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"Not a baby," I say, and I sound as sulky as a child, which just makes her giggle even harder.
Her laughter eases my bad mood, and I wince as she works through a section of my hair, tsking at the knots. She's relaxed around me, her mood light and airy, and I have to admit it's worth all the jerking and yanking against my scalp. Bonus—my cock's deflated, though it won't take much for it to rise again.
"So," Sophie says after she finishes one section of my hair and moves to the next. "Did you have a sweetheart when you went off to war? A girlfriend? A mate?" Her tone is casual. "You don't have to tell me, I'm just curious."
"Because of my piercings?"
She's silent for a moment. "Maybe? But I'm mostly just curious."
I wince as she tears through another snarl of my hair—she's vicious with that damn comb—and try to think of what to tell her. When I was growing up, I ran wild with the other station rats. That meant stealing and gambling, doing odd jobs to squeeze a few credits out, and basically avoiding going home whenever possible. There were a few females that ran with us, and I had a quick fumble or two with them. When I was in the military, there was a sex worker I visited from time to time, but I've never had attachments. It was just scratching an itch, taking care of a need.
It's a need that hasn't been fed in over ten years, except for me jerking my cock to thoughts of her.
"No one special," I admit. "But I've had sex, if that's what you're asking."
"Mmm. No girlfriend back home that's going to scream if I steal you away from her?" Her tone is flirty and makes me ache.
I snort. "No."
"Good." There's a possessive note to her voice that fills me with warmth. "So the piercings…"
She really is curious about them. "A lot of mesakkah males get them for decoration or to enhance a female's pleasure. They don't mean anything more than the tattoos or the horn caps." I glance back over my shoulder at her. She's leaning so close that I'm hopeful her breasts will brush against me, but they never do. "Do you not like the piercings? I guess I could take them out." Somehow.
"Oh, no, you don't have to do that." She giggles again, the sound high pitched and awkward. "I just…probably shouldn't have asked. I don't mind them. It's just not super common where I'm from." She pauses. "Does it really do that? Enhance pleasure?"
"I haven't had any complaints." I haven't heard any praise, either, come to think of it. Kef me.
"I'm sorry if my questions seem pushy."
"They're not pushy."
"You sound grumpy."
Do I? "I just…figure I'm not very pleasing for you to look at."
She pauses, and then her hands move into my hair again. "Because of your scars?"
"No, because I have big eyebrows," I snap. "Yes, because of my scars. And my prosthetics. It's not like I can hide them. They tell the universe exactly who I am and how important I am in the scheme of things."
Sophie makes an impatient noise in her throat. "They do not. Those scars say that your people failed you. They say that you got dealt a shitty hand by the very people you nearly lost your life to save. They say you're a survivor and you're tough."
No one's ever said anything so nice to me. I don't know what to say back. "I think you're blinded by my charm."
She smacks me on the back of the head with the comb and then giggles. "You're an asshole. And I like you anyhow."
"I don't see why," I manage. It feels stupidly vulnerable, but she's been up-front with me. The least I can do is be the same for her. "Any of the va Sithai brothers are a better choice for you."
"Maybe." She goes back to combing my hair. The comb moves smoothly through now, and I have to admit it feels pretty good to have her take care of me like this. "But I don't feel anything for them. They're nice, but…that's all. They're nice."
Hmph. "I'm not even nice."
She pauses. Sophie sets the comb down and then gets off the bench. She stands in front of me and then moves forward, and it takes me a moment to realize she's going to sit in my lap. I awkwardly put my arms around her as she settles in, her bottom on my thighs, and puts her arms around my neck.
"I think you're very nice," Sophie whispers, and presses another light kiss to my cheek. "You've been amazingly kind to me, and patient. It makes me want to kiss you and touch you…but I'm afraid."
Afraid of what? I want to ask, but I don't. I understand. Sometimes it's fear of nothing at all. Sometimes you're just afraid of wanting too much. So I just rub her back and nod.
