It took a long time to find the caravan she was looking for, but Zezot found it parked right outside Dawnstar. This city had always bothered her, but not for any logical reasons that she knew of.

Zezot shuddered, both from the city and the blistering cold, and turned to walk toward the caravan. It wasn't difficult for her to spot the lightest part of Kharjo's face fur, glowing under the moonlight. His fur blowed in the slight breeze and his fur puffed up against the cold, sticking out from his armor.

"Wait here," she told Lydia, barely glancing over her shoulder as she walked up to the caravan.

"Kharjo," she grabbed his shoulder from behind in greeting.

Kharjo turned, his ears back, but they perked at the sight of Zezot. He smiled and his eyes softened, "These sands are cold, but Khajiit feels warmness from your presence." His smile faltered a little, noticing the troubles darkening Zezot's eyes. "Troubles at home, friend?"

"The usual," Zezot muttered, grabbing Kharjo by the front of his armor, and leading him toward Dawnstar.

Kharjo swallowed roughly, letting himself be dragged toward the Windpeak Inn. "You are taking us somewhere warm, I trust?"

"You have no idea."

Those words themselves sent a flood of warmth through him, all the way to the tip of his tail, lingering in his stomach for a bit longer than he expected. The cold vanished as they entered the warm, mead-filled inn. Zezot led Kharjo past the front desk, dropping gold on the counter as she swept past the innkeeper and into their room.

She threw Kharjo against the wall, closing the door with her foot. His breath was hot in her ear as she left bite marks along his neck (which was difficult through his fur), his breath hitching with every bite. She felt his skin break under her teeth, but she knew that she didn't have to be careful with him.

They knew each other by this point.

Kharjo let out little purring sounds as her hands trailed down to roughly grab at him. Her other hand ran over his ears, tugging on them every so often as she moved to trap his mouth with hers. She silenced his cries as she began working his member. Her tongue caught his and they more or less fought for control of their mouths; it wasn't much of a competition seeing as how Zezot was in control from the beginning and Kharjo didn't seem to have the desire to actually win.

Zezot removed her hand from between his legs, causing him to whimper, to strip him of his armor. It fell to the floor with a heavy, unpleasant, clanking sound. Underneath the armor, were lots of muscles that he'd earned guarding the caravan. If someone didn't know they were there already, they could have been easily lost in his heavy winter fur. Once his clothes were on the floor, she quickly removed her own, less heavy armor. She threw her clothes into the same pile as Kharjo's, quickly paying attention to his obviously aching erection.

"You're so eager," Zezot observed, tracing her finger over the tip, causing Kharjo to hiss quietly.

"Khajiit likes what you do," he responded through gritted teeth, letting his head fall back against the wall.

Zezot smirked, grabbing his dick and mercilessly jerking her hand up and down. She enjoyed the helpless mewling coming from deep within Kharjo's throat as he was handled much too roughly, and yet, not roughly enough. She couldn't even tell if he wanted her to stop, or if he wanted more.

"You like that?" she asked, staring him in the eyes, though he didn't make much eye-contact since he could hardly keep his eyes open.

"Mm," he attempted a response, but ended up having to nod instead, his face flushed and his fur prickling.

Suddenly cutting off contact with Kharjo, the dunmer reached for her bag. She dug around for a bit before locating a long metal rod with leather straps attached to it. Kharjo was rutting against her leg, desperate for any sort of contact. His eyes widened at the object.

"What is that for?"

"What do you think?" She stepped into the strapped, pulling it up so that the metal rod rested against her crotch, rubbing a bit. "You didn't think I'd leave you wanting more this time; did you?"

Kharjo felt his words get stuck in his throat. He could only imagine what Zezot could do to him now. He wondered how she came upon such an object, but decided that subject could wait.

In a flurry of fur, and teeth, and claws, and nails they were on the bed, the Zezot pinning the Khajiit almost effortlessly, her muscles rolling beneath her skin. She was positioned behind her mate, rubbing his entrance with a lubricant she had made in her own alchemy lab. She inserted a finger into him, using it to pump in and out, stretching his eager ass. He arched into her, pushing back to try to get as much into himself as possible. She held him back.

"Not so fast now, pet," she murmured. "You're going to hurt yourself."

"This Khajiit does not care," Kharjo practically growled.

That was all that Zezot needed to hear to send her over the edge. She inserted another finger into him promptly, and then another, and began moving them in scissor-like motions, stretching him effortlessly. She spent no more time than was necessary with this, and lined up her cold, metal member with his hole that was open readily for her. Gripping his hip with one hand, and his tail in the other, she thrusted into him.

She pulled him into her in time with her thrusting, impaling him on her member. It must have reached further than she thought it would, because Kharjo was yowling with a mixture of ecstasy and agony. He was slack in Zezot's hands, allowing her to pound into him over and over again. She kept his tail in-hand, pulling on it to elicit some of the most pleasing sounds from Kharjo's mouth.

Kharjo was loud. If the entire inn couldn't hear him, Zezot would be very surprised.

"You're being quite the slut, don't you think?" she teased him. "The entire inn is going to know just how much you like being fucked by the Dragonborn."

Kharjo did not respond to this. He didn't think he could if he'd wanted to - he was too far gone.

It wasn't long before Kharjo lost it completely, spilling his load all over their rented bed. He collapsed, but Zezot rolled him over, tossing her member aside.

"It's my turn," she stated bluntly, sitting above his face.

He eagerly lapped at her own opening, leaving no spot untouched by his scratchy tongue. She thrusted against his mouth, unable to keep herself from trying to face-fuck him. She grabbed his head, her fingers grabbing at his fur, and pressed his face into her more as she thrusted and rolled her hips against his mouth.

His tongue scraping against her clitorus and down into her hole was an overwhelming sensation, and before she knew it, she was riding out an orgasm against Kharjo's mouth, pushing his face into herself with more force than before. Her thrusts were slower than before, and it was only a few moments before she removed herself from Kharjo.

They threw the dirtied bedding off of the bed, and lied down together.

"Where did you get that? Kharjo must know," he asked, his eyes full of curiosity and exhaustion.

"I smithed it myself," Zezot answered threw a yawn. She threw an arm over him and was almost asleep.

"Can you make more?"

"Count on it."