5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
E lyse
Three hours later, we’re boarding the shuttle to Wryth’N.
“I tried to book us a cabin, but there wasn’t much availability on such short notice,” he tells me.
“Mrzz used to make me travel in a cage at his feet. I doubt you’ve secured us anything worse than that,” I quip.
I get to meet Wrage’s grumpy face, well, I’ll call it his even-grumpier face. His brow is lowered so far his eyes are squinched and the corners of his mouth dip down. He’s silent, and those green-gold eyes are flaming orbs of the sun. They’re angry, and the tight set of his jaw screams ‘murder’.
“You’ll have to tell me what he looks like. If I ever meet him, I’d gladly kill him for that,” he says.
Why does his outrageous statement fill me with happiness? I’ve never had a boyfriend who wanted to protect me before. I like it.
All of a sudden, my face goes on lockdown. Is that what Wrage is? A boyfriend? Am I falling for my mate? This will never do. This needs to stay platonic, I remind myself. We can’t afford to let our feelings jeopardize this long-term partnership we’re forging.
When he shows his tickets as we board, the brown amphibious male pulls us to the side. “I’m so sorry to have to inform you, Sir,” his tone is so obsequious I know what’s coming next isn’t going to be good. “The computer malfunctioned. There’s only one malta available, not two as you were promised. We have another shuttle leaving tomorrow at this time and we can provide you an upgrade if you choose to wait.”
What’s a malta ?
“Can you show me the room? Perhaps we can make it work.”
We follow his rigid spiky back down the corridor, past what look like the luxury rooms, past the smaller cabins, and arrive at what amounts to little cubby holes niched into the wall. He opens an opaque door and flourishes his hand as if he’s ushering us into the presidential suite.
What he reveals, however, is what amounts to a space the size of a small twin bed. Above and below it are other maltas . It’s barely large enough to sit up in. Alone, I’d get claustrophobic in there after maybe an hour, unless I had my very favorite book of all time. Then it would be two hours tops.
Are we really talking about squeezing both of us in there? For a day? Even though I don’t want to have sex with him until ‘collect-the-specimen’ day?
To his credit, Wrage asks, “What do you think, Elyse?”
I wish we weren’t on a deadline. “Sure, honey. We want me to meet the in-laws, right?” I clear my throat. “You did offer us a full refund, right? For both rooms?” I ask the attendant even though I know full well he didn’t. Wrage thinks he’s rich, but he seems to have no concept of money. I just hope he has enough credits to get us back to Paragon in time to get the kit to Analac before he sends the Mounties after us.
“Yes. Of course. A full refund. You’re welcome to use the restaurant area when the upper tiers aren’t dining. Those hoaras are between 0500 and 0700 and from 2200 until 2400.”
Fifteen hours between breakfast and dinner? That sounds delightful. It’s a good thing I’ve been training for the malnourishment olympics since I began my captivity.
I roll in and press my back to the far wall, noticing there’s a tiny cubby behind our heads just big enough for our packs. Wrage slides in, and pulls the door closed behind us. It’s tight.
The attendant had reached in and turned on a dim light in our little malta . After a day in the huge expanse of the beach, flying on the balfour, swimming in the ocean, it’s doubly claustrophobic in here.
“I’m . . .” I don’t know why my first impulse alone with him in a tiny pod is to want to apologize for my outburst on the balfour. It was so out there, but I have to admit I feel better. I slam my lips shut, not wanting to bring that up.
I look at him, trying to figure out my feelings about him.
He hasn’t done anything heinous in days. He’s been courteous, helpful, kind—a regular boy scout since the havaché wore off. If we weren’t hitched, I’d consider a fling with him, God knows he turns me on. But we are hitched, and it seems like a bad idea to mix business with pleasure—the business being staying together so we don’t wind up in jail.
