by Ruby Dixon
I shiver, but I’m not sure if I’m cold or if it’s the low, tender tone of his voice. There’s a liquid heat pooling in my belly, and I know it’s because of my cootie, but it’s hard for me to move away, not when everything I am is screaming for me to stay right here, right in his arms. “It doesn’t mean I wasn’t an ass,” I murmur. “I’m sorry. I mean it. I’ll try to do better. I’m tired of crying anyhow.”
J’shel steps back, and I think for a moment that he’s leaving, but then something soft and heavy drops on my shoulders. His cloak.
Oh. He noticed me shivering.
“I am glad you will stop crying,” he murmurs as I turn to face him, holding his cloak against my body. “I do not like to see you so sad.”
“I don’t like being sad,” I say, trying to keep my tone light. It’s hard though, because I’m staring at his broad, naked chest. Lauren said that back on the island they went naked a lot of the time or wore a leaf loincloth that left little to the imagination. I know they have a hard time with the layers of clothing that this side of the world needs, and J’shel rarely wears a tunic under his cloak. This means I’m pretty much eye to eye—or eye to nipple—with his big bare chest.
And gosh, is it a big bare chest. I can’t stop staring. Were any pectorals so damn…juicy? I should stop looking.
I should stop looking.
I really should stop.
Any moment now, I’ll tear my eyes away.
“This is all hard for me,” I say to his nipple. “Please understand.”
“We are all learning much,” J’shel murmurs, and then his nipple moves closer. I blink, jerking my gaze away, and look up into his face. He reaches out and brushes his knuckles along the line of my jaw, the touch so gentle and yet arousing that my clit practically tingles in response. “I am trying to be patient, H’nah, but I hunger so badly for you.” That knuckle traces along my chin, then up my jaw and along my cheekbone. “Do you not feel it?”
I bite back the moan rising in my throat. My cootie’s so loud I’m practically shaking with the force of it, and I can hear his vibrating, too. It’s like our cooties are so insistent they’re about to come out of our chests with the force of their wanting. Maybe I’m distracted by all that vibrating—or I’m still staring at his nipple—because I barely notice that J’shel lifts my chin until his mouth lightly brushes over mine.
He’s…kissing me.
I thought the aliens didn’t know how to kiss?
This time, I can’t hold back the moan in my throat. It erupts forth, and then J’shel drops to his knees in the sand, pulling me down against him and into his lap. I’m shocked because the first thing I feel is the hard length of his cock pressing against my hip—and how good it feels. He’s freaking enormous, and the thought of Bridget and A’tam’s bad hookup and the baseball bat analogy flits through my mind.
But then J’shel lowers his mouth to mine again and he presses against me once more, lips whispering over mine. He’s holding me tenderly against him, cradled in his arms as he presses light kisses to my face. I want him to kiss my mouth again, to claim my lips, to part them and drag his tongue against mine, but instead, he kisses my nose, my cheek, my brow, all over. And those kisses are soft and flirty and utterly frustrating because my humming body wants more and more with every moment that passes.
“I like your softness,” he murmurs, brushing his mouth against my cheekbone and moving to my ear. He takes a deep breath and then groans low, his mouth nipping at my ear and sending a jolt right to my pussy. “I like your softness very much, H’nah. You feel…so good.”
I moan, tilting my head so he can continue to nip at my ear, because it feels amazing and I want nothing more than to lose myself in this moment. I like kisses, but oh god, I love my ear being nibbled on. And I whimper with pleasure when his mouth descends on my earlobe again.
“All of you,” he breathes, his voice raspy and low, teasing at my ear. “All of you is pleasure, H’nah, but I will like the softness of your cunt most of all.”
It’s like a record scratch, cutting through the haze of pleasure. I put a hand to his chest, pushing. “You what?”
He doesn’t realize I’m freaking out. “Your cunt,” he growls, practically panting. “The softness of it. Are you soft there?”
“Oh my god,” I manage to squeak out, and push at him again. He doesn’t hold me against him, and I slide off his lap with a thump into the sand. “You don’t tell a girl that!”
