Hello hello hello!

I didn't expect to get this update done today, being my birthday and all, but here it is: 5,473 words! Kind of ironic that this was originally slated to be a short lemony insert, and is now my longest chapter...

As per usual, this is my apparently trademark combination of jarring reality and steamy sexual scenes. Still not sure if that's a good thing or not, but it keeps getting mentioned, so I guess that's my thing?

Anyway! Enough numbers and natter. Onto the warnings.

This chapter contains both storyline and a lemon, which will be separated from the storyline with a warning in bold. If you don't want to read it, it isnt pivitol for the story, and anything important that occurs after the fact will be edited to teen standards and posted at the beginning of the next chapter.

Before the explicit content, there is some heavy petting, so this chapter should still be considered NSFW. There's also a tiny bit of psychological warfare right at the beginning, in a nightmare, so that might be a bit uncomfortable. Read at your own risk.

Finally, Lasagne. Of course I'm playing with your emotions! What kind of a writer would I be if I didn't? Thank you again for the review and I'm glad it has you hooked! Look forward to your next one!

Now, enjoy!

EMOTIONAL TIES

Memories whisper through Shadow's mind as he dozes, the combination of physical and emotional fatigue resulting in a brief if unintentionally premature return to slumber. Voices and faces he won't recall upon waking toy with his sanity, bending this unconscious reality to their will as the phantom ruby had seven months ago.

Recognising the signs of a false reality, he demands to awaken, but the power to rouse seems not to be his. Instead, darkness descends, dragging the ebony hedgehog deeper into the black pit opening beneath his feet.

Maria's screams echo across the vast emptiness above as the void swallowing him somehow feels oppressive, an invisible pressure crushing his chest as dark tendrils snake their way into his nostrils and drag at his forehead. They pull him further into the depths below, down towards the flames that lick at his ankles and melt his shoes and fur to the flesh beneath.

Down towards Hell, the resting place of the Damned.

Tan lips part in equal parts worry and fear, calling out for the friend he already knows to be dead, only for the tendrils to take advantage of the newly opened cavern and slither inside his mouth. They fill his trachea and squeeze down both bronchi without bias, their gelatinous masses filling even the smallest bronchioles and air sacs as they morph to fit the stolen space, forcing him deeper into the depths from within.

Panic settles in and he scrabbles at the darkness for purchase. The edges of the dark void come alive and recoil at his touch, flexing and squirming away until gloved fingers can no longer hold on and he plunges down into-

Crimson irises snap open as Shadow lurches up from the backrest, a hand grasping at the fluff of his chest as his lungs burn, desperate to flood every crevice within with oxygen. The bottomless pit is no more but still he cannot see; his peripheral vision is black, sharp focus remaining internalised as his chest heaves.

All concept of time is lost beneath hormonal instinct. He feels nothing beyond internal turmoil, every fibre of his being overwhelmed with sensory information. Skeletal muscles quiver beneath his pelt as adrenaline and fear course through his system, setting his skin ablaze with the remnants of fabricated flame.

The pulse thrumming in his ears is perhaps the only reassuring consequence of the nightmare, an indication he's still alive. He closes his eyes, swallows hard and focuses on this rapid rhythm, willing it to settle and in turn, slowly brings his associated heightened state of emotional arousal down to more natural levels.

As adrenaline is metabolised he calms, the fire beneath his skin simmering to a residual warmth, and it is then he notices the foreign touch; a bare hand clutching his own gloveless palm tightly, another cupping the back so it is engulfed by their contact. Sweat connects them, a moist warmth sticking their furs together uncomfortably, but still a chill shudders through his spine as reality returns thick and fast.

His eyes dart to the contact and the fuchsia hue of fur is a jolting reminder of his new circumstances, of the female he's recently impregnated. Pheromones already in the air suddenly flood his senses, causing a lightheadedness he refuses to succumb to, the ebony instead closing his eyes once more to steady himself against their onslaught.

I marked her, didn't I? Or was that not reality? The question is difficult to focus on as he feels his body react to her scent, to the quickening of his pulse and the drying of his mouth. He struggles even more than usual to separate memory from fiction under its influence. And if I did, why is her scent gaining strength?

With his physical symptoms of pheromone intoxication still getting worse, he looks to the full-length windows as a distraction. The sky is torn by deep crimson scars as the sun rises, glistening off the metallic facades and painting the settlement in a blood-red hue. Another shudder wracks his frame as he remembers Hell, of the pit of despair his Human caretakers fifty years prior feared.

