by Ruby Dixon
K’thar grunts and immediately pulls me against his side, burying his face against my neck.
So much for hints.
He nuzzles my neck, rubbing his skin against mine. I have to admit it feels pretty good…and a little terrifying at the same time. “No,” I say softly to him and shake my head. “No.”
He studies my face for a moment, and then nods, easing his grip on me and lying back. He closes his eyes and I breathe an enormous sigh of relief.
No rape. Thank god.
I close my eyes and relax…and carefully scoot back to the edge of the leaves again, just in case.
K’thar growls low in his throat and pulls me back against him, one hand anchoring at my waist and keeping me pinned at his side. All right, then. I might be hardheaded but I can take the hint. We get to snuggle despite the heat of the evening. I pat his hand in acknowledgement and close my eyes once more, determined to do my best to sleep.
It’s surprisingly easy to drift off, despite K’thar’s nearness. Or heck, maybe it’s because of it. I don’t even know. All I know is when he slides an arm under my head and pulls me against him, I decide there are worse things than having him as a pillow and keep my eyes closed. His hand remains locked around my waist, and I feel his thumb stroke the sensitive skin of my stomach. I ignore that, too. Truth is, he’s rather nice to lie against. I feel a little warm, but not overly so. Instead, I feel safe. Protected. Like nothing’s going to happen to me because K’thar’s got me. I like that a lot more than I should.
Then, his hand slides over the center of my belly.
Little curls of excitement flare through my body. It’s silly, but it makes things feel a bit like we’re teenagers trying to make out without anyone noticing. I could push his hand away, give him another firm no. But I’m so relaxed and he’s so nice to lie against that I let it slide. If I’m honest with myself, I’m curious if he’s going anywhere with this.
I get my answer a few moments later, when his fingers dip into the waistband of my shorts and then he’s brushing his fingers over my mound.
Well, that escalated quickly.
I bite back my gasp of surprise. He gives a little playful chuckle under his breath, and when I put my hand on his wrist, he stops. He won’t go any further if I push him away. He knows he’s pushing the limits.
And I’m pretty sure I’m a terrible person because for a brief, shining moment, I don’t want to push his hand away. My cootie’s humming, but more than that, I’m attracted to his playfulness, his strength. I haven’t been touched in so long that I’m tempted to see where things go. I don’t want sex. He knows I don’t want sex. But…this isn’t really sex, is it? It’s just touching. Exploring. Petting.
God, I love to be petted.
Affection isn’t something I thought I’d feel again, oddly enough. Ever since we’ve landed on this planet, one thing after another has been thrown at us. I’ve had to be strong and calm. I’ve taken Marisol under my wing and tried to be a leader and an example for the others when they were feeling afraid. There’s enough panic in a scary situation, I’ve always reasoned, and the best way to get through one is to help. I knew at some point my cootie would kick in, but I thought I had a long, long time to go.
Now, I’m being confronted by the fact that my cootie’s interested and it’s reminding me that I like to be touched. I’ve had boyfriends in the past, but I’ve never had sex. It was never the right time, or he was never the right guy. Gosh, I am so tired of being level-headed. For once, I want to get my freak on. I want to know what it’s going to be like if he touches me and I let him. For a moment, I want to release control and let someone else handle things. I want to be impetuous and wild and not think about tomorrow.
Not too impetuous, of course.
But maybe just a little.
I ease my grip on his wrist with a little sigh, giving him silent permission.
My name is a whisper on his lips as he pushes his hand a little lower. He touches the curls of my sex, stroking them and petting them. I realize that they must be different to him, because when I saw him naked—in the quick glimpse that I had—he was all bare blue skin. I don’t remember seeing any body hair, actually.
I hope he doesn’t find mine offensive.
“L’ren,” he murmurs again, his breath hot against my brow. I’m tiny, pressed up against his massive, muscular body, I realize. I probably weigh half of what he does and I know I’m a good foot smaller than him. I feel dainty and petite in his arms, and it’s a rather delicious feeling. My cootie purrs with pleasure and I relax against him, even though my heart is racing with anticipation.
