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His tone is both teasing and serious. For raskarrans, death is not an end, just a return to their goddess. I’m not sure where I stand on afterlives, but it does give me a small measure of comfort to believe that some part of Sam is out there somewhere.
I press myself close to him, reaching for his cock, stroking my fingers over the hot, smooth length of it as his own hands quest between my thighs. I wasn’t sure I believed him when he said that pleasuring me was a pleasure for him, but since learning how to bring him to climax, I’ve come to understand the joy of knowing how to touch your partner. The delight of feeling them respond.
And in a strange way, it’s helping me detach what happened between me and Simon from anything that Calran and I share. Because there was no delight in any of that, no attention to each other’s needs. It’s a whole separate thing in my head now, easier to push out of mind, and as Calran’s fingers glide through my folds, brushing carefully past my entrance, never quite touchingit, the need to feel him inside me drowns out the fear of humiliation and pain for the first time.
“Calran,” I breathe. “I want you inside me.”
He pauses, looking down at me, heavy brows knitting together as he studies my face.
“You are sure about this, Grace?” he says, tone gentle.
In answer, I draw him down into another kiss, arching my body closer to his. He growls low in his throat, his cock twitching where it’s pressed against my belly, then his hand spreads my thighs once more, fingers circling my entrance before he presses one inside.
I gasp at the invasion, my body clamping down on his finger. Panic flutters at my edges, but Calran kisses my neck in all the most sensitive places, driving any fear away with the soft heat of his lips. Then he kisses further down my body, drawing my nipple into his mouth as he starts to pump his finger into me, stroking my inner walls as his tongue laves me. The dual sensation is overwhelming and perfect and soon I’m crying out as wave after wave of pleasure builds in me.
“My Grace,” Calran growls, and he must be lost in pleasure of his own, because he’s normally so careful not to refer to me that way.
I wait to be repulsed by the term, to want to retreat from it, but instead, a single syllable tumbles from my lips.
“Yes.”
Calran’s mouth covers mine again, kissing me hard and demanding. When he draws back from me, it’s to growl out another word.
“Mine.”
“Yours,” I answer.
Another finger probes at my entrance before sliding inside. I cry out as my body stretches, the pleasure of being filled far greater than any discomfort. Calran’s movements grow morefrantic as he pumps his fingers into me, thumb circling my clit. I’m so close to the edge, one more touch in the right place will have me totally undone.
It happens when Calran presses the softest kiss to my lips. An orgasm detonates inside me, stronger than anything I’ve felt before. I scream as pleasure crashes through my body, overwhelming my senses, my vision going white for a long, intense moment.
I come back to the sensation of Calran nuzzling at my neck. I can feel his smile against my skin. As the prickle of sweat evaporating fades, the dreamspace returning my body to a neutral state, I turn to him.
“I think, perhaps, that was a little better than simply ‘good’?” he says with a wicked smile.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Calran
For the first time since the sickness struck, passing the rains is a pleasant experience. It still has its discomforts, of course, and the memorial we hold for Sam and for all those we have lost is a darker, harder moment, but overall, the time goes quickly.
I have my patrol routes memorised now, my knowledge of the forest around Gregar’s village almost as good as the knowledge of my own trees. There is no sign of trouble from other tribes, much to the relief of everyone, and the deeper into the season we get, the more we are all able to relax.
It is a joy to spend time with my brothers, old and new, in the gathering hut that - much like the one in our village - has only held the belongings of the people we have lost for so long. Filling the space with life and laughter helps to heal wounds in all of us that we have carried so long, we had forgotten what it was not to have them. We eat together regularly. Talk late into theevening. Often, the elders will bid Molly to sing as she did at the memorial, her voice far more beautiful than even the loveliest birdsong. It is a precious gift she has been given, and I am sure to tell her so through my Grace.
The gathering hut is also used by the females for their lessons inreadingandwriting- strange human methods of communicating without speaking - but also for lessons in speaking the raskarran tongue. Sally speaks our words like she was born to them, and the sunset haired female, Rachel, is quick to learn them. Between them, they teach the rest our words, building from naming things to forming thoughts and ideas.
It is something Molly likes to practise with me as we wait for our midday meal to cook. She has a sharp headspace and learns quickly, as younglings so often do, and I do not think I am misinterpreting her to say we have bonded over these practise sessions.
“I wash the clothes in the pools,” she says, nose wrinkling with concentration. “You wash the clothes in the pools. She wash the clothes in the pools.”
“Washes,” I correct. “She washes.”
Molly grimaces, then repeats, “She washes the clothes. Washes, washes, washes.Whydutheyallhavetubediffrent?”
“I don’t know,” my Grace says in response. Our understanding of each other is getting better every day. Now, even when she is not speaking directly to me, I tend to understand most of what she is saying.
“Sannoyin,” Molly says, and though her meaning is no clearer than it ever has been, I can read her frustration in her tone.