I’d rather be in this odd no-man’s-land than turn into one of those couples who bicker and hate each other and can’t stand to be in the same room together. That would suck worse than this . . . attraction we haven’t discussed.
Admit it, Elyse, what you have isn’t attraction. Call it lust, or hunger, or pounding desire. It surpassed attraction yesterday. Just look at him.
No! Don’t look at him, I order myself just as quickly. Do not look at his wide shoulders and muscular thighs or his face that could turn heads back on Earth if it wasn’t always so angry and blue.
He’s pretending to examine the ceiling, which is metal, by the way. It’s shiny enough to see our reflection. The thought pops into my head that people on Earth go to great lengths to put mirrors on their ceilings to enhance sex.
Stop! I scream at myself. That is not the direction I want my thoughts to travel.
I glance at him and inspect one of his buttons. It’s like rich, buttery leather. I itch to touch it.
“Tell me about your mreen again,” I say as I inch closer, my finger a hair above the one on his temple.
“They enhance scent. It’s evolutionary.”
“So you can smell better?”
“To protect from predators . . . and to mate.”
“So you can smell your mate’s arousal?” I ask.
“Yes, and . . .”
Ooh, now I’m even more interested. “And?”
“And they discharge my own pheromones into the air,” he says curtly, as if he didn’t want to admit it.
“Explain!” I demand. Somehow knowing I’m not going to like his answer.
“Wryth’Ns manufacture hormones that drift into the air to attract a mate.”
“No shit?” I slap his shoulder—on his good side. This explains everything. There’s absolutely no reason I should be attracted to him. He’s an alien. A big, mean gladiator alien who I have nothing in common with—except he’s been surreptitiously working his chemical voodoo on me. “Stop it!” What nerve!
“It’s an autonomic nervous system function, like breathing. I have no control.”
“Yes you do. Hold your breath!” I command.
Shockingly, he does. But of course he has to breath again.
“See?” we both say at the same time.
“Ass,” I accuse. He simply looks at me, those golden-green eyes sweeping up and down my face—he’s in the middle of a fight with me and drinking in my beauty at the same time. I have to admit, the way he looks at me, like he wants to devour me in a good way, makes my nethers quiver and my mouth go dry.
I lean closer to his button, as if a closer inspection will give me the key to counteract his chemical magic. I even slide my nose back and forth against it, tickling myself until I have to stop and lift my head.
“You’re fighting dirty,” I accuse.
“I can’t help it.” His lips tip up in the barest smile. “That’s what they taught me in the ludus .”
I can’t help but smile back at him. Every minute we’re together I find him more handsome.
I suddenly have an epiphany. You know when you’re on a diet and all you can think about is German chocolate cake. You’re in a lecture, but pictures of that slice of cake float through your mind. You’re in your morning shower and instead of singing, you say the words, “German chocolate cake” like it’s your lover.
And finally, you have no willpower left, not a shred. So you go to the bakery and buy one slice of it and maybe you eat it slowly and savor it, or maybe you devour it so fast you have smudges of icing around your lips. But however you ate it, now you’re satiated and you can go back on your diet and be good for days or weeks more.
Maybe that’s what we need to do. We’re in this freaking malta , squished together like commuters on the subway at rush hour. Maybe we should just throw caution to the wind and consume each other. I doubt my malta companion will object.
We could do every freaky thing we’ve been fantasizing since we met. Why not? There’s nothing else to do. And when it’s over, we can march out of here with our hunger slaked.
Although warning klaxons are blaring in my head, ready to tell me ten thousand faults with my logic, I blurt, “So Wrage,” I know he loves it when I say his name. This is my idea of verbal foreplay to get him to agree in case he might have reservations. “Wrage, I know I said we should have a platonic relationship. But what do you think of the idea that we, I don’t know, quench our hunger for each other here in this little pod?
