second thicker, more sensitive.

She swallowed him whole. With a hoarse growl, she let the tip go down to the back of her throat. Her throat tightened around him, wet, alive, vibrant. The sound was dirty, wet, glorious.

“Ghhh—ahhh…!” he moaned, twisting his claws against the mossy ground.

Bluestar didn’t stop. Up and down. With rhythm. With art. With lust and promise. Her mouth moved with a cadence that seemed trained, but it was pure passion.

And between licks and sucks, she looked at him. She kept him trapped not only with her tongue but with those midnight blue eyes that knew no remorse.

“You’re mine,” she murmured against his cock, just before licking the glans with the tip of her tongue as if it were a punishment. “And I don’t intend to let you forget it.”

Bluestar still didn’t stop. Not for a second. If before her tongue was desire, now it was mastery. The art of making Fireheart tremble was in every movement, in every precise slide of her mouth, as if she remembered by heart where he was most vulnerable, where the heat gathered under the skin, where the tremor began to take control of his breathing.

She started at the base. With a slow, flat, firm lick, from where the heat was born right between his legs. The tip of her tongue rose in a spiral as it went up, as if outlining the edges with the dedication of a medicine cat carving a sacred offering.

Then she went down, caressing with the wettest part of her tongue the area where the skin was thinnest, tightest, that exact point where each touch caused a shiver directly in Fireheart’s spine.

The warrior panted. His back arched uncontrollably, his chest moved as if he had run half a day. He was drooling slightly from the corner of his mouth, unable to contain the way his body surrendered.

He moved his head to one side, his ears pinned back, his whiskers bristling.

It was too much.

Each new lick was different: one rougher on the outer part, another wetter and softer just below the glans. Bluestar varied the pressure, sometimes sucking slightly with her lips without taking him completely, sometimes using only the tip of her tongue to lick in circles around the sensitive edge of his member.

She looked at him. Always. Between each lick, she lifted her gaze and observed the effect: the tremor in his hind legs, the barely contained moan, the saliva escaping from his mouth without shame. And she smiled.

“That’s it… I like seeing you like this,” she purred with a thick, hoarse voice, beyond the tone with which she gave orders in the clearing.

Fireheart couldn’t even speak. He just breathed heavily, as if the air was hard to come by, as if he couldn’t believe what he was feeling.

Every inch of his cock was caressed with a different rhythm and intention: the right side with short, wet movements, the left with more constant pressure, the center with long downward strokes that left him panting. And when she reached the tip…

Gods, the tip.

Bluestar passed her tongue in a circular motion, slowly, as if savoring the edge more than licking it. And then she tapped it, gently, with the tip, one, two, three times. As if marking the beat of his torment. Fireheart let out a whimper, soft but sharp, his back arched, his tail bristled with pure pleasure.

“You love it,” she purred, and licked from bottom to top again, but this time turning her head at the end, as if she were engulfing him in a swirling motion.

Her lips closed in a suctioned kiss right over the most sensitive part, and this time she made him moan for real, with his throat open and his legs trembling. Bluestar held him by the hips, firm, preventing him from moving, forcing him to receive each caress as an offering, as a sentence.

And when she felt him tremble more strongly, drooling, panting, with his chest stained with saliva and his mouth open in pure surrender, she let out a deep, almost animalistic purr.

“Look at you…” she whispered, licking him again. “You’re beautiful like this. Undone.”

Fireheart tried to sit up, but he had no strength. And Bluestar wasn’t going to stop yet.

Bluestar didn’t pull away. She didn’t slow down. She had no intention of stopping. Her mouth was still tangled in Fireheart’s trembling flesh, and now her tongue had become a weapon of precision, an instrument of lust with centuries of experience compressed into every stroke.

She licked boldly, yes, but with art too. Each part was a world. Her tongue traveled from the root to the tip with measured force, first vertically, using the back, then spiraling, as if she were painting with saliva.

When she reached the glans, she trapped it with her lips and turned her neck slightly, applying enough pressure to draw a moan from the depths of Fireheart’s chest.

The warrior couldn’t move. Not because Bluestar immobilized him—although one of her paws pressed his hip with absolute possession—but because his body no longer responded to any order other than pure trembling.

