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“Because,” she says, her voice small and pained. “What if I can never give you a child? What if it’s like with Simon and we try and try and try and nothing happens? What if he was right and I’m defective?”
If I could kill that male three times over, I would.
“Not all mates are blessed with younglings, it is true,” I say. “But that is not the fault of either person. Sometimes Lina has another path in mind for us. We are blessed to have Molly for our daughter, and perhaps Lina would consider that blessing enough. Perhaps it is for us to be helping hands to the others in the tribe as they experience parenthood. I remember when my nieces were born - how difficult it was for my brother and his linasha. Raising a youngling is no easy thing. Your sisters will find your support invaluable - as their healer and their friend. But, my Grace, we do not yet know if we are not to be blessed with younglings of our own. We are not grown old enough that our bodies are not capable. Sometimes these things happen straight away between mates, sometimes they take time. There are six seasons between Jassal and Ahnjas. Carrie and Endzoh grow no youngling yet. Blessings come when they come, and we are not out of time. Not for many seasons yet.”
Her eyes are wide with hope, still shimmering with emotions. I brush away one of her tears with my thumb, tracing the now familiar shape of her face. She is so beautiful, my fierce, brave mate.
“Won’t you be disappointed?” she says.
I consider how best to answer the question. I will not lie to her, not ever. Not even to protect her heartspace.
“Of course I would be,” I say. “It fills me with joy and excitement to think of a youngling with your curled hair and my features. But a disappointment in our fate does not equate to a disappointment in you, my Grace. It never could.”
This time when she kisses me, there is nothing hard or desperate about it. A bit of dampness from her tears, perhaps, but she kisses me with deep affection and feeling. I respond, drawing her closer to me, and when she reaches for my leathers, I do not stop her. I reach for her top instead, pulling it over her head, before drawing her body back tight to mine, our skin pressed together.
Soon we are both naked and panting, her cunt slick with her need, my cock pulsing as she works it with her hand. Our mouths have barely broken contact, and I am ready to drive her over the edge, to feel her come apart on my fingers, when she suddenly draws back from me. I stare into her eyes, looking for signs of distress. But she just runs her tongue over her kiss-swollen lips, then draws me over her so my hips settle against hers, my cock aligning with her entrance.
“My Grace,” I say, voice hoarse. It is the one act we are yet to complete. The one boundary that still exists between us. And though I am desperate to be inside her this way, I will not if I have any doubt that she is ready.
“Please,” she breathes, arching her hips into me. “Please, Calran.”
Such sweet commands, and no sign of hesitation or fear in her expression. Just longing and want as deep as my own echoed back to me.
I press into her, taking my time, giving her plenty of opportunity to tell me to stop, to express her discomfort if she feels it. But her body is so wet and ready. I glide into her with little resistance, groaning as her tight warmth envelops me. I draw back before pressing forwards again, going a little deeper with each stroke until I am fully seated inside my linasha, our hips locked together, bodies and spirits joined as one.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, stroking her hair back from her face.
In response, she strokes her fingers over my face, tracing the line of my cheekbones down to my jaw, drawing me in for a soft, sweet kiss.
I move slowly to start, giving her body time to adjust to my invasion. I keep my thrusts shallow, gentle, paying attention to her sounds, her expressions. When moans slip past her lips, when her eyes close, her expression turning rapturous. Her cunt flutters and clenches around my cock and it is a pure, exquisite torture.
Our bodies were made to fit together, my hips nestling perfectly between hers, my mating node moving over that sensitive nub of flesh she has at the peak of her cunt, stimulating her every time I move. It is not long before she is gasping and writhing, overcome by pleasure, and my heartspace surges in my chest to see it, to see the sweat slicking her curled hair down, her head thrashing from side to side as I start to move faster, thrust into her harder. Her cunt squeezes me tight as she cries out, reaching her peak.
Then I am as lost in the act as she, my mind blank of everything except the feel of her. I move against her, relentless, until a second climax tears through her, leaving her sobbing with pleasure. A pressure builds in my own abdomen, but I am a greedy, selfish male. I would have her come apart beneath me one more time before my own release.
I hook her leg over my shoulder, shifting our positions so I can drive into her deeper. I roam a hand over her breasts, pinching her nipples and kneading her sweat slicked flesh. Ragged moans rip from her throat, her hands fisting the pelts beneath us.
“So beautiful,” I say, knowing my words have the power to drive her higher. “So perfect. Your cunt feels so good, tight and warm and so wet for me.”
My release grows ever closer, and I growl as I try to suppress it, grinding my hips into my Grace as she pants, almost thrashing about beneath me.
“I’m so close,” she moans. “Oh, god, Calran.”
My hips snap against hers harder, driven by her sweet words. I remember how my Grace’s body likes contrasts, and as I mate her with abandon, I turn my face, pressing a kiss to the inside of her leg, soft as I can manage.
She screams beneath me, her cunt clamping down on my cock. I roar, snapping my hips into her a final few times as my release crashes through me. I let her leg fall to the side as I collapse down over her, bracing my weight on my forearms as we both breathe hard through our aftershocks. Only when the sweat cooling on my back starts to make my skin prickle, do I roll to the side, tucking myself in next to her and drawing the pelts up over our exhausted bodies.
“There is nothing, linasha, defective about you,” I say, as I wrap my arms around her still trembling body. “I would have your vow that you will never say such things about yourself again.”
“Only if you promise we can do that again,” she says.
I chuckle.
“We will do that again as many times as you like. Whenever and wherever you like.”
“Good,” my Grace says. “Better than good.”
“Perfect?” I suggest.
