Good thingoneof us had the brains to remove my field from the equation before we got to this point, or he’d have to start building a goddamn nursery.
“Do you feel a little better?” he purred between heavy breaths.
I took inventory of myself. I’d purged out so many intense feelings. I felt wrung dry, left in a state of satiated sensitivity. No numbness. No dissociation. No overwhelming emotions. No paralysis. A melted puddle of myself, butmyselfnone the less.
“I think so,” I confirmed hesitantly. “For now at least.”
He stroked slowly, his cum making indecent noises while helping him glide smoothly in and out. “We can do this as many times as you need, Little Goddess.”
He pulled out, leaving me feeling empty without his cocks inside of me.
Our combined fluids coated my inner cheeks and thighs when I sat up and turned to face him. His tattoos began fading from black to inky gray. His height and bulk were shrinking back to normal. Each blink revealed a little more of his brown irises.
Smile lines appeared around his eyes when he cupped my face. Despite the sex we’d just had, there was pure tenderness in the way he looked at me. I felt like a wild whore, but he was still gazing at me like I was a goddess.
“For what it’s worth, I would’ve been just as happy to support you with the picnic today,” his voice was returning to its normal depth.
“Some problems need more than a spread of hors d’oeuvres,” I smiled with a soft chuckle. Joking felt good. Normal.
“Would you finish our meal with me as part of your aftercare?”
He didn’t want me to retreat back to the cabin and resume my misery. Neither did I. I looked between my legs at the mess. “Sure, I’ll just wash myself off first.”
“Hm,” he hummed disapprovingly, “I don’t think you will. In fact, I’d rather you stay naked and spread open so I can appreciate my work while we eat.”
How could I say no? He’d killed four people for me, then made me come so many times I lost count.Messy picnic blanket it is.
Theo
I wasn’t sure Vivian would everfullyrecover from her survival ordeal, but pieces of her were returning.
Progress wasn’t linear; some days she was laughing and playful, others she refused to leave the cabin. It wasn’t easy. My heart broke during the bad times, though it must have been only a fraction of the inner turmoil she was experiencing. Still, she was undeniably healing. And that was all I could ever ask for.
I stood barefoot in the clover and watched her paint our cabin. The warm adoration building in my chest made me want to rip her off that ladder and crush her against me. Her feet clung to the rung she was standing on, tiny toes working hard to steady her as she leaned. Both arms were caked up to their elbows in the red-purple stain of mashed blackberries. The front of her dress was ruined. Those stains would never wash out. Shaggy hair fell in layers around her head when she reached to slap her makeshift paintbrush of wheat and branches on the last untouched corner.
Home projects were part of Vivian’s reclaiming ritual. She’d started by decorating the once blood-soaked wooden stakes. Flowers and grasses swirled around the previously macabre posts. She carefully selected rocks on our daily walksand placed them at the base of each. The outings were a compromise we’d made. She could stay inside whenever she wanted, on the condition that once daily she went on a stroll with me. I’d carry her if standing felt like too much, but the change of scenery and movement was important. I didn’t want her constantly stewing in the same place she’d suffered through her trauma.
It was difficult to know how to help at times, but that didn’t stop me from trying. I removed the “have to”s from her agenda. She didn’t have reliable energy right now; I’d rather she use what shedidhave to do things that made her happy.
So, I maintained the gardens religiously. I cooked. I washed our clothing. I fed Nurghle—maybe a little too much. I was starting to suspect he was full grown after all. He had developed a large squishy pouch that swung from side to side when he trotted through her field. My original plan to prepare him as a protection beast was foiled, but he was a good, soft, cuddly companion for Viv.
If I wasn’t spending time with her or managing to-do’s, I was making her cabin feel more like home. First, I’d crafted a large chair to nestle between her bed and the partition. It still needed a cushion, but the fur draped over dried grasses was working for now. A new place to sit that wasn’t her bed. Then, I’d built a simple table with four log stools. I put the set directly over the rug-covered hatch so she’d stop staring at it.
Vivian immediately placed a houseplant at the table’s center to make it “home-y”. Once she realized the plant would need light, we removed the heavy window “curtains” so it could thrive. I was thrilled. Nowmyflower was getting her light when she needed time inside. The wooden boards remained, still a wise precaution for now.
Had I known my mate had an affinity for growing things indoors, I would’ve encouraged it sooner. It got her outside and gave her something small to tend to on her bad days. She pointed out new blooms to me at least once daily, and her face lit up every time I confirmed that growthdefinitelyhadn’t been there the day before.
The plants had been a gateway to the more motivated version of her I now watched paint the cabin. An amused smile tugged at my mouth observing her frustration with that last corner. Her cheeks puffed out and she made labored grunting noises as she stretched to reach the last patch of bare wood. She wasadamantabout finishing the job on her own. The ladder was twisting precariously. Threatening to topple underneath her.
I sighed affectionately and walked over.No acknowledgement. She either didn’t hear me approaching or was ignoring me. I grasped her waist and lifted her, sitting her rump on my shoulder. She squealed and started to sway. Three of my arms quickly stabilized her as I stepped us up the ladder rungs.
“You’ve accomplished a lot today,” I praised. Mashed blackberries stained the gray wood a muted purple—it complimented the blues of Cyciciah. The color came to life when the lilac-green sky was clear like it was now. Her homeland was a vision of deep-blue trees, jade clover, freckles of small white flowers, accents of cool-gray rock, and now a rustic mauve cabin as the perfect centerpiece.
“One side down!” she declared triumphantly as the last of the gray patches was coated in the berry mixture.Three more sides to go. “And I am fucking exhausted.”
That wasn’t a surprise, even on her good days she slept more than before. A lot of energy went into healing her bruisedheart. Some nights she just couldn’t sleep, and when she did, she was restless. I was hit and kicked a fair bitwhile she tossed and turned. More than she’d ever know. Hell, I wasn’t about to mention it.
I set her down and brushed a strand of berry-clumped hair from her face. She looked happy covered in purple and red splatters. Her crystal-blue eyes were tired, but sparkling.