“It’s a time-limited offer. Or think of it like the ads, ‘what happens in a malta stays in the malta’ . We could get our freak on and never speak of it again after we land on Wryth’N. It could be ‘one and done’.” I pause for a moment and then realize you can’t have one slice of German chocolate cake for the rest of your life. “Or maybe we could scratch an itch as needed. No guarantees implied or intended. Strictly business.”
I’m glad I jabbered that offer fast. If it wasn’t already out, I’d jam it all back down my throat. I didn’t give it enough thought. By the look on his face, I think I might be in line for the most embarrassing rejection of my life.
He turns on his side and stares at me, his eyes far more golden than green. I think that’s his ‘tell’ that he’s aroused.
“Let’s review the rules,” his voice is matter-of-fact, belying the lust apparent in the firm set of his jaw, the golden suns of his eyes, and the giant tent visible in the crotch of his pants.
“Okay.” Now my tummy’s swirling and I’m not sure if it’s my own arousal or simply cold feet.
“Define ‘freak on’.”
I don’t know much about the Wryth’N race, but damn, they must have been predators at some point in their evolution. I’ve never seen a humanoid who looks so close to eating me up.
“Anything,” I say, then think better of it. “Anything we want as long as it’s consensual.”
His eyes flick from the top of my head down my body, slow and sensual. I doubt he’s even aware of the little noise he made in the back of his throat that sounds like he just ate the best bite of food he’s ever tasted.
“Say ‘anything Wrage’,” he commands.
Oh boy, we’re going to do this. All in one moment, I’m both scared and ready to rip my clothes off.
“Anything Wrage.”
He nods once, as if he just agreed to enter into this unwritten agreement.
“Take care of anything you need now. Piss? Shit? Food? Drink? Sleep? Once we start we won’t stop until we reach Wryth’N. Agreed?”
Oh my God. My stomach swoops and dips at the sound of this. I think my core is gushing in readiness. And I’m sure he smells it.
His voice is deep and commanding. And those eyes—now I’m certain they’re hypnotic. Between that and the pheromones he’s shooting at me, how could I resist?
He reaches into the cubby behind our heads, grabs the pack, and after rummaging around in it, tosses me two nutrition bars. “Eat.”
I devour them, wondering what we’re going to do that he thinks will consume that many calories. Dear Lord, I can’t wait to find out.
As I take my last swallow, he exchanges the wrappers for a water bottle. “Drink.”
I have no idea why the fact that he’s gone completely monosyllabic caveman is making me horny as hell. I just can’t wait to get started.
“Anything?” he asks again after we’ve taken the quickest bathroom break ever recorded in the history of the universe.
My answer is a firm nod.
“Sit.”
We sit up, facing each other cross-legged, both still clothed. When I move to pull off my t-shirt, he simply says, “No.”
I mimic him, sitting, legs folded, hands in lap, palms up.
“Look at me.”
I stare into luminous eyes that are already staring at me.
A full minute later, he says, “Breathe with me.”
It takes me a while to fully sync with him. With effort, after long minutes, it becomes second nature, then it’s easy. I don’t know how long it takes until I feel floaty, dreamy. My eyes are focused on his, but I can see the rest of him out of my peripheral vision.
This must be what people describe as a spiritual phenomenon, because somehow the barriers between us begin to slip away. After long minutes, or maybe five hours, I don’t know, I don’t feel fully in my skin. As more time goes by, I can’t see his exterior anymore. I don’t see the golden orbs of his eyes, or the mottled blue skin, or his buttons. I see his soul.
I’d be terrified if we weren’t safely enclosed in this little box. But in here, it’s just Wrage and me. It’s supremely safe.
I can’t see any differences, only similarities.
We’re soul to soul. No longer alien and human, friend or foe, present or past. We’re just here. Connected in a manner that’s deeper than anything I’ve experienced before.
I feel a jolt of panic as he presses inside me. My fear pushes him out. Somehow he invites me inside him. I explore for a moment, stepping around bright red pulses of residual anger and a heartbreaking amount of pain. Then I find the tender heart of him, my senses blown back by the fullness of the generosity he has in reserve.
