by Dixon, Ruby
I gasp, shocked at how sensitive my breasts are. Just that small, not-unexpected touch sends a bullet of sensation through me. He groans at my response, sliding his hand from my other breast to the one his mouth is latched onto. He squeezes it, feeding more of it into his hungry mouth, and continues to suck hard.
I grab his hair, writhing against his mouth. "Oh, that's good, Vaza. That's really good."
He lifts his head long enough to drag his tongue over my aching nipple in a slow lick. "It does not hurt?"
"Never. Just keep going." I'm super sensitive, but it's not painful. I just feel as if I might come apart if he toys with them long enough. Already I can feel my pussy's ultra-slick with arousal, which is nice. Sometimes it takes me a while to get wet, but not today. And when he lightly scrapes his teeth over my nipple, I cry out, pulling on his thick, gray-streaked hair. "You are a devil," I tell him as I press my breast up to his mouth for more attention. "A big, sexy devil. My devil."
Vaza groans, and his hand slides from my breast down to between my legs. I can hear his grunt of approval when he finds that I'm already sopping wet. He shifts his body and his big cock rubs up against my thigh even as he continues to work my breast, nipping and sucking at the small mound and the erect tip.
It feels like he spends eternity on my breasts. He cups my mound, but his hand remains on the curls there, a silent tease as he switches from my left breast to my right and gives it the same intense loving that the other received. By the time he lifts his head again, I'm squirming like a wild woman under him, panting demands for him to touch my pussy, to find my clit and touch it like he's touching my breasts. I need him all over me. I need his mouth and his hands and his everything—especially his spur.
"Gimme your spur," I demand when I can take it no longer. I push my thighs wide apart and slide my hand over his, pressing his big fingers against my aching, wet folds. I rub his fingers over my slick heat and nearly come apart at that, especially when he chuckles. "You're such a damn tease, Vaza."
"Beg me," he says, his eyes hot as he leans in and nips at the tip of one breast once more.
Oooh, we're playing that game, are we? "Beg you?" I shiver at how dominant he can get at times. I thought I'd hate a man that got all bossy on me, but in bed? In bed, I'm all over it. It's just another game, and a fun one. "I'm not going to beg you, you naughty man."
"Then I shall keep tormenting you," Vaza says, his breath hot on my stomach, and I shiver all over again as the tip of his tail flicks along the inside of my thigh. "You are mine, my beautiful human, and I will not give you what you need until you realize it."
"Maybe you should beg me," I manage between panting, even as his mouth dips lower and he brushes his lips against the curls on my mound. "Beg me so you can take this hot, tight pussy."
He chuckles. "I could take it now and you would thank me," he murmurs, giving my folds a teasing hint of a lick. Just a hint. His hands tighten on my thighs. "I would push inside you and you would say, 'Oh Vaza, fill me with your enormous blue cock. Make my cunt shiver on your rod. I am but a weak human female and need to come so hard."
I want to giggle at his ridiculousness, but then he sucks on my clit and I lock my thighs tight around his shoulders, pinning him in place. "Oh fuck me, right there, baby."
He grunts his pleasure at the taste of me, and then there are no sounds in the tent other than my soft cries and the sound of his wet, thorough licking and sucking. He gives my clit the same attention he gave my breasts, and I come so damn hard, my thighs quaking against his shoulders.
"My beauty," he murmurs as he wrings spasm after spasm of pleasure from my body. "My heart. My lovely Shail. Never have I seen anything as perfect as you. You fill my spirit with a fever I cannot quench—nor do I want to. I want you like this under me, forever."
And that's another thing I love about this man—he can go from playful horndog to sexy poet in a matter of moments. "Vaza," I breathe, reaching for him. "I want you. Come take your mate."
He shifts his big body—so impossibly big compared to my smaller frame, but he's always so gentle with me. A moment after his large form covers mine, he slicks his cock up and down my soaking folds, wetting his length with my juices. Then he pushes inside me, and it feels so good that my groan is louder than his.
