24
Gleb
“I know you should have seen my home before Sergei’s to make me look better, but know I will change, add, or get rid of anything you hate.
I will double anything you love—”
“Including you,”
Hannah says, snuggling against me.
“I’m sure I will love our home because you made it.”
I kiss her forehead before setting her down to unlock the mechanism.
She wanders in a circle, admiring the thick pine and spruce trees that create my shady doorstep.
When Sergei took me here as a kit, I knew I would claim this home as an adult.
I couldn’t resist the thick trees full of birds. Nothing like this exists on the central or northern grounds, just like my coastal home up north is unique compared to the rest.
“It’s a small jump,”
I say, leaping down the four-foot drop.
Hannah obediently steps into my arms instead of trying to gauge the depth of the dark opening with her weaker human eyes.
“Next are two steps, and then a straight path to the main entry crevice.”
“Omf! I found the steps,”
she replies with a giggle.
I reach behind me to turn on the spotlight I mounted on the side wall.
It shines horizontally to provide extra light on the wall.
I only stop here to pick up or set down tools, so my focus is on the hangers—not the stairs I memorized.
“Will you make me tools that match yours—like Sergei and Sydney?”
She asks as we walk down the narrow hallway.
“If you decide you want to join me in hunting, fishing, or whatnot.
Vera and Kaitlyn don’t carry weapons or tools because they help in other ways,”
I reply, trying to mask the hope in my voice.
One of the reasons I never pursued Patricika was that I didn’t want a mate who would outshine me in front of the other males.
Adam has the confidence to allow Patricika to take the lead, which is why he’s her dushevnayasvyaz and not me.
If Hannah’s path is a warrior like Patricika, then I will have to grow into the male for her.
“Not like a bow and arrow, or those nasty- looking knives—I think I’ve had enough knife play for a while,”
Hannah says, pointing to her ribs where her scar hides under her clothes.
“However, if you’re known for bartering fish, I’d like to contribute.
Maybe I won’t be the one to gut them, but I’ll help you catch them.”
My mate is perfect for me.
She wants to be my partner in all things—when neither of us had a partner or support system by birth.
It will take a while for us to figure out how to be a partnership, but that’s the fun of dushevnayasvyaz , isn’t it? In the dim light, my svet kamina’s hair sparkles like a candle.
She scatters light through my dark world and brightens my sour moods just by existing. I hope I can live up to her expectations…especially coming from Sergei’s gorgeous home.
At least my home is better than Artyom’s because he never cleared the stalagmites from the floor, making his visitors navigate around the mounds of frigid rock.
My parents or their parents cleared the rock stumps and mended the ceiling.
I’ve kept up with filing down the stalactite formations too.
Hannah doesn’t have to squeeze between rocks and the wall, dodge dripping rock formations, or worry one will fall on her head. If I were Vera, I’d be pissed.
“Okay, we’re here.”
I hate my anxious tone.
I should be proud of my home.
Everything inside I built with her in my mind and heart.
All males learn the lore of dushevnayasvyaz when they reach the age of choosing their three dyla weturanya in hopes of inspiring them to work hard and learn skills. Sergei hammered each skill into my brain so I could impress Hannah. Even though he should be grandfathering kits at his age, he never gave up waiting for his match to choose him at the chase.
I’m fortunate I didn’t have to wait.
“Oh Gleb,”
Hannah says after slipping through the entry crevice and turning on the light.
“It’s perfect! You’ve left the walls blank, so I can paint them.
The ceiling is smooth too.
Which crevice leads to which rooms?”
Phew! She didn’t mention that my baskets sit in piles on the floor instead of shelving units, or that they aren’t made with multicolored leather.
“Pantry is on the left with the butchery chamber leading off of it.
The bathing pool is straight back and our sleeping chamber is on the right.”
I chuckle as I lock the internal entry levers.
My mate made a direct path for the sleeping chamber, as I expected.
As soon as Sergei’s directive included waking up early, I knew we would retire to the furs early.
We have the rest of our lives to gaze at the stars.
“Gleb! It’s beautiful,”
Hannah squeals from the sleeping chamber.
“Do you like them? I couldn’t replicate what Denis did exactly, but I kind of like how the blue and purple came out,”
I reply when I join her.
She holds a polar bear fur I dyed with blackberries as a juvenile.
Denis must have drawn a short straw, because he was often left to watch me while Sergei hunted with the rest of the males.
We would make all sorts of crafts. His were exquisite pieces, with vibrant colors and patterns.
Mine were not.
“These blues and purples will go perfectly with the constellations I want to paint on the walls.
Do you have more dyes? Can we dye our bedding in our other homes like this?”
“Of course,”
I say, because I can’t deny her anything.
I have a vague recollection of what Denis did and no idea what tools or solutions he used beyond the berries.
Someone has got to know, right? “Maybe we will figure it out together.”
“Yes, we will,”
she replies as she approaches me for a kiss.
What starts as a few nips to her lips quickly blazes into a forest fire of heated lust.
“Take off your clothes before I rip them from you,”
I growl against her lips.
Hannah whips her shirt over her head and throws it onto the floor.
She reaches out and uses me for balance as she kicks off her boots, socks, and pants.
I feel ten feet tall when she leans on me for strength in all ways.
My perfect mate isn’t so independent that I can’t serve her. I can demonstrate how I’m on Earth just for her when she asks for help—even something as insignificant as holding her upright.
“You’re self-conscious about your home…well, I’m self-conscious about my…curves.
I’m thin.
I know.
No amount of eating or strength training will increase my bust or round out my hips. If there was a miracle cure I’ve tried it—or my mother tried it. This is my shape—”
“Which was made just for me,”
I interrupt.
“I love you, from your fiery hair to your incredibly soft toes.
