42. Chapter Forty-Two
Kyrielle consumes me.
It’s at this moment, I know without a doubt that if she rejects me, it’ll be the end. Because if a creature so stunning finds me unworthy, there’s no hope.
Eager to make myself invaluable, I ask, “Can I get you anything?”
Her body is softening, pliant from the orgasm that appeared to rock her world. Kyrielle shakes her head lazily, eyes half-lidded. “I’m good. Like, really good.”
I chuckle, pressing her against my chest. She snuggles in, resting her head on my shoulder. Closing my eyes, I savor the soft heat of her skin. This shirt’s in the way of everything I could possibly want.
And yet, it must stay on.
Running fingers through her hair, I murmur, “You’re spectacular; you know that, right?”
A little shiver runs through her body. She turns her head to face my neck, burrowing her forehead. “Feel free to remind me of that all the time.”
I hum. “Want to hear something interesting?”
“Sure.”
“You’re spectacular.”
Her laugh is quiet. One of her hands comes to rest on my chest, right above my heart. “Quick learner.”
“You have no idea,” I joke, but also definitely not joking.
“I have some idea,” she retorts sleepily.
We sit there on my couch, with a throbbing cock between my thighs, as she dozes.
I continue running my fingers through her creamsicle hair, willing this moment to last forever.
It’s probably the most content I’ve been in my life.
Knowing this could only happen once, ever, is both terrifying and enough.
“Trinte?” Her voice is heavy with sleep.
Smiling, I press a kiss to her forehead. “Yes?”
“Can I ask my third question?”
My fingers still. The peace relaxing my muscles disappears. Trying to keep my breath steady, I say, “Sure.”
Resuming playing with her hair, I wait for the torture to begin.
“Why don’t you want a relationship?”
Okay, out of everything possible, that’s not a terrible question. Heavy, but not excruciating.
Hugging her a little closer, as if she’s my security blanket, I say, “I don’t know if it’s a matter of not wanting.
So many times, I tried to make things work with women who seemed determined to run in the other direction.
Even the ones I was so sure were different.
Each time, it broke my heart a little more.
Eventually, I reached a point where a relationship was too daunting to pursue. "
My throat works around tears before I can say, “But also, eventually I also became emotionally unavailable. To protect myself. It’s not so much that I don’t want a relationship as it’s not wanting anymore pain.”
She’s quiet, but the hand on my chest begins to rub gently, soothing the anxiety threatening to swallow me.
I continue, feeling sick about what I’m admitting. “When you told me you didn’t want a relationship with me, I was … relieved. I think a deep part of me knew what your entering my life would mean and … I wasn’t ready.”
Her hand stills. “Are you ready now?”
“For you, I’ll try to be.” The wall inside me reappears, trying to block me from saying the words. But for her, I have to say this. These teeth must part and speak truths. “If you want to, that is. I’m not trying to pressure you or anything.”
I wish her face were visible. What is she thinking about this confession?
Does it make her want to run like all the others?
The moment I became too … vulnerable and raw with the others, they ran.
Granted, I’d probably rushed things in my youthful ignorance.
With her, every extra moment of slow pacing matters.
Is this confession too much? She still hasn’t spoken. My heart beat increases. I hope she can’t hear it. Then she’ll know how much I want this.
Need this.
Need her.
Kyrielle’s hand begins to rub again; I exhale slowly. Her voice is so quiet as she says, “Let’s decide after the rest of the questions, okay?”
Her response leaves me stunned and almost hurt. Trying not to drown in my self-doubt, I ask, “Has … what I shared so far … not been enough for you to feel confident?”
Or is she waiting to find out all of my dirtiness to decide the level of filth she can tolerate?
In a flash, she’s sitting up, alert and worried. Bringing a hand to each of my cheeks, she says firmly, “No. But you were the one who said I should wait for all of my questions to be asked. Remember?”
The anguish subsides — barely. She’s right; I did say that. Why did I say that?
Shame. The most powerful emotion in existence. Stronger than love.
“Yes, I remember,” I say quietly. “But …” I look away, said shame appearing again, trying to be in charge.
“But what?” she says patiently.
I shake my head, struggling with the words.
“Hey, look at me, Gleanscale.”
The use of my last name has me immediately refocused on her. Kyrielle looks deadly serious. “But. What?”
Grinding my molars, I work on forming the words. “Do you think … you could give me some kind of reassurance? Because my brain keeps telling me you’re going to think …”
“Think what?” she prompts, still incredibly patient with my bumbling communication.
Be strong. I’ve already shared so much; what’s a little more? “That you’re going to think I’m dirty.”
There. I said it. I exhale loudly, relieved to have that over with.
Kyrielle smooths away the stray hairs that came loose from the ponytail.
“Oh, Trinte. Please never think that’s in the realm of possibility.
Our pasts do not determine our futures any more than clouds in the sky determine the strength of storms. Whatever has happened does not indicate who you are at the core. ”
A tear slips down my cheek as her words incinerate me. The tiny shard of hope inside me, delicate and thin, glints with light for the first time in … well, since the night I met her.
Bringing my hands to her face, I search her face for secrets of the universe. “I don’t deserve you.”
To my delight, she licks the tear stalled on my stubble. She smooshes my lips together, probably making me look ridiculous.
“Trinte Gleanscale, I’ll be the judge of that. Got it?”
Face squished, lips plucked out like a fish, I nod. “Yersmph.”
She plants a loud kiss on my lips then taps my chest affectionately. “Good. Now make me food.” When I don’t respond fast enough, she adds, “Please?”