He can't help but think they'd see a dark omen in that sky, one they'd have projected onto him as an abomination of nature. His skin smarts in memory of the metallic muzzle he used to wear, of the heavy chains pinning his arms behind his back, of the glint of needles and the icy chill of sedatives seeping through his veins. His own personal Hell.

And for that moment, everything feels so unjust.

It angers him, that his emotional burden should still be so great he can't sleep, surely a Chaos-given right of all living things. It angers him that a select handful of humans could be so cruel but be unknown to the general population beyond the ARK, anonymity and association with GUN protecting them from the retribution of natural-born Mobians or even their own kind.

Humanity had shown its true colours that fateful day on the ARK, a disregard for life he still finds hard to forgive the species for.

It takes a few seconds to remember the memory in question isn't real, but fabricated by the Professor in a senile state. This only strengthens his current distaste for the human species, as if the Professor - an intelligent man capable of objective consideration - had been susceptible to distorted thinking, then Humanity's flaws must be as absolute and undeniable as any Mobian and proof of equality between species.

A squeeze of his hand brings him back to the present, out of his rumination and entirely back to his senses. Tiredness drags at his eyelids as he begins to regard this catastrophic reasoning with a learned scepticism, and the truth of Humanity is easy to identify.

Despite how they acted as God, they were not. Flaws exist, but not everyone wishes to see the world crumble beneath their feet. Maria would not want to see Earth - Mobius, as he's learned his own kind call the planet - decimated in response to her death.

Her dream had been to return one day, to be healthy enough to enjoy it, to see the planet thriving. Death wouldn't have changed her wish for him to see the same, and regardless he can't bring himself to see it destroyed with the knowledge he now possesses, with Amy is carrying their urchin.

His urchin.

For all the sins of Earth and those that walk upon hit, retribution cannot come at his hand. There is too much at stake now, too much Shadow cares for. His role in destruction has expired, replaced by a guardianship bestowed on him by Maria herself and enforced by Amy's affections.

He swallows hard and looks back to the hands that caress his fingers and massage his palm, the small circles she draws on his skin grounding his unstable emotions in the present. With all other thoughts banished, the realisation Amy just witnessed him surfacing from a nightmare hits him like a truck; embarrassment flushes through his muzzle and touches the tips of his ears, and he presses his lips into a fine line.

While it was likely Abraham had witnessed the event during his childhood on the ARK, to his knowledge no other still-living human from the space station, nor any Human or Mobian he's met since, has ever him fearful, let alone witnessed him awaken in fear from a nightmare.

Sonic might even still believe he doesn't sleep at all.

It's a thought that would've been entertaining at any other time, but now barely scratches the thick, emotional shell he's weaving around himself, masking the residual emotions in disinterest. He needs to look at Amy to judge her response, but the sheer level of courage required to do so takes time to cumulate.

When he does look, he expects fear or uncertainty. To his surprise, however, concern is the dominant emotion as her irises dance across his face. The flat expression he's drawn into place is obviously doing it's job as silence stretches between them, his mood masked almost too well, because she keeps staring at him.

For Shadow, the interaction turns into a battle of wills; focusing on her feminine features and soft lips revitalizes his own response to her heady scent, and his mind clouds over.

He focuses just past her to the plain white wall as he uses the ambient noise around them as a distraction. The apartment complex is awake and buzzing gently beyond the walls, early risers heading to gyms and shift workers off to minimum-wage jobs. The familiarity is soothing, settling a calm over him, and makes him crave coffee.

"Shadow?" The soft, insistent voice of his mate cuts the air. He looks to her on impulse and immediately regrets it; Amy's quills are askew, flattened on the side she slept on and in disarray the other, both comical and accentuating the soft lines of her face at once. He barely notes the wavering uncertainty of her eyes, entirely lost in a fog of pheromones and arousal she obviously isn't struggling with.

What in Chaos' name is wrong with me? No answer comes, and he can only assume it has something to do with Marking her, something he's yet to learn. He tries to recall any mention of heightened sexual sensitivity in males after Marking but his thoughts won't obey, images of their previous intimate encounters and the associated pleasure all they can muster.

Not able to speak through such intense arousal and unwilling to end up leaning in to ravage her supple lips so soon after the jarring nightmare, he shakes his head and looks away from her in an attempt to control himself.

