Tamara might not know it, but Bitsa had no intention of packing her away inside of him until she starts to spread the flavor of the otter's blood over his tongue and into her own fur as she's pressed firmly against the otter's body, who's breasts were just crammed against the back of the tiger's tognue and sent careening over the edge into the throat, which glutted on the prey inside squeezing and ripping the otter down inch by inch, as good a swimmer as it may be there was no swimming against the insistent gulps of the tiger's throat. Tamara would stills be outside the tiger's jaws enough that her arms could reach down to rub and stroke at the growling wriggling lump in the tiger's throat, should she so choose.