Her cheeks darken. “Can I use my hand?”
I want to say yes, but that is because I am desperate for her touch. I am sure I am leaking pre-cum on her skin. I want to thrust between her thighs and feel her nectar slicking each stroke. I roll my hips, enjoying the way she feels and moves. She hasn’t pushed me away or told me to stop. Will I be able to if she does?
“That is not usually done where I am from. A woman might do that with her mate…”
I am beginning to understand how different our tribes are when it comes to mating and relations between men and women. It is part of the reason there is friction between us. We have different expectations, and we cannot meet them if we do not know what they are.
“So you wouldn’t like it?”
“I do not know. But if you would like pleasure before we return to camp, I will show you how good my tongue is.” A part of me is begging, pleading for her to agree because the need is gouging at my insides and tearing up my thoughts. I’m not sure I can stop the rocking of my hips. This close, all I want to do is fuck.
She nods. “You will enjoy it? It won’t—”
My mouth closes over hers, kissing her and sliding my tongue into her mouth to tease her with what is to come. I set her down, so she is standing, and drop to my knees, kissing her pleasure bump through the thin cloth of her underwear. I like the way it is almost see through, giving hints of what is beneath.
She gasps and whimpers as I pull the cloth aside and taste the nectar that is already coating her skin. She may not want me as a mate, but she wants me like this on my knees worshipping her to prove I am worthy.
As banished do I deserve more?
I could spend the rest of my life proving myself. That is a third option I hadn’t considered.
“What do your people call your channel?” I glide my fingers over the bump and the slit.
“Pussy.”
I mouth the word against her pussy.
“And this?” I suck on her pleasure bump.
“Clit,” she says with a gasp.
I like the way she squirms as my fingers work into her in the way she liked this morning, but I like the way she tastes on my tongue more.
She tips her head back against the tree, and her hips tilt toward me, offering herself for me to feast on. When my fingers and hand are slick, I grab my meq and stroke. The touch is such a relief that I groan. I thrust my tongue into her, imagining that it is my meq, and wanting to feel her pleasure roll through me. Her fingers thread into my hair and she holds me there as she unravels against my mouth.
I come hard, my sacks drawing up tight as I spill on the ground.
Her breathing is shaky, and her legs weaken. I catch her and sit back on my heels, so she straddles my lap.
She glances down, because she doesn’t want to look at me or because she wants to see my meq?
“You did it yourself.” She glances up. “Can I?” Her fingertip is almost touching me.
I nod.
She traces over the bumps, bringing another groan to my lips. “They feel good when they are touched?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak as my meq hardens beneath her curious touch. I don’t have to let her touch me, but I want her to. I want to tell her that her nectar has taken the sharp edges from my blood. That I can think of something other than mating. Though I don’t know how long it will last.
She wraps her fingers around my meq and gives it a light caress. Her fingers don’t meet. “You’re bigger than a human man.”
Her touch is both maddening and soothing as if my body knows that she is the one who is calming the rut, she is my mate, and at the same time I want to lift her up and settle her over the tip of my meq so I can fuck her.
My grip on her hips tightens.
“And hard again.” Her eyebrows lift as though that should be impossible.
I would like to blame the rut, but that edge has gone. This is lust. I spent too long with only my own touch, and now I can have another that is all my body craves. “Because you are touching me.”
