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Yes, she was beautiful. Yes, she was intelligent. Yes, I found her curiosity and eagerness to learn sexier than I could have anticipated. Yes, I admired her dedication in caring for Red even when she was no longer being forced to.
So, sure, it must have been all those things mixed together. But there was something else as well, something I couldn't put a finger on, something I didn't have words for. It was something other and that otherness was what had me so captivated.
I didn't understand it.
In all my years, I'd never felt anything for the humans aside from a general annoyance at their close-mindedness or a sort of detached interest in their evolution through more technological times.
Sure, I felt attraction toward the women I'd slept with over the years. But it was a fleeting thing. An itch that needed scratching.
Even sex with Josephine felt new and, at times, overwhelming. It was something I found myself craving in inopportune moments. I kept expecting to get my fill, to be over it, but it didn't seem to happen. If anything, I just kept wanting it—wanting her—more.
"Why do you always give me that look?" Josephine asked, coming in the bedroom door, holding two mugs of coffee.
I didn't need to ask her what the look was. I could feel it. It was pure and utter relief. Still, I needed to ask, to know if she was gleaning what I'd been feeling.
"What look?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "Like you're shocked or something like that."
"Must be because the woman who nearly died of exposure trying to get away from me is now bringing me coffee."
"Yes, well, clearly, I need to have an intense psychological evaluation," she said, giving me a soft smile as she handed me the mug, climbing over me to curl up at my side and drink her coffee.
"You're not crazy," I insisted, words urgent. Because I needed that to be true. I needed her warmth toward me to be genuine.
Why?
I had no idea.
But it mattered.
"No," she agreed, resting her head on my chest for a second. "I'm not crazy. This situation is, but I'm not." She paused there, something weighing heavy in the air.
"What is it?" I asked, my arm going around her shoulder, fingers sifting through her hair.
"My old life," she started, trying to think of a way to phrase it.
"Do you want to go back to it?" I asked, wondering if she heard the dread I so clearly recognized in my voice.
"No. Well, sort of, but mostly no. I mean, if I'm not welcome—"
"You're welcome," I cut her off. "For as long as you want to be here," I added.
I knew that one day she would be gone. She'd want things I couldn't give her. Normalcy. Weddings and babies and growing old together.
But I tried not to let myself focus on those thoughts too much.
"Okay," she agreed, letting out a slow breath.
"So what 'sort of' is there then?" I asked.
"I have things," she told me. "Well, I guess, I used to have things. In my apartment. If no one has broken in and taken them. Or my landlord hasn't cleared the place."
"You want your shit."
"Yes," she said, smiling over at me. "I want my shit. Red's clothes are, uhm, cold." Which was a nice way of saying that Red liked to show some skin. "And Lenore's are..." She was struggling to find a nice thing to say about all the floor-length skirts.
"Amish," I supplied.
"Something like that," she agreed. "I like, you know, pants."
"Skirts have easier access," I said, sliding my finger up under the one she'd slipped on to go get us coffee, slipping between her thighs, teasing up her pussy.
"That's true," she agreed, sighing as my finger found her clit. "Still," she tried to insist even as her legs spread wider for me, giving me room to thrust two fingers lazily inside her.
"How about you wear skirts and nothing at all for a little while longer, then we can take the long-ass trip out there to get your shit?" I suggested, my cock already rock-solid as her walls pulled my fingers in tighter.
"Mmm," she said, letting me take her coffee cup away, putting it on the nightstand. "Okay," she agreed, hips rocking rhythmically to my thrusts.
"If you had pants on," I said, grabbing her, yanking her up on my lap where her wet pussy slid over my hard cock, "this wouldn't be as easy," I told her, rocking against her cleft as my free hand went into the nightstand.
"You make a good point," she agreed as I slipped on the condom.
"Always so greedy for my cock," I hissed as her hips lifted, and she slid down on my cock as soon as I was done.
"Mmhm," she agreed, already rocking, already driving herself up.
I couldn't claim to have ever felt the urge to slow down sex before, to make it more than what it was, but as she started to get harder and faster, I grabbed her, rolling her under me, and taking over.
