Chapter 17 #4
I stroke her damp fringe back from her face, grazing the back of my index finger over her cheek.
“If you are worried that I do not find you attractive, let me put those fears to rest. I adore your curves; how strong you are. I love your expressive face, and especially your eyes. You see everything there is to see. I admire your spirit, and… how you help everyone. Even me.”
She gently shoves at my midsection. “Stop it,” she grumbles.
“No, you're going to receive praise, and you're going to like it.” I dip my head, cheek to hers, and take a deep inhale of the warm skin of her neck.
“Your scent drives me wild. It’s such a heady mix of tantalizing pheromones that I can't get enough of.
If I were a Selthiastock, I'd be overcome.” I chomp at her with my lips, and she giggles.
“You're nuts.” She chuckles. “I like this. Laughing with you.”
“Then that's what we shall do. Shall we sit here, in the hot springs, or elsewhere? What's comfortable for you?”
“I want to stay here, if that's okay.”
“It is. That's why I included it as an option.”
“Right. Yes. Sorry.”
“Don't apologize.” She's still nervous. How can I help this incredible woman see what I see?
Whether or not I've helped her feel at ease, she takes the next step herself. She murmurs, “Can I… touch you?”
“Of course.”
Her hands rove over my midsection and around my back. I rest my arms on her shoulders, holding still with stoic strength as her light fingers explore. My scales flicker in her wake as her touch makes every nerve flare to life.
“Is that okay?” she asks.
“Yes,” I manage to say. A moan escapes my lips, and I clamp them shut.
Or why not let her know how she's affecting me? “Nic-coal, you're driving me wild.”
“Sorry.” She pulls back.
“No, please, continue. I'd rather have some of your touch than none. Do what you will with me, use me however you want to. Just… please. Anything.”
With tantalizing slowness, Nic-coal’s tentative strokes return. I throw back my head and groan, and her touch becomes firm, more confident. “You don't know how much you affect me,” I confess. “Watch and see. I only wish I could do the same to you.”
“Well… maybe you can.” She takes my hand, guides it lower, to where her breasts heave as she breathes. Just as she's always done, she quietly shows me the way, helping me peel away her layers.
I check, “Are you sure? Tell me at any time if you want me to stop.”
She nods, and it's all the invitation I need. I unwrap her slowly, gently, tracing all the skin I reveal and running my rough palm over her again and again, stripping off each piece of fabric between her and me.
As I reach the final soaked abaya clinging to her skin, her lips part. "Arture, I… want you."
Me. The word echoes through my mind, almost unthinkable.
I'd been so focused on her and rewriting her mental scripts about herself. She wants me, despite the memories I’ve confronted, yes, but also despite the hidden secrets lurking so deep they haven't emerged yet.
I don't know who I really am at my core, but I'm undeserving of her kindness, let alone her desire.
So I have to pretend I’m worthy of her.
I lift the final abaya free, baring her to me. Her breasts are crowned with brown nipples, which tighten under my gaze. I lower my head and take one in my mouth, teasing it with my tongue.
She arches back, holding onto my shoulders as if I'm the one grounding her. I'm gentle at first, but she ignites something primal in me, a need I can’t suppress.
My hand finds her waist, lifting her up. I can’t bear even an inch of space between us.
Her fingers trace down my neck and a shiver runs through me, making my scales prickle in response. Every nerve in my body comes alive, attuned only to her touch, her closeness.
I break away from her nipple and I kiss her again, this time with a hunger I can’t hide.
My hand slides up her back, fingers tangling in her hair and pulling her even closer.
She presses her hips against me, and my restraint unravels.
I deepen the kiss, tasting her, losing myself in her warmth and strength that defies everything I thought I understood.
I break away to catch my breath, our foreheads resting together. Her eyes are half-closed, her cheeks flushed, and the sight sends a jolt through me. I want more. I need more.
“Is this acceptable?” I check.
“More than acceptable,” she pants.
“Do you want to continue?”
She nods.
