The ashen tips of her tail tickled his chest, their gentle sting igniting more flames in his barrel and between his legs— it was so easy to fall into this with Rexanna again. Her soft voice and encouraging words spoke to his soul while her body— voluptuous or thin— heated his blood. Her movements, so simply sensual, aroused him with the smallest of movements— a flick of an ear, a drop of her gaze, a soft smile on her lips. It was natural. The Elephant couldn't resist.

So, with the permissive shift of her weight and breathy, aroused words of longing, he gave in. His muzzle rested on her hip for a moment longer, breathing in her scent while his lips brushed her skin, “Rexanna,” his voice was hoarse, lusty, around her name. And then the flames roared to high, the heat became to hot, and he lifted (carefully) onto her back.

—baby makin’—

He slipped down beside her, trying and failing to conceal the relief that lay beneath the elated satisfaction on his black-marked face. He had performed. It would be a lie to say that he hadn’t been worried, since the last time Rexanna had been beneath him, his stallion prowess had been lacking.

But not this time. He had been gentle, even quick, as the slender and worn body of his love had supported him. Steam rose in lazy wisps from his neck, but he was not drenched in sweat as their previous passionate embraces had left him. Those had been erotic and lustful affairs, this had been tender, affectionate, loving. This had been an apology and a promise wrapped in wordless whispers of devotion.

His muzzle traced along her lean neck, halting to lip and play with the long, silken, tangled strands of her mane. Part of him, a selfish part, wanted to demand that she come back to the Edge with him now. To forget about her son, about Ashamin (so complete was his current happiness that even that name did not dampen it), about her duties as head Thief and drag her to the cliffs with him.

But she had a son, his father, and a duty to the Basin. And he had Elsa, a woman who deserved either an explanation or an apology (or both). So, instead of demands, his lips parted and a warm rumble came, “Don’t take long coming to the Edge, my princess,” his pet name from their first night on the beach fell easily from his lips, “Or I’ll have to come get you from the Basin.” Half playfully, half seriously, he tugged on the tendrils of her mane as warm satiation erased any memory of his demons.

— My dear, but if I make the Pearly Gates

I’ll do my best to make a drawing of God and Lucifer,

a boy and girl,

An angel kissin’ on a sinner.