“Breeding hole’s okay, I think. It just sounds kind of dirty. But I like it.” “So dirt is good, in this case?” he asked, sounding lightly amused, and I pretended to glare out the window at him. “Keep stroking, mister.” “Anything you desire,” he promised, and I felt it echo inside my mind. He really did mean it when he said that. It wasn’t just the trite thing some human man would say to get into my pants—it was his truth, laid bare to me, and it might have scared me, if I weren’t so horny.
