Once the basket is empty, he carries it over to the shady area by the river and sets me in it.
I stay warily back from the edge, rubbing my calf as it prickles in memory.
Razul pulls out another smaller woven basket with holes between the strands and scoops sand into it. Then he shakes the sand out, leaving behind a pebble and a dried palm frond. These contaminants are set aside.
With methodical precision, Razul sifts through the top foot of sand, removing all manner of plant detritus, odd little bugs, and pebbles. He’s particularly careful with the chunks of dried cactus, setting them far away from where I am.
I tentatively wander out into the sand he’s already cleared. Now that I trust it, I dig my hands down underneath, wiggling into the silken texture.
It’s cool and soothing against my skin, and I feel a little like a caimite.
Razul glances back at me with a smile.
I find the pile of pebbles he left and hold each in the sun, cooing when I find veins of glittering sapphire or pretty pink splotches. I sort the rocks by color, then aimlessly make a spiraling pattern. Razul passes each new rock he finds to me for inspection.
I roll around in the sand, loving how it feels on my cheeks and in my hair, trusting Razul’s thoroughness completely. I don’t remember the sand on Earth ever being this soft. If I get it in my mouth, I taste a subtle mineral flavor, but it doesn’t leave a gritty residue behind.
Once Razul is done with his inspection, he burrows again, just a little of his iridescent green shell visible in the sun. I wander over and lean my forehead against his stomach, loving his rich laugh and how he rubs my cheeks and ears.
He says that musical word again, that note followed by clicks that is my name. Since I don’t understand the syllables, I hear all the warmth and affection woven into them.
I understand the meaning of this name.
It means I’m loved. Cherished.
And that’s all I need to know.
I lean harder into Razul, rubbing along his body and earning an affectionate pat on the rump. He massages my thigh, and I lean more of my weight against him.
He tests the weight of my breasts—steadily gaining since breakfast—then nudges me back out into the sand to play.
I stack my little rocks in piles next, seeing how high I can get them before they topple over.
When the day’s heat makes me sweat despite the shade, Razul scoops me up.
I reach back toward my pile, and he holds me over it so I can grasp my two favorite rocks: one is glittery, translucent pink quartz, and the other has a brilliant vein of green with blackspeckles. The stones, polished smooth by the river and the sand, sit comfortably in my palms.
Razul gently takes them from me and sets them near the pool as he washes me. I go limp in his hands, basking in the attention.
How quickly I’ve taken to this spoiled, charmed life. Razul is impossible to resist.
He’s tapped into this well of neediness at my core I didn’t know existed. When he’s done with the lotion and his hands leave me, I whine unhappily, and he indulges me with another full body rubdown.
While Razul makes dinner, I refuse to be set down, instead cuddling in the sling. When I bore of that, I clamber over him, earning bewildered laughter as I climb to stand on his shell, gripping his shoulders to balance as I look over his shoulder.
He leans his cheek toward mine, and I nuzzle against him as he slices fruit for me. Razul hums contentedly to himself, offering pieces of fruit up to me as he works.
There are two new kinds I haven’t seen: a peach-like fruit with white flesh, which I approve of, and tiny orange berries, which I immediately spit back into his hand with an unhappy wail.
Razul gives me a slice of better fruit in apology.
After dinner, he offers me another bottle of that irresistible golden syrup. I want it from his cock directly, and I keep trying to climb around him to get there, but he holds me firmly against his chest with one arm, catching my wrist under his thumb.
I wriggle, determined, but amidst my protests Razul manages to get the polymer nipple in my mouth.
When that milk and honey flavor spills across my tongue, my resolve melts. I relax into his grip, held like a babe or a foal, and accept my meal.
It makes my belly warm and my breasts even warmer. I crave more from his cock, but the fullness makes me docile. When Razul sets me in my basket, I snuggle into it, lazing back even as I rub my thighs together, chasing sensation.
