Chapter 22 #2
When the dishes are done, I go to the room to check on Niaus, who is currently sleeping in her little hammock that Zane brought over a few nights ago. She is nocturnal—much like many beasts on Erethar.
She is loud at night, but my Dante seems comfortable sleeping through the noise, and as I do not need as much sleep now that I am fully healed, I enjoy listening to her or sneaking from the bed to play.
For now, I do not disturb her. I check her food dish to ensure she is eating enough, and see that it is empty. As much as I wish to feed her again, Zane stressed the importance of not giving her more than what she needs, even if she is adorable and I want to give her everything.
For now, she is safe and healthy. Like me. She was abandoned by her kind—lost, afraid, starving. But I will never let her feel that kind of pain again.
She snuffles and makes odd noises as I pet her, but she doesn’t wake, so I slip from the room and make my way into the bedroom I prefer to share with my Dante.
Just as I pull the panties from the drawer, my phone begins to buzz, and I look down to see a video call request from my beloved.
“Hello,” I tell him.
His face breaks into a bright smile. When he is happy to see me, my hearts hammer against my chest. “Hey, babe. Did you just get home?”
I shrug. “Yes. I cleannnn. Check Niaus.” Words are easier, but I doubt my English will ever be perfect, no matter how much cum I consume. “I see Everest todee.”
Dante’s grin goes a little more shy. “Right. So ah…did he tell you…”
“Date,” I say carefully.
Dante laughs. “Yeah. If you don’t want to go—”
“No. I wannnt. Dress fannncy, eat pooooopcorn.”
Dante bursts into harder laughter and swipes a hand down his face. “Yeah. Exactly. You’re welcome to grab anything you want out of my closet, okay? I’m going to be home in about ten minutes. I’m just cashing out the drawer and putting the deposit in the safe.”
I nod and stroke my thumb over the screen. I wish to touch him.
“Me too, baby,” he says. He must have heard that from my mind.
He grins again, then I hear in my head, “Yes, I did. I like when I can hear you.”
I like it too, but it also frightens me. It makes me feel vulnerable in ways I did not expect to ever feel. It soothes me to know that my Dante will never hurt me, but betrayal is sneaky. It’s hard to erase the fear.
“Soooon,” I tell him.
“Yes. Soon. I—” He stops. It seems there were words he wished to say, but when I try to probe his head, he distracts me by shooting me images of what he wishes to do after the date.
The head of my cock slips from my sheath for just a moment, and I feel heat racing up my spine. “My Dante,” I whisper.
“Soon,” he says, then disconnects the call.
It takes me a moment to gather myself, but eventually my cock retreats behind my slit, and the want I have for Dante settles into a warm, comforting pulse at the base of my tail.
It does not take me long to dress after that. Humans are oddly complicated with their clothing and their strange fear of being in the nude. They are much more open and accepting of pleasure than the Vyastil, and yet they wish to consistently hide their visible signs of desire from one another.
It seems to lead to constant confusion. I do not think too much on it, however. Dante has never hidden his desire for me, so it will never be something I must guess about him.
Grabbing the panties, I slip them carefully over my feet, then up my thighs. They’re stretched wider than before, but still not the most comfortable to put on. Once they settle with my tail through the opening in the back and the fabric presses gently against my slit, they feel good.
I run my fingers over the patterns, loving the way they feel against my skin. Dante seems to love it, too. When I put them on, the wave of lust I felt from him was so overwhelming that I almost spilled breeding seed on the floor.
But no, I must not. I must hold back those feelings until after the date. I turn to the mirror and adjust my hair. Dante seems to have no preference for how I wear it, so I twist strands down my back and secure them with the pink tie he purchased for me that matches my coat.
The plait sits down my back as I shrug my coat over my shoulders, then sit down on the bed and pull on the socks Dante’s birth giver made me.
They sit tightly over my claws, the sensation strange as they create a barrier between my feet and the ground, but I do not dislike it. I flex my claws, then stand and walk over to the large mirror, and turn from side to side.
“Pretty,” I murmur to myself. “Fannnncy.”