The realisation they seem to have swapped roles comes as he closes his eyes and rubs firmly between then with his free hand to dispel the tension building there. If this was what it felt like to be a female in Heat, it doesn't surprise him women had flings in the alleys behind clubs with men they just met; if doing so returned him to his senses, he would gladly do the same, and he cannot fathom how any female made it through a Heat season without getting pregnant.

I need a distraction. Without one, he's going to jump the fuschia the next time she opens her mouth.

Abruptly withdrawing his hand from her own, he stands and heads to the kitchenette, opening the spare mug cupboard only to pause in surprise. It's full of dry pasta, rice and noodles, no ceramic in sight. Amy must have moved them to another cupboard while putting away the groceries.

A sense of dread starts playing host in his consciousness. He closes it with unnecessary care and tries another to be greeted with more dry good, the raw materials of flours, sugars, bicarbonates and yeast. "Talk to me, Shadow. Please." The concern he'd identified in Amy's face is easy to hear in her voice but he ignores it, his search for the mugs monopolising his consciousness.

He closes that cupboard with less care and yanks open the nearest drawer. Cutlery and utensils are his reward, but the teaspoons are useless without a mug, actively mocking of his failure simply by existing. Closing it firmly, he tries another cupboard, only to come face to face with crockery and pyrex dishes.

Not bothering to close that one, he tries another: more dishes and mixing bowls. Another is crockery and serving dishes, ceramics but not mugs. An unexplained panic causes him to feel nauseous, and he yanks open another drawer just as the fuschia speaks again. "I want to help-"

"Help?" His tone is sharp but he doesn't care, nor does he care when he ears flatten to her head and her features drop into something closer to fear. "Please inform me how moving the mugs is helping, Rose. Your logic eludes me."

Her innocent reorganisation of the kitchen has pressed on a nerve he didn't know existed, creating a heightened sensitivity to external stimuli he can't seem to curb. He pivots to the sink, drops to a crouch and yanks open the cupboard below, glaring at the cleaning supplies within for a couple of seconds before slamming it shut so abruptly the unit's veneer cracks on impact.

He stares at it dumbfounded as excess force causes the door to shudder outwards, opening just an inch or two before it settles with a soft creak. For whatever reason, it's the last straw for Shadow. A growl slips past his lips as he straightens to kick the offending object in frustration.

"They're in the island cupboard with double doors. It's the only one they'd all fit in." Her speech stops his strike just shy of the broken veneer, the silence that follows heavy as trepidation rolls off her in waves. He doesn't need to look at her to sense the fear in her tone, or imagine the tightness of her muscles in response to his aggression.

Shame for overreacting flows through his veins, all his emotions bleeding out to leave exhaustion in their wake. Shadow can't bring himself to speak as he returns his left foot to the floor, nor can he look at her before crouching in front of the kitchen island cupboard and opening both doors simultaneously. He breathes a sigh of relief when he's met with several shelves of familiar mugs, all neatly lined up for his perusal, and he takes a mug with measured care.

"I do just want to help." The soft voice barely registers as he gently closes the cupboard and straightens to place it on the counter. He snags the kettle in silence, pivoting to the sink to fill it in calming fluidity, a familiar and reassuring morning ritual. Water flows into the spout to the minimum line before he cuts it off, the kettle clicks softly upon returning to its housing, and a flick of the switch starts the gentle hiss as water begins to boil.

Blissful routine. If only it could last forever.

Shadow licks his lips when he hears her stand from the sofa, her bare feet first muffled by carpet, then a light clicking of short claws on tiles as she reaches the kitchenette. He refuses to look at her and stares at the kettle, sure she's about to berate him as Towers always did when he lost his composure, and shame reddens his ear tips because he cares what she thinks.

Despite his recent emotional rollercoaster, the heaviness of her pheromones quickly overtakes his inhibitions, caressing his nostrils and breathing a jitter back into his muscles long before she comes to a stop beside him. His claws tap irritatedly on the kitchen countertop as the silence draws out between them, an attempt at ignoring her as bubbles form within the clear pyramid.

He wants her to get on with it and leave him be, let him be pissed with himself in peace away from the alluring scent she seems so oblivious of. Instead she loiters nearby as the boiling start to gain traction, the edges of the water within the kettle starting to bubble furiously, and speaking only once a few minutes of silence has passed between them.

