Chapter 25
Chapter
Twenty-Five
REM’EB
T ia is quiet as we return to her hut. My thoughts are strangely content despite all the strangeness of the day.
It has been a good day. I got to fish in the strange, roiling waters and provide for these people. I got to meet several of the children who live here—males and females together. The children escort me to the main cookfire, where more people greet us and take our catches. I watch everyone. There is no wall separating their peoples. Strange-looking sorts of all kinds— from green males to brown females and ones with orange manes and strange speckles on their skin. The young and the old all gather together. Other than some good-natured arguing, they get along. Everyone does their share.
The women mingle amongst the men as easily as they breathe. They pass kisses to mates, chat with each other, and offer me cheerful greetings when I pass by. The children of the tribe—as varied in appearance as their parents—race happily along the beach, and I cannot help but compare to the echoing quiet of my own people’s existence.
It makes my people’s existence feel more and more fractured. It also makes me even more determined that I must be the one to change it.
“I like this place,” I admit to Tia when we are back in her hut. “Everyone is kind and welcoming. I do not care for the weather, but I can see why your people seem so happy.”
She nods, setting a tripod with a leather pouch over the firepit. She has brought a coal back from the main fire, and uses it to refresh hers. When the fire is blazing, she sets rocks down into the coals and adds the clahms to the heating water. Her movements are industrious and busy, but the sparkle is not in her eyes. Something troubles her.
I can guess what that something is.
“You are quiet,” I point out. “Will you tell me what makes you so withdrawn?”
She gives me a frustrated look, gesturing at her mouth and then the two of us. She cannot tell me what bothers her. We do not have the shared words.
I reach for her hand. “It was foolish of me to ask. My apologies.”
Tia shakes her head and lets me pull her over to my side. I tuck her against me, stroking her back. Holding her close, breathing in her scent, my khui song sings loudly, making my cock stiffen in response. I ignore it as best I can, but it is difficult, especially when Tia is here in my arms, her khui singing to mine. I wish I could tell her how much I both love and hate this moment. That I love being here with her, and I am full of dread knowing that I will not have these moments for much longer.
“I hate that we do not have words,” I admit.
She makes a noise of assent, turning her face in against my neck.
“Should I get Noj’me? I would truly like to know why you are sad. I can see it on your face. I do not need shared words to understand it.”
“No.” Tia’s voice is soft, and she says one of the few words I understand well.
“Then share with me what you can. Please.”
Tia pulls back and gazes up at me, her expression thoughtful. I wait for her to speak, to make hand gestures, but she simply shakes her head again and returns to kneel next to the tripod. As I watch, she puts on a thick, fuzzy glove, picks up a rock from the coals, and adds it to the water in the pouch. It hisses and bubbles, and the scent of something cooking fills the air.
“If we were home I could make you a metal pot,” I say, thinking of the differences between our peoples. “Or rather, I would not make it, but trade for one for you. We have a metal-slinger who teaches his secrets only to his sons, just like the weaver only teaches his sons his most complicated patterns.”
“Mmm.”
She is not being cold to me, but it is clear something is making Tia melancholy. I hate that and I desperately want to fix it. To see a clever smile on her lips. To see that determined glint in her eyes. I don’t like the expression of defeat that is there now.
“Is it me?” I ask, suspecting the answer.
“ Snot hallways saboutchoo ,” Tia replies, her voice tart. She fishes another stone out of the coals and adds it to the pouch, watching it closely. “ Sabout me sometimz .”
I watch her closely, but I do not see anger or despair directed at me and our resonance. She seems…wrapped up in her sadness. For a moment, it reminds me of my father, who is alone even in a cavern full of people, and my heart aches. When my father’s mood takes him to low places, there is not much I can do except be at his side and wait it out. Sometimes, though…sometimes a distraction pulls him free.
Perhaps it can be so with Tia. While she tends to the pot, I pull out my bag and begin to unwrap the prize that I stole from the village. The weavers will not be pleased to find that one of the smaller looms was stolen away, along with the project half-completed on it. But I had no choice. Tia wanted a loom…
And more than anything, I want to please my beautiful stranger.
She fishes a few of the clahms out of the pouch of water and then adds a sprinkle of salt and some herbs to the opened contents. “ Yoo hongree ?” she asks, looking over at me. “Rem’eb…”
Her gaze falls on the pieces of the loom, tangled with the threads.
“ Satmy loom?” she whispers, forgetting all about the food. Her eyes are wide and she scoots closer to me, her adoring gaze on the mess of hard lengths and knots of thread.
“I had to take one that was in use,” I confess, picking up a piece that looks like an oversized comb. “But I do not know how it works. I did not have time to ask. I was going to insist that the weavers teach me the basics, so I could then teach you. But…now I have a loom and no idea how to put it together. I am so sorry, my Tia.”
She looks at it, and then at me.
Then, she flings her arms around my neck and kisses my face with excitement. “ Nevrr sorreh! Thiz dabest!”
Her lips press against my skin, and I automatically put an arm around her, holding her close.
With a soft sound, Tia puts her mouth on mine and kisses me, crawling into my lap. Resonance sings between us, as loud as the roaring waves. I groan as she bears me backward, sliding her leg over my hip. The food is forgotten. The loom is forgotten. All that matters in this moment is Tia’s mouth on mine, the welcome weight of her hips over my stomach.
She kisses me again, her tongue playing against mine. “Rem’eb.”
“You taste so good,” I breathe, lost in the sensation of her soft, sweet mouth. “I did not understand why your people put their mouths on each other at first, but now I am addicted.”
Tia chuckles, and she strokes a hand down the side of my neck, to my chest. “ Kinatouchoo ?”
“I am yours,” I reply, guessing at her words. “Whatever you wish to do to me, I will take it and gladly.”
She kisses me again, sucking on my lower lip in such a way that my frill engorges. I gasp like a fish out of water, fascinated when she continues to kiss down my covered chest, heading straight for my groin. Yes, I think. Put your mouth on me. Then I will put my mouth on you.
The thought of doing that to her makes me feel an entirely new and different excitement. Not just at claiming my own pleasure, but of watching her claim hers. Surely after that, we will both want to fulfill resonance?—
Tia gets to my belt buckle, looks up at me, and then sits up. She blows on her nails and rubs them against her clothing, a bored expression on her face. “ Mebbe latr .”
I sit up, panting. “Does…does that mean now?”
“No.” Her smile is wicked. She gestures at the waiting food. “Dinner now.”
All I can do is throw my head back and laugh. “You tease.”
She wiggles her brows at me. “ Gonna getchoo to fall fr me, Rem’eb. Justchoo wayt .”
“And to think I was going to feast upon your pretty cunt right after you feasted upon my cock.”
Her playful expression falls away. “ Wut ?”
“Not wut ,” I reply, ignoring the near-painful throb of my cock and frill. “Now is dinner, as you say.”
The frustrated sound she makes is adorable, because I feel the same way.