by Ruby Dixon
“The mouth-mating?”
I nod. I feel very skittish. If he turns me down, I do not know what I will do. The humans always look so glad to be mouth-mating. But what if Hemalo is not feeling very ‘mouthy’ at the moment? What if—
“Let us try,” he says quickly, interrupting my worried thoughts. He puts aside the skin he is working on and rinses his hands in the small bowl of meltwater he keeps at his side. The flutter of excitement in my belly grows as he moves to sit next to me, and when I remain still, he reaches out and takes the basket gently out of my lap. “Shall we move this?”
“Of course.” I feel silly. I have mated with this male before. I have borne his kit. A mouth-mating is nothing. But for some reason, it seems very important.
He puts the basket aside and then takes my hand in his. His grip is warm, dry. Mine feels clammy, and my palms are sweaty. I am so nervous. Why am I nervous? “Would you like for me to mouth-mate to you, or do you want to mouth-mate to me?”
“Does it matter?”
“I only ask because if we both move in at the same time, we might scrape each other’s lips.” He puts the tip of one finger on his fang and grins at me.
Ah. He has a point. The humans do not have to worry about such things, because they have weird, square little teeth. “I will take the lead, then.”
He nods and waits.
I lean in and put my hands on both sides of his face, just in case he moves around. I do not want to do this wrong. I lean in and push my mouth against his, waiting. It feels…unexciting. I frown and meet his eyes. “What did you think?”
“I think they do it with open mouths.”
Oh. I guess I have not paid close enough attention. Usually when the mated couples get affectionate, I turn away. “Open mouths, you say?”
He gives me a slow nod. “Like my mouth on your cunt. It is more like licking each other, I believe.”
I feel a flush of heat through my body at the reminder of what we did last night. Lick his mouth like he did my cunt, eh? I study his face again, strategizing, and then lean in and mash my lips against his again, then push my tongue forward, into his mouth.
A wave of heat immediately pulses through my body. I gasp against him, because the shock of my tongue moving into the hot well of his mouth is…stunning. He groans, pulling me against him, and his hands go to my buttocks, dragging me into his lap. “Again,” he murmurs against my mouth.
I want to do it again, too. I go with my instincts, licking gently at the seam of his lips, and when he opens for me, I flick inside, exploring. My cunt is throbbing and wet, and I am incredibly aware of the press of his big body against mine. I cradle his face as I lick at his mouth, and when his tongue moves against mine, dragging lightly, it feels as if his tongue is moving along other, more sensitive parts of my body.
Oh.
Oh, I see why humans do this.
“I think I like mouth-mating,” I whisper between darts of my tongue. I cannot get enough of this. I like the position, too. I am straddling Hemalo’s lap, with his hands on my backside. His tail flicks against mine, and I automatically let mine wrap around his, locking us together. My hands move over his cheeks, and I bury them into the thick length of his glossy mane, deepening the kiss. I am tired of soft, playful licks. I want deep, hungry licks like he does to me when he is trying to make me come. So I drag my tongue deep into his mouth, and thrust, mimicking mating.
His groan of response makes me breathless. He holds me tighter, and the kiss gets deeper, our tongues playing back and forth as we toy with control. Sometimes he takes the lead, mouth-mating me with hard, sure thrusts that make me ache between my thighs. Then I decide I want control again and fist his mane as I delicately sweep my tongue along his.
By the time we break the kiss, we are both panting with need, and the scent of my arousal is heavy in the air.
“I like that,” Hemalo rasps, his eyes hooded with desire. “I enjoy mouth-mating very much.”
“I do, too,” I murmur. My khui is singing to his so loudly that it feels as if it is trying to drown out the sounds of our own voices. Hemalo gazes up at me, pure need on his face. I know if I tell him to mate with me now, he will push me onto my back and be inside me before I can draw another breath.
The thought is exciting…and frightening, as well. What happens after that? Do I raise our kit alone? Are we mated? I need more from him before I can move forward. Last night when he pleasured me, it was good, but I am still confused. “Can we stop there?” I whisper. “I need to think.”
