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"Fruit, grains, nuts, legumes. What I eat, I mean. You can get a lot of protein from non-meat sources, you know. I definitely don't need aphids.”
“What about veggies?!”
His head turned slowly to face her, his red eyes narrowing. Her eyebrows shot up, unsure of what she had said that was controversial enough to earn such a reaction.
"Vegetables are a myth, Grace. There's no classification for vegetables in botany, because it doesn't exist. What we call vegetables are just edible parts of plants that have their own botanical taxonomy."
She understood the concept of what he was saying, for it had been discussed on the farm numerous times. Several of the employees of the farmstand often went rounds with Brogan and several of the others over what they classified as fruits and what were labeled as vegetables in the shop, but she had never heard any of them argue that vegetables were amyth.
"A myth. Like Bigfoot?" He scowled and she almost choked on her laughter, burying her face against his side as her shoulders shook. "You should see your face!" she howled. "You’re so serious!"
“You’re overlooking my favorite food," he growled, tugging her close. “I have a new favorite meal. I'd like to incorporate it into a weekly part of my diet, if I'm able." His tongue had dropped from his mouth, its coil unspooling until it was able to slip between her breasts, and she felt a flutter of excitement between her thighs.
"Well, that's important," she breathed, feeling the tip of the coil push beneath the lace of her bra, curl around her nipple and tug. "You should enjoy what you eat."
They'd wound up back at her house, where he laid her out on her bed before covering her with his wide wings, his mouth closing over her cunt, showing hisappreciationfor his new favorite food. He'd not allowed her to tease his cock out that day, insisting that he couldn’t stay, but she'd orgasmed twice against his hungry mouth, stimulating her until she was no longer capable of words, leaving her a boneless puddle when she came against his tongue. Her clit was still pulsing when he kissed her, leaving her there in a heap on her bed, to go back to work.
When she was capable of movement again, Grace reached out for her cell phone. She opened her notes app, beginning a new file.Things I have learned about mothmen. Obsessed with eating pussy. Very serious opinions about vegetables. Vibrating cocks. No aphids.She let the phone drop to the mattress as her eyes closed, deciding a little nap would not be amiss.
It would be hard working around their respective schedules, she realized. Unless she could learn to be happy with late afternoon dates, or else pre-dawn dalliances. She didn't expect that he would be able to pull away whenever she wanted him to during the work week, and she knew she didn't have that sort of flexibility at the farm, but . . . they could make it work.It's only temporary,she reminded herself.He's not going to be around forever, so you may as well enjoy the time you have together.She drifted to sleep, thinking of aphids, wondering how they felt about being a protein supplement in someone else’s dessert, and if anyone had ever considered their opinion on the matter.
♥ ♥ ♥
"Grace, you have a visitor," Caleia called out in a singsong voice.
She flushed, not expecting to see him, certainly not expecting to see him that early in the day. In the bright afternoon sunlight, his velutinous skin looked brown; a warm nutty color, and the change intrigued her.
"You look completely different like this!" she'd exclaimed, not rising from her table. His feathery antennae was flattened around his pointed ears, his guarded eyes flickering nervously to the dryad who hovered pointedly at the edge of the table. "Merrick, this is Caleia. She's the farm's record keeper. She was a big help getting Cal to agree to your program. Caleia," she threw her friend a venomous look of warning, "this is Merrick. He's a scientist from the University."
To her credit, Caleia managed to act as if she'd not heard of the tall moth before, certainly didn't know anything about his bedroom habits, and had absolutelynotreceived a painstakingly detailed description of the way he'd ejaculated on her breasts a few days earlier.
He didn't work in his lab on weekends, and she had arranged to not be stuck at her table past the end of her normal workday, freeing their evenings Friday through Sunday. It was hard to believe more than a month had passed since that first night at the observatory, but time always flew in the summertime.