With trepidation, I invite him back into me, allowing him to see my mountain of vulnerabilities and fears and even the prodigious amounts of anger I’ve tried to sweep into the corners.
All I feel from him is a wave of calm acceptance at what he finds.
And then we dance. I don’t know where we are, but we’re not in our little malta anymore. I think we’re flying in the universe and our souls are dancing. It’s surreal! Glorious!
And then we merge. I’m in him and he’s in me. My body is long forgotten, with its needs and hormones and hunger. It’s so much bigger than that. The universe is bigger. Our connection is bigger.
Finally, his hands reach over and grip mine. It grounds me and reminds me I have a body to return to. When I slip back inside it, I feel awkward and gawky and like I don’t quite fit. My breathing gets out of sync with his, and the universe falls away. I’m back in my little malta with Wrage.
Everything is exactly where we left it, yet nothing, absolutely nothing, is the same.
“Water,” he says as he hands me a full bottle. His gaze on me is bright with . . . what? It feels warm and caring and overwhelming.
I drink. What just happened? How long did that last?
“Want to talk?” he asks. He hasn’t moved since this began.
“What? What just happened?”
“A technique I learned before I was kidnapped. I perfected it during my captivity to escape the bounds of the absolute hell that was my life. Although I never believed I’d be free, I never stopped hoping for it. I promised myself it would be the first thing I did with my mate after our ceremony. Before we consummated.”
Wow! Really? Hardass Wrage from planet Wryth’N decided, while enslaved, to delay carnal pleasures with his mate in order to dance among the stars with her. Tears prick my eyes. I’m overwhelmed with emotion.
“On Earth the bride and groom—the mates—give each other gifts on their mating night. That was . . . unspeakably beautiful, Wrage. I have nothing for you.” I bestow him an apology with my eyes.
A feral smile lights his face. “Oh yes you do. That’s coming next. You promised me ‘anything’.”
I’m fully back in my body now—my nipples harden as if on verbal command at the same moment I feel my panties dampen in anticipation.
His hands surround my waist, and he pulls me onto his lap. He tugs me closer, so my core rides his erect cock through our clothes. He’s starting with a bang, no soft, slow kisses tonight. I dig my knees into the mattress so I can have more control and immediately start riding him.
He grips my hips with his palms, his fingers on my ass cheeks, and pushes me back an inch.
“I’m in charge,” he croons to take the bite out of his order, perhaps not knowing that his sexy, authoritative command sends shivers slicing up my spine.
Bending his head slowly, he brushes my lips with his, once, twice, then slips his tongue between them and tastes me again for the first time.
Everything is similar to our first kiss, and yet completely different. He’s different. I’m different. We’re different. Dancing in the stars irrevocably changed something. We’ll never be the same again. Although we’re not connected like we were for that one brief, shining moment, we’re not completely dis connected.
My hands slide up his muscled back, enjoying the hard feel of him even through his shirt, then lodge at the back of his neck. My touch is gentler than it has been in the past. Reminding us both of our new emotional connection.
He confirms it by the sexy, gentle way his tongue coaxes mine, urging me to dance with him in this way, just as we did in the vastness of the universe.
Breaking away, I nibble along his jaw to his ear and breathe in until I feel him shiver underneath me, then breathe out into the sensitive channel until he moans in pleasure. The deep timbre of his voice skips along my synapses, making me shiver with yearning.
His hands splay across my back and press me closer, returning me to my original position. When I ride him now, he bucks against me, pressing on just the right spot. With every thrust, he exhales. The soft noises are so masculine, so sexy they make me impatient to hear what he sounds like when he comes.
He pulls off his t-shirt and then my own, then stuffs them into the little cubby and looks at me. Who am I kidding? The only way to describe how he’s looking at me is ‘feasts his eyes’. He’s eating me up, his irises that amazing golden-green again.