He leans in and presses his mouth to mine in a light caress. No hungry thrusting of tongues. Just a nuzzle of his lips to mine. “Of course.”
“Thank you.” I slide off his lap and detangle my tail from his, and I feel sad that I do not wish to continue. A mating is nothing but two bodies joining together for pleasure. It should be nothing to fret over.
But this one feels important. This next time we come together, it has to be just right.
The air between us feels thick with tension, and we pass the rest of the day in a restless sort of calm. We talk, we laugh, and we work, but there is something that makes both of us unsettled. My cunt feels hot and needy, and I want to push my hand—or his face—between my thighs and relieve the tension, but that feels like it is something I should not do. Not until my mind is settled.
The root outside is still undisturbed. The metlaks have not returned, and when the suns come up in the morning, I am sad to see that the weather is pleasant and the skies clear. That means that I must say goodbye to Shasak for good. I know he is already gone, but part of me hoped I would find them outside the cave, waiting, and the mother would hand her kit back over to me. It is just a dream, I suppose. It still makes my heart sad.
Hemalo seems to sense my grief. He is full of caresses and comforting touches this morning as we dress in layers and strap on our packs. He gives me a deep, searching kiss before we leave the cave, and I am so breathless and distracted from his mouth that I forget all about being sad when he takes my hand and we walk away, heading back toward the vee-lage.
Travel during the brutal season grows tiring fast. I have a new appreciation for what the hunters go through day in and day out while I sit in the vee-lage, cozy near a fire. The air is so cold that each breath burns, and every bit of skin exposed to the air feels numb. The snow is deeper than I have ever seen, and Hemalo quickly takes the lead so his larger body can forge a path for me to walk in behind him. I grow cranky with fatigue, and I want to chastise him for leaving the tribe—and me—behind. But every time I open my mouth to complain, I see a mental image of him, prone in the snow, the metlaks standing over him. And I swallow back my anger. The travel is miserable, but we are both safe.
Because the snows are high, though, our travel is slow, and by the time the light starts to fade in the sky, we are nowhere close to the protection of a hunter cave. Hemalo is not worried, though. He finds us a sheltered spot near a rock bluff, and we both gather extra fuel to burn throughout the night. We make a fire and put our backs to the rock, and between the two, it is not so bad. I still shiver despite my furs, and so Hemalo pulls me into his arms, and we huddle together near the fire’s warmth.
We do not talk, but it does not matter. Hemalo’s presence at my back is comforting, and his body heat keeps the worst of the cold away. My eyelids grow heavy with sleep, and I am just about to drift off when his tail brushes against mine. It is an intimate touch, and it fills me immediately with longing. I think of the kisses we shared yesterday and how I was too afraid to go further.
And then I think of Hemalo, on the ground, with the metlaks standing over him. Every moment we have suddenly seems precious. I clutch his hand, pressed over my shoulder. “Hemalo?”
“Mm?” He sounds drowsy.
“You know how you said it would be my choice to decide when I touched you again?”
“I remember.” His khui begins to sing, telling me that he is suddenly very aware of me.
“I wanted to yesterday.”
He chuckles, and the sound is low and delicious, his voice moving over me like a rippling blanket. “I wanted to yesterday as well. Why did you stop?”
I hold his hand tightly to my chest, anchoring him against me. “I am afraid.” The words squeeze out of my throat, half-choked. It is so difficult to speak them, to bare myself to him and hope he will understand. That he will not abandon me a third time.
To my surprise, Hemalo nuzzles against my throat, his mouth warm as he presses it against my skin. “I am afraid, too.”
That is not what I expected him to say. “Why are you afraid?”
“The same reasons you are, I imagine. I worry you will hate me and we will struggle again. I worry about the kit we will make. I worry if anything happens to it, it will destroy what we have again.” He kisses my cheek. “But I do know that I am more afraid of not trying.”
