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The meat pieturns out delicious, and Hrrrusek can pack away the food. We end up having zero leftovers and he drags a claw around the edge of the dish to get the last bits of crust up. I don’t mind, because it’s a pleasure to cook for someone other than myself. We nurse cups of hot tea afterward and I wish I’d baked cookies or something, because I suspect he’d eat them, too.
And all the while, we chat about nothing in particular, and it’s absolutely lovely.
I tell him all about growing up in the city but how after my parents divorced, my dad would take me fishing on the weekends. It was our time, heading out to the lake at sunrise and catching whatever we could. It’s why I’m so fond of fishing now, I think, because it reminds me of simpler times. I tell him about the biggest fish I’ve ever caught (the size of my arm) and what I use for bait.
Hrrrusek grew up on a station that orbited Praxii (his people’s home planet) with his older half-brother Jrrru and his mother, who was his lone parent. Neither father was in the picture, and so they worked odd jobs and followed their mother as she went from station to station with welding contracts. When they were old enough, they took on the family trade and now they work together. He tells me horror stories of projects they got wrong, and the time Jrrru accidentally welded his mech suit to the hull of a ship he was repairing, and the frantic rescue that ensued.
By the time we’re done with our tea, the hour is getting late and my face hurts from smiling so much. Hrrrusek is easy to talk to, and I love hearing his stories. He’s great company and I’m sad when he looks at the bottom of his tea cup and sighs. “I guess we should call it soon. It’s getting late.”
“I’m going fishing in the morning,” I offer, tracing a casual finger on the couch cushion between us. He’s seated on one end of my low sofa, and I’m on the other, and he’s so big and warm and pleasant that I’m hating even this small distance between us. “Setting out before dawn. Want to come with me?”
It’s an obvious invitation, as is the look in my eyes and the way I trace my finger on the couch. Maybe I’m being a little forward, but I really don’t care. Life is about grabbing at pleasure with both hands, and I want Hrrrusek. I want to have sex with him and lick him all over. I want him to shove his thick cock into me and crush me under his big frame on my bed. I’m thinking terribly filthy thoughts at this point, and there are zero of them that have to do with fishing.
Well, no, one has to do with fishing, but it involves me on the river bank and him pushing me into the mud and takingme.
But perhaps I’m not being forward enough. Hrrrusek’s whiskers twitch and he thinks for a moment, then nods. “I can take the sled again and come by early—”
I reach out and put my hand on his knee. “Or you can stay the night.”
He stares at me, his cat-like pupils dilating. “You sure you want to do that? I like you, Chelsea. I like you a lot, and that’s why I don’t mind waiting for you to be ready.”
“I was ready an hour ago,” I confess, sliding closer on the couch. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”
“No.” A purring sound starts in his chest, a throaty rumble that tells me he’s pleased at my forwardness. “You?”
“Nope. So we might as well enjoy ourselves, right? Two consenting adults who are consenting to have really nasty, filthy sex with one another.”
He groans as my thigh touches his, and then one big hand cups the back of my head and he pulls me forward into an awkward but heated kiss. Our lips press and he’s tense until I touch his jaw, caressing him, and take control of the kiss. I set the pace with small, nibbling busses of my mouth to his, and when he relaxes, I change my kisses to a little deeper, a little more intense. I tease my tongue against the seam of his mouth and when he opens for me, I sweep in and show him just how I like to be kissed.
Hrrrusek slides his other hand to my waist and his claws hitch in my clothes, one hand kneading at my backside. “Kef, you’re gorgeous,” he breathes between kisses. “I could lick you all over.”
“Yes, you could,” I tell him. “I would absolutely love that.”
He groans again and tries to pull me into his lap. I have a better idea, though. I ease backward onto my sofa, kicking off my shoes and pulling at my trou, easing them down my thighs.
“Come over me,” I tell him, holding a hand out in silent invitation. “Unless you want to use the floor instead.”
Hrrrusek skims a hand over my naked, pale thigh and eyes it thoughtfully. He runs his claws over my skin—just light enough to scrape—and pauses over one spot. “This a scar?”
“Mmhmm.” It’s a conversation that’s bound to come up, so I take his other hand and lead it to my mouth, nibbling on a fingertip.
He pauses over it, rubbing at the welted and discolored skin. “From a stun-stick?”
“That one’s from a whip,” I say, and reach down to pull his hand between my thighs, where there’s a burn mark at the spot where my thigh meets my pussy. “This one is from a stun-stick.”
Hrrrusek stares at them for a long moment. I wait for him to absorb the fact that my legs are covered in such marks, and that if he took off my tunic, he’d probably see most of my torso and a great deal of my arms and all of my back are covered with the same. They’re from my time as a slave, and he needs to see them so he can move past it, like I have.
“All this and you still trust me?” He rubs his thumb over the inside of my knee, over one old mark.
I smile at him. “You’re not going to kill me. Or hurt me. You would have already.”
And like I’ve told him before—death is the easy part. It’s living through the nightmare that’s the rough stuff, and I’ve already come through that.
“Chelsea…” The look on his face is full of mixed emotions.
“Are we not going to have sex now?” I ask, letting my thighs slide apart so I can tease one hand between my thighs, to where my folds are slick and flushed with heat. “Because if we aren’t, then let me finish myself off—”
He growls low in his throat, sending a shiver of pleasure up my spine, and then his big body is over mine on the couch, his weight pressing me into the cushions. He kisses me hard, claiming me, and if our kisses are a little messy with his different mouth meeting mine, they’re still fantastic kisses. I’m panting and writhing under him, one ankle hooked to the back of his thigh to hold him in place.