"Shall I give you more, my star? My morning sunlight?"
"Give me everything you've got," I demand of him, and he does. Vaza fucks me, fast and hard and oh-so-deliciously. It doesn't take long for me to come again—not with the spur shuttling against my clit with every stroke of his cock into me. Once I come again, the full-body shudder tells him that now it's his turn, and it's not more than a breath or two before he groans my name with his own release. He rocks into me slowly, whispering all kinds of platitudes and calling me beautiful things. His snow flower. His perfect sunrise. His treasure. It would all be slightly ridiculous if he wasn't so damn sincere, and as it is, it's just sweet. I slip my arms around his neck as he collapses into the furs next to me and watch him recover, because looking at him's a treat.
"This is nice," I tell him, sliding my hand over his plated pectorals. "Real nice."
"I am glad I returned early," he agrees, sweaty and pleased. "Pen-ee needs to injure herself more often."
"Not a nice thing to wish," I say with a laugh.
"Not a bad injury," he tells me, because he doesn't have a single mean bone in his body. "Just one that will allow me to forget my duties for an afternoon and tuck my mate under the furs with me." He pulls me tight against him and kneads one breast, teasing the nipple into a hard peak once more. "Your teats—how are they?"
"Sensitive," I admit.
"They feel larger," he agrees. "Heavy. I like your teats as small, perfect little nuggets, but I like them like this, too."
"I'm not sure I like my body being referred to as 'nuggets,'" I say, amused. "Exactly what kind of nuggets are we talking about?"
"Big, meaty nuggets," he immediately amends, a wicked smile on his face. "Is that not what I said?"
"Not exactly."
"Your hearing is going with your old age." Vaza manages to keep a straight face. "It is a good thing I am here to interpret for you."
"Boy, you did not just call me flat chested AND old." But I'm smiling because he is, too, and I know he loves the way I look. He hasn't been able to take his eyes off me since the day we met. I glance down at my boobs. "You think they're a little bigger? Really?"
He nods. "I could tell when I put your teat into my mouth. If they are sensitive, do they need more rubbing?" He caresses one with a big hand and gives me an encouraging look.
Even on Earth I never met a man with as much stamina as Vaza. I chuckle. "Give me a moment to catch my breath, and then I'll let you play with my 'nuggets' all you like." I glance toward the tent flaps and then hesitate. "How long should we leave Z'hren with Lauren, do you think?"
"All afternoon," he tells me promptly, and pulls me down against him so he can lick my nipple once more.
So much for catching my breath. I bite back a gasp as he begins to tease it expertly, and try to remain focused. "I don't want to impose—"
"Shail, my beautiful one, let Lo-ren take him for a time." He nuzzles my breast and then glances up. "Do not forget that you are Shail as well as Z'hren's mother. You can be both without letting one take over the other."
He's got a point. After Calvin died, I wrapped myself up in my grief as my identity and didn't care about the rest of the world. Maybe if Shaun would have helped me cope instead of shutting me out, it would have been different. But Vaza's an entirely different sort of partner, and I know he won't let me sink into mommy mode without forgetting Gail. He's supportive and loving—there's no doubt about that—but he's also firm with boundaries. "You're a good man, you know that?"
Vaza looks smug. "You always say that after I give you spur."
I push against his shoulder, nudging him onto his back. "You always remember that I'm Gail first, though, and I love that. You
never try to make me be anything other than I am."
"Because you have my heart," he says simply, touching my short, natural curls and studying my face. "I find everything about you perfect. Why would I change any of it? It is Shail that I adore. I want all of Shail, not pieces of someone else."
He always knows the right thing to say. With a sultry little smile, I sit up, deciding that compliments can be rewarded. "Now, let me show you one of Gail's tricks…"
And as I straddle him, his eyes light up.