Then he pulls my sports bra over my head. And . . . more feasting.
“I’ve undressed you in my mind a thousand times since I met you. My imagination didn’t do you justice, Elyse,” he breathes.
Because he considers me saying his name a token of affection, I decide to appreciate it when he calls my name. Just a little private gift from him to me. My little clit is quivering in response.
He slowly slides his hands from my waist to my ribcage and then holds the weight of my breasts in his palms.
I reward him with a little moan as I wait for . . . ah, yes, the pads of his thumbs strum my hardened nubs. I’ve been waiting for this for years. Wait. Has it only been days? It’s felt like years. The flames of yearning spark hotter, burn brighter as he touches those two hard points in ways they’ve never felt before. I press toward him, wanting more.
In one swift movement, he bends his head to capture one of my nipples between his lips as he plucks the other. He doesn’t bombard me with a flurry of movement and action. No. He takes his time. One vigorous pull on one side with a simultaneous nip on the other.
Over and over he teases me. His head bent to one side and then the other to discern which exact angle bestows the most delicious pleasure. I participate the only way I can, with my head flung back and heartily moaning, gasping, and wordlessly praising when he gets it right.
Watching his dreads move as he laves my breasts, the mottled blue skin at the back of his neck exposed, the thick ropey muscles sliding underneath his skin, I don’t believe I’ve ever wanted anything as much as I want this male right now.
I’m canted back, my greedy slit rocking against the steel rod beneath his pants, my chest open to him as an offering.
He grabs my hands, now clenched in his dreads, and moves them to the ceiling. I hadn’t noticed, but now that I look, I see grab bars everywhere—the ceiling, the walls, the sides of the little malta . Are they there for . . . just what we’re doing?
I hold on exactly where he placed me. It gives me more mobility. I can ride him with more force, and thrust my breasts into his mouth with ease.
“Smell me, Wrage,” I demand, my voice husky, without a hint of shame. “That’s for you.”
“You fight dirty,” he says as he rubs his mreen against my midriff, my breasts, my nipples, using them to both give his and receive my scent. It makes my arousal ratchet up a notch, or two, or three.
When he slides my pants down my hips, I pull myself up on the grab bar, using my upper body strength to help him yank them off. Pants and panties are shed in one motion.
He growls, a noise so feral, so animalistic it awakens a matching response from deep within me. Gripping my ass cheeks in his huge hands, he lifts me a few inches higher, and I hang there, my slit the level of his mouth. Splitting my legs wider, he delves in and feasts.
Growling and grunting, he spears into my desperate channel, then drags the flat of his tongue to my little clit. Circling, circling, teasing. He assaults me. His palms on my ass reposition me, so my pelvis tilts toward him.
He shoulders himself between my thighs so without using his hands he’s draped my legs over his shoulders.
“Wrage!” The angle he’s at is shockingly delicious. He’s lancing into me with his tongue, tantalizing my clit with his nose, and I have the mobility to reposition myself if I want him somewhere else.
“I’m close,” I pant, my head flailing back and forth from shoulder to shoulder. His finger slides purposefully down my crease and circles my back hole. All I needed was that little nudge and I fly over the edge, every muscle in my body straining to make the orgasm even more deep and wild than it is.
“Wrage!” For a moment, I’m back out in space among the stars, but he isn’t there to dance with me, so I plummet back to our little malta of bliss so I can peek through slitted lids to see him adoring me with his mouth, his whole face buried between my legs as he laps me up.
When I spiral back down, I sink to my knees and release the grab bar, slumping onto him in a puddle on his lap, panting.
“Amazing,” I say as I pepper him with kisses. “So good.” I can’t stop giving him accolades with my mouth, my hands. I explore his horns, and he groans with pleasure and need. I press him closer to me so we're smashed together, sweat-slickened and exhausted. At least I am.
