Stay-see’s fingers press to my mouth to shush me, and her cheeks are the delightful pink I so enjoy. “I…I’m not sure I’m ready to jump back into bed with you yet.”
I nod. “I understand.” I caress her lovely pale shoulder and run my fingers along her jaw. “But I do not like it when you cry over your body. You are my mate. If these are the only memories I have of your body, I have no complaints.”
“Even though nothing is tight?”
“I like soft,” I tell her. Even now I cannot stop touching her skin. “Soft and smooth and warm and all Stay-see. I like you soft. I would like you hard and sinewy like an old dvisti, if that is what you want.” At her giggle, I feel relief. “I would like you as round and plump as a quill-beast in the brutal season.” Actually, I like that idea a lot. Her bottom large and fleshy, teats bouncing, andher belly full of my kit? It is an idea that appeals to me very much. “I would even like you if you never bathed again.”
Her brows go up. “Never, huh?”
“I would spend less time licking your cunt, perhaps?—”
She laughs and gives my shoulder a little punch. “You are terrible.” But her eyes are shining and she is no longer nervous.
I smile and touch her cheek again. “Take your bath.”
8
STACY
Idon’t know why I worry about these things.
I’m still feeling the warm fuzzies from his sweet, thoughtful words about my body. Having Pacy did a number on my flat stomach, and it’s still poochy and lined with stretchmarks. My thighs are bigger than they used to be, and my butt…well, it’s not my favorite body part. I just didn’t want Pashov’s only memories of me to be of a post-pregnancy body. But the things he said to me just now? I feel beautiful and like I’m glowing from inside out. I’m smiling as I crush more soap-berries into the water and begin to bathe.
I just wish he’d grabbed my butt like he used to. Maybe make a joke about my lack of a tail.
Guess a girl can’t have everything.
I wash quickly, getting the worst of the smoky scent off of my skin and cleaning away a few days of grime. I scrub at my skin and there seems to be more dirt than I thought, so I swipe overmy body a second time, acutely aware that this isn’t the sexiest bath I’ve ever had. Pashov’s not watching me though—I think he realizes it’d just make me nervous to see him eyeing me as I scrub at my skin.
Maybe when we get to the new home there will be time for me to have a sexy bath for him. I’m not sure I’m ready for it just yet, though. Maybe when I stop being such a blubbery baby about everything. I hate that I’m constantly crying and emotional. I just…
I don’t want him to be disappointed in who he’s mated to. I don’t want him to be disappointed in my body. In our son. In me.
It’s hard not to be nervous about that sort of thing. I’m not tall and statuesque like Liz. I’m not beautiful like Ariana or dainty like Josie. I’m just average, and before, it didn’t matter because we had resonance bonding us. With resonance, it didn’t matter if I looked like a hag, because I knew he’d want me. And by the time it had worn off, we were so in love with each other, it didn’t matter.
I worry that it matters now. Then again, I worry about a lot of stupid stuff.
It’s just…what if his memories aren’t the only thing that’s gone? What if his love for me disappears, too? What if, now that he no longer has our memories of resonance, he doesn’t feel anything for me anymore? That this is just a sense of duty rather than affection? I’m so full of self-doubt that I can’t think straight.
I finish the quickest, unsexiest bath ever and toss my spare tunic on. I braid my wet hair tightly and bind it with a tie, trying not to watch him as he adds more snow to the pouch so he can bathe. Maybe I should go to bed and leave him to hisbath. The last thing he needs is me staring at him like a creepy, sex-starved mommy. Which is what I am, but hey.
I linger around the fire because I can’t quite bring myself to get up and leave. I tuck my legs under me and pull out a pair of leggings that I’ve been sewing. The leather is thicker and tougher than usual because we haven’t had time to cure it properly, but we need more winter clothing, and thick, hard leather is still leather. Beggars can’t be choosers, and I want Pashov to have enough warm clothing to last the brutal season. He doesn’t have much in the way of gear since the cave-in, and I want him to be prepared for the weather to turn. I can’t hunt, and I’m not much of a provider, but I can cook and sew at least.
“Have you finished your bathing?” Pashov asks, dumping another scoop of snow into the pouch to melt.
I look up at him and gesture at the sewing in my hands. “I’m done. I’m just going to work on this.”
“Do you mind if I bathe?”
“Not at all.” I get to my feet. Of course he’s going to ask me to leave. Since I was weird about my own bathing, maybe he’s taking that as a cue that he needs to have privacy for his own wash.
“Wait,” he says before I can leave. “Would you…help me?”
Help him? I can feel my body tingling in response to the question. “Of course.” I’ve washed him in the past, though it usually led to sex. It feels like a bold move, and I’m both fascinated and a little nervous at him asking me to do something so intimate for him. My fingers itch to run all over his skin, to feel the heat of his body against mine.
So when he hands me his sharpening stone, I’m more than a little confused.
“Um?” I ask, frowning down at it.