"I can't help if you won't talk to me." She's so close her breath warms the air around his face, and her scent… the dense, almost floral scent is overwhelming his senses. He can feel the arousal warming his veins and skimming through his muscles before pooling in his groin.

He itches to hold her, to caress her body and make her groan, to nibble her delicate skin before thrusting himself deep inside her. None of these desires feel like his own, but he's a slave to them, his only saving grace that he's managed not to look at her.

An advantage he loses when a soft laugh escapees her lips; its genuine and carefree, unexpected enough to draw his gaze, and his addled senses accentuate the beauty before him as she smiles sadly. "This relationship started so weird, didn't it? It's not surprising I barely know you, but I want to." Green irises shimmer with emotion as her smile widens to something more friendly. "Maybe we could go on a date tonight?"

Dating is the last thing on his mind as she reaches out and touches his face, the gentle stroking of her fingers leaving a trail of fire along his muzzle and jaw. Her lips move, but he can't hear her as her thumb brushes against the corner of his mouth, dry skin quivering beneath her touch as the thought of pinning her to the wall and ravaging her dominates his thoughts.

Unable to resist any longer, he crushes his lips into hers as he grips her hip and he turns her with him, pushing her up against the dented fridge with unbridled desire. Crimson irises lock with emeralds as his hand sweeps up her jacket to her breast, which he massages firmly.

A grin curves his lips in the kiss when her eyes flutter closed and a soft moan escapes her lips. She might be more in control than before, but she's horny as hell now Shadow's taken the initiative. Her lips part hungrily when his tongue begs entry, her breath coming hot and fast on his face whenever they catch their breath.

He revels in the deep groan of desire she emits when her jacket is unzipped almost all the way, releasing her torso to the cool air and her breasts to his continued pleasuring. He encapsulates one in his bare hand almost immediately and roughly fondles its mass. The nipple hardens and rubs against his calloused palm, sending shudders through her as he ravages her mouth, leaving no corner unexplored amidst the burning desire to own her.

Then a palm presses to his chest, forcing him to break the kiss as their eyes meet once more. Amy's flustered, her usually tan muzzle almost the same shade as her fur in places, humour on her lips as she whispers breathlessly. "You know this isn't a date, right?"

Recapturing her lips with a soft growl, Shadow presses his hips into hers, moaning as the tip of the member protruding from his pouch rubs against her soft jacket. He has to suppress a snarl when he's pushed away again, his free hand coming up to her headquills and pulling them back roughly to communicate his displeasure with her teasing, only for her intense gaze to catch him off guard.

Both breathe heavily into the space between them as his hold on her quills loosens, uncertain if she's about to withdraw entirely after that show of aggression. He searches her features for disgust or terror but is met only with neutral intensity, and when she speaks her tone is so sincere it sends a shudder through his spine. "I mean it, Shadow. I want to get to know you. To understand you."

Amy smiles softly, entwining her fingers with his chest fur before gripping it possessively. "That means talking about things that make us uncomfortable as well as… you know, what I hope this is leading up to…" He can't help but snort at her continued bashfulness, the tension melting between them as his own muzzle quirks into a soft smile.

He carefully brushes his hand through her headquills, silently thankful for her acceptance of his character as he smooths out those he's ruffled, wording his response carefully. Their relationship almost seems volatile, yet he can't shake the feeling all of that instability comes from him and his skewed emotions.

Perhaps opening up to her could benefit the family they've begun together? "I have not spoken of it with anyone before, but…" She meets his gaze as he pauses, and he can only hope his uncertainty isn't as obvious to her as it is to him. It's been a long time since he's felt nervous and not wanted to bury it beneath false bravado.

"I will endeavour to do so with you, Amy." A light frown develops on his face, one she mirrors almost instantly, though he disregards it as simple mimicry. "I don't wish to jeopardise what is developing between us."

Featherlight fingers stroke his cheek in affection as she whispers. "I promise to do the same, because I don't want to lose you either." He focuses on her features to see the smile gracing her muzzle and the pinkness building at its edges before she continues. "In the spirit of openness, I… liked it when you called me your Rose. It was…" She looks nervous as the last of her words are forced out. "No one's ever called me 'theirs' before…"

A corner of his muzzle quirks into an alluring smirk. He continues to stroke her headquills, claws lightly grazing her scalp as his fingers slide slowly through their length. "Consider it committed to memory, my Rose. What else may I do to please you?"