His legs were limp, his chest covered in wet marks, and his cock… hard, red, trembling, dripping. It rose against his leader’s tongue as if begging for more.

Bluestar lifted her gaze, eyes narrowed, dirty smile.

“Mmmhh… I still can’t get enough of you,” she purred, her voice broken by her own breathing.

And without warning, she lowered her head again and engulfed him. Not just the tip. All of it. Her mouth descended until the base of Fireheart’s cock touched the edge of her lips, and she kept forcing further, taking the length as far as her throat allowed, the wet sound of contact mixed with a slight and obscene gurgle.

Fireheart let out a brief cry, his neck tense, his claws digging into the moss.

“Bluestar…!”

She responded with a deep, guttural sound that vibrated directly over his member. Her throat contracted around him, squeezing him with a wet, deep, hot pressure.

It wasn’t just pleasure: it was absolute dominance. She had him inside her throat, swallowing him with each pulse, with her eyes closed, as if she were savoring something sacred.

And then… she descended further. She opened her mouth slightly, moving her tongue downward, gently licking Fireheart’s scrotum while his cock remained buried in her throat.

The contact was fleeting, experimental, but it was enough to make him moan loudly. The tip of her tongue played, brushed against the taut, wet, hot skin, as if measuring the reaction, as if wondering how far she could take him without breaking him completely.

Fireheart tried to speak, his voice in tatters.

“W-wait… if you go lower… you can… you can hurt yourself.”

His voice was a mix of pleasure and alarm, a thread of sanity that still hung from some corner of his mind. But Bluestar didn’t stop. Not completely. She separated from his cock for only a second, with saliva falling in sticky threads from her open mouth, her tongue hanging out a bit like a satisfied beast, but still hungry.

“Maybe,” she said, purring like a soft threat. “But I want to try. I want… all of you.”

Her mouth lowered again, this time caressing each part with almost cruel alternation. Her tongue didn’t just lick, now it sucked, trapping entire areas between her lips, squeezing with a slow suction that made Fireheart moan louder.

She brushed the scrotum with the tip of her tongue, licked it from left to right, then tried to bring one of them to her mouth, carefully but without hesitation. The heat enveloped him, the air was dense, and Fireheart’s body shook with uncontrolled spasms.

He panted, unable to look at anything but his body trapped under the mouth of a leader turned devotee. His legs barely responded. His cock was a knot of nerves on the verge of overflowing, and his heart rumbled like a war drum in his chest.

Bluestar had him. Completely.

At that moment, on top of him, between her breath and her mouth and that gaze that didn’t ask, but took, she was the owner of his entire body. And she knew it. With every stroke of her tongue, with every closing of her lips, with every time she looked up at him—not with submission, but with absolute possession—she was reclaiming what was hers.

Fireheart was hers.

And there was no escape.

His legs no longer responded.

The trembling wasn’t from fear, but from saturation. His body pulsed with a rhythm that wasn’t his own, a drum marked by the sway of Bluestar’s mouth going down, licking, closing, sucking in places that seemed to have been forgotten, and now rediscovered as sacred points.

Her tongue slid like a wet viper, surrounding every curve, every fold, as if it weren’t just flesh, but a map she was memorizing with her mouth.

The way she took her time drove him crazy.

First, she licked him entirely, slowly, from bottom to top, with just the right pressure that left a trail of hot saliva on the skin that the air never managed to dry. Then she changed: shorter strokes, with the tip, giving precise, small, cruel taps.

A sweet torture.

Her breath burned against Fireheart’s sensitive flesh, causing involuntary spasms that made him arch his back, let out hoarse gasps that he tried to stifle by biting his lip.

But Bluestar didn’t want silence. She wanted to hear him.

“Make noise for me,” she murmured against his skin, the sound vibrating directly, laden with saliva. “I want to know how much you need me.”

And she had him. Each stroke, each suck was an obscene prayer, a chant of submission to pleasure. She varied the pressure of her lips, closing just when she felt him shudder, then releasing only to drag her tongue slowly, moistening everything in its path. She enveloped him like a slow, sacred, devastating gale.

