She is mine and I am hers.
Clementine’s gaze searched his face for several heartbeats. Her brows were pinched, her lips slightly parted, as if she was working hard to make sense of him. At last, she whispered, “You’ll tell me if you don’t like something I do?”
“Can you not simply read my thoughts?” He knew next to nothing about witches, but he’d heard of folk withtelepathyand how they could dig secret thoughts from the minds around them. Emory might have found it unsettling to have a mate from whom he could keep no secrets — if only he had any secrets worth keeping.
“Not yours,” Clementine answered. Her tone was hushed, almost awed. Those tantalizing fingertips began to glide downward once more, slipping through seed to find the base of his throbbing cock. “When I listen to your thoughts, all I hear is music.”
Emory couldn’t help but arch his spine as her fingers curled around him. Her grip was featherlight, nothing but a tease to his hungry flesh. Somehow, he managed to reply, “That is my mother tongue. My kind do not speak as yours do under water.”
Clementine’s gaze wandered away from his face. It fixed on his cock, livid and swollen such that it would never fit back in his slit without considerable pain, in her dainty little hand. After a moment of hesitation, she dragged her fist up with a gentle, experimental tug.
A groan erupted from his throat. Dropping his head back onto the rubbery floor, Emory squeezed his eyes shut and tried to fight the prickling wave of pressure building in his gut. Her hand was so very soft — not at all like his kind, who typically had rough pads on their palms and fingers packed with nerves to detect prey beneath the sand.
Her palm felt like cool silk against his hot, slippery flesh. All softness, just like the rest of her.
“It’s a pity you can’t understand my thoughts,” he gasped, stomach muscles flexing, as she tentatively ran the pad of her thumb along the ridge of his cockhead. He knew that she was merely exploring and getting comfortable with his body, but itfeltlike torture. Exquisite torture.
“Why do you say that?” Clementine’s tone was distracted, her brow wrinkled with concentration, as she skimmed her fingers back down. It looked as though she was trying very, very hard to get this moment right.
Emory had never experienced such earnest gentleness in his life. Most of his past couplings had been fast, ferocious, and one-time affairs full of biting and confident touches.
It was disorienting in the best of ways to feel Clementine’s tenderness, her eagerness to get this new thing right. He loved it even when it was its own special kind of agony.
Wishing he could free his hands and stroke her in return, Emory rasped, “Because then you would know how much I enjoy your touch — and how it tortures me. My naughty little mate, it feels like you’re trying to kill me.”
“Kill you?” Clementine released him like she’d been burned.
It took all his willpower not to let out a pained laugh. Helovedher gentleness. He also happened to find it very, very funny. However, in this particular instance, the humor of the situation evaporated as soon as his poor, abandoned cock bobbed against his stomach.
“You can’t kill me by touching my cock,” he assured her, “only bynottouching it.”
Clementine’s angular brows lowered. She looked adorably disgruntled. “You’re teasing me.”
“Yes.” He offered her a smile and jerked his chin, beckoning her closer. Of course he couldn’t help but tease her a little, but he understood it was also necessary to reassure her when her confidence wavered. “Come here, sweet one.”
Giving him a suspicious look, she shuffled on her knees until she was once more hovering over him.
“Closer.”
She braced one hand on his chest and another on the floor by his head. When she leaned down, so very trusting even when she wore a suspicious pout, her wavy hair slid over her shoulders to tickle his cheeks. Emory arched his back. Using the powerful muscles of his tail, he was able to lever himself up just enough to give her a quick, fierce kiss to that lovely pout.
She looked so shocked by that simple act, as if a kiss was such a foreign thing that she could not comprehend it when it happened to her. Emory’s heart ached for his poor, neglected mate. No wonder she cried so hard that day on the beach. Had anyone ever shown her affection freely? Or had she gone through life alone, without a pod or even siblings to give her the warmth she needed to thrive?
There were gaping holes in his knowledge of his mate — things he couldn’t discover through touch or rifling through her things. He needed toknowher, but that would be a process of years. All he could do in this moment was act on what she gave him, the context he could glean from her responses, and remind her that as her mate, she was safe with him always. The rest would come after this first crucial step of giving and receiving trust.
Settling back down beneath her, he turned his head to nuzzle his nose against her forearm. “Listen to me, my mate. In this you can do no wrong. Even a puff of your breath could make me come now. Alook.A brush of your fingers. I promise, you have all the power here.”
Clementine’s breath shuddered out from between her lips. “I don’t feel very powerful. Just nervous.”
“Do youwantto feel powerful?”
“I-I don’t know.” Her fingers clenched on his chest. “I know I want to touch you, but...”
“Then touch my cock again,” he urged. “Touch it and feel your power over me, my Clementine.”
She held his gaze as the hand on his chest slid down once more, slowly at first, then faster, with more confidence. This time, instead of watching his cock, Clementine watchedhim.
Emory shuddered as she squeezed him slowly, testing the limits in her gentle way. Her throat moved with a hard swallow, but she didn’t flinch away even when his cock twitched in her loose grip.
