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He turns back to me. “We have plays and musicals. Ballet. Puppet shows for children. There are all forms of art and culture.”
I nod. “And in those plays, does no one kiss? Or…pretend to mate?”
“Mating is…”
“Private. Got it,” I finish for him, thinking. “And where does the licking come from?”
“From watching the reindeer mates groom each other after they breed,” he says.
It is so utterly stupid that I find this hot, while at the same time hilarious: the image of Cyran standing in a field watching reindeer sex, taking mental notes.
“You like to watch reindeer fuck, do you?”
Cyran sits up tall. “Of course. I must do so. I note every mating interaction to ensure the most accurate records of a female reindeer’s heat and gestation.”
Gestation records, tracking animal ovulation periods—okay, that’s way less hot. We need to change the subject fast.
“Would you like me to show you how to kiss?”
Cyran arches an eyebrow skeptically. “Would it please you to view me as your pupil?”
Oh, brother. “You overthink everything. Showing you how to kiss would be my pleasure. I’ve been staring at your lips for hours, and I can’t get the shape of them out of my head.”
“And that’s good?”
I nod and glance down at his erection, pushing against the material of his tunic. “Penises aren’t the only thing that gets erect when humans are aroused. Thinking about kissing your lips makes me quiver between my thighs.”
He blinks and wets his lips. “Say more about that. I want to understand everything about you.”
I feel my tiny muscles contract with delight. “It’s like, everything feels tighter and looser at the same time. I have a bit of tissue that gets hard when I want someone to touch me there. I get wet and sort of flex involuntarily. Sometimes I leak.”
Understanding washes over his face. “I also am leaking for you right now.”
This is the craziest conversation I’ve ever had with a potential sex partner, and yet it’s working for me.
Captor. He’s still your captor, even if he did offer to bring you back to the States.
My sexy, sexy captor.
Maybe I’m just a dumb bish. Or incredibly horny. Or both.
“I think you’re going to like this,” I say, tossing all those red flags aside one last time. I lean in close until our mouths are inches apart.
A gentle smile that reaches his eyes. “I liked licking you,” he murmurs.
“Save that for my pussy.”
Confused, he says, “I have no desire to lick a feline.”
“Shut up.”
He takes this as a cue to close his eyes, and I’m good with that.
I meet him in the middle once more.
Cyran’s lips are softer and warmer than they appear. His elvish face may be made of hard corners and chiseled stone, but he is pure heat against my lips.
I sweep my lips over his full, velvety ones, feeling his shuddering breath against my face.