Fireheart felt his body melting into the ground. He no longer knew if it was air he was breathing or Bluestar’s moan that still vibrated in his ear. His legs trembled. His abdomen contracted. His cock throbbed on the verge of another release that seemed to have no escape.

She felt it. She savored it.

And she smiled.

“Don’t come yet,” she purred, and her tongue moved again. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Bluestar wasn’t looking to finish quickly. She wanted to hear him. She wanted to see him writhe, trapped between desire and modesty, with trembling legs and a throat closed from so many swallowed moans. She wanted Fireheart to break under her tongue, for nothing to remain of him but gasps, sweat, and tremors.

And she was about to achieve it.

Her eyes didn’t let him go for a second while her tongue played without mercy. She passed over his erection with strokes that were no longer just caresses: they were a meticulous hunt.

The back of her tongue traveled each millimeter with suffocating slowness, then went down, pressed hard, squeezing Fireheart’s member against the soft palate of her mouth as if she could mold it to her liking.

He panted as if each breath were a plea. His legs stretched out, his fur bristled, his eyes opened with that wild gleam of a warrior who no longer knew how to fight against his own body.

Bluestar laughed softly, the sound vibrating directly over his exposed skin.

“Where is your silence now?” she purred, her voice dark as the night in the forest after the rain. “I want to hear you, Fireheart.”

And then she squeezed.

Not with her legs. With her tongue. She closed her mouth right at the base of his erection, lowering her mouth at a perfect angle, and crushed it with force, squeezing the glans with a wet and firm twist, as if she wanted to wring out the last drop of his resistance.

The reaction was immediate. Fireheart let out a moan that wasn’t a sound, it was a surrender. His entire body arched beneath her, one spasm after another, his legs trembling violently, his claws scratching the moss.

The pressure, the moisture, the exact friction of her tight tongue, everything conspired in an explosion he couldn’t contain.

He came.

The heat left him in a brutal, potent wave, like a discharge accumulated over entire moons of containment. His cock throbbed between her lips, and Bluestar didn’t pull away.

She opened her throat wider, swallowed, sucked, took it all with an animal devotion, her eyes closed and her expression concentrated as if she were absorbing something sacred.

And when the first wave passed, when Fireheart panted as if he had run nonstop for an entire day, Bluestar licked him again. Slow. Collecting what remained. Kissing his still-vibrant cock as if she would never let it go.

She cleaned her mouth with her tongue, without hurry, purring as if she had been fed with ambrosia.

“I could live with this,” she said softly, almost to herself. “Every day. Every night.”

Fireheart still lay sprawled, chest heaving, gaze lost, his body exhausted by pleasure, but Bluestar’s figure above him, that blue and living shadow, didn’t allow his attention to waver for even a second. She looked at him with a barely crooked smile, feline, a trap disguised as tenderness. And without saying a word, she leaned in again.

But she didn’t go for his mouth, nor his neck, not even his now surrendered cock. She went lower.

Bluestar’s tongue descended slowly, without hurry, as one who has the right and the time to explore every corner. It reached the soft curves between Fireheart’s legs, where the heat was densest, and there it stayed. She licked slowly.

First one, then the other. His balls. His testicles, still sensitive from the release, trembled with each touch, but she wasn’t seeking to excite him. Not yet. What she was doing was cleaning. She knew what he had just released. She felt it stuck to his fur. And she licked it all.

Not like a mother grooming a kitten.

No. Nothing like that.

She did it with intention. With a kind of possessive care, her tongue traveling every fold, every drop, every vestige of him on himself. She left him clean. She left him hers.

Fireheart couldn’t stop looking, even though his face burned. The blush rose to his ears, and he breathed raggedly, with that tremor that wasn’t fear, but anticipation.

And then, Bluestar pulled away. She rose again with that queenly air that had trapped him from the first time he saw her at the edge of the cliff. She took a step back, tilting her head. Then, without saying a word, she lay down.

She lay on her back.

She opened her front legs, then her hind legs, and her tail stretched to one side with the same elegance with which one delivers a sentence. Her belly extended smooth and warm, her chest rose with each breath, but what she wanted to show him was lower.

Bluestar’s vulva glistened wet, swollen, open between her legs with a boldness that made the nape of his neck bristle.