EXPLICIT CONTENT BEYOND THIS POINT

The provocative smile that forms on Amy's lips sends a pang of desire straight through his abdomen, then he's pulled back into a kiss by the chest fluff she's still gripping, her own need evident in the force of which she does so; his chest crushes into her breasts and his member grinds into her hip, both their mouths opening in silent pleasure before being filled with each other's tongues.

The fight for dominance begins anew as tongues wrestle for the advantage, slickening lips and drawing gasps from both peach muzzles. Sharp canines nip at sensitive flesh, hands roam across bare fur and whines of pure lust echo off the walls of the apartment, punctuated by the occasional complaint of the fridge's plastic coating as it takes their abuse.

After mere minutes that feel like a lifetime, Amy's lithe body goes limp against the fridge, her tongue bowing to his as she bares her neck in submission. He wastes no time in claiming his victory, releasing her lips only to nip and lick down the sensitive skin, the shudders that cascade through her spine adding to his arousal.

He presses his muzzle into her neck and breathes her sensational scent so deeply, his engorged member slips entirely from its sheath with a guttural snarl, his pleasure enhanced by the soft whimper of need in his ear. Shadow's entire world is now this beautiful woman and her scent, his only objective being making her produce more of it.

One hand continues to caress her breast as the other firmly traces down her bared torso, lean abdominal muscles quivering beneath his touch as her arms wrap around his neck and tilts her head back against the fridge.

Half-lidded emerald orbs regard him lustfully as she hangs off him, her hips bucking restlessly in anticipation of what is to come. Her sweat-coated quills stick to the cool plastic behind her, the individual spines dislodged from their bundles and in disarray around her face only adding to her appeal, to his sexual desire.

Holding her gaze, he finally slips his hand past the waistband of her sweats, straight into her panties.

She gasps as bare fingers come into contact with her heated groin. His erection throbs, begging him to rip her clothes off and fuck her until he cums inside her hot, moist walls, but he pushes the desire down and curls two fingers inside her instead.

They moan in unison and she raises a leg to wrap around his hip, giving herself a solid purchase and him better access. Still they hold each other's gaze, making the intensity they're sharing all-encompassing as they hold that position, entwined by sweat and appendages on the cusp of unadulterated pleasure.

Then Shadow starts thrusting his fingers into her, curling them into her walls to feel the thick muscles quake beneath his touch. Amy screams in his ear at the sudden cascade of pleasure within her, a gasp for breath follows every thrust into her depths and a squeak of pleasure accompanies each slap of his palm into her clitoris. Short claws dig into his shoulders as she clings to him, the hot lines of pain blurring with his building libido seamlessly, urging him to continue.

He adds a third finger and plunges them into her as hard and fast as the limited space in her pantied will allow, his own breath coming hot and rapid in her neck as she writhes beneath him. A shuddering moan escapes his own throat as she soaks his digits with her feminine fluids, his crotch burning in excitement, his penis twitching in anticipation of entering her.

Her breath hitches and then he feels it, the rhythmic contraction of her inner walls as she cries out in pleasure, her walls constricting his digits so tight he's forced to work harder to keep them moving. Cum gushes from her pussy, a wet slicking filling the apartment as it floods his hand and her panties, soaking through to her sweatpants.

Shadow can't contain the deep snarl of arousal at the mess, his mate squeezing and soaking his fingers long after her climax has subsided. He cries diminish to whimpers of overstimulation as she clutches him for support, her dripping cunt hot and satiated, her afterglow a euphoria.

He's unable to stop himself as he drags her sweatpants and panties down to her ankles. His soiled fingers drip excess sexual fluid onto the floor tiles as they draw her other leg to his hip, then he presses himself forwards to pin her to the fridge once more, tan muzzles meeting in a frenzied and sloppy kiss as his erection rubs between her vaginal lips.

Soaked in moments, his length throbs in arousal as her juices lubricate him. No longer contained by her panties, her cum flows freely down his balls and splatters on the floor, but neither hedgehog notices as lips lock and bodies grind, fur blurring together in need and sweat.

No longer able to wait, he pulls back just long enough to line up his throbbing cock with her femininity and plunges deep inside her walls.

His gasp is closer to a cry of passion as she engulfs his length. He's forced to pause, pressing his forehead to hers so hard it hurts as a distraction from the overwhelming pleasure engulfing his length. She's so wet Shadow can barely hold himself together, and when he moves the stimulation is so overwhelming he daren't open his eyes, forcing Amy to recapture his lips as he thrusts.