I want to cry, because I know just what he means. “I have lost a kit and survived. But I do not think I can survive if I lose you again. Please, never leave me again. Not because you think it’s good for me or because it is what is needed—it’s not. I need you at my side. I need you with me, supporting me, no matter how dark things get.”
He nods slowly, and his fingers tighten against mine. “I was a fool to leave before. I thought I was helping, but I see now I have only made it worse.”
“You did,” I reply, trying to make my response light and teasing. “But I forgive you.”
“You forgive me?” He presses another kiss to my neck. “Then I am the luckiest of males to have such an understanding mate.”
“You are.” I slide his hand to my teat, resting over my nipple. My entire body is aching for him, and my khui is singing so loudly it feels as if it is going to echo off of the rock cliffs nearby. “If you swear you will never leave me again, I want to be yours. Now. Tonight.”
“Tonight? In this cold?”
“There are parts of you that are very, very warm,” I say encouragingly. “Your warm parts could give my warm parts a greeting.”
“While I would like nothing more,” he murmurs into my ear, his tongue flicking against my lobe, “I do not like the thought of a metlak chancing upon us while mating.”
I smile. He has a point.
“I want to wait until we return to our howse back in the vee-lage,” he continues. “I want to take you home so we can start our family again. So we can do this right.” His hand slides from my teat down to the waist of my leggings and pushes inside. He cups my cunt, his fingers stroking through my slick folds. I moan as he pushes a finger inside me and continues to nuzzle my throat. “I want you in my furs every night for the rest of our lives. Even when you are angry at me.”
I cling to him, gasping. “I want that, too.”
“I want a howse with you. I do not want to live with the hunters, and I do not want you to live with Farli. You belong with me.” His finger pumps inside me, as quick and desperate as I feel. “In my furs. Taking my cock. Bearing my kits.”
A shudder of pure pleasure rocks through me. I want all that, too. “Yes,” I breathe.
“You will not share a howse with Farli. You will come to my bed, and you will wrap your tail to mine and spread your legs for me, because you are my mate.”
“Always.”
“Tell me that you are mine, Asha,” he growls into my ear, and then nips the edge of it with his sharp teeth. I cry out, because my body is so sensitive that even that small action sends me into an avalanche of pleasure. My cunt clenches around his finger, and then I am coming hard, the air leaving my lungs as he continues to whisper in my ear about how I belong to him.
It is the most erotic thing he has ever told me, and I savor every moment of it.
17
CLAIRE
Days Later
Ugly Gift Day
It is the last day of the holiday celebrations. The poison clumps hung in the lodge are starting to wilt, and the decorations are looking tired, but everyone in the tribe has been having a wonderful time. I cannot stop smiling at the group gathered near the fire. Lila and Maddie are leading the ‘White Elephant’ gift exchange. It’s a name that means nothing to the sa-khui, so we’ve taken to calling it the ‘Ugly Gift Day.’ Each tribesmate was instructed to bring a hideous present to give to the others, and as the game goes along, people laugh with sheer joy at the silliness of it.
Lila gestures at Rukh, who is holding a basket and looking as if it is going to bite him. His mate, Harlow, holds their baby and has a broad smile on her face. Lila indicates that Rukh should open, but he gestures back to her. They’re too far away for me to make out their hand signals, but I can guess what it is. Something like “Heck no.” He eyes the presents around the circle of tribesmates—a bag of terrible tea leaves, a stained tunic, a pair of leggings with one cuff sewn shut—and eventually trades his basket for the neatly wrapped stack of dung chips that Zolaya is holding. “Fuel,” he says, shoving his basket into Zolaya’s hands. Everyone roars with laughter, and Georgie is wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. Zolaya pulls the lid off the basket, peers inside, and immediately makes a face. “Dirty loincloths!”