“Why not?” Some of the desire haze is clearing from his mind and he just looks frustrated. “Why would I not talk of my mate’s cunt?”
I’m his mate? Of course he thinks that. I’m practically sitting atop his dick in his lap while he nibbles on my ear. God, I’m the queen of mixed signals. “I came out here to apologize, nothing more,” I blurt out, scrambling to my feet. His cloak falls onto the ground and I quickly grab it, then toss it at his lap, trying not to notice in the starlight just how big of a bulge his Louisville Slugger is. Jesus. “We’re not mates. I don’t want to resonate, okay? I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
J’shel just sighs and rubs a hand down his face. “Go, H’nah,” he says as I back away. “I will not chase you.”
I nod, and then race back toward the campfire. My knees feel weak and my legs are shaky as I stumble back into camp. I don’t say anything to N’dek, just head straight for the girls’ cave and crash into my blankets. I don’t care that I’ve got my boots on and they’re still gritty with sand. I draw the blankets up over my head and try not to think about J’shel or his mouth against my ear, or the hardness of his cock against my thigh.
Or his nipple.
Because if I think about all that stuff, I’m afraid of where it’s going to take me.
J’SHEL
K’thar was right. Twice now, H’nah has come to me. The realization is pleasing even as my frustration grows. She sat in my lap this night. She let me put my mouth on hers, let me taste her skin, breathe in her scent.
She was so close I could smell her arousal on the sea air.
I groan, closing my eyes. I must be patient. I must.
My hand steals to my loincloth, and I jerk at my clothing. If I cannot have H’nah now, I will take myself in hand again and finish myself off, as I have every day since I resonated to her.
There will be an end to this soon. There must be.
She is softening to me…I think?
I hope.
5
J’SHEL
It is another day of sitting by the fire.
I do not know how N’dek does it. How he remains so calm. I am restless most days, but today is beyond frustrating. My khui will not stop singing, I cannot sleep, and no matter how much I pace, I cannot get H’nah out of my head.
I keep thinking of last night by the beach. How she let me touch her. The scent of her, the feel of her. The taste of her small, pink ear as I took it between my teeth. My cock will be permanently hard if I do not find some sort of distraction to occupy my mind. So I get wood from the shore, though less is washing up over time, and we are burning only the smaller pieces that will not make good building materials for huts. Soon there will be no more wood at all, and the thought fills me with intense sadness.
When we first landed here, we were just happy to have a place to go that was safe from the Great Smoking Mountain. It is a place with food and with females, so it seemed too good to be true. Now we are here, and it is very different than what I expected. The cold is never-ending…and so is the ache in my cock and in my heart. It all seemed so simple. I never imagined that I would resonate and that my female would deny it. I never thought such a thing was possible, but the humans here do not think the same way the People do.
“You are pacing,” N’dek tells me from his spot by the fire. “Either sit or go away.”
I throw a small branch on the fire. The leaves on it are wilted from being in the water for so long, and they curl against the flames, hissing. “I will sit.”
; “It would be better if you left,” N’dek says. “Go hunting with the others.”
I watch him and try not to feel frustrated. I have gone hunting a few times since we arrived here, but each time I felt so guilty at leaving N’dek’s side that I could not stay out for long. He cannot take himself anywhere, and he needs me. So because his wound is my fault, I stay.
“I will remain close.”
He rolls his eyes at me and stares at the fire, and I resist the urge to throttle him. He is frustrated too, I remind myself. This is not his choosing. He is sad and unhappy because of me, so I cannot be angry at him. I cross my arms over my chest and circle around the fire again. It is late morning and most of the tribe has scattered for the day’s work. The females with young remain at camp, and some of the females sit together, weaving mats out of dried fibers from the large leaves that have been washing up on shore. Off by the cluster of newly built huts, I see M’tok bringing rocks toward the edge of his hut. He has been working on it for many days now to impress his mate, but C’lie will have nothing to do with him.
I know what that is like.
