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"You sprayed everything," I say with a giggle. "I'm afraid you're going to have to shower again."
His mouth curves into a slow grin. "It was worth it. I'll shower six times a day if you'll put your hands on me. That's my new prize," he says. "Your touch. Every day. Every night."
"We'll see." But parts of me are already clenching at the thought. "Let's go shower and then we'll make dinner."
I slip out of his grip and he gets to his feet, stretching languidly. He must feel good, I think with pride. I made him feel that good.
As he pads toward the bathroom, I notice blood streaking his skin. I gasp, horrified. "Victor! Your back!" He reaches out to touch one shoulder, and it takes me a moment to realize his spikes are gone.
They've receded into his skin.
19
VICTOR
Hours later, I lie awake in bed. Bee is in my arms, her small body cupped by my larger one. I hold her tightly, loving that I can do this finally. I do not want this moment to end. Ever. I bury my nose in her fragrant mane and breathe deep, utterly content.
Had I known this sort of joy would be waiting for me, I would never have raised a finger against any of the guardsmen. Being with Bee is more satisfying than tearing out a thousand throats or outwitting a thousand guards. Nowhere in my memories stolen from Crulden the Ruiner is there such…contentment. But here with Bee, listening to her sleep, taking in her scent, I am at peace.
My spikes have receded into my flesh once more. The moment they did, I realized it was because I finally feel relaxed enough to not be on guard constantly. I don't need to protect myself from Bee. Here, at her side, I'm free to enjoy life, and so there's no need to protect myself from unseen enemies. They'll spring forth again if I'm threatened—or if Bee is—but for now, I'm able to curl around my mate and sleep in the same narrow bed with her.
My mate. I taste the word on my tongue and I like it. Bee doesn't know it yet, but she's my mate. She proved to me tonight that just because my body is fearsome, we can still share pleasure. Perhaps someday the barbs on my cock will recede as well, though I do not have memories of that. It doesn't matter. I enjoyed Bee's hands and her words. I enjoyed her mouth on mine. If that is all I can have, I will be more than content with it. Touching me pleased her, too. Her arousal scent drifted through the air all night long, as she showed me how to work the machines in the kitchen to make dinner and then to clean up. I thought my hands would feel naked and useless without my claws, but I can touch the buttons on the machines with ease.
More than that, I can touch Bee without fear of drawing blood.
We kissed a few more times before bed, but Bee did not let things go further than a kiss. When I asked about pleasuring her, she said she wanted this night to be about me and not her. Then she kissed me again, sweetly enough to distract me.
But hours have passed, and I am still awake. If I am reading the comm panel in the bedroom correctly (as she has shown me), the time has now rolled over into the next day.
Which means I am free to make this day about her pleasure, instead of mine.
I run a hand down Bee's side. She is all curves and softness, this female, so small against my larger form. At my touch, she stirs in her sleep, sighing before pressing back against me. All curves and softness…and a heavy sleeper. Amused, I brush my lips over the top of her head. I want to kiss her neck, but at this angle, it's simply not possible. So I will just have to do other things to pleasure her. I run my fingers lightly down her side again, and when she instinctively rolls toward me, I cup one heavy teat in my hand. Such large, fascinating globes, with such sensitive tips. I think about how she scraped them against my chest, teasing herself as she kissed me. I drag my thumb over the tip, teasing it until it hardens under my touch.
She moans, rubbing her backside against me. "Victor…"
Did she just call for me in her sleep? I pause, and when she doesn't move or protest, my heart swells with pride. My female. She wants me even when she sleeps. She dreams of me. Me. Not that handsome mesakkah idiot she claimed to “date.”
"Mine," I whisper, toying with her nipple through the fabric of her tunic. She whimpers and presses against my hand, craving more, and her arousal scent floods the air around me. "My Bee."