“Fuck me, Wrage. I want to make you feel good.”
Wrage
The last thing I want is to fuck her. There’s nothing I’ve ever wanted less in my life. Including slavery.
I may have had an extremely dracked -up childhood, but there’s one thing I’ve known since then, I’ve never wanted to drack my mate, or fuck as she calls it. And certainly not on what I consider my mating night.
When I sheathe myself in my mate it will mean something far beyond dracking . And she’ll feel it in her heart, not just in her cunt.
I’d hoped the wreathing , the joining we did earlier, would change things between us. It felt like something sparked deep within her, but obviously not enough. Not if she wants me to drack her. I can’t bring myself to do it.
“My cock, pretty Elyse. Suck my cock,” I say, holding back my disappointment as I pull off my pants. She must still be mad at me for my mean words the night we met, although I’d hoped she’d screamed it out of her as we flew over Paragon on the balfour.
Her blue eyes flare at me. I can read the shock and hurt on her little human features—she doesn’t understand why I don’t want to fuck. As much as I hate to frustrate her, I won’t relent on this.
She hides her emotions, slides her knees to lodge between mine, and smiles at me. It’s a sad smile.
The wreathing changed something fundamental between us, but not enough. I want her love. I won’t stop until I have it.
She licks up the inside of my thigh and stops all my thoughts. Whipping her long, brown hair against my flesh, she acts out both her anger and her sadness as well as arousing me. My cock pulses with need. It’s as if he and her are conspiring against me. But on this I’ll stand firm.
She continues her slow path up my sensitive inner thigh, licking, biting, then nuzzling with her nose.
She blows on my balls, her breath hot and warm and exciting.
The tip of her pointed little tongue explores my sac, bathing it one narrow swath at a time. No female has ever touched me like this. This simple contact alone is enough to send me back to the heavens to dance in the darkness of space.
But I slit open my eyes to look at her, pretty Elyse, her head bobbing between my thighs like a feline lapping milk. Gripping her shoulders, trying not to put pressure on her, I watch until the pleasure’s too intense, then shutter my lids again.
She’s using the flat of her tongue to lick me now, ramping up the assault on my senses. My cock kicks, drawing attention, wanting his turn, but she keeps teasing my balls. Her hand holds the weight of them from the bottom while she lavishes attention on the tops.
“Gods, Elyse. Too good.”
My words don’t stop her. Not for a modicum . She keeps licking until I’m almost ready to come.
“Suck me,” I command. I don’t want to spend like this. I want to be inside her. If not her luscious cunt, at least her warm mouth.
“Bossy male. I was saving the best for last,” she says as she looks at me, her lips spit-slickened and plump from tending to me.
She places her knees outside my hips, nudging them closer together, and kisses my belly. Even as I allow myself the pleasure of this position, I know her trick. Her slick slit is riding my cock. She wants me inside her—I can almost taste her desperation—but I can’t allow it.
I can allow us to play, though. After a lifetime as a slave, I have willpower—enough willpower for both of us.
“That’s right, my little Earther, ride my cock.”
My permission unleashes something inside her as she leans farther over me to get a better angle. Has it only been a few days that I’ve wanted this? It feels like a lifetime. Her dripping cunt is bathing me in her juices as her lower lips slide up and down my stiff cock.
“Oh my God. The buttons. They . . .” she says as she glides herself along my length, her eyes shuttered, teeth sinking into her plump bottom lip. It’s the face of ecstasy. I didn’t think she could get more beautiful, but look at her. What male could resist a female with a face so exquisite?
I watch our bodies almost melding, then glance up to see her breasts bobbing as she moves. She allows the hard points of her nipples to drag against my chest. This female could awaken a dead male.
My little female’s plan is obvious. She wants to arouse me to such a level I’ll allow the fucking she desires.
“Your mouth, pretty Elyse. Your mouth on my cock,” my voice is deep, both commanding and desperate at the same time.