In fact, many of the huts are empty. R’hosh and his mate L’z have one, and H’low and her mate another, but all the ones made by hopeful males wanting to impress their females? Empty. After B’shit fought with A’tam, none of the females wanted anything to do with the huts or their builders. (I built one for H’nah but she pays it no mind, just like she pays me no mind, and so it sits only half complete).
But seeing M’tok at work on his again despite C’lie’s hatred for him makes me wonder. N’dek yet sleeps in the same tent I do. If it takes a long time for H’nah to accept our resonance—ancestors help me—then perhaps I should help make my brother hunter as comfortable as possible. “M’tok works on his hut,” I comment to N’dek, moving to his side. “Perhaps I should build one for us in the middle of Strong Arm’s encampment.”
N’dek sits up, frowning at me, broad features pulled down in distaste. “Why?”
I shrug, determined to keep a smile on my face as I sit next to him. “Why not? It is something I can do while I sit here on the beach with you.”
“You can leave me alone.”
“But I do not want to,” I begin, but my words die in my throat as an argument arises at the far edge of the camp.
“You are not in charge of the skins,” a male voice says. “I do not have to check with you!”
That sounds like S’bren, who is not the most easygoing of hunters. None of his clan are.
N’dek straightens and looks at me. “Tall Horn?”
“We’re conserving supplies!” a female retorts. “Bring in a new one and I’ll give you one of mine.”
I jump to my feet, anger and protectiveness shooting through me. I know that female’s voice, and my instincts tell me to go to her.
“They do not belong to you, female,” S’bren bellows. “They are for all to share, are they not?”
“That was before!”
I storm through the camp, heading for H’nah’s side. Sure enough, she stands in front of the supply tent, a large, rolled-up fur clutched in her arms. S’bren has a hand on it, his claws digging into the fur and a scowl on his face.
I do not like how close he stands to my female, and a feral growl breaks from my throat. I move between them, shoving him backward. “Stay away from her,” I snarl. “She is not yours!”
“Hey!” H’nah yells at me. She tugs on one of my arms, as if trying to drag me backward, and I am pleased by her fierceness, even if it is directed at me. “Do you mind? We were talking!”
“You were yelling,” I correct. “And now I will yell at him for you.” I turn to the Shadow Cat hunter and flex all four of my arms even as he bares his teeth at me in a snarl. He may have fangs, but I will win a fight and he will regret raising his voice at my female. “You do not come near H’nah, S’bren. Never.”
He eases back to his feet, dusting the sand off of his leathers. “I am not interested in your female, brother. I just want the leather that is for all to take.” He emphasizes the words.
“And I’m telling you that we’re running low on supplies and we’re not just handing stuff out,” H’nah continues. “The supply of furs is very low and—”
“So send your mate out,” S’bren says, gesturing at me. “Let him hunt.”
“He’s not my mate!”
I stiffen, trying to ignore the insult. S’bren looks at me but says nothing. His brother knows the pain of a female that refuses resonance, so he will not mock me over it. I look him in the eye. “H’nah does not wish to give you the furs.”
“Because she needs to count everything?” His lip curls. “Because she needs to control the camp since she cannot control resonance?” When I give him a warning look, he tilts his body so he can look at H’nah from over my shoulder. “If you were mine, I would not allow this nonsense.”
“Then it’s a good thing you haven’t resonated to anyone, dickface!”
The insult is a dangerous one. I straighten to my full height, flexing my arms even as S’bren’s camouflage ripples in color with his anger. He looks at me, clenches his jaw, and then turns and walks away.
I turn to my mate, my gaze searching her lovely face. She is all rounded softness, my H’nah, even if she scowls up at me as if I am the problem. Her arms are wrapped tight around the fur in question, as if she would protect it from the much stronger, much taller S’bren. I move closer to her, my body humming with the need to touch her, to pull her against me and protect her from the world. The safest place for her is in my arms, but when she tilts her head up defiantly, I know she will fight me. So I stand close, just enough to shield her from the curious gazes of others that gather, but far enough that she will not panic.