8
GAIL
We make love for hours, and it’s nice to spend a leisurely afternoon between the furs like a pair of teenagers. Once my stomach rumbles, though, Vaza is back into protector mode. He stokes our small fire, melts fresh water so I can wash up, and then disappears out to grab us portions of whatever the camp food is tonight. With so many hunters practicing, there’s always plenty of fresh game and so I’m not surprised when Vaza returns with an entire dvisti haunch. It’s raw, of course. I still haven’t gotten used to raw, cold meat for dinner, but I tolerate it because it’s Vaza’s favorite and the scent of cooking meat tickles his nose unpleasantly.
As Vaza cuts our dinner up, Lauren and K’thar stop by with Z’hren. We invite them to share our food, since there’s plenty of it, and I’m pleased when they accept. I love company, and I know Vaza does, too.
Z’hren immediately reaches for me when Lauren approaches, and my heart swells. Maybe he missed me. I hold my arms out and he flings himself into my grasp, and then immediately burrows into my tunic, looking to latch on.
I turn discreetly away from the others because I’m not sure how Lauren and K’thar will react, and open my tunic. He makes a few happy little grunts, quickly followed by frustrated sounds when nothing comes out.
“He…ate not too long ago,” Lauren says, her voice soft. “I didn’t realize he was still hungry.”
I adjust my tunic so the leather folds cover most everything, and then turn around to face them once more, resting a hand on Vaza’s shoulder as I sit next to the fire. “I don’t know if he is or not, but I think he just likes to suck. There’s nothing there yet, anyhow. Veronica says it should take a few days.”
Lauren rubs her ear and looks slightly embarrassed. “I never even thought of nursing. I feel bad, because I can’t imagine eggs are any better for him.”
“It took me a few days to come to it myself. It happens.” I smile at her. “I think all of you did a fantastic job with him considering both his mother and father died.”
“Well, you look really at home,” Lauren says, hugging her knees. “Like you’ve done this before.”
“I had a son once, back on Earth.” When her look turns stricken, I shake my head. “I didn’t leave him behind. He passed away some time ago.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Lauren reaches for K’thar’s hand, linking her fingers with his and glancing at her quiet mate.
The ache is old, and somewhat lessened by the sweet face buried in my tunic right now. Once, I might have spent the entire evening talking about Calvin, but that’s part of my past, like everyone else here has a past. I think of all that Vaza’s lost, and how he doesn’t let it define him. He carries it with him, but it doesn’t rule him day to day. He looks to the future with hope, and I’m learning to do the same. “It’s all right,” I say, and cast a smile in Vaza’s direction. “Just means I don’t have to worry about resonance messing with the good thing I’ve got going.”
“There is nothing wrong with choosing what your heart wants,” Vaza declares, and reaches out to brush his knuckles over my cheek in a caress.
“Nothing at all,” I agree, then gesture at the food, waiting to be devoured. “Now, shall we eat? We’ve got an entire haunch of dvisti, ready to share.”
* * *
The next morning, the sound of a baby crying rouses me from my sleep.
Z’hren.
I drag myself out of bed, groaning, because all of my limbs feel heavy and tired. Last night was a good night, if a late one. K’thar and Lauren sat around, drinking tea and sharing stories after dinner. A short time later, J’shel and N’dek joined us, and then our tent was full of people, nibbling on leftovers, laughing, and talking. It felt good. It felt like a family, and we loved the company. Z’hren went from lap to lap for a bit, and then settled down against my breast and went to sleep. It was very late when Vaza chased the last of them out, frowning at N’dek as he was piggybacked away by J’shel.
“That one has to learn to take care of himself again,” my mate said.
“Give him time,” I replied sleepily. “They said his wound was new.” I can only imagine the grieving process for a missing limb. “He’ll get back to himself soon enough, whatever the old ‘himself’ was.”
Vaza just grunts. I know it’s hard for him to understand sitting around idly. He’s told me that after his mate died—and later when his son did—he threw himself into hunting and working hard around the cave so he wouldn’t have to spend much time alone at his fire. Everyone goes through it differently, though, and I make a mental note to be supportive of N’dek and see if there’s anything I can help him with.
He’s young, after all—they all are—and the mama in me can’t let a child be miserable.