I mean, how can you walk without tearing the skin?”
“So, if I trust you when you say you love my body,”
she says, twirling a lock of my chest’s fur between her fingers.
“Then you must stop looking so worried when I enter our homes.
I love them because they are ours.
Our love fills them with more luxuries than the gigantic mansions I grew up visiting. I don’t need fountains, glitter, or jewels embedded in the floor. I need you—your attention, your loyalty, your humor…”
Kisses frame her final phrases.
She wraps her legs around my waist when I lift her.
The room is small with our nest of furs taking up the bulk of the space.
I reach the edge in one stride, drop to my knees, and spread her out on the furs like a feast. She giggles when I kiss her belly and tries to curl into a ball when I lick her navel. My mate is ticklish, but fun and games aren’t on my mind—not when my cock screams for attention.
“Raise your arms over your head and keep your legs where I put them.”
“Or you will tie me down?”
Her eyes light up with mischief.
I run through all the material I could use to tie my naughty mate’s wrists, but nothing seems appropriate.
The sinew the Chuchunya uses for everything is too thin and sharp.
It will cut her tender flesh as she struggles against it.
I haven’t made leather straps, preferring to use my pelts for extra blankets.
If I do nothing else this niibin season, I’m making leather straps and stone bolts for the walls of our sleeping chambers.
“Don’t test me,”
I say with a deeper growl that I know makes her shiver with delight.
My mate must hear my words to soak me with her desire.
More than touches, kisses, or presents, my mate hungers for my words and knot.
Her squirming shakes her breasts enticingly.
I watch her skin erupt in bubbles and turn pink as she flushes with desire.
She moans when I dip to kiss each patch from her neck, down her breastbone, and stop at her ribs.
Ticklish laughter is not my goal…for now. I press openmouthed kisses along her jaw and co llarbone, nipping at the fluttering pulse on her neck. My fangs rasp up and down the artery, reminding her that she could easily be my prey.
She fails to keep still and digs her blunt nails into my shoulders.
Without straps, I can’t torture us, so instead, I relish the tugs of my fur as she uses me to anchor her.
Her hips grind against my abdomen as she searches for my cock to impale her.
I tilt my hips back, so she brushes air. She pushes my shoulders down to guide my mouth to her nipples as she arches her back, but I hold my head high. I watch her wiggle and quiver with arousal, dew collecting on the red hair between her legs as her petals darken.
My mate is gorgeous.
“Where do you need me?”
“My lips! No, my breasts! No, between my thighs! I don’t care as long as you do something.
Stop staring and take me,”
she wails.
“Let’s see if you can hold still…”
With a small nod, she reaches her hands over her head and grabs fists full of furry blankets.
Her pupils are blown so her eyes look dark as night against her pale face.
I waste precious seconds memorizing this moment when we will have thousands more like it in our lifetimes.
Can’t a male be grateful to have his female in his bed? My tongue swirls around each nipple until they plump to berries atop her undulating chest. She’s still with those wide eyes ingesting my every move, but her panting rattles her entire body. My kisses over her left hip bone and across the top of her furry mound steal the air from her completely.
“Such a sweet mate, to hold still, and allow her mate to worship her,” I praise.
I get a little whimper in response that hardens my body to granite.
“Svet kamina, hot and bright, light of my life.”
Her legs strain to open as wide as possible as I scoot down the furs.
I settle with my shoulders against her knees, rising on my elbows.
Lazy sweeps over my knuckles over her slit have her muscles twitching in anticipation.
The dance of her nipples as they bob on her chest hypnotizes me. Her scent calls to me. I knew she was perfect before. I didn’t know she could drive me crazy with her scent.
“I can’t resist,”
I whisper with a groan as my tongue dives between her folds.
Alternating flicks against her pearl and swipes up her entrance, I learn what makes her cry out in bliss.
My fingers run along her sensitive tissues to drive her orgasm.
I lap her honey and thirst for more. Her hips bounce as they chase my touches and run from them. She’s sensitive but quickly tires of one motion or pressure.
I must keep her guessing, so I chase her pleasure with no pattern or repeating of moves.
My tongue spears deep, rattling at her entrance to hit that spot inside her—the one that will push her orgasm to the deep recesses of her body.
I skate my thumbs over her pearl, knowing the rough callouses are more stimulating than my smooth tongue.
My love for her will burrow so deep, she will never get it out. I’ll be a part of her body—way before she births my kits.
“I can’t, I can’t—”
Her protests are strangled by a scream that sends pebbles scurrying down the walls.
Her vaginal walls squeeze my tongue, milking it for seed.
I rock my chin slowly to bring her down to earth and avoid making her too sensitive to knot.
She doesn’t settle, but instead, grabs my hair and pulls.
“There, there,”
I whisper as I rise to my knees.
I lean back so the light shines off my soaked beard and chest.
She watches me lick my fingers in delight.
“I know what you need.”
More like what I need as she lays with pliant limbs and a dazed look in her eyes like a doll waiting for me to play with her.
With one hand on her lower back, I lift her hips off the bed to align us.
My other hand guides my tip through the thick juices of her orgasm.
Her red, hungry flesh pulses with the remnants of pleasure I gave her with my tongue.
It yields much easier as I watch us join to the hilt. She’s stretched to my size and shape.
She’s mine.
I’ve got to watch myself enter her again.
“I will knot you soon,”
I whisper when she cries out.
“Yes, knot, yes, I’m too close.
I’m flying too high.
I need—”
“Me,”
I finish for her as I drop her hips onto the furs.
No more words as said as I seed her over and over again.
My knot doesn’t deflate until we’re exhausted and coated with sweat.
We’ll bathe in the morning…or maybe I’ll never let her bathe again. I co uld get used to our combined smell lingering on her skin.