She devours his whimpers and moans, replacing them with her own as her opening dribbles cum to the floor, the slick of her juices punctuating his every movement. Hands roam through fur and claws scratch at skin, moans and grunts of pleasure shuddering from both bodies in ecstasy, neither caring who might see or hear.

When finally able to open his eyes, Amy is the picture of a submissive goddess beneath him, her quills entirely in disarray and her muzzle is as red as her eartips, breasts barely obscured by her unzipped jacket as they jiggle with each thrust. Her mouth is partly open as she gasps for breath, one hand gripping his quills tightly as the other scratches fresh tracks in his back, drowning in the pleasure he's giving her.

The ebony's pace becomes more erratic as his climax starts to build, desperate for release into the writhing female beneath. Her internal walls are tightening as her own release nears, and it's too much to endure for long. He's so close, and his dick is so hard its painful, each thrust dragging him closer to his peak.

With one last attempt at plunging her into bliss first, he takes her hands and pins them either side of her head, staring down into her equally lust-addled eyes with a dominant, almost malicious grin curling his lip. Then he tightens his grip on her wrists and pounds into her with a sudden spurt of energy, as hard and fast as possible.

Just as he wants, Amy can't hold herself back.

Her eyes roll back into her head before they squeeze shut, her mouth widening into a silent scream as her head leans back into the fridge veneer. Her inner walls spasm so strong and fast as she cums so hard, he can't stop himself tumbling down his own cliff.

Shadow buries his face in her neck and grunts in time with the delicious contractions of pure ecstasy raging within his groin. Reams of thick semen pump from his length, filling every crevice inside her with his seed and claiming her again that season.

Their combined fluids squelch and dribble out of her soaking lips as his shuddering thrusts begin to slow, and all too soon the sensations subside entirely, leaving a contented fatigue in their wake. Amy's shivering legs start slipping from his hips and he begrudgingly moves to support her better, holding her to him and cupping her rear as she becomes little more than a deadweight against his chest.

Unwilling to do much else, Shadow sinks to the floor and rests back against the kitchen island, cradling her fragile female frame in his lap as she buries her muzzle in his neck. Though she ends up straddling him, kneeling on the tiles with his spent member still deep inside her, she does little more than tiredly nuzzle his throat and chin when he resumes stroking her headquills, their heavy breathing the only sounds in the silent apartment.

His cheek resting against her temple, his unfocused gaze ends up on the ceiling fan as his body bathes in the afterglow, the chill floor tiles rapidly sapping the excess heat from his bare thighs and buttocks. His enjoys the blissful lack of thoughts and anxiety, until her words come back to him so suddenly his hand stills in her quills.

The memories regarding his creation and upbringing are so newly remembered, he hasn't had an opportunity to share them with another before, but the fabricated memory of Maria's demise has always been his burden, his reason to continue to exist in her stead on Mobius, to see life bettered through his employment by GUN.

Would sharing the burden diminish her memory? Would it detract from the sacrifice she made to see him survive? Moreover, was that memory even close to the reality, or was it manipulated entirely to see him hate Mankind and carry out the Professor's insane revenge?

And if that is the case, what actually happened that day aboard the ARK?

Lethargically straightening in his lap, Amy blocks his line of sight with the fan and drags his mind back to the present, repressing a gasp of overstimulation as his flaccid member slips out of her when she shifts in his lap. A satisfied smile greets him as he focuses on her face, her cheeks still flushed a gentle pink beneath the tan of her muzzle and pelt damp with sweet-smelling sweat.

She leans in and presses a chaste, lingering kiss to his lips before straightening up in his lap, flinching very slightly as tired muscles likely complain before she stretches. Lean muscle remaining from her days in the Resistance defines her thin figure as her arms raise above her head, giving an amazing view of her smooth abdomen and small, pert breasts for a few seconds.

Her smooth lines and petite proportions are pleasing to behold, causing an appreciative smirk turns up the corner of his muzzle. He's quietly grateful for the reduction in potency of her pheromones copulation has caused, allowing him to appreciate her form rather than a burning need to pound her into oblivion.

A shiver spreads through her spine as she glances down, and his gaze follows her to mess of fluids they've made. Amy cringes at the splatters on the tiles as he studies the volume of semen and vaginal juices melding their groins together, calmly marvelling at how much of it there is and wondering how much higher the water bill's going to be this month with all this extra showering.

At least, calmly until someone knocks on the door.