Which is why I crawl out of bed. I move to Z’hren’s basket, clucking at him as he cries. “At some point, little man, you’re going to wake up happy and not screaming,” I tell him softly.
Today is not that day, though. He blasts my face with another angry demand, legs and arms thrashing. His angry cries fill the tent, and when I lean over to pick him up, I notice that my soft, brushed leather tunic is sticking to my front as if it’s wet.
Startled, I pause and undo the loose ties that angle artfully down the side, until my tunic is open. Z’hren screams louder, wanting to be picked up, and as he does, I see milk beading on my nipples. I touch one breast, surprised, and find that it’s heavier than it felt yesterday, and tender. Even as I touch it, more milk dribbles out.
I don’t know if I want to cry with relief or scream with joy.
Z’hren is doing plenty of screaming on his own, though, and I’m practically weeping with happiness as I pick him up. “Hey, hey,” I shush, giddy. “Come here, baby boy. Come here.”
He reaches for me as I pick him up, his cries immediately dying to an unhappy whimper, and I settle him against my breast. He grunts, making greedy little sounds as he latches on and begins to pull. For the first time, there’s milk for him, and he sucks harder, as if he’s been starving all this time. Milk bubbles at the corners of his little mouth and trickles down his chin, but he doesn’t stop drinking.
And my heart is full. Happy tears fall down my cheeks, and I gaze down at my baby with love. My son. My Z’hren. One small hand curls against my breast, and then the other, and he opens his eyes and watches my face as he nurses, and my silly heart melts just a little more with every passing second.
“There you go, little man,” I whisper. “Mama’s got you.”
“Mama is sad?” a familiar, sexy voice murmurs in my ear. A warm finger brushes my cheek, and Vaza leans over my shoulder, nuzzling at my skin. “Or are these happy tears?”
“Good morning, love. And they are most definitely happy tears.” I beam at him, then down at our child. “Look at how perfect our son is.”
“He looks just like you,” Vaza teases, and I giggle as if that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. “Look at him,” he urges again.
I do, and I’m shocked to see that Z’hren’s blended his camouflage to match my dark skin. My heart aches with wonder at the sight. I knew he could camouflage just like the others in his tribe, but I never expected this…
The suction breaks on my nipple, and I see Z’hren watching me. His little face breaks into a smile, his mouth covered in milk, but it’s a smile and it’s for me.
I smile back.
Author’s Note
Hello again!
I hope you enjoyed Gail’s (l
ong-awaited) story. I always feel a tiny bit guilty when I release a novella instead of a full-length novel, because I know you guys anticipate every story with so much enthusiasm. And I know how it feels to get into a story and want it to never, never end. In my head, though, Gail’s story has always been a novella. Not because she’s less interesting than everyone else, but because she’s at a different point in her life. In your twenties, everything is a Big. Deal. and by the time you get older, you get tired of that shit. You know who you are and you’re confident in yourself. I could have artificially added some conflict just to draw the story out, but I hate stories where happy couples are angry at each other throughout the entire book. I just hate it! And I don’t want to do that to my characters.
So what you get is a sweet slice of life about babies and older people having a fantastic time in the sack together. It is what it is. ;)
I know some readers were super excited at the thought of Gail resonating, but doing so would break a lot of rules I’ve set up for the world already. Vaza is a widower, and the khui picks one mate and one mate alone. I would have to give him a new khui (which is extremely rare) and then it would have to pick Gail. As for Gail, her reproductive organs would basically have to start up again, and I hesitate (mentally) to do something like that for a lot of reasons. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being older and being done with having babies. There is absolutely nothing wrong with adoption, either. I feel like it’s a loving, wonderful alternative. There’s also nothing wrong with having zero babies at all…but when I created Gail, I made her a maternal mama hen to all the lost chicks, so it made perfect sense for her to adopt instead of magicking so much stuff to make Vaza and Gail resonate. I know you’re thinking to yourself, Ruby, it’s fucking FICTION, do what you want!