by Roscoe James
When he started toward the bed, Pran stepped in front of him and shoved on his chest, “You not ready. Go. Light candle.”
It had all been fun, a day of sun and color and fragrance that, not the same as having the enchanting fragrance of his Peenzan floating around, was pleasant enough by itself, but he was tired and no longer in the mood. He thought of refusing, but when she pushed again, he decided it would be easier to just do what she wanted.
What candle? He guessed she could read minds now because Pran took his hand and led him back to the birthing table. Digging behind his stack of flowers, she pulled out a candle and set it on the floor in front of the stone slab.
“There, you light.”
Finding a flint and striking stone beside the candle, he kneeled and worked until the flame caught and glowed warmly.
When he stood, Pran picked the candle up and set it on the edge of the birthing table beside the depression that was the head.
“Now.” Pran sounded like she was as much out of patience as he was. “You kneel here and talk Bast. Say thing you want most in all universe. Then you go sleep.”
This time there was no thought of antagonizing Pran. Obediently, reverently, he knelt on the cold stone floor and said his prayer to a god he didn’t know on a world he was just learning in a haze of tears he didn’t deny.
Chapter Eight
Once he’d returned to Meline, his dreams of her had become more vivid. At times she’d stand beside the bed, others she’d walk to the chiming pool where she’d sit on the low stone bench and talk to him while he bathed.
Sometimes she’d sit on the edge of the bed, just out of reach.
And they’d always talk. It was funny that given the short time they’d had together, they could find so many things to talk about.
She explained more about love, about the Meline way, about how selfishness was impossible between Meline mates, and that, hard as it might be to understand, that could be a problem when both wanted to give and no one wanted to take.
She told him about Bast, about herself as a child, and asked him about his own childhood.
It didn’t matter what they talked about, it was about the talking, about her finding him in his dreams.
Tonight he closed his eyes to the soft fragrance of flowers and the spicy smell of the candle he’d lit, and was disappointed when she wasn’t there immediately. He wanted to know about their customs, about the flowers and the candle, about why she was so real to him in his dreams.
His mind finally settled, and with a feeling of disappointment he fell into the abyss of a black dreamless sleep, letting Meline and the rest of the galaxy slip away.
* * * *
“I am here, my love.”
“Yes,” he smiled, “At last.”
Her skin glowed in the light of the single candle that burned on the birthing table, her platinum hair a shimmer, her back-fall swishing as she stepped onto the bed and kneeled beside him, “I’m sorry you had to wait, but these things take time.”
His hand came up as it often did and he reached to touch her cheek. He smiled when she didn’t shy away as she always had before and enjoyed the warm feel of her skin on his fingertips. Then he heard her soft purr and his smile deepened.
“Tell me about love again,” he whispered.
“Oh,” she replied and leaned close enough he could feel her breath on his cheek. “I think I’d much rather show you.”
Her lips found his and he felt his eyes well. When his hand found her breast, she moaned into his mouth.
He let her hand push him back on the mattress and marveled at the gift Bast had sent him in his dream tonight.
When she straddled his thighs and took his cock in her hand, he quaked beneath her.
When she let it drop and crawled up his body to find his mouth again, he felt a tear on his cheek.
“No,” she said with a small laugh and kissed his tear away. “No, you mustn’t be sad. I am here, we are one. You have found me.”
“Peenzan,” he said as his voice shook with emotion. “What will I do when you no longer find me in my dreams?”
“Shhh,” she whispered and her finger sealed his lips. “Just love me and let Bast see how happy we are together.”
He reached, then stopped, afraid she’d slip away, evaporate into the Meline night. Then he let his hands wander to her back where he ran his fingers up and down the soft ridge of fur that covered her spine in wonder.
His cock felt warm tucked beneath her back-fall resting on the curve of her ass.
“It’s okay,” she said with a giggle. “I will not break. I am yours now and forever.”
He could feel her wet kiss on his stomach and his fervor grew. Letting his hands slide down, he lifted her ass and watched her eyes close slowly as he slid his hard cock in.
It felt so real. He could smell her, feel her purr against his chest, feel her slide on his cock. The wetness. The warmth. The soft touch of her cunt caressing him.
Her nose blushed chocolate brown and her eyes were dark pools that beckoned. Cradling her in his arms, he rolled them both on the bed and found her neck where he kissed the dancing pulse he found jumping beneath her white skin.
“Oh, Peenzan, why? Why did you have to go?”
“Shhh, my love, I’m here now. I’m yours now.”
He pushed between her thighs and smiled when she squeaked. He felt her legs around his hips and pushed again with purpose.
