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We’ve learned that I respond very well to dares—in that I absolutely won’t let one pass. Jrrru won’t either, which is fun for me, too. Like this morning when I dared him to make me come in the shower and he hitched me up in his arms to chin height. As I clung to the showerhead, he licked my pussy until I couldn’t see straight.
It was amazing.
But then, being with Jrrru is always amazing. It doesn’t matter if we’re lazily sprawled out in our new super-sized bed (round, because apparently praxiians like a round bed for some reason) or if we’re riding each other’s faces. We could be making dinner together and it’s enjoyable and fun. Or like yesterday, when one of the calves got into the feed and ate so much that he puked all over the barn, and then we had to scrub down the floors because the other cattle were trying to eat the puke. Even a disgusting, dirty moment like that manages to be fun with Jrrru around.
He continues to stroke my hair as I sit up, flushed and happy. The look on his face is that same glazed, contented expression he wears after sex. “Should you eat something before we land?” he asks. “I’ve been circling their farm for the last five minutes so you could finish up.”
Figures. “You think I should eat something?”
“Your mouth smells like me,” Jrrru says bluntly. “If you eat a sweet it might mask the scent.”
Oh. I huff into my cupped hand and I can’t smell anything, but I know his nose is more sensitive than mine. I glance back at the box of pastries in the back seat. They’re fresh from the booth in town and neatly stacked inside the container. If I take one, it’ll look obvious, and considering that we’re showing up for dinner, it seems strange to eat dessert first. “You know what? They’ll just have to live with it.” I poke his leg with my finger. “It’s your fault for daring me.”
My praxiian just gives me a toothy grin, obviously pleased with himself. “But you’re not nervous about meeting them now, are you?”
I make a face at him. “Don’t tell me you did that for me.”
“Oh no. That was all for my benefit. But you’re not nervous,” he stresses. “So I’m still happy with the outcome.” Jrrru puts a hand on the controls of the air-sled and then glances over at me. “You can still change your mind. I’ll understand.”
Fussing with my hair, I consider his offer. It’s been a few weeks and I’ve backed out on Hrrrusek and Chelsea twice now. It’s not that I don’t want to meet them. It’s just…sometimes it’s easier not to. But today I feel good, and Jrrru’s right. Blowing him did take the nerves out of the day. Weird, that. I guess it’s because it just reminds me how good we are together. That at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what my human neighbor thinks of me, or Jrrru’s brother. The only one that matters is Jrrru, and he’s happy.
Judging from the dopey look of contentment on his face, he’s very happy.
“I’m okay,” I reassure him. “We can still go to dinner.”
He smiles at me, and as he lands the air-sled in front of my neighbor’s house, I can hear his purr starting up. He’s proud of me for that decision, and that makes me feel warm inside.
“Besides,” I point out, “I’m wearing three knives under my tunic.”
“I know. I felt them when I ran my hand down your back.”
I grin up at him.
“You carry as many weapons as you need to feel comfortable, my fragrant love.” He strokes my cheek with his knuckles, his other hand guiding the sled to a stop.
And that’s why Jrrru is perfect for me. He understands my need to arm myself, even if I don’t plan on using them. I just need the reassurance that I’m not helpless. They’re more decorative than anything now that I have Jrrru to count on, but I still like carrying them.
Once the sled is parked, we get out and I heft the box of pastries. Despite my bluster that I’m not nervous, a fresh round of anxiety hits. What if they do hate me and Jrrru gets upset? What if—
“Stop,” Jrrru murmurs into my ear. He loops an arm around my shoulders, tucking me against him as if we’re a regular couple and not flirty-praxiian-and-weapon-loving-human-shut-in. “You’re overthinking.”
“What if—“
“They won’t hate you,” he says before I can finish my statement.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do know that. You make me happy and I’m not living on their couch any longer. As far as they’re concerned, you’re perfection.”
That just makes me nervous all over again. No one’s perfection. I know I’m weird. I know I have strange tendencies, like weapon-making and pit-trap digging and keeping my meat-cattle as pets. I have to drink all liquids set in front of me. I don’t like visitors or water-waste.