How far are we going to take this, I wonder? Why does that make me so very breathless?
K’thar rubs one large finger up and down the part of my folds, leaving me gasping with want. He doesn’t explore deeper, just moves that finger back and forth, stroking me over and over and making me crazy with need. I can feel how wet I’m getting just at that small touch, and my cootie’s going wild in my chest. His is loud, too, but he doesn’t seem to be paying a lick of attention to it—his focus is entirely on me. I can feel his mouth pressed against my hair, his grip tight on my waist, but the only thing he moves is his hand.
Stroking me.
Just when I’m ready to go mad and push his hand to the right spot, he pushes just a little deeper, stroking between my folds and slicking through their wetness. I whimper and hold tight to him, clinging to his bicep as he strokes me, exploring my folds and murmuring my name ever so softly. His hand feels enormous as he touches me, and when he grazes the entrance to my core with one fingertip, it takes everything I have not to bear down against him and have him take me like that.
But then he moves his hand away again and continues his maddening caresses.
I nearly explode when he brushes up against my clit. I’ve never felt anything so intense. So good. The breath sobs out of my throat, and I can feel him stiffen next to me. It’s almost like he’s surprised. Has he never touched a woman before? Or is human anatomy different? It doesn’t matter, because he continues touching me, rubbing one large finger back and forth against the little nub of sensitive flesh and making me writhe against him. The breath seems to leave my lungs.
He gives this deep, sexy chuckle and then teases my clit again, and I clamp down on his hand, gasping as I hit my release. That was…fast. And intense. I’ve never come so hard, not even on my own. It feels like my body has tensed into this big knot that slowly, pleasurably unravels as I come and come and come.
By the time I catch my breath, I realize what I’ve done. Oh man. So much for holding my ground and not letting a stranger touch me. Of course, K’thar doesn’t feel like a stranger. I know some of that is just the cootie talking, but I feel like I’ve known him for a very long time. He feels familiar to me. Comfortable.
And his hand on my pussy? Kind of feels like it belongs there. Which is also messed up.
I let out another soft little sigh that turns into a yawn. I’m a little scandalized by what just happened, but I also feel really good. Like it was the perfect thing I needed after a stressful day, which is also ridiculous. Some of the tension starts to return as I lie next to K’thar, waiting to see what happens next. Is he going to demand reciprocation? Push for us to have sex? Move his hand off of my pussy so I can sleep?
He does none of these things, though. He just nuzzles at my hair like he’s pleased and relaxes against me. I furtively try to pull his hand away since he’s still cupping me between my legs, but he only growls low in a warning and ignores me.
Well, all right, then. I wait a moment or two longer, unsure, and then relax, little by little. Exhaustion overtakes me and I lean in against him until my body is pressed against his. We’ll talk about his possessiveness in the morning.
For now, I’m too tired to protest.
9
K’THAR
I have never been so pleased in all of my days. After the death of the Great Smoking Mountain, I thought
mine would be a joyless existence, to hunt and care for those that were left until we disappeared, one by one. That there would be nothing but more sadness and frustration in my life. But now? With my mate next to me, her pleasure-scent covering my hands and her soft body curled against mine?
There is hope once more. And there is joy.
With a mate, my tribe has a chance. It will be difficult, of course, to rebuild to what we once were, but with a resonance female at my side, at least we have a chance. Before, we had none.
She is not yet ready to mate, though. That is all right. As long as she lets me hold her and touch her, I am content to wait until her arms open up to welcome me.
It will not be long, I think. L’ren sleeps heavily against me, her breathing steady. My hand remains on the curls of her cunt, and I want to touch her again, give her more pleasure, watch her twist in my arms with her need and hear the little pleading sounds she makes. That will wake her, though, and she needs her rest. I will wait until morning.