“Oh,” comes a voice behind me. Dante’s reflection appears a second later, and I turn, searching for his approval.
“Date? Dress fannnncy?”
His cheeks are mottled pink, and he approaches me with hands out, grazing a touch from the panties to my chest, where he must feel my hearts racing against his palms.
“You look,” he says, then stops. I search for his feelings, and while I sense lust and appreciation, I also feel apprehension. I have done something wrong.
I take a step back and lift my hands to sign because the words are easier that way. ‘You don’t like?’
“No, no. God, baby, you look amazing. I love it. A lot. But uh…but, I think if you go out like that, we’re both going to be arrested.”
My reaction to that is visceral and powerful. I can’t control it. The very idea of my Dante being taken into the hands of cruel authority figures and put through what I was scares several years off my life.
I grab him without thinking, twisting my body around his, wrapping him in my arms and my tail. I begin to thrymm unthinkingly, probably loud enough to hurt his ears, but I cannot let that happen.
I cannot let them touch him.
I cannot…
“Baby. Hey. Cielo!” Dante speaks over the distressed noises I’m making, and it’s only at the feeling of his palms passing up and down my arms that I realize how profound my panic was.
My breathing settles, and I’m able to find the strength to look down into his face. “Hey, hi. There you are,” he whispers.
I cannot seem to speak, so I unwrap an arm from his body and circle my fist over my chest. ‘Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.’
He closes his hand over mine and holds me still. “No. It’s okay. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I start to shake my head, shame rushing through me, but there’s no point in lying or trying to hide how I feel. Tipping my forehead down, I project a few images of what happened to me when I was taken for arrest.
The darkness, the chains, the gnawing hunger, the constant pain. I show him a moment where I was whipped and hit with thin reeds to draw blood, leaving scars behind, a permanent mark on my skin to carry my shame around for betraying my people.
He gasps, and his eyes go watery for a moment before he swallows thickly and offers me a stern nod of understanding. He’s seen it. He knows now what I’ve been hiding.
My stomach aches, and I hate that he’s seen me at my weakest, but I need him to understand why my fear is so powerful.
He swallows once more and holds me tighter.
In his head, I feel his anger at my captors—his distress, his grief that he could not help me.
But he doesn’t speak any of that aloud. Instead, he bombards me with comfort.
“Cielo, my love. It’s not like that here, okay?
At all. Trust me. That won’t happen to you while you’re with me. ”
I let out a breath that’s finally steady and force myself to pull back, staring into his eyes. He is being honest.
“I promise,” he says. His voice is still trembling a little. “I just mean that you look very sexy, and the panties kind of…well…you’re not meant to wear just them. They’re meant to go under clothes.”
I almost laugh at the absurdity. Why would humans cover such pretty things? I’m still shaking a bit as I pull back from him and turn toward the closet. I pull one of the sheer wraps Rathyn recently gave me, and I tie it around my waist.
The panties are slightly visible, but not as much as before.
Dante swallows thickly, then nods as he touches the new fabric. “I think that’s perfect.”
“Fannncy? Pretty?” I ask.
He goes up on his toes and drags me down into a wet kiss, his tongue tangling with mine. It soothes me in ways nothing else can. The taste of him, the scent of him, the beating of his small, fragile human heart.
My claws rake through his hair, freed from his hair tie as it falls down his back. He moans softly, but he doesn’t take it further. He breaks the kiss with soft kisses over my mouth and jaw, and he laughs when I turn my head to lick and nose at the crook of his neck, leaving my scent behind.
I wish to bite him. My fangs ache to sink into his skin, my tongue to taste the very life essence of his blood.
But I do not.
Not now.
Perhaps not ever.
But it is a lovely thought to think he could be forever mine.
“Alright,” he says. He takes a single step back, then reaches up to cup my face. “Are you feeling better?”
“Better,” I repeat.
His smile lights him up from the inside out. “Good. I’m going to hop in the shower, then we’ll meet Everest and Rathyn at the theater. Sound good?”
It sounds like a lot of things I don’t understand, but it doesn’t matter. So long as I’m with Dante, I will remain the most content Vyastil in this realm.