"Phobos! That tickles." I giggle feebly shrinking back leaning away from his teasing mouth only to be dragged to his burly tattooed chest by his broad palms. His nose tenderly nudges the nape of my neck, canines nipping and sucking at my flesh with playfulness.
My male does not cease his actions no matter how many times I request him to pause merely because we are by the stove. It is not a secure setting to play in but he does not care doing as he pleases with me.
This has become a daily morning routine for us, Phobos standing firmly behind me forelimbs confining my being between his muscular flesh and the counter whilst examining me cook and me luxuriating in the warmness he bestows me with. He relishes it, the way I prepare our meals, the way I aim at the dishes and converse of their names or how they are made. My passion he finds fascinating.