But until then, I will hold her.
I do not get until morning, of course. Z’hren wails in his basket and wants to be fed before dawn. It is my turn to tend to him, so I reluctantly leave my mate nestled in the leaves and care for the kit. Once he is fed and burped, he wants to play, and so I let him sit in my lap while I weave leaves together for a new loincloth, then work on one for my mate. The leather she wears will be damp and hot in this heat. Leaves are much cooler and can be discarded when needed. I will have to teach her how, because it is clear she does not know how to take care of herself. I do not mind, though. I look forward to such things.
Just as dawn begins to lighten the skies, the mountain lets out an angry grumble. The ground shakes and the leaves of the trees rustle wildly. I move to my mate’s side and with the kit under one arm, I hold her close, ensuring that she will not fall off the platform.
L’ren gasps and clings to me, her eyes wide with fear.
“It will not last long,” I promise her. “It shakes to let us know it is mad and then it will eventually stop.” I hope. As long as it does not come with smoke and liquid fire, it will be all right. Most of them do not.
“S’rthqk?” She says, worried. “Shdwi gtdwn frmtris?”
The shivering of the world stops, and just like that, everything is quiet once more. Nothing calls from the trees and even the leaves that normally rustle in the breeze are utterly silent.
“It is done,” I tell my mate and get to my feet and offer her a hand. “Come. We will get you something to eat.”
“Bb hokay?” She repeats this and plays with Z’hren’s little hand, and I realize she is asking after him.
“He is used to the earthshakes,” I tell her. “Probably more used to it than I am. They have been more and more frequent.” I worry they have something to do with the fact that the jungle grows steamier by the day, but I can only worry over that which I can control. I am pleased that she worries over the kit, though. She will make a fine mother to our young.
L’ren looks upset, so I do my best to distract her by offering her the loincloth I have woven for her this morning. To my surprise, her face colors the pinkish shade again. The look she gives me is shy, though, and her voice grows soft. When her khui begins to sing, I realize she is thinking of last night and how I touched her.
And then I cannot stop grinning, because I plan on doing so again tonight, and every night for the rest of our lives.
She makes a gesture with her hands and indicates I should turn around. Her insistence is puzzling but I do as she asks. As my back is turned, she takes off her leathers, and I wonder at her people. They do not camouflage, but do they cover their pink bodies in heavy, sweaty hides like she does? Or is this strange habit L’ren’s only? It makes no sense. She calls my name and I turn around, pleased to see that she is wearing the loincloth I’ve woven for her. It hangs loose on her hips and I move forward and pull at two of the fronds to tighten it so it holds properly. “You look very fine, my mate.” I do not point out that she could get rid of the leather wrapped around her torso. She will in her own time.
“Fl nkkid!” L’ren smiles at me and then pats at her chest. “Cn mk onfr mitop?”
One to cover her teats? “Of course.” I am happy she asks.
She takes the kit from my arms and keeps him busy while I gather more leaves and weave them quickly into a flat, square surface to cover her front and weave a second smaller chain to loop around her neck. I offer it to her, but she only holds the kit and bounces him, frowning at me.
“Issa plaesmat? Nottatop?”
“Clothing,” I tell her. “For your teats.” And I gesture how she should put it on.
She makes a humming noise in her throat, clearly undecided, but then hands me Z’hren and puts it on, slipping off the length of leather once the leaves have settled over her swollen teats. Then, she pulls her long mane forward and pats it in place atop them, and seems satisfied.
“Hungry?” I ask, miming food. I know she must be. At her eager nod, I gesture that we should descend lower in the tree, through the hollow.
Her movements are uncertain, but L’ren follows me down through the tree until we reach the lowest level. Even though it is still a good distance off the ground, the platform is widest here. This is where most of the stored food is kept, and where N’dek has been living ever since his leg was hurt.
