Her hands framed his face and her forehead pressed to his and her lips landed everywhere, his mouth, his cheek, his mouth again, the corner of his lips, his mouth for the third time, rapid and artless and multiplying until they stopped being individual presses and became a sustained barrage delivered by a woman who had forgotten she was supposed to be composed.
Iris's voice sounded all of a sudden. "If you ask me..."
Ayame's lips came back with a loud sound, "I didn't ask you."
Iris continued without pause, shrugging dismissively. "It was like a parlor trick, I don't know why you went into heat." The flat stare she aimed at the samurai wrapped around Quinlan was pure, undiluted Iris. "Your dwarven patrons will love it, though."
Ayame turned just enough to send Iris a grin so smug it could have peeled paint, kissed Quinlan once more with a loud smack, and dropped from his arms in a single fluid motion that landed her on the grass without a sound.
