Heat from the Chair

1. Prologue

The fire had settled into a low, steady glow that painted the stone of the hearth in wavering amber. Mara sat deep in the armchair, the old leather warm where her body had pressed it for hours. Orion’s weight lay across her lap and thighs, dense and living, the thick orange ruff of his coat rising and falling with each slow breath. Outside, frost had etched the window glass in pale, branching lines; the cold stayed on the other side of the pane. Inside, only the fire and the dog’s heat reached her skin.

She had pushed the sweater up to her ribs some time earlier. The air moved across her bare stomach and the undersides of her breasts, but his fur closed over the rest of her, heavy and insulating. One of her hands rested in the dense coat at the side of his neck, fingers sunk past the outer layer into the softer underfur. She could feel the steady pulse there against her palm. His chin rested on her shoulder. Each time he exhaled, the breath stirred the fine hairs at her collarbone and left a brief, damp warmth that cooled and then warmed again when he breathed the next time.

Orion shifted. The movement rolled his chest against her belly. She felt the broad, solid press of him, the way his body adjusted to keep contact. One foreleg draped over her hip; the paw rested, heavy and still, against the outside of her thigh. She did not move it. The claws were blunt and warm where they touched her through the thin fabric still covering that leg. Her other hand slid lower, following the line of his side until her fingers met the edge of the sheath. The skin there was soft, warmer than the rest of him. She stroked once, slowly, and felt him thicken against her knuckles. A low sound moved in his chest, more vibration than noise, traveling up through her hand and into her arm.

She lifted her hips a fraction so the sweater rode higher. The motion brought the bare skin of her lower belly fully against the dense fur of his chest. He licked the hollow of her throat, the tongue broad and deliberate, once, then again, the strokes long enough that she felt the drag of it from the base of her neck to the underside of her jaw. Salt and the clean animal scent of him filled the small space between their faces. She turned her head so the next pass of his tongue met the corner of her mouth. He stayed there, licking slowly, while her hand continued its careful work between them. The sheath had pushed fully forward. She closed her fingers around the length of him, the skin hot and slightly damp at the tip already. Each slow stroke drew a thicker pulse of that dampness against her palm.

Orion’s hips made a small, instinctive shift. The motion pressed him more firmly into her hand. She guided him lower, past the edge of the remaining fabric at her hips, until the blunt heat of him rested against the inside of her thigh. For several breaths she held him there, feeling the way he twitched, the way the wetness at the tip cooled on her skin and then warmed again when more of it welled. Her free hand stayed in his ruff, holding him close enough that his tongue could still reach her mouth if she turned toward it. She did. The next lick caught her lower lip. She opened for it without hurry, letting the broad stroke move across her tongue while her other hand positioned him.

When she shifted her hips the second time, he slid into her in one long, slow push. The stretch was immediate and thorough; she felt every inch of the thickness opening her, the heat of him filling the place that had been only cold air a moment before. She stayed still once he was seated, breathing against the side of his muzzle, her fingers tight in the fur at his neck. Orion panted softly. Each exhale brushed her cheek. His front paws adjusted on the arms of the chair; one settled higher, the weight of it resting across her shoulder. She rocked once, a small motion that drew him deeper. The sound that left her was quiet, caught against his coat. She felt the answering flex of his hips, the way he pushed forward to meet her and then held there, the base of him pressed flush.

She kept the pace slow. Each rise of her hips was deliberate, each descent longer than the last, so that she felt the full drag of him inside her before she took him again. The chair creaked under the combined weight. Firelight moved across the orange of his fur and the pale skin of her stomach where it was not covered by him. Wetness gathered and slipped between them; she felt it cool on her inner thigh and then warm again when his next thrust pushed more of it out. His tongue returned to her throat, licking in time with the slow rock of her body. She closed her eyes and let the sensation stack: the dense heat of his coat against ...