21. Bikar
BIKAR
Bambi’s face is as happy as her scent while she regales me about the older female who was kind to her after her mam died.
My little one glossed over her mam’s death, and I did not pry.
She will talk to me of such things when she is ready.
Instead, Bambi tells me tale after tale about how this Mrs. Cavanaugh introduced her to the wonders of the written word and sharpened her reading skills as a youngling.
Interjecting periodically, I asked questions about her favorite genre, authors, and so on.
Talking about books is the most animated my mate has been in my presence to date.
Every time she mentions a book she favored, I have surreptitiously uploaded it to her personal tablet.
I have even gone so far as to research if there were any visual adaptations to her favorite stories, and if so, added those to her virtual library as well.
Our meal of Italian food has gone well, and I will have to thank Heather for the suggestion—much as it galls me.
My mate cleans her plate as we converse, and my hearts glow with happiness to see her so at ease and full of life.
Reaching across the table, I lift her plate with mine and take both back to the replicator, ignoring her protests.
“Bikar, you really don’t have to do things like that for me. I can clean up after myself.”
Tapping several buttons, I enter the sequence for something called tiramisu. Less than a tic later, the confection is done, and I take a large portion of it back to my mate.
“I am aware that you can, little one. That does not mean that you must. Not while I am present. It brings me satisfaction to care for you in such small ways. If it truly bothers you, I will stop, but if you protest out of some misguided notion that you are not worthy of such treatment, then I will continue to disregard your objections.”
Bambi’s parted lips close; she huffs and rolls her eyes. Little arms fold across her chest as she tries to glare at me. Ignoring her, I carefully set down the dessert. “Do not be cross with me for caring for you, little one. It is a mate’s pride and joy to tend to the needs of his female.”
Pausing for effect, I lean into her personal space and whisper in her adorable, rounded little ear. “In every way she desires.”
Standing, I round the table and take my seat, not bothering to hide my self-satisfied smirk. The tic she sees it, her beautiful, brown eyes narrow at me. “Are you trying to seduce me, Bikar?”
Leaning back in my chair, I kick my feet out and cross my ankles. “I must not be doing a very good job if you must ask me such a question.”
Delightful pink color blooms across her cheeks, and she breaks eye contact, staring down at her tiramisu as if she just realized it was there. “I…” Her words falter before she tries again, and they come out so low I have to strain to hear her. “I don’t know what to do.”
Projecting every bit of confidence I can while forcing my body to remain relaxed is hard, but I succeed… barely. “There is no right or wrong way to woo one’s mate. You do not have to know what to do. You need only tell me if I do something you like or dislike.”
Leaning forward, I lower my voice. “The ultimate decision of what happens between us is entirely up to you. Did I read your tentative acceptance of our bond wrong? If so, I will cease my flirting… for now.”
The words are bitter on my tongue, and I am fortunate she cannot scent my dismay. We are a rotation closer to Viri 9 and thus moving steadily closer toward an uncertain arrival. If I push her away from me, I risk competition from the other males of the planet.
Her reply is soft-spoken, but clear. “No… I don’t want you to stop… uhm… wooing me. I think I’m beginning to trust that if I don’t like something, you’ll stop.”
“I would rather cut out my own hearts than cause you any angst, little Starshine.”
I am unsure if it is my tone or the look on my face—perhaps both—but something makes her expression relax, and she smiles at me. “Ya know, that response doesn’t surprise me at all.” Glancing down at her plate, she quirks an eyebrow. “How did you know I’ve always wanted to try tiramisu?”
“A male cannot reveal all of his courting secrets, Bambi. It just is not done.”
She stares at me shrewdly for a tic before guessing. “Heather told you about it, didn’t she?”
Unwilling to risk Heather’s wrath or upset my mate, I choose the path of least resistance.
Ignorance.
“I have not the slightest idea why you would think such a thing. Finish your sweet treat; we have more literature to discuss and upload.”
For a moment, I think she is going to sass me again, but instead she rolls her eyes again before taking a bite of her long-awaited confection. The moan she lets out makes the front of my trousers tight, and a bright red blush stains her cheeks when she realizes what she’s done.
The quip slips out before I can stop myself. “Perhaps some rising, I will be the one to make you utter such sounds of lurid pleasure.”
Mouth full of food, she glares at me before reaching down and slipping a shoe off, throwing it at my face with surprising accuracy. Shooting my hand out, I catch it midair before it can make contact.
Peering at her innocently, I can’t help but smirk. “Was it something I said?”
Extracting a wing from my back, I grasp her wee shoe in its claw and then offer it to her with a flourish. “Your shoe, my Starshine.”
Bambi only hesitates a tic before jerking her shoe from my grasp and yanking it back on, muttering the entire time about stupid, mouthy, handsome aliens.
She finds me handsome? About frackin time. I am the most attractive of my siblings, after all.
Silence falls between us as she finishes her tiramisu, but it is a pleasant one.
No hint of rigidity can be found in her body, and it warms my hearts to see.
Bambi did not suffer any panic after launching her adorable attack on my person, not like last rotation's upset over a simple verbal correction.
It may not seem like much, but to me… it is a massive success in the art of wooing my mate.
I know not if it is the work of the bond, if she is acclimating faster than my calculations indicated, or if she is truly getting to know me as a being and likes me for… me.
The definitive clink of her utensil hitting the table makes me blink and refocus on where she sits across the table, staring at me with a discerning expression. Before I can utter the beginning of my question, her hesitant inquiry freezes me in place.
“Bikar… can you tell me… what exactly are you?”