…The pair found themselves resting on the pillow pile once again, just enjoying each other’s presence. With Errina laying on top of him, Zanrie took the opportunity to ease his hands underneath her shirt, and slowly lift them until her top was up and over her head. As they returned to their embrace, Zanrie lazily lifted his head enough to peer over the arch of the other’s back, just now noticing a mark that he hadn’t seen before. He slowly traced it before speaking. "...Errina, what is this?"
Before I answer this, the mark in reference is this;
tramp stamp bitches
Errina was already comfortable enough as it was, head resting in the crook of the other’s neck. She hummed softly when she felt the other’s hands slip under her shirt, and travel up at an achingly slow pace. As they moved, Errina shuddered, not used to feeling hands anywhere near there. She sat up just a little when it needed to be tugged over her head, before resting back down and tucking back into her mate’s neck.
She felt him shift but thought nothing of it. That is.. until he asked a question.
“…Errina, what is this?”
She felt what he had traced, and melted just a little at the touch, tucking her face further into Zanrie’s neck, feeling her cheeks warm. That mark hadn’t been touched in a very, very long time. What is was, however, was a much more complicated story that Errina didn’t plan on sharing yet, even with Zanrie.
“…A tramp stamp,” She murmured, lifting her head just enough to catch Zanrie’s expression. “..er, well… kinda. It was burned on there.. with a brander…” She hesitates a little before continuing. “…I don’ exactly respond well to ink the locals use.” A lie, but it wasn’t obvious at all, the local tattooist was quite sketchy anyways…
