Made especially for me byhim.
Fuck, I need to remind myself why getting any more involved with Mavyx beyond our not-mate agreement is a bad idea. Because the way he looks at me sometimes is enough to make me forget that it's all the Trixikka of version of hormones. That he doesn't really like me at all. That the last time I dived into a stupid decision with a man, I ended up knocked-up by a cheater.
I lay here in my huge nest-bed thing, realizing it's much softer than the one I'd occupied in the girl's hut. I roll to my side and stroke some of the downy feathers, the touch making their little lights glow very faintly. I wonder how long that will last? Would it be rude to ask Mavyx to keep me in supply of his feathers so I can always have ones that glow?
My eyes find the star above the baby's crib, the glimmer of the opal-like chips stunningly beautiful in the dark. The damn thing is like the universe's most romantic night-light.
No, not romantic, Alana. Don't think that way.That way danger lies.
I once read an article online about the science behind something guys so eloquently call post-nut-clarity. How once they spill their special-sauce, all those happy brain chemicals that came with arousal just bottom out and disappear. What if it's the same with Trixikka guys? What if Mavyx loses interest? What if his heart-twinkles stop twinkling?
I'm so caught up in my thoughts, I don't even realize it's raining outside until my hut floods with two sudden flashes of light in quick succession, followed by the deep roll of thunder.
And then the rain really starts to come down. Torrents pound down on the woven leaf roof above me and splash up from hitting the ground outside. I feel sorry for the Trixikka Mavyx stationed outside and pad over to the entrance. All I see is darkness and rain. Perhaps he saw the rain coming and abandoned his post. Mavyx will be furious.
I grin at the thought and make my way back over to the bed where I curl up and manage to doze off to the sounds of the jungle storm.
I don't know how long I sleep for - it could have been five hours, it could have been one. The rain continues outside when I wake and the world is still shrouded in night. The star above the crib has stopped glowing, so perhaps it's been longer than it feels.
I roll onto my back and stare at the glittering chips in the beams. They do not glow like they have been touched, but their beauty still resembles the stars in the sky. They remind me of being inside Mavyx's wings, of how he had looked at me when he had me tucked away in there with him - like it hadn't mattered that the rest of the tribe were on the other side of his feathers.
Idly, my hand starts stroking gentle touches down my swelling stomach and back up again as I imagine what hemighthave done if he tried to push things further. If he'd tried to kiss me, if he'd tried to touch me, if he hadn't begged me to stop grinding against that huge erection in his loincloth.
Before I know it, my hand is pushing past the waistband of my now very worn pink pajama pants. My searching fingers find my clit and I start to rub while distantly, I laugh at myself. I've given Mavyx hell over calling this my 'cunt touching hut' and what am I doing on my very first night?
Pregnancy hormones are no joke.
And in my mind,that'swhat I'm blaming - wholeheartedly. I'm just so damn horny all the time these days and that big lug of a bird-man is no help with his sweet gestures and stupid washboard-abs. Men who look like him shouldn't do nice things for girls - it's confusing. It's unfair. It's annoying. Especially when said girl is hopped up on pregnancy hormones.
My hand strokes slow circles around my most sensitive area and my face turns up, determined to enjoy this if I shouldn't have the real thing. If Ican'thave the real thing.
I can have the Mavyx in my imagination, right?
I breathe deep and turn my head, feeling the softness of his feathers on my cheek as I touch myself. The noise of the rain swallows my quiet whine.
I open my eyes just as a flash of lightning silhouettes the form of a huge Trixikka standing in my doorway. He's dripping wet from the storm outside and just from the shape of him, I know it'shim.
"Mavyx," I breathe, not stopping touching myself. Maybe my imagination conjured him up and this isn't real? Maybe this is a fever dream? Maybe I've lost my God damned mind and maybe I don't care anymore.
The purr in his chest revs up and his soggy tail curls at the end. For far too many moments he says nothing and I wonder if here is where the limitations to my imagination lie. But then his low, raspy voice cuts through the pounding of the storm behind him. "I could scent you even through the rains. Am I permitted to watch this time, little female?"
Ohdamn, why is that so hot? "Yes," I whimper, the hand between my legs moving faster. "Come here."
When he nears, I notice a whole host of his skin-stars are zooming all over that taut body of his, dancing in the valleys and swells of his muscles. When he's near enough, I see it's not just those little lights running over his skin. Droplets of rain roll down his arms and chest in rivulets, some welling and dripping from his soaking-wet hair, some beading and rolling off his black feathers. He looks like a thirst-trap come to life.
"Ah-Lanah," he rasps, coming to a stop at the edge of my nest. His loincloth is so tented I'm surprised that monster isn't busting straight through the hide material.
Mavyx looks like he doesn't know what to focus on; my face, or the rapid movements of my hand beneath my pajama pants. His breathing is labored and the groan he releases is the only thing that pierces the loud purring coming from his chest.
"Ah-Lanah," he says again, and I've never heard my name said like that - like a reverent prayer. "Ah-Lanah, you are...stunning." He chokes over that last word and absentmindedly palms his huge erection. Then, he leans over me, large and looming, this predator of a man. It should scare me, but I find it only sparks excitement like a match to kindling.
It's when a single droplet of rainwater rolls off the tip of his nose and splashes onto my arm that I pause. My frantic movements shudder to a halt, my mind blanks, and my heart seems to stop desperately hammering against the cage of my ribs. Everything becomes real.
What am I doing?
Mavyx notices. Of course, he notices. He notices everything.
Those golden eyes move to my arm where the singular raindrop has splashed and dispersed into a half-dozen little beaded droplets sitting there on my skin. Sucking in a breath, Mavyx moves his hand closer, his index finger gently stroking my arm into goose-pimples, slowly moving up, up, up, until he hits one of the sitting droplets and it rolls off the curve of my arm to the feather nest beneath me, the trail of tingles it leaves behind enough to kick-start my breathing.
