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Twyla
She was intoxicating—in every sense of the word. I felt drugged, my eyelids heavy, my limbs lethargic with need.
Her lips sparked on mine and all I could think about was getting closer to her, pressing myself against her bare skin and melting into her welcoming warmth. I could feel my heartbeat everywhere, pulsing in places that shouldn’t be so alive. Yet they were.
My nipples pressed against the soft shirt I wore, tenting the material in an obscene way. My left breast was flush against Cedra’s chest and I moved just a little to feel the friction of her old work shirt against me. I couldn’t help the whimper that reverberated in my throat when sparks ignited from that small contact. I pressed myself even harder against her.
Deeper, more.
It was all I could think, reduced to monosyllables around this woman. I should have been worried, embarrassed, even scared perhaps that my body and mind seemed to malfunction around her. Yet I wasn’t. The way she held me in her arms, strong yet gentle, excited yet safe, made me glow from within.
Lips still fused, I reached up to unbutton her shirt. I heard a sharp intake of breath before her fingers caught mine. She broke the kiss, breathing hard. Her breath was sweet and warm on my cheek.
“Wait,” she said, her voice low.
I sucked on my bottom lip, relishing the wet remnants of her mouth on mine.
“I don’t wanna wait.” My voice was mulish and stubborn.
Her deep blue eyes, so much like the videos of the oceans from Old Earth, bore into mine. “We should talk about this—I need to explain what’s happening.”
“You don’t need to explain,” I said, moving a little so my clothed nipple rubbed against her. I fought the moan of pleasure. “We’re both adults. We’re attracted to each other. We can do this.”
I applauded myself for being logical and adulty even though my mind was fuddled. I thought I’d been very clear, very persuasive, but she only shook her head.
With surprising ease, she lifted me off her lap and set me on the table. Her fingers found the edge of my work shirt and dragged it over my knees, covering my thighs.
I could feel my lips thickening in a pout. Her eyes drifted to them, and I wondered if they looked swollen from her kisses.
For a moment, she seemed transfixed. Then she shook her head, as though trying to clear a fog in her mind. I knew that feeling.
“Have you ever felt this...attraction...with anyone else?” she asked, measuring her words. She leaned back in the chair, carefully putting some distance between us. It was no use. The air still practically sizzled with anticipation. Or maybe that was just me?
I didn’t even have to think about her question. I simply shook my head.
“Never.”
“My people have many unique traits, but what we revere above all else is a Blood Mate. Do you know what that means?”
Again, I simply shook my head. On instinct, I crossed my legs and a soft squelching sound made my face heat. My wetness had escaped the confines of my panties and now coated my thighs like warm jelly.
I knew Cedra had heard it, too. She tried to take a calming breath, once, twice. Her hands were fisted in her lap. It looked like she was fighting something.
On the third breath, she said, “A Blood Mate is someone who is mentally and physically compatible with you. It’s not like a matching site where you choose someone who looks attractive. A Blood Mate is chosen for you by your DNA, your genetics.”
“Okay.” I would say anything, agree to anything, as long as she would put those rough hands on my thighs again.
“We learn, in theory, that we could be blessed with a Blood Mate. You hear stories...myths, really. Just fantasies told by eager teens that a friend of a friend of a friend had found a Blood Mate and lived happily ever after. But we know it’s not true. It’s the stuff of fiction.”
She stood and began pacing in the small kitchen space.
“No, it doesn’t make sense. You’re not a Fanger and you don’t even have Fanger blood—correct?”
I nodded.
“How is this possible? I’ve never heard of inter-species Blood Mates, not even in those make-believe stories kids told in school. But your blood...” She trailed off, raking a hand through her blond hair. Strands from her long braid came undone and I ached to touch them.
“What about my blood?” Curiosity got the better of me.
