The snow leopard beastman had completely surrendered to the fever. His sharp claw-tips caught the collar of Hana's tactical top, and with one brutal, impatient jerk, the heavy fabric tore straight down the middle.
Buttons and reinforced seams snapped apart, exposing her smooth, flushed chest to the warm, ozone-heavy air of the generator vault.
Ren didn't wait. His head dipped violently, his hot tongue sweeping across her collarbone in broad, ravenous licks, tasting her sweat and drinking in her scent like a dying man at an oasis.
His sharp fangs scraped her skin—not enough to draw blood, but hard enough to leave deep, red marks of ownership that made Hana's breath hitch sharply.
"Ren..." Hana gasped rasply, her hands slamming against his broad, muscular shoulders to brace herself against the humming generator casing.
