Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Shathar
Today was… blissful. Spending time alone with Fiona without that idiot Khesan interfering was exactly what my soul needed.
It will take time to convince her of what I already know—that we are meant to be together—but I am happy to go on the journey of learning more about her and giving her greater insight into my own being, too.
To be seen. To be felt. These are the things I crave, have craved for a decade now. This was the reason I came to Earth in the first place, so I would no longer feel alone, and I’m ecstatic to have found what I was looking for.
Fiona is charming, so sweet and genuine, that I want to protect her. Treasure her. Keep her soft even if the world has hard edges. I will be her barrier.
It’s disappointing when our excursion is over and we must return to her house, where Khesan is lying in wait. Who knows what their date tomorrow will be like? Then it will be my turn to stay home, wondering and probably fretting.
But he is not her fated mate, as she is mine. I try to remind myself that I don’t have to worry.
The lights are on inside the house when we park on the concrete pad out front. Fiona leads the way inside, and when the door opens, I am struck by the delectable scent of food.
I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I smelled it.
“Wow!” Fiona exclaims as we step inside. “Smells good in here!”
“Fiona!” Khesan appears around the corner as we head toward the kitchen. “I’m glad you’re home. I was hoping it would be soon so dinner didn’t get cold.”
Dinner? Oh, no. Khesan has cooked while we were away, and I remember how that ended when I attempted it.
The same concern registers on Fiona’s face, and she jogs into the kitchen.
But there is no smoke, no fire alarm. Khesan turns off one of the burners on the stove, which has a pan on it full of food.
There is a pot, as well, and a wooden board with fresh chopped vegetables on it.
“It’s almost done,” Khesan says as he busies about. Fiona is staring with her mouth open.
“How did you do this?” She steps closer, surveying the meal he’s prepared. My anger grows by the moment as I take in the sight of what he’s accomplished on his own.
“I looked up a recipe, then researched which pans and utensils to use. I made sure to only cook with the rubber ones in the non-stick pan.”
Fiona exhales a breath. “Thank you. I love that pan.”
Khesan reaches into a cupboard like it’s his own kitchen and withdraws a bowl, passing it to her.
“I have prepared stir-fry chicken with peppers and onions over rice, and spring onion to go on top. It was also suggested I make a sauce, so I used some of your condiments to create it.”
Fiona lets out an ooh as she takes the offered bowl and opens the pot, revealing a fluffy white grain. She spoons some out, then moves to the pan and does the same.
“Looks heavenly,” she says to Khesan, her face alight. “Thank you so much.”
“It is what husbands do, isn’t it?” he answers, and I don’t realize that I’m emanating a low hiss until Khesan smirks at me. “What’s wrong with you? Even your fans are up.”
I didn’t notice that, but I am both infuriated and jealous. Why couldn’t I have created such a lovely meal for Fiona this morning instead of smoke and charred meat? But because of our date, Khesan beat me to it, and now he has capitalized on time that Fiona and I spent away together.
“I still don’t know how you did all this alone,” Fiona says as she takes her bowl to the table.
Khesan preens. “I am good at following instructions.”
I just want to knock that smug look right off him.
Khesan helps himself next, and then I am last, but there is enough food for me, too. I hold in a snarl as I scoop it out the way he instructed and join them at the table.
The worst part? The meal is… delicious. Wonderful.
Flavorful. I hunch further and further forward as I eat.
He did this all while we were away, in a kitchen that looks nothing like what we have on our home world.
He has leapt leagues ahead of me, and… I can’t help but admire it.
I am supposed to be the better cook, having owned my own grocery for my entire adult life.
But here is this military-grade child using a recipe book and a communicator.
“This is amazing, Khesan!” Fiona jams her fork into her bowl and spears another piece of chicken. “I don’t know how you did it.”
“You had all the ingredients,” he says calmly. “I just struggled with the labels.”
I say nothing about the meal, but Khesan smirks at me anyway.
That night, after Fiona has shown me how to clean up after a meal—which led to the discovery of the dishwasher, a simple and yet remarkable device—Khesan goes to his room for the night.
Fiona offers to help me find homes for the lamp and the inexpensive painting I purchased at the thrift store, and she follows me down into the basement.
I get to be alone with her yet again, and this time, I will make the most of my opportunity. We find a place for the lamp on a small side table, and then Fiona pulls down an illustration of a furry creature with pointed ears holding onto a hanging wire. The text says, “Hang in there.”
“I’ve always thought this is tacky,” she says with a chuckle. “But Mom loved it.”
I hang my painting on the hook left behind, and we both stand back to observe its placement. Fiona straightens it, then nods in satisfaction.