Grinning, feeling lighter than the rising sun, I ask, “What would you like?”
***
We spend the rest of the day as we did the last few: me reading to her, telling stories, and even snuggling to watch one of her favorite sappy romance movies. She smiles when we find ourselves crying at the same time. It was a good movie, what can I say?
When the sun sets and the moons begin their ascent, she begins yawning. Helping her up, we meander to my bedroom. She stands next to me as I pull away the fresh sheets.
“You can sleep here. I’ll be right outside on the couch, unless you’d like me to sleep on the floor?”
“What?”
Her sharp voice catches me by surprise. Holding a pillow, I freeze. “What?”
“What do you mean you’re sleeping on the couch?”
I glance at the bed. “Well, there’s only one bed.”
“Yes, it’s your bed.”
Furrowing my brow, I say slowly, “Yes. And that’s fine. I planned on the couch, but like I said, I can—”
“Trinte, you’re sleeping in here.”
Now I’m taken by surprise. “What? No, you are.”
She gives me an incredulous look. “You truly didn’t plan on us sleeping in the same bed when you invited me here?”
Eyebrows raised, I shake my head vehemently. “Absolutely not. I genuinely missed my spice rack.”
She barks out a laugh. “Okay, well, I said yes under the assumption I get to be the little spoon tonight.”
What she’s saying sinks in. Kyrielle wants to sleep in my bed … with me? We’ve been sleeping next to one another, but it’s not the same.
But it’s kind of the same.
But it’s touching someone all night.
But it’s touching her.
But it could get out of control.
But I have full control over what we do.
She watches me work through all of this with a curious expression. Grimacing, I say, “Sorry. I’m just trying to process here. I can’t tell if this is taking it slow or not.”
Kyrielle smiles. “We don’t have to do anything.
In fact, I don’t want to. I’m revoking consent for the entire evening unless it’s directly related to fully clothed little spoon, big spoon activities.
You can kiss me, but nothing below the neck.
” The sassy flame pauses, then adds, “And anything else I might change my mind about, because that’s how consent works. ”
Laughing, I fluff the pillow. “So I can sleep holding one of your breasts?”
She shrugs. “I hold my breast for comfort sometimes. You might as well get the same benefits.”
This time, I’m laughing so hard I can barely talk. “So breast holding is big spoon privileges?”
She smirks. “Of course.”
“What are my other privileges?”
“I get to thrust my ass in your general direction and you’re allowed to poke me a little with your mini-Trinte.”
None of this sounds chaste. Leaning against my knees, still laughing, I ask, “And if mini-Trinte gets too familiar?”
“Impossible,” she says firmly, not even smiling. “Little spoons are required to provide warm thigh houses for just that scenario.”
I shake my head in dismay. “Get in bed, Firefly. I’ll figure out the rest of my big spoon privileges as we go.”
She hops into bed with enthusiasm, watching me as I pull back the blanket on my side. Before I get in, she says, “Um, could you do something?”
Freezing, I ask, “Yes?”
“Could you … lock the door?”
I straighten, smiling. “Of course.”
When I’m done, I pick up the blanket. Heart thundering, blood roaring, I slid into bed with her. She’s wearing another set of skimpy pajamas — to torture me, no doubt.
Kyrielle wriggles her body toward mine, like a tiny, sexy worm. Grinning, I gather her into my arms, mindful of her injury. She’s mostly healed now, thanks to the tonics and healing speed of Sprites. But I can never be too careful when it comes to her.
When she’s snuggled into my chest, I tuck my tail around us. Kyrielle lets out a happy sigh. My heart nearly explodes with emotion. Fear. Worry. Joy. Love. Lust. Cravings. Yearning.
Today has been one of the best days of my life. No, it’s the best day of my life. Beginning and ending with her, with every emotion in between.
***
The Speed Dating Event
I’m shaking with need as I pay the bill. Kyrielle stands beside me, watching silently, flushed and panting. Where the Hells are we going? My apartment is too far. The front door of this restaurant is too far.
Since this bar top is out of the question, as are the tables filled with an unconsenting audience, there’s only one option.
After checking to make sure we have all our belongings, I grab her hand. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” she says breathlessly, following me with blind trust.
“Where I can worship you,” I clip, determined to get us to said destination. We weave through the crowd. Some people sense my urgency; the crowd parts like a hot knife through butter.
By the time we reach the bathroom, I can barely breathe enough air; I want her so badly it’s almost killing me.
“Trinte, what are we doing?” Kyrielle hisses, looking over her shoulder.
I knock on one of the doors. “Finding a place to ruin you for all men.” When no one responds, I fling the door open and practically drag her inside. She’s grinning wildly, which broadens my smile. When I lock the door, we stare at one another like two predators ready to brawl.
We collide; teeth, fingers, tongues, lips.
She’s everywhere, and it’s still not enough.
I press her against a wall, bringing one of my hands between her thighs.
When my fingers brush against her panties, they’re soaked.
Groaning into her mouth, I play with the edges of them, teasing her until those luscious hips are bucking.
She raises a thigh; rutting like an adolescent dry humping in bed, I rub my aching cock into her.
“Do you have a condom?” she asks.
“I’m always prepared,” I growl, nibbling on her earlobe, earning a gasp. Grasping her ass, I lift and deposit her on the counter. She spreads her legs; I growl in approval. Her fingers fiddle with my belt.
I grab her hands. “Wait. I need to know your flavor first.”
Without waiting for her response, I drop to my knees. Eyeing between her thighs, I lick my lips. Black lacy underwear blocks me from what I’m most ravenous for.