[How can Cater care about all of it--any of it--when jaws are closing around his neck? His breath pinches with so much more than pain as he curves inward, following the trace of Leona's claws against him. It doesn't matter that his clothing is all but shredded off of him. The blot coming off of Leona mixes so perfectly with the inky marks all along his own body--a fading patchwork of compliments begging to be refreshed. A well-fed beast was better than anything that could be written there, he's already decided. Surely, he had enough to give for all these mouths that needed feeding.
But the rest of them could wait. His own fingers claw into Leona, into his beautiful mane and his royal clothes. Cater moans, eyes fluttering. It didn't matter, did it, if that mouth came away bloody, if he took his jugular right from his throat? He'd work and he'd work and he'd work until their hunger was sated. And then, maybe, finally, so his own would be.]
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But the rest of them could wait. His own fingers claw into Leona, into his beautiful mane and his royal clothes. Cater moans, eyes fluttering. It didn't matter, did it, if that mouth came away bloody, if he took his jugular right from his throat? He'd work and he'd work and he'd work until their hunger was sated. And then, maybe, finally, so his own would be.]