People crack up, Maddie signs it to Lila, who is waiting patiently, and then the sisters laugh, too. It’s cute. I love that everyone’s having so much fun. Even my Ereven is by the fire, waiting his turn. His basket has an egg in it—a good gift for a human, a terrible one for a sa-khui. He catches my gaze and smiles at me. I wave from afar, content to stand on the sidelines and let the others lead things. It’s been a long holiday event, and while it’s been a lot of fun and taken people’s minds off of the brutal season, I’m ready for a break. I don’t mind organizing, but I don’t like being the center of attention. Maddie has no such qualms and is hamming it up as the circle moves to the next person, Harlow. Maddie does sign language and talks at the same time so everyone can hear what she has to say, and she’s playing the role of announcer beautifully.
“You are not playing?” A person comes and stands next to me at the far end of the longhouse.
I know the voice, and I turn and smile at Bek, rubbing a hand on my rounded belly. “No, I got the fun of setting everything up. I get to watch everyone else play. Plus, I don’t really feel the need for dirty loincloths or a shoe with no mate.” I smile, watching Farli hold up her shoe and offer it to Harlow.
“I have one last gift for you,” Bek says. “I know you do not want it, but it would honor me if you would choose to take it anyhow.” He extends a small, leather-wrapped package to me.
“Oh, Bek. Please don’t.” My smile becomes strained. “Truly. I don’t want any gifts.” I’m still thinking about our awkward conversation the other day, when he told me he missed me. I was hoping we’d landed at friendship, but him arriving with another gift while I’m by myself makes me worry. Has he not given up on me?
“It is for your kit. Take it.” He pushes it toward me.
My kit? Reluctantly, I take the package and untie the string. Inside the wrapping is a beautiful baby blanket, pure white and the perfect size for a half-human, half-sa-khui baby. The edges have been carefully stitched, and the entire thing is whisper-soft. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”
“I am happy for you and Ereven,” Bek says quietly. “I may not always show it, but all I have ever wanted is your happiness. You are a good person and you deserve happiness.”
I smile at him, but I’m troubled by his words, even after he moves away. It seems to be a recurring theme that I’ve heard a few times as the holidays rolled onward and Asha hasn’t been around. Everyone thinks I’m a saint because I’ve befriended her. Or that being friends with my ex will suddenly make me a better person.
It’s crap.
I must be frowning, because Ereven gets up from the gift-giving and comes to my side, standing where Bek was not a few moments ago. “What is it, my heart?”
“It’s nothing. Really. I’m just in a bad mood.”
“Would you like to go for a walk
?”
I gesture at the group by the fire. “You’ll miss the last holiday event. Are you sure?”
“I would rather spend the time with my mate.” He smiles at me and offers me his arm, something he has learned after a discussion of human courtship rituals.
I link my elbow in his and show him the blanket. “Bek gave us a present for our kit.”
“That is kind of him. He is a good male.”
There is that ‘good’ word again. Why does someone have to be good or bad? Why can’t they just ‘be’? I frown as we leave and head down the main street in Croatoan. The laughter in the longhouse trails after us, at odds with my thoughts. Asha has missed all of this, and I wanted her to get some of the credit for all of the work we put in. Instead, everyone seems to think I did it all by myself and somehow ‘took on’ the burden of Asha to boot.
“You are very unhappy,” Ereven says, wonderingly. “What is causing my sweet Claire to glower so?”
“Just something Bek mentioned.” I bite it back, but it keeps gnawing at me. “The tribe keeps going on and on about how I’m being such a good friend to Asha and taking the time to befriend her, and it bothers me. They act like it’s such a big chore to be her friend, but Asha’s never been anything but helpful and kind to me.”
“To you,” my mate agrees. “Do not forget that she has been unpleasant to many of the other human females since they arrived. They are allowed to feel differently about her.”
He’s not wrong, but it feels disloyal to even think it. “It’s just that…she worked hard on the holiday celebrations, too, and she hasn’t been here to see any of them. She hasn’t gotten any of the credit, and she hasn’t gotten to see any of the fun.”
“If she resonated to Hemalo again, I imagine they are having their own kind of fun,” Ereven teases.