They had visited Applethorpe Manor, the expansive gardens of which he'd already seen in his initial work visit to the grounds. The ghillie dhu who was employed as the chief horticulturist at the manor house had been resistant to Merrick's suggestions for how the manor might improve its pollinator friendliness, a fact she didn't share with her until they were already midway through their tumor of the house. They'd run into the ghillie dhu a short while later as they walked through the topiary garden. The tall, green-skinned man had scowled in recognition, and it had been all she could do to keep her laughter in check until they were well out of earshot.
"You reallyarea lab coat know-it-all!" She giggled, hunching over. "Look at that! Did you see thatlook?! That dude hates you!"
Her fact of the day had been an interesting revelation about the typical mating rituals of mothpeople.
"We don't really have sex more than once or twice a month, not normally," he'd explained sheepishly, when he'd again declined letting her arouse him until his cock slid free. "It takes . . . you know, awhile."
She did, in fact, know what he meant. She'd begun to fear that her cervix was being physically displaced every time they had intercourse, and the length of time it took for him to ejaculate, which meant the length of time he spent fucking her, was far longer than her body could keep up with.
"I don't want you to be unsatisfied because you're worried about hurting me," she'd fretted that evening, leading to his hesitant explanation.
"Even married couples won't have intercourse more than a few times a month, and it’s practically a twenty-four hour event. I don’t have time for that. Don't worry, I'm more than satisfied."
She’d been surprised, but somewhat relieved. Merrick’s endless, insatiable tongue kept her well-satisfied in the weeks leading up to the days when he was in the mood for intercourse, and she didn’t have to face a future of being bow-legged and sore indefinitely, even if that future was only for the interim.
For his part, he seemed happy with their arrangement. He loved going down on her, that hadn't changed; was completely addicted to the taste of her slick, still comparing her to the sweetness of the blackberries they'd shared that very first night. She quickly learned that his favorite two foods could easily be classified into those two columns — sweet, ripe berries, and her slippery slick cunt, which he claimed was just as sweet. On the occasions that hedidwant to fuck, she had learned his appetite was equally ravenous. He could rut her for hours, moaning in pleasure the whole time — changing positions, holding her suspended over his arms they hovered several feet off the ground, his hips thrusting upwards like a train piston.
The day they'd visited the manor house had been one such occasion. He was still just as anxious and awkward when they were out in public, especially if there were large groups of people, the fact that so many species actively lived and worked and loved together was still a foreign concept for him, but behind closed doors, his bashfulness was quickly forgotten.
They'd barely been back in his tree loft for a few minutes when he'd placed her hand directly on his slit. She had learned over the course of the last month that Merrick could be reduced to a pile of jelly when she fingered the slit in his skin, exactly the same way he fingered her cunt. His breathing would grow labored when she pressed her fingers into the opening in his skin, hips bucking up into her when she added more than one, and she decided that he deserved a nice, slow buildup that evening.
He was hot, and she could feel the slight bulge of his cock beneath, anxious to come out. She'd taken her time teasing him — fingering his slit slowly, swirling her fingers in his viscous lubrication, rubbing the interior wall and reveling in its slippery smooth texture and the way he quivered from within. When she'd added a second finger, he'd wheezed. She was able to grip the very tip of his cock from where it still lay nestled within his body, tickling at it and trapping it between her fingertips until it had surged forward.
He liked her hands on him, he liked her mouth on him, he liked the squeeze of being inside her. She got him to admit that he was attracted to humans, even if he'd always been invisible in their midst at his job, and Grace suspected he was acting out long-held fantasies with her. He liked to hold the round swells of her hips, like kissing each of her toes and the arch of her foot, so unlike his own insectoid hindquarters. But what he liked the most, she’d learned as the weeks passed, aside from burying his face between her thighs, was the softness of her breasts. He would hold their weight in his palms, thumbs circling over her nipples, squeezing and pinching until they puckered and hardened under his ministrations. She had wondered privately if there had been a human coworker at one point with breasts at least as large as hers, if not bigger, someone he'd fantasized over, invisible and unnoticed in his backwards lab coat. She wondered if he had masturbated over his human kink before, if it was the fact that she was human that had made him stop outside her window in the first place.