“Look at that. Now it’s more your space.” She sighs. “Weird how things change.”
“Are you comfortable with this?” I ask. “Changing what used to belong to your mother?”
“No, no, it’s good. It’s time to put some of this stuff away anyway, or donate it.” She smiles up at me. “I want you to feel at home here.”
I will feel most at home when I am sharing a room with her, but that is for the future.
“Thank you. You are generous.”
She shrugs. “You’re my husband now, right? What’s mine is yours.”
That is quite a declaration, but I take it in stride. I scoop up her hand in mine like I did at the preserve and wind our fingers together. That was so pleasant, and I want to return to that place where it was just the two of us, alone.
“Fiona,” I say to her, taking her other hand, too.
Now I’m holding both of them, and she’s gazing up at me with her pure blue eyes.
Such an unusual color, so deep and full.
“I do not take my vows lightly. When I am truly your husband, in mind, body, and soul, I will never let my oath to you out of my sight.”
Her brows rise. “Oh. That’s really thoughtful. I know we’re married, but I guess it’s not quite…” She trails off.
“It is marriage in name, but not yet in heart,” I say.
“Yes.” She smiles brightly. “Exactly.”
I squeeze both her hands, then bring them closer to me. She follows until we are only a foot apart. “I am eager to learn more of you, Fiona. I greatly enjoyed learning more about you today, and this world I’ll call home.”
Her face reddens. I love earning this reaction from her. “I did, too. With you.”
I wonder if now is the time. I watched a human movie on the flight here, a romance story.
When the two humans had pressed their lips together, I audibly gasped.
This is how they expressed their affection?
On Arshur, we lean our foreheads together to display attraction, but our mouths are not involved in the equation.
Perhaps it would be better to ask first, rather than charging in the way I did trying to make breakfast this morning.
“Excuse me for not knowing the rules of human courtship, but…” I swallow, trying to get the words out. “Could I kiss you?”
She blinks up at me. “You know what kissing is?”
“I have seen it done. That is all. But I would like to try it with you.”
The pinkish hue of her cheeks darkens into red. “I… um… I hadn’t thought about it, but… sure! We did have a lovely date.”
I lean in closer to her, and her talking stops. Then, with supreme gentleness, I press my lips to hers.
Vakha. What am I doing? I have no idea how to kiss. Of course, it’s not until my mouth is on hers that I realize it. Now I’m stuck here, unmoving, trying to figure out exactly what I’m supposed to do with my lips.
It looked so much easier in the movie.
Underneath me, I feel a vibration against my mouth as Fiona giggles.
“Shathar,” she whispers. “You have to move your lips.”
I blink. Move them how?
“Like this.” Fiona’s arms curl around my neck, which brings us closer together.
Then she leans in and presses her lips to mine softly before retreating.
Then she does it again, her soft mouth on mine sending an electrical current straight through my body to the tip of my tail.
I gasp against her before remembering that I need to mimic her movements.
I press my lips to hers again, then retreat, like she did.
It is awkward at first, but soon we settle into a rhythm, our mouths moving against one another in a synchronic dance. Her lips are so soft and sweet, wonderfully pliable under mine, that I sink deeper into it, pressing more urgently and asking for more.
So she gives it to me. To my near mortification, Fiona licks my lip.
That buzzing sensation at the base of my tail spreads, and without a doubt, my cock is getting the message and sliding out of its slit.
I temper my reaction, and instead of retreating, I give her own lip an experimental lick.
Fiona’s arms tighten around my neck, so I think this was the right move.
Now she’s returning my ardor, sucking my top lip between hers and then releasing it.
Her tongue occasionally joins the dance, and so I bring out mine to play, too.
Soon our tongues are touching, then tangling between us, and I desperately hope I don’t hurt her with my fangs.
But it seems as if my mouth knows what to do, keeping them safely locked away while we kiss just like the people on the movie screen.
I find my tail curling around her leg, keeping her anchored to me.
Eventually, Fiona pulls away and gazes up at me through her lashes. Her lips look swollen from my attentions.
“Wow,” she says, bringing two of her fingers to her mouth. “That was great.”
I preen, glad that I got this human ritual right after a few tries. Her arms lower, and I take her hand in mine before she can go.
“Thank you, Fiona,” I say, reaching up to push back some of the short hairs that have fallen over her eyes. “For letting me into your home and your life.”
“I’m glad to have you, Shathar.” She leans into my hand, and now I want nothing more than to kiss her again. “And I can’t wait to learn even more about you.”
I love the way she says my name. I think about it even as she turns and heads up the stairs, saying goodnight to me. How I would love to make her say it in other ways.
But the time will come for that.