“Buongiorno amore mio, have a good night sleep?” she hummed as she climbed over me, her chest in my face, “H-had a dream about you” I told her, my face barely sticking out from her cleavage and partially covered by her chest fluff. She lowered her head, “Were you running?” she grinned, “I bet I was chasing you wasn’t I? My sweet little coniglio”
Almost killed by the order for unjust reasons, saved just in time. Ebon’s life just got a lot more interesting that night when the moon shined a deep velvet upon the forest.
Angelique the Were-cat demonstrates the validity of the old maxim: “The squeaky wheel gets the grease.”
