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English isn’t my first language, but I speak it more than Bugge these days. Even still, there are times when my employees say something that I’m unfamiliar with, so it takes me a moment to really grasp Wyn’s meaning.
I cup her cheeks. “So?”
She blinks, confusion stamped over her lovely features. “Bash, didn’t you hear—”
“Yes, I heard you, and it doesn’t change a single thing about how I feel about you.” Her lips form a perfect ‘O’ of shock, and my heart squeezes even harder. “Wyn, do you want me?”
The world stands still while I wait for her answer, I expect her to deny it, but my girl is the bravest I’ve ever known.
“I do.”
“And I want you, so with your permission, can I keep kissing you?”
For a moment, Wyn just stares at me, and then the most magical thing happens—she closes her eyes and lets out a loud, booming laugh that echoes all around us.
Her entire face lights up, and I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my entire life. I drink in the sight, committing it to memory.
It’s the smile I’ve been dreaming of times a million, and I bask in the happiness she exudes. The first taste of it is like sunshine on my tongue, filling me with her essence.
Instead of answering me, Wyn draws my head back down until our foreheads touch, and then she kisses me.
It’s different than before—fierier and unbridled—as if she’s trying to consume a piece of me inside of her instead of the other way around.
My tarse hardens, and I rub against her like a giant cat, purring in contentment until Wyn freezes. She stares up at me, her brow furrowed.
“What’s wrong, deoring?”
“Deoring?”
“It means ‘dear one’ in Bugge, the language of my people.”
Another soft smile curls the corners of her lips, and if I died right now, it would be as a very happy monster.
“How are you so sweet?”
“Do you mean because I’m a Boggart?”
Wyn snorts, the sound so her. “No, I mean because most people—humans—seem to be full of acid and hate.”
“Well, my kind isn’t exactly known for being the personification of compassion. Now tell me what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, per se. When you rubbed against me, I felt your…”
“Tarse?”
“What?”
“That’s the Bugge word for ‘cock’.”
“Ah. Yes, I felt your tarse, and…”
“It made you uncomfortable?”
“No. It started to make me hard. It’s been a while since the hormones I take usually keep me soft.”
“Does this bother you?”
“I’m more surprised than anything, but then again, this is nothing like I’ve fantasized about.”