“Yes,” she whispered on a sigh.
His mouth found a breast and he sucked until it was as brown as her nose. He suckled at the other hungrily while his cock pushed into her, spreading her, opening her.
When she teased, “Do not be timid, my love, take me! Make me yours!” his muscles pulled tight, his thighs bulged, his toes dug, and all thought of his wonderful dream slipping away faded as he rutted and ravaged her until his body dripped with sweat, her mouth opened in a voiceless scream, and she rocked and quaked beneath him, her pussy clenching tight around his relentless cock.
She was panting, her nails digging at his back, her purr a tumult against his chest when he didn’t relent, his loins drawn as taught as piano wire, his big chest smothering her, the muscles in his neck tight cords that bulged.
He could feel her, smell her, hear her purr, and he exploded in a torrent of animal grunts and jerking moans, only to collapse back into the dark abyss of a dreamless sleep.
* * * *
A scratching on his shoulder brought him back and he lazily brushed his hand across the itch it left behind. Just as his eye opened, he saw a small red bird fly away and perch on the edge of Peenzan’s desk.
He knew what it was, she’d told him once long ago, on a late night walk above the castle. A waltuun. Nature’s lover, she’d said. He smiled and turned his head back to the pillow to enjoy the dream he’d found of her soft purring beneath him.
“You mustn’t do that, my love.”
His head jerked so hard his neck hurt. There she was curled beneath him. Her slightly crossed blue eyes staring at his nose.
“Wha…”
“You’ll anger Bast. I have no idea why Nature’s lover has taken a liking to you, but he has. Best you make friends with him.”
He rolled away, rubbed his eyes, and looked again.
“But…”
“No, not yet. You’re so nice and warm. Come back,” she whined like a spoiled child.
“How…”
“Princess! Good morning!”
He didn’t understand what had been said, but when he looked over his shoulder he wasn’t surprised to find Pran standing at the side of the bed.
Peenzan answered in Meline and tugged on his shoulder again.
“But how? Did I die?”
“No, silly.” She slapped his chest playfully. “Why would you think that?”
“But you died! I saw it happen! You were beside me…”
“Of course I did. But now I’m back.”
He pinched her and she squealed, �
�What was that for!”
He kissed her and she moaned.
When he started staring again, she said, “But I thought you knew.”
“No…” was all he managed.
“Here.” And she took his hand and pulled him off the bed, then led him to the birthing table. All the flowers were gone. There, in the middle of the gold lined depression of her body lay a single flower. The small white six peddled bloom with a golden center. The last flower he’d picked. The one he’d tucked behind his ear. All the other flowers were gone and the candle was a melted mess on the stone slab.
“You see, by putting my flower, the one I chose long ago, onto the birthing table and asking Bast to return me, you brought me back.”
He still couldn’t believe it. “But you were dead,” he insisted. “How do you come back?”
“Why, Meline have nine lives, of course. This is number two for me. My mother will give me a lecture as soon as she sees me.”
“This human, he very stupid. He brought all the flowers from your meadow. He stack up all and he forget the most important one.”
Peenzan laughed and waved her hand, shushing Pran and her horrendous English.
Then he realized something. “But how long will you live? I mean, humans barely make it to 200.”
“Ah.” She pulled him down and kissed his nose. “you are Meline now. You must find your own flower and we will have your birthing table made…”
“But how long will we live?”
“Oh, does it matter? It will seem like forever.”
He pulled her to him, ran his fingers through her hair, enjoyed her warm purr, and leaned down and kissed her.
When their lips parted he whispered, “Forever’s not enough.”
The End
About the Author:
Indulge yourself in a sumptuous taste of mystery with a dash of heart pounding thriller. Perhaps a sprinkling of science fiction will be what teases your palate as you feast on Roscoe James' brand of romance. And don't forget the spicy wickedness that makes his stories Hot with a capital "H". Roscoe James (RJ to his adoring fans) writes romance with a delicious twist.
Born along the dusky red banks of the Ohio River, RJ grew up in a sleepy little town in southern Indiana where the sounds of cicadas and whippoorwills marked the arrival of summer and cruising the town square on a Friday night was a rite of passage. From law enforcement to the hallowed corporate halls of two Fortune 500s, he draws from a deep well of life experience. With Spanish as his second language and the day-to-day of living in one of the largest cities of culture in the world, RJ infuses his stories with a raw reality that makes the characters memorable forever.
Most days you’ll find RJ sitting at his desk overlooking one of the concrete jungle’s lush city parks trying to dream up new ways to captivate and titillate your imagination … in the most wicked way possible, of course.
Table of Contents
Forever’s Not Enough
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