“Fuck me, Wrage.” Her eyes slide to mine. Although her mouth is too proud to beg, her eyes speak to the depths of her desperation.
“Not today. Your mouth.”
She bends to plant her lips on my chest between my nipples, then kisses a path lower. The kisses turn into licks until she encounters my cock. I’m ready. She’s not.
Gripping me at the base, she inspects me.
“You’re big Wrage. Too big for my mouth. You’d fit here, though,” she coaxes as she shifts in one lithe movement and places her opening on the tip of my cock.
Gripping her hips, I move her before she can impale herself on me. She gazes up at me, the picture of misery.
“I’m ready for you Wrage. I know I said I wasn’t, but I’m ready for you now.”
“You’re ready for my cock now, Elyse. I want to wait until you’re ready for me .”
Her eyes flash to mine. For the swiftest moment I read awareness and acceptance in this glance, then her knees slide between mine and she positions her open mouth over my cockhead. I feel the humid warmth of her breath as she teases me without so much as a grazing touch.
“Your cock is beautiful,” she says as she runs her loose fist up and down my length. “ Mreen on your cock? When a female is this close, what’s the need? You’ve already enticed her with your scent.”
I don’t answer. Now’s not the time for a scientific explanation.
“ I didn’t withhold from you , Elyse. Are you stalling?” I grit out. I don’t know how much longer I can hold back—I’m certain she’s doing this on purpose to drive me insane so she can get her way.
She gazes up at me, apology in her eyes. “I don’t want to withhold from you, Wrage. I want to give you this and more.”
With that, she takes me into her in one swift, deep movement. I hit the back of her throat, and still she feeds me deeper, even as she makes a noise of discomfort. I pull her head up a few inces , my hands telling her not to do this to herself.
She grips my hips, her thumbs digging into my flesh as if she wants to hang onto me. Then her mouth rides me in earnest. The ring of her mouth tightens around me with the perfect firmness, and she bobs up and down.
I feel every pull as her lips press against the sensitive bumps on my cock. She moans in delight as she quickens her pace. My fingers bite into her shoulders as my balls tighten, getting ready to release. When I do, she takes me deep into her throat again, squeezing my member so tight it makes my head spin.
I grunt my release, spilling down her throat, pumping into her for long moments. Her head is still bobbing on me, slower now, as if she wants to milk my pleasure, prolong it. Nothing, not Sibyl, not any whore who studied the sexual arts to earn her living, nor my own hand, has ever given me half this satisfaction.
I pull her up to join me on the pillow, and search her features. What just happened? These weren’t the actions of a female who wanted to get the job over with. These were the actions of a female who wanted, more than anything in the world, to please her male. Maybe she doesn’t know it yet, but this female has affection for me.
This knowledge, along with the pleasure that just shot through my body, puts a soft smile on my face.
She rises to her knees, allowing me to once again enjoy the view of her body, and rummages in her pack.
“Nutrition bar,” she says as she tosses one to me. “Water.” She sets it near my arm. She pokes through the bag until she finds one more thing.
Sitting at my side, she pulls the bar out of my left hand and puts it in my right. Then she straddles me and climbs to my left side, nudging me to slide toward the other side of the malta . Sitting on her heels, she pulls the cap from the tube of salve and begins dabbing it on my branding site.
I watch her as I chew the last bite of the bar. The way she just ministered to my cock told me a lot, but this, this speaks louder.
This isn’t the way a detached medic treats his patient. This is the way a person treats someone they care about. Her touch is soft and careful as she takes pains not to press too hard. When she’s satisfied with her work, she administers to her own arm.
I lived with my parents for fifteen annums , I never saw this level of concern between the two of them, and they were supposedly religious and living by the tenets of the lord. No, this, this right here, was the first act of selfless kindness I’ve ever witness or received.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply as I make myself a promise—I will try with every iota of energy I possess to deserve what this female has to offer.