I lean in, pitching my voice low so only she will hear it. “Do you wish me to have words with him, H’nah? I do not like that he yelled at you.”
Her mouth crooks up in a half smile, but she shakes her head. “It’s okay. I think the situation’s all right for now.” She raises a hand to shield her eyes, and I notice her fingers tremble. I bite back the growl that rises in my throat, the need to protect her from everyone becoming nearly unbearable.
“Do you want me to go hunt for you, H’nah? To bring in more skins?”
She sighs. “I know you’re trying to help, J’shel, but I just want you to leave me alone, okay? You didn’t have to get involved in that argument. I don’t want to get everyone mad at you, too.”
Does she think I will sit idly by while S’bren yells at her? “I will never leave you alone.”
“Great,” she says sarcastically. “Just great.”
“What is the meaning of this?” R’hosh strides up to the supply tent, his newborn kit in his arms and another riding on his shoulders, holding onto his warped horns. R’jaal is two steps behind him, an angry S’bren at his side.
I instinctively move in front of H’nah, glaring at the others. “Leave my mate alone.”
“J’shel, this is foolishness,” R’hosh says, even as he pats the back of the kit in his arms. It belches against his shoulder and he gives it a little pleased pat. “I was helping with the feeding of my daughters and heard yelling. What is the meaning of all of this? Fighting over furs? Why not fight over snow?” He shakes his head. “H’nah, just give the furs already.”
“My mate is protecting us,” I say, putting my arms out to shield her. “She worries over our supplies.”
“She worries too much,” R’jaal says, a sour expression on his face. I have never liked the tall hunter, and my distaste for him grows as he narrows his eyes at H’nah. “I have spoken with R’hosh and she is causing too much trouble. No more of this counting. No more of any of this.”
“Any what?” H’nah protests behind me. “What am I doing wrong?”
“Furs are for any to use,” R’hosh says, adjusting the tiny kit in his arms. He tucks a fur around her small body tightly and then winces, tilting his head. “Aayla, you are sitt
ing on my mane.”
“Sorry, Papa,” the one on his shoulders says with a giggle. She lifts one leg and R’hosh jerks his head to the side, freeing himself.
“You can’t seriously be banning me from the supply hut,” H’nah says, stepping forward past the protective shield of my arms. She has left behind the fur she clutched so protectively to her chest, and her hands are now on her hips. “I do inventory for the good of all of us.”
“You are causing problems,” R’jaal says flatly. “We all must live here on this beach. All the supplies are for all hunters and humans to share, not for one to hoard away from others.”
“That’s not what I’m doing—” Her voice rises, and as it does, the kit in R’hosh’s arms begins to wail. The hunter groans, turning away. “Sorry,” H’nah says meekly. “I didn’t mean to make the baby cry.”
“It is over,” R’jaal says to me. “Your mate is not welcome in the supply tent any longer. If she wishes to count things or to hoard skins, then you need to get them for her. Understand?”
I nod tightly. I do not like his words—or his tone—but I know as he does that H’nah is in the wrong. I will defend her until the end, but this is not a fight she can win.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” a female says, and then L’z steps forward, the wailing kit in her arms. She shoots a glare at her mate, who ignores the ferocious look she gives him. He presses a kiss to her brow and walks away, reaching up for the kit on his shoulders. L’z puts a hand on R’jaal’s chest and pushes him back. “Not only did you make the baby cry, but you made Hannah cry. Way to go, guys.”
The kit wails again and I turn to look at my mate. I am horrified to see that she is indeed weeping, big, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, her eyes red. Others have gathered, and they watch her uneasily.
H’nah sniffs, wiping at her face. “I’m not trying to be difficult. I just…”
“It’s okay, honey. Come sit with me, all right? We’ll talk.” She lifts her tunic, hiking it onto her shoulder and puts her kit to her teat. It immediately goes silent, and then she beams at us. “Dinner and a show. One problem solved.” She settles her tunic back over her kit, draping it lightly over the nursing bundle, and then puts a hand on H’nah’s shoulder. “Come on.”