And she spoke.

“Now it’s your turn.”

She said it without softness, without shyness. Like a challenge.

Fireheart swallowed. He wanted to approach, immediately, because his body screamed at him to do so. But his mind was split in two.

“Bluestar…” he murmured, shrinking a little, his cock flaccid but still warm between his legs. “Seriously, someone could come in…”

The leader didn’t move.

She didn’t smile.

She growled at him.

It was a low, grave growl, without words, as if reminding him with a single sound that there was no room for fear here. Not with her. Not when she had had him inside her mouth, not when she had swallowed his breath. He was hers. And now she was offering herself, with the same intensity.

Fireheart nodded immediately, his muzzle red as blood, his skin burning beneath his fur. He crawled towards her, each movement trembling, not from indecision, but because he knew what that exposed body meant.

He stopped in front of her groin, and without touching her yet, let out a puff. A warm breath, which slid directly over her wet lips.

Bluestar moaned. Barely. But enough.

Lying on the moss bed, with her legs open like a nocturnal flower to the warm wind, her wet vulva pulsing between the shadows and the filtered light, she remained upright with her dignity intact, even in surrender.

The silver blue of her fur shone under the glow of the den, but it was her eyes that kept him bound: fixed on him, sharp, expectant, overflowing with desire.

Fireheart lowered his muzzle a little more. The heat emanating from her body intoxicated him. His breath hit her groin, and each exhalation drew a slight movement from his leader: a small tug of the hip, a slight tremor in her thighs.

He smelled her. Wet earth and iron, sap and something more, a wild and feminine perfume that quickened his pulse.

He extended his tongue and licked.

The first caress was clumsy, insecure. From the base to the top, a long, flat vertical stroke, soaking his tongue in that moisture that left him panting. Bluestar closed her eyes at the contact, letting out a low sigh. But when she opened them again, she looked at him with a mix of tenderness and demand.

“Slower…” she whispered. “It’s not a wound you must heal. Savor.”

Fireheart nodded, swallowed, and lowered again. This time slower, barely letting the tip of his tongue trace the edges, outlining the lips, parting them a little. Her taste was salty, alive, and he felt her getting wetter with each touch.

Bluestar let out a hoarse moan. Her hips rose slightly, offering herself.

“Yes… like that. Now go up… higher… there.”

He obeyed. He licked upwards, seeking the small bud hidden right at the top, and when he touched it, she held her breath. It was a sensitive, latent spot, and he brushed it with his tongue carefully at first, then licked it firmer, in small circles.

“Just like that. More pressure. Not so fast.”

She guided him with broken words, her voice torn by the growing pleasure in every direction. Fireheart listened with devotion, following each instruction, learning her body as one learns a new territory: slow, with respect, with fierce desire to conquer.

His tongue went down again, parting the lower folds, licking from side to side. Bluestar was already moaning without restraint, her legs restless, her thighs tense, her vulva pulsing under the dedicated attention of her lieutenant.

He didn’t think, he only felt. His muzzle soaked, his chin slipping with the juice she offered without modesty, and each lick of his drew a new sound, a new order.

“Hold my thighs…” she murmured, her eyes closed now. “Open them. I want you to lick me deeper.”

And Fireheart did. He lifted both legs and placed them to the sides, pushing her gently, opening her even more. Her center was completely exposed, wet, tense, trembling. Her open, vibrant vulva called to him like a spring in the middle of a burning forest.

“Now inside… just the tip… play a little…”

He obeyed. He inserted just his tongue, only a little, with the caution of one crossing a sacred door. The heat enveloped him. A low moan rumbled in Bluestar’s throat, her claws scratching the moss beneath.

“Yes… yes, more… go in and lick as if you’re drinking me…”

Fireheart plunged his tongue a little deeper. He felt her shudder, how her insides pulsed in response to each movement.

The taste was stronger there, deeper, and his tongue moved within her with hunger, with adoration. He went up and down, sometimes licking all around, other times plunging again, seeking the exact spot that made her shudder.

“Your tongue is perfect… keep going… don’t stop,” Bluestar panted.