Picking her up, I wade to the edge and lay her on the grass. My cocks tense against my pants as I slowly survey her, her strong limbs and rounded curves making my mouth water.
Instinct flares: step back. Hands away. Create distance. My fingers curl into fists at my sides as if they’ve reached without permission. Clones do not claim females. They only serve.
I stand, rigid and aching, guarding her instead of reaching for her, because that is what a clone is permitted to do. Wanting nothing, deserving less, and pretending the fire in his veins is nothing more than faulty wiring.
And yet my pulse refuses to slow. My senses stay locked on her, the faint scent of her skin, and the way her body seems to arch toward mine as if magnetized. Her muscles tense as she watches my every move, as if I’m an unpredictable animal.
“Arture?” she asks.
I can’t leave her like this, not with her past pressing against her in this vulnerable moment.
I will be a perfect clone and serve her.
Appreciative noises escape my lips, but her hands ball the grass into her fists, as if she's holding on.
“Shh,” I tell her mind.
“I'm sorry.” She slaps her hands over her eyes. “I’m really sorry.”
I gently peel them away so we can see each other. “You're safe with me. All I want is right here,” I reassure her fearful mind as I stroke around her breast, circling the orb and brushing my fingers up to her peak… and then ignoring the nipple to circle back down again.
Her back arches when I do it a second time. At the third, she says, “Please, please touch it.”
I smile, circling up and up…. and back down again, the nipple untouched and quivering.
“Please,” she breathes.
Now I use the tips of my fingers, a slight caress up, round and up… and then circle back down. She mewls.
My cocks jerk in my trousers. I have to swallow hard and control myself.
And why shouldn’t I tell her that?
“I’m working very hard not to take you. Seeing you like this, touching you like this…
I want so badly to touch and taste you, to ravish you all over.
” I stroke her stomach and down to the secrets at the top of her legs.
Despite all the pleasure training, this is Nic-coal, and she deserves the best I can provide for her.
I'll make her scream my name all night.
She parts her legs for me, but her hand clings onto my metal arm. I press a kiss to her forehead, gathering her close with my right arm. “You're safe with me, Nic-coal. Always.”
“I… I know.” She bites her lip.
“I can't get enough of you,” I confess. “I want more and more and more. But I'm holding myself back, for you.”
She gives me an incredulous look. I kiss her cheek and her neck, slowly pressing my hips to hers. My hard length aches against her and I have to break to breathe. I need to bring her along with me. The way she does for me.
“Oh,” she gasps.
“I can't fake that, Nic-coal,” I reassure her. “I want to please you as you deserve. I want to make you come. Have you ever had an orgasm?”
“I think so.”
“Oh, you’d know so. May I?” I tweak her nipple, strumming a moan from her. My first, but it won't be the last. I tease to help her sink deep in her senses and feelings, to protect her from self-defeating thoughts.
It's up to me to keep her in the moment to protect her from them, and check I'm doing what she wants. “Do you want more?”
“Yes.” She tilts her hips toward me. “But I don't know what to ask for.”
“Then we'll learn together.” I long to explore, to map out every single nerve I can ignite to stroke her pleasure. I start by trailing my fingers through the damp thatch of hair between her legs. “What do you call this?”
“My pussy.”
I tease my fingers lower, finding a warm, slick opening. Watching carefully, I study her reactions, every flush of her cheeks, the tightening of her nipples, the pebbling on her skin.
When I touch a tiny nub of flesh, her back arches, pushing my fingers into her slick folds.
“Was that acceptable?” I ask, suspecting the answer but wanting to hear her.
“Yes. Hell yes. That's my clit.”
“And how do mypussy and myclit taste?”
She blinks at me, and I slide down further, submerging my lower back in the steaming water.
“You're in control,” I tell her. “May I kiss you here?”
“What does kissing feel like?”
“I don’t know, I lack the correct parts. But we could try it, if it piques your interest?”
“Yes,” she breathes.
“And may I use my tongue?”
“Yes. Please.”
“Mm. I listen.” I pull her hips up to me, and lower my lips to her mypussy.