5. Chapter Five #2
It was likely he didn’t know what I meant.
I scarcely knew what I meant, truth be told.
“What we shared together on Earth—that was lovely. Truly! I have no regrets. Only now that we’re amongst others again, we might try to abide more by the Havenian way of life.
That is to say . . . no more copulating. At least for now.”
Ursa’s eyebrows notched. “Cop-u-lating?”
It wasn’t a word one used often in conversation, was it? I grimaced. “Um. When you . . . sheathe yourself. Inside of me.” My face, I was certain, was flaming bright red.
To his credit, Ursa didn’t begin tearing the room apart in a fit of rage, as part of me had feared he might.2 He did look concerned, though, his brow furrowing. “Sick?”
“No.” I kept my tone brisk but firm. Show no weakness, and all that. “I just don’t want to do that anymore. We’ve had our fun, but it’s done now.”
I dared a glance over at Ursa to find him watching me appraisingly. “No sheath?” he confirmed.
“No sheath.”
He processed this for a moment. “Kiss?”
I wavered. On the one hand, kissing Ursa had always been the prelude to something much more exertive. But in theory, a kiss on its own could be harmless, so long as we both understood it wouldn’t go anywhere further.
Fretting my lower lip, I determined finally, “I think a kiss—just a kiss—would be permissible. When we’re alone.”
Ursa made a show of looking around the room to check we were alone. Then, taking me quite by surprise, he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine.
It oughtn’t to have surprised me, cheeky bugger.
There was nothing he loved more than to test his limits with me.
I was determined to do everything in my power to keep this kiss as chaste and sweet as possible, determined to keep my lips puckered in a way that clearly did not invite any deeper exploration of my mouth.
Or, God forbid, tongue. But despite myself, my eyes fell shut, and I leaned in closer.
To my surprise, though, he brushed just the softest touch over my lips before pulling back. “Kiss?” he asked again.
Disconcerted, I opened my eyes to find his lips were no longer hovering near mine but rather at my forehead. I evaluated the question before nodding. “Yes, you may kiss me there.”
He did, just the softest brush of his warm lips on my skin. My body tensed, bracing for him to try to push his luck; but when he pulled back, I was surprised to find myself actually disappointed.
“Kiss?” he asked again. Now his lips hovered near the edge of my jawline as he waited for my answer.
I dithered. “I . . . I don’t know . . . I suppose that would be all right.”
His lips brushed my jaw before he pulled back again, so I could feel the warmth of his breath at the skin of my throat. “Kiss?”
This time I did not have to consider it. I became far too . . . receptive to his advances when he kissed my neck, a fact he well knew. “No, I don’t think that would be appropriate.”
Again, I braced myself, expecting him to protest or try to push the issue. Instead, he surprised me by changing his tactic. “Touch?”
Touch? He was asking to touch my throat? I thought quickly. Technically, I supposed, there wasn’t anything untoward about someone touching someone else’s neck. “I . . . I don’t see why not, but—”
Before I could finish the thought, Ursa brushed his knuckles over the skin of my throat, then moved his warm fingers around to the back of my neck.
He stroked the skin there up and down, up and down, then began to gently knead the muscles underneath.
His warm fingers dipped just underneath the collar of my jumpsuit, and even though he was nowhere near any erogenous zones, the subtle, gentle naughtiness of that touch sent heat coursing through me.
Now that just wasn’t fair. The touch itself wasn’t the problem; it was who was touching me.
I had the feeling Ursa could poke the top of my head and it would somehow still feel arousing.
He couldn’t be entirely blamed for that.
He was a very tactile person who craved touch, and I was the only person onboard whom he trusted.
Still, there was something disconcertingly erotic about his thumbs massaging me, fingertips brushing lightly over my skin.
“It might be easier to just tell you where you can’t touch,” I told him, determined to keep my footing. Clearing my throat, I gestured first to my breasts. “No.”
Even though they were fully covered by my jumpsuit, feeling Ursa’s gaze brush over them made the area in question feel suddenly and uncomfortably exposed. I glanced down to find that my nipples had hardened. Traitors.
Ursa smirked.
Determined, I continued, gesturing next to my posterior. “No,” I told him briskly, then gestured to the general area of my groin. “No.”
Ursa wasn’t smirking anymore, but he continued to touch my neck—more idly now, a soft grazing of skin on skin.
I cleared my throat. “Your turn now. Where would you prefer I not touch you?”
When Ursa said nothing, I searched his expression. He shrugged and shook his head, grinning unapologetically. So there was nowhere he preferred for me not to touch him. He wanted me to touch him everywhere.
“If you aren’t going to take this seriously . . .” I warned.
But I had to stop myself after that, because what would be the consequences?
Ursa clearly didn’t want any boundaries placed between us and wouldn’t help me to enforce any that were.
He would respect my rules, but now there was a cheeky sparkle in his eye, like he knew it was only a matter of time before he would wear me down.
The terrible part was, I wasn’t entirely sure he was wrong.
1. Stachybotrys chartarum
2. That would have been a disproportionate response, I think we can all agree . . . even if it would have gone a long way to make a girl feel special.