Mated, Stelas had spat. That was what animals did, wasn’t it? A male and female, coming together to reproduce. Was that what he wanted? His face heated at the thought, his heart fluttering.
Yes, he did want that—but he wanted more. He wanted her voice, her scent, her every errant thought. He wanted to fulfill her every need and desire until she knew only contentment. So many impulses clanged together within him in a cacophony he could make no sense of. He wanted to feed her, groom her, bring her something glittering and priceless.
They were ridiculous thoughts given the gravity of their situation. He should endeavor to be more like her, more focused on his goals. Right now, that meant recovering her crew before the Aurillon did.
He tapped his comm to see if he’d missed a message from Fendar in the night. Nothing. That meant they still needed to avoid using the communication channel. Disappointment doused some of his happiness at having Cordelia in his arms.
He would have to make her walk further with her injury, though he knew it was causing her pain. There was a wince that never left her brow. She’d torn the edges of her wound open on the climb up the tree. He could smell it even now: the faint trace of fresh blood. Guilt twisted in his gut, despite the knowledge that he’d had no other choice except to force her to climb. Better to tear her wound than be devoured by theYethor, but her pain still gnawed at his conscience.
“Cordelia,” he whispered, stroking his hand over her soft hair. “We must move.”
She made a sound of complaint, wriggling in his lap to get more comfortable. Her hip brushed over his crotch.
He stiffened, gritting his teeth. “Cordelia.” His voice was strangled even to his own ears.
She hummed, her hand leaving his tail to skim up over his chest. Her fingers slid over the bare skin of his neck and threaded into his hair. Every fine hair on his body stood at attention, seeking more of that sensuous contact.
“Warm,” she hummed, nuzzling him. “Shut up.”
He might have laughed if it weren’t for the way her lazy squirming was pushing his cock to its limit.
As many times as he’d masturbated over his life, he’d never come close to a feeling like this. He’d done it in a perfunctory way, late at night in his bunk or behind the privacy of his shower stall. He hadn’t even known what to picture as he’d pumped hishand over it, only vague imaginings of someone else there, their phantom hand in place of his own. He had an understanding of sexual reproduction informed only by the most rudimentary biology.
They’d had a brief explanation of such things on board theGidalanin their eleventh year.
“You’re going to have urges,” the minder had warned. “They are to be ignored.”
They had taken questions after, most of which were: what urges, and why?
“It’s a biological imperative relative to sexual reproduction, which you will never have cause to perform.”
They’d explained that sexual reproduction was how other species reproduced, and no, they had not been made in that way, and no, they would never make another that way. When one of the more curious hybrids had pressed about the mechanics, his knuckles had been slapped with a metal rod, and that had been the end of the questions.
But not the end of the curiosity. Rentir knew he was not the only one who had seen fit to satisfy his strange desires rather than suppress them, though at first he had tried.
Some of the other hybrids had even gone on to relieve those urges for one another, though Rentir knew little of that. Xeth had been among that number, bonding over a decade to a male named Noa until it had come to a tragic end.
Perhaps he would know how Rentir should go about coupling with Cordelia.
He mulled on it for a moment, then discarded the idea. Xeth was insufferable enough without something further to hold over him.
Besides, he knew there were anatomical differences between males and females, though he wasn’t entirely sure what they were. Likely, Xeth was just as in the dark. They had never beenpermitted to see a female of any sentient species, had been discouraged from questioning why or what made them different.
As desperately as his body urged him to do it, he didn’t knowhowto mate with her. He’d only ever seen animals breed. Would she get on her hands and knees for him so he could mount her from behind as he’d seen the wild beasts do? The imagery made his cock, still trapped between their bodies, swell to the point of pain.
His breath constricted as something pulled taut inside him. Cordelia’s nose traced up his neck in a lazy trail as she roused, each of her hot breaths tickling his throat. It brought his imagination into sharper relief. He imagined her panting against his skin as he moved over her. What sounds would she make? What expressions? A desperation for friction filled him; each of his nerves felt like a live wire. The hair at his nape stood on end.
She huffed a sigh, twisting in his arms until her back was to his chest, and stretched her legs.
“What time is it?” she mumbled, seemingly oblivious or indifferent to his plight.
He winced at even her most minute movement, his cock painfully hypersensitive. “Ah… just a little past dawn.”
“Gross.”
He stiffened. Did she know what he was thinking? Could she feel his cock against her back? His neck heated as a strange panic swelled in his chest.
“I hate mornings.” She let her head fall back against his shoulder, closing her eyes again. “My butt is numb.”
