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My hand is on my pussy. I don’t remember putting it there but now that it is I can’t stop. I slide two fingers in deep, curling them so my palm is pressing onto my clit. I’m so wet that they slide in with ease.
I make the come hither motion with my two fingers while pressing my palm up and down. I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning too loud. Fuck this feels good. I work fast and I’m so horny that an orgasm comes quickly.
My body spasms as the orgasm rips through. I pull my fingers out but now I have a new problem. One my hand is wet and slick. Two I smell of sex. I’ve watched him cook and know damn well he has a sensitive sense of smell. There is no way he’s going to miss this odor. It’s filling my own head and, honestly, making me want to go downstairs and grab him by his cock.
I’m not going to do that. This is still a dangerous situation I’m in and though we may have made something of a connection last night, there’s one hell of a long way between a possible connection and leaping into bed together. I needed to push the horniness away so I could keep a clear head, not follow it into something stupid like initiating sex with him.
Sitting up in the bed I look around for something to use to clean myself up. The bathroom he showed me is downstairs but there is no running water. Water is too precious a resource on Tajss, even here under the mountain. They use sand, which this planet has an overabundance of to clean their hands and most everything.
I give up at last. It’s going to be what it’s going to be. Having done what I did, there is literally nothing I can do about it now. I make up the bed, straighten my clothing, then square my shoulders. As I take a deep breath to center myself the odors of breakfast fill my head and make my mouth water.
Maybe the smells of his cooking will cover over the sex smell that still clings to me. I hope. Nodding to myself I go down the stairs. He is in the kitchen with his back to me. Before I can say anything he looks over his shoulder and nods at the table.
I take his gentle command and sit in my seat at the table. My stomach grumbles loud enough that there is no way he didn’t hear it but he busies himself preparing the meal. He hums as he works. I don’t know the tune, of course, but it’s lively and full of a sense of joy. A smile spreads over my face watching him work and listening.
He spins on one foot to face me. In one hand he has a pot and in the other a cup. He places the cup in front of me then pours it full of kaphi. The rich, earthy smell rises along with the steam.
“Thank you,” I say.
He bows his head but as he does my heart skips a beat because I see his nostrils flare then his eyes widen. His head jerks up and his mouth drops open forming an O. My cheeks are instantly on fire and I want to crawl under the table.
I fight that urge and don’t. Instead, I meet his eyes with a steady gaze that I have no idea where I find the strength to keep. His mouth audibly snaps shut and he turns back to the stove. He sets the table with plates and utensils then serves the food.
Today’s meal looks different than yesterday's. The purple egg looking things are there but there’s a slice of seared meat today as well and something that is green resembling but not quite broccoli. Silent he takes his seat across the table and waits.
“It looks great,” I say.
“Try it, please,” he says, staring at my plate.
I obey the command. I cut a piece of the meat then pierce it along with some of the eggs and pop it into my mouth. I don’t know how he keeps doing it. Every meal is a new and different set of flavors and every one of them is delicious. I can’t tell if they are better and better, or just each absolutely amazing in their own right.
“Wow,” I say, holding my hand over my mouth while I continue chewing.
I swallow my food and then sip the kaphi. Even the kaphi combines with the flavor profile of the meal and rounds it out like a fine wine pairing perfectly with the food. He smiles as he nods enthusiastically.
“You enjoy?”
“Very much,” I say. “You are an amazing chef.”
“Thank you,” he says then sets about eating his own meal.
We finish our plates in silence but there is no missing the glances he darts in my direction. Or the fact that his nostrils keep flaring. I dart my own glances. I want to taste his lips as well as this food. I wonder what his tusks would feel like dragging along my thighs while he works…
Stop. Good god this is not the time.
I finish a little before him but let him eat in peace. He does so quickly then grabs my plate. When he stands up there is no missing the massive bulge in his pants. The poor fabric is straining to contain it. He glances down, his skin shifting to a paler shade of green as he whirls around so his back is to me. He goes to the counter and takes his time cleaning the dishes.
Normally I’d go help him but I think he’d prefer to do it alone right now. At least it seems he wants me as much as I’m wanting him. It’s lust, but that doesn't make it any less of an attraction. Probably a reaction to the stress we’re both under.
And his cock. Don’t forget that fucking cock.
And that.
“What are we doing to?—”
I’m cut off by a thudding on the door. He drops the dish he was cleaning and it shatters loudly. The thudding comes again. I look from the door to him and back. When the thudding comes again it’s so hard that the door rattles in its frame.
Bhoja utters something in his own language. It’s guttural and rough, I assume it’s a curse. He picks up a towel and wipes his hands then looks at me. He frowns deeply, his mouth opens, then he shuts it and shakes his head.
