His nose pressed directly into the cleft between her cheeks—still covered by that soaked tunic and those white cotton panties—but the sensation was unmistakable.
Warmth. Softness that gave way like risen dough. The faint scent of sweat mingled with something distinctly feminine—not perfume or flowers, but the raw musk of arousal that clung to the damp fabric.
It was earthy, slightly salty, with an undertone that was almost sweet in its honesty, like skin heated from within.
He could feel the texture of her panties against his lips.
Her tail lifted up and rested on his head, relaxed as it perked there.
The slight dampness where her body had soaked through the cotton.
The way the fabric clung to her skin, outlining every curve, every dip, molding itself into the crease where her thighs met her sex.
He could smell it—her tightly slit pussy.
Not strongly. Just a faint, intimate musk that made his mouth water and his cock throb painfully in his pants.
