My boyfriend is a whale.
I should probably call somebody, but who? The police? Animal control?
As he tells me this wild tale of a sea witch cursing him and his siblings, all I can do is sit quietly on his lap, enraptured. Believing every word out of his mouth without a hint of skepticism. Somehow, I know Moby wouldn’t lie to me. If I really think about it, I knew from the moment I met him that something was otherworldly about him. His speech, his size, his lack of knowledge about electronics. And hymens.
He's a miracle.
A big, beautiful miracle who claims me in front of everyone. Women all over the world search decades for a man who’ll make that kind of commitment. If anything, my boyfriend is over-committed to me.
I’m committing to him, too.
If everything he’s saying is true—and in my heart, I know it is—then he left his home for me. Our meeting in the middle of the ocean during my whale watching trip was as magical for him as it was for me. He shifted into a human and came to find me.
I scoot closer in his lap now, aching to make contact everywhere.
Moby makes a guttural sound in response, temporarily distracted from his story. Both of his hands find my backside beneath my skirt and squeeze my cheeks, yanking me tighter to that part of him that is always risen. Always waiting.
“You are not afraid of me, little human?”
I lean in and sip at his shoulder, licking the sinew there. In fact, I lick the entire muscular slope, all the way to his neck, his body humming like an engine beneath mine, his head falling back on a moan. “I could never be scared of you, Moby.”
He raises his head, and with a concentrated gust of air from his mouth, he blows back my hair, frowning over the bite marks he reveals. “Not even when I bite?”
“Especially not when you bite.”
His gray eyes zip to mine, feverish. Hot. “Explain.”
I work myself in his lap, golden flecks of power flowing in my veins. Amazing that I can feel such a thing when he’s two feet taller than me and built like a bulldozer. But that’s just another magical part of this relationship, and I celebrate it now, grinding slowly on his lap and watching the pulse in his neck fly out of control. “When you bit me, I knew you were overwhelmed with pleasure. I’m the reason for that pleasure, Daddy.”
“Yes, you are, little girl,” he pants.
“Hurting me would only hurt you.”
“I wouldnever, Darla.”
“I know,” I whisper against his mouth, rocking my hips in a slow pattern on top of his hardness, his shaft rubbing apart my slit, even through his towel and my yellow bikini bottoms.Enjoying the wet warmth that gathers at my sex, I roll our foreheads together, side to side. “So now that you shifted into a human…does that mean you can stay forever?”
His swallow is loud. “I will stay as long as I can.”
That lack of certainty surprises me. I expected him to say yes. With my heart in my throat, I ask, “B-but do youwantto stay forever?”
“Oh God, yes,” he heaves in a rasp, his voice ringing with intensity. “Ineverwant to leave your side.”
“I never want you to, either.” I reach back and untie the strings of my yellow bikini top, watching twin blazes light themselves in his eyes when I toss it away, leaving me bare breasted, humping slowly in his lap. “Moby?”
“Yes,” he manages through his labored breathing, his palms finding my breasts and exploring, lifting them high, massaging firmly. Thumbing my nipples into peaks. “What is it, little human?”
“If you get me pregnant, will our baby be able to shift?”
His body jerks violently, his features twisting with agony. “Do not talk about getting pregnant, Darla, or you’ll make me come.” A bead of perspiration rolls down the side of his face. “I told myself I would be gentler the next time I fuck you.”
“Make love to me, you mean?”
He gulps, searching my eyes. “Love?”
Goodness, Darla. You’ve known him for less than twenty-four hours. Don’t throw around the L word, already.Wanting to distract Moby from my nearly blurted confession that I’ve fallen for him, I slide down off his lap and kneel between his barbarian-style legs, lifting the flaps of his towel to expose his turgid mast of flesh, seeing it up close for the first time. The veins that travel through his ultimate stiffness. The drips of milky white that roll downward from the head, as if he’s on full and can’t keep his essence contained much longer.
“Can I kiss it, Daddy?”