She was no longer the one giving orders. Her voice broke, her thighs trembled. And he, who had doubted at first, now dominated her with his mouth, with his tongue, with the devotion of a lover who needs no words.

Fireheart had his face buried between Bluestar’s thighs, his lips open, his whiskers tangled in her wetness, his tongue busy discovering secrets that were only revealed with sweat and patience. And then, she closed her legs.

Not with violent force, not like a trap, but like a wet, suffocating, warm embrace. Her thighs enclosed him against her center as if she didn’t want to let him go, as if his mouth were another part of her, as if the act of separating were an unbearable loss. Her scent intoxicated him. Her taste dragged him. The pressure of those soft thighs against his cheeks was both punishment and reward.

“There… right there…” Bluestar whispered, and her claws caressed his head as if guiding a kitten, but with the authority of a queen who knows she is adored.

She set the pace with her legs.

When she pressed to one side, he knew he should move his tongue there, slower, firmer.

When she trembled with a shaky purr, he knew he should go deeper. Bluestar no longer said it with words. It was the tension of her thighs, the direction of her caresses, the hot pulse beneath her vulva that guided him.

Fireheart redoubled his efforts. His tongue moved with more hunger, more technique, as if he had been born to be there. He no longer just licked. Now he opened his mouth wider, brushed the edges, sought that little spot that made her moan from her throat.

Then he descended, slid deeper, his tongue curving to enter, turn, lick from within. The taste covered him, salty and alive, like a fruit bitten in the center of the forest under the rain.

Bluestar arched her back. A moan escaped her, raw, cut, beyond control. And her thigh trembled against his cheek.

“Deeper… deeper… ahhh, Fireheart…”

He pushed. His tongue grew tired, but it didn’t stop. He moved his head in small circles, his lips brushing her folds, his hot sighs hitting her clitoris between licks. He breathed through his nose, devouring her with each movement, his claws holding her hips as if he feared she might escape.

But Bluestar wasn’t going anywhere. She moaned. She offered herself. She shook with small involuntary spasms every time his tongue found that perfect angle. And she rode his face. She rode his face as if it were an altar of flesh and submission.

“Yes… ahhh yes…!” she panted. “Don’t stop… don’t stop, darling…”

And he had no intention of doing so.

He had her trembling. Literally. Each stroke of his drew a different reaction, measurable in the tremor of her belly, in the vibration of her thighs, in the hot air she released between gasps.

He licked in waves: flat strokes that ran up the center, soft touches just below that hidden bud of sensitivity, then wet spirals that concentrated where her body pulsed the most.

Bluestar tensed every time he plunged his tongue. Not deep, not brutal, but just at the angle where the opening got wetter, where the tongue moved as if seeking something hidden, as if trying to memorize her from within.

She pressed her legs against his head more firmly, holding him, moaning with her eyes closed, and her hips rose against him, asking for more, without needing to speak.

“Ahhh… there… yes… right… there…” she panted, her voice dissolving into pure heat.

Bluestar’s center was like a warm sea opening between her lips, and Fireheart felt the reaction beneath his tongue: every time he brushed a sensitive spot, the skin there tensed, swelled, became more receptive.

As if his mouth were molding her, awakening her. Her taste intensified, wet and thick, and he drank it as if he could survive on that alone.

And meanwhile, his own body reacted.

His erection returned with brutality. He had been drained, yes, but now he was harder, more sensitive, more inflamed than before. As if having her like this, over him, surrendered and commanding, pushed him to an even deeper need.

His cock throbbed between his legs, pressed against the ground, dripping pre-semen without even being touched.

Bluestar felt it.

Through the movement of his body, the way Fireheart growled softly, the tremor of his tongue as he buried it deeper.

She smiled between gasps, bringing a paw to her belly to press on her pelvic bone, lowering slightly, touching near the spot where he was licking her.

“Are you hard again?” she whispered with a tremor. “Does it turn you on to feel me tremble under your tongue…?”

And he growled in response, his tongue diving into her deeper, slower, more eager. The taste made her softer and more intense at the same time, as if her center opened more with each second, as if her body absorbed him, received him, claimed him without words.

But just at that moment… a wild instinct awoke in Fireheart.

Something that would make his night with Bluestar… an unforgettable night.