He is here this morning, still lying on his mat of wilted leaves, staring off into the jungle. Fat One sits on the lip of a nearby basket, waiting to be fed. He squawks and flutters his wings, indignant at his hunger. The noise rouses N’dek and he glances over when I descend with Z’hren, and then sits upright, eyes wide, when he spots L’ren.
She gasps at the sight of him and moves behind me again. I automatically camouflage at her alarm, and the kit in my arms camouflages as well.
“How are you this day, my brother?” I ask my tribesmate as I set Z’hren down on the leaves next to him. I move to the baskets nearby. They have been looking rather flat lately, and I worry we are running out of food. The island is much smaller now with the death of the Great Smoking Mountain, and the game has been scarcer, nuts and eggs not as plentiful. With only myself and J’shel able to go hunting, there are long periods where we do not have the time to gather anything, and it has taken a toll on our supplies. I cannot complain, though. Not to N’dek, who has lost all of his leg below the knee. I am healthy and whole, and I have a mate. Truly, I am the luckiest of males.
My female clings to my side, her hand stealing into one of mine for reassurance. I give her a reassuring look and then open the lid on one of the baskets. Nearly empty, the only contents a half-rotten bit of fruit. I fish it out and offer it to Fat One, who snatches it from my fingers with an indignant trill and then flutters over to L’ren’s shoulder to roost.
She gives a happy little laugh, and her expression is clearly pleased at her new companion. Her tight grip on my hand eases and I relax, glancing over at N’dek before opening the next basket. “J’shel leave early this morning?”
N’dek nods slowly, his eyes wide. He cannot stop staring at my female, and I feel a possessive urge to step in front of her and protect her from his gaze. “He babbled about you and a female but…I thought he was talking nonsense to cheer me up. You know how he loves to make up stories.”
I do. J’shel has tried his hardest to break N’dek from his depression, spending endless hours telling him wild tales to intrigue him…or at the very least, make him smile. He will be pleased that N’dek has shown interest in something this day, even if it is my mate. Of course he is interested, I reason. All hope for a mate for all of us left the day the Great Smoking Mountain died, along with most of the tribe and the island itself.
Nearly everything died that day. I think of the earthshake from this morning and my mouth flattens. It cannot happen again. Small shakes are nothing. They have always happened. We will not have another mountain death. There is no mountain left…is there?
I think of
the smoke pouring into the sea at the far end of the land and frown to myself. I cannot worry about such things. I must feed L’ren and Z’hren. I will worry about the mountain later.
“What is her name?” N’dek asks in a soft voice. “Where did she come from? And…what is wrong with her camouflage?”
I chuckle because he has spoken more in this day than he has in the last turn of the moon. “She is mine, N’dek. We have resonated.”
“I have ears,” he says dryly. “I know this. But…how did she get here? Are there more like her?” Z’hren babbles and grabs at N’dek’s braids, and the hunter absently picks the kit up, sitting upright in his bed. “I do not understand how she came to be here.”
“Nor do I. Until she learns to speak our language, we will not know who she is or where her people are.”
“Another island, perhaps? With other clans? Ones that weren’t destroyed by the mountain’s death?” He looks hopeful.
“If that is the case, then it is a strange place where they do not need camouflage to protect themselves.”
He grunts. “It does seem odd.”
As if she realizes she is the center of our conversation, my mate steps forward with the nightflyer still perched on her shoulder and smiles at N’dek. “Hi’im L’ren,” she tells him, patting her chest.
N’dek looks at me, eyes narrowed. “Is she trying to tell me something?”
“Her name.”
“Oh. Of course.” He nods at her and touches his own chest. “N’dek.”
Her face screws up and she looks at me helplessly, then tries to say his name. “Naaaahdeckkkk.”
The look on N’dek’s face is pained, but he nods politely.
“Their language is strange,” I admit to him. “She cannot say my name either.”
“She is unusual looking,” he says after a moment, and when she sits down next to him, he flashes camo, as if alarmed. “Her hands are deformed.”