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Victor groans, his claws screeching against the tile.
I freeze, jumping up in alarm. He looks over at me, but his eyes aren't red. They're hooded with arousal, full of hungry need, and I realize my toweling is only making it worse. Touching him is turning me on, too, and between my touch and my scent, I'm probably making him crazy.
"I need to touch myself," he rasps. His cock twitches, and another bead of pre-cum appears. "Leave me, Bee."
I shake my head. I've come to a brand new realization just now.
I want Victor…and I want to show him that we can do more than just kiss. I want to make him feel good. I want to make him feel like a normal man, not the monster he imagines himself. So I continue toweling his legs off. "Don't scratch up the tile or I'll be sad."
He groans again, louder. "Bee—"
"I'm almost done, Victor," I say softly. "And then we're going to kiss. And after that, we'll have dinner. Unless you're starving?"
"Kiss." He grits the word out, hoarse. "I want to kiss."
"Me too," I admit, moving the drying towel along his other leg carefully and when they're dry enough, I move to his stomach and pat it down. He's still got his hands braced on the wall, which means I get under him, just a little, and…okay, I'm teasing him just because it turns me on. "Lean down so I can towel your hair for you."
He doesn't, of course. Victor is stubborn and likes to have the upper hand. Instead, he grabs me by the waist and hauls me into the air, setting me down atop the countertop. I stand over the sink, feeling incredibly tall and just a little bit afraid of heights, but that fear disappears when he straightens and then his mane is at chest level. His hands go to my waist, holding me in place, and I begin to towel off his hair. He groans, closing his eyes as I rub him down. "Feels good."
That makes me smile. "It's nice to have someone fuss over you, isn't it?"
His mouth curves in a faint hint of a smile of his own. He doesn't open his eyes, but I get the idea that he's focused on me anyhow. "Who fusses over you, Bee?"
"No one, and you already know that," I chide him, rubbing his hair vigorously. He's got a ton of it on his head, just like a lion mane, and it's thick and textured and rather wild. I wonder if he should comb it out, because I don't know if it normally tangles. I toy with a strand and then scratch my nails over his scalp. "Feel better?"
Victor groans and buries his face against my belly. "Amazing," he murmurs. "I feel amazing. Will you touch me every time I shower?"
I wriggle in his grip, because the top of his head is pressing against the undersides of my breasts, and I'm very aware of his face as he nuzzles against my stomach. "You don't want to wash yourself?"
"Kef no. Want you to do it." He drags his tusks against my tunic. "You and your soft little human hands."
I let out a whimper, because he makes that sound so sexy. Like bathing is the most erotic thing possible.
Victor lifts his head, and as he does, his gaze goes to my breasts. "Your clothes are wet."
I glance down, distracted. Sure enough, his mane and skin have dampened the thin fabric of my tunic, and it sticks to my body. My nipples are tight and visible even through the band of fabric I wear as a bra. His eyes lock on them, and reverently, he reaches up and brushes a fingertip over one nipple.
I gasp, arousal flooding through me with dizzying speed. "Victor."
He makes a purring sound of pleasure, gliding his fingertip over the aching tip, and his claw catches on the fabric, tearing a small hole. Victor frowns, and when he lifts his hand, I realize he's gazing at his claws. His nostrils flare, and a look of self-loathing crosses his face as he releases me. "I want these gone, Bee. I want to be able to touch you and not be afraid that I'm going to spear you somehow."
"Okay," I say softly, and put my arms out. "Help me down and we can take care of that."
He pulls on a pair of trou, and for the next while, I clip his claws down as short as I can and then file the rough edges. I work on his toes, too, squaring down his nails so they look a bit more like mine. I'm not a hundred percent sure how alien nails are supposed to look, but he seems pleased with the results. When I'm done, he lifts one finger, scratches at the sleeve of my tunic, and grins when the fabric doesn't tear.
