I grunt as my climax creeps closer, as I picture my mate without her clothes on. I wonder what she looks like, if she will resemble the diagrams I’ve seen on my communicator.
Finally, my finish jumps on me, and I shoot out everything I have to give. Then I clean it up with some toilet paper from the bathroom and climb into bed, hoping someday I won’t sleep alone anymore.
Chapter Twelve
Khesan
There is no pleasure in the world like spending time with Fiona today, and then kissing her soft human lips. I will not forget it as long as I live, and I hope we get to do it many, many more times.
But my doubt is growing. Shathar is so certain that he, too, is her fated mate that I have begun to worry. What if it’s true? Then my position here at Fiona’s side is not guaranteed. The little Frahma was clear that she must choose one of us.
What if the one chosen isn’t me?
This idea keeps me up long into the night. I wake up late the next morning and head downstairs to find breakfast has been made and a plate left out for me.
“She went to work,” Shathar calls from the living room as I sit down at the table. I grunt and sip the coffee that was still heated in the pot. At least the bitterness of the drink might wake me up.
I know her office is simply in another part of the house, but it feels like there is a yawning cavern between us. I’ve always been a tad anxious, even despite my training, and now those nerves have grown and spread. What if I must watch Fiona marry Shathar, and I’m the one who has to go home?
I must prove to her somehow that I am the correct choice. Which means I need to improve my romance skills, as I want to earn all of Fiona’s trust and affection.
So I spend my morning in the living room, watching more romance movies on the television. Shathar lets out a hmph as I sit there and eventually leaves. He must think I am wasting time, but I’m learning. There are many ways that humans show affection, and I will master all of them.
I’m surprised when I switch to one of Fiona’s many “streaming services,” and a woman moans. I quickly turn down the volume on the television as bodies move on a bed in a way that can only be described as erotic.
What could this be? I glance around to make sure Shathar is not within sight, but he’s downstairs. Assuaged, I keep watching.
It is a very intimate scene, with a woman writhing under a blanket while the male on top of her pumps his hips. Most of their flesh is hidden, but the mere suggestion of mating has my cock perking up.
What manner of television is this?
Soon, I worry someone will walk in, so I change the channel to what appears to be a show about cooking. But I’m still hard under my leggings, and now I desperately want to attend to myself.
With a quick look around, I determine I’m alone, so I get off the couch and hurry up the stairs to my private room. There, I hastily pull my leggings down and wrap my hand around my cock.
My whole body bows at just this contact, as riled up as I am. I ache to mate, to touch Fiona all over and then show her just how good my nalopo could make her feel. She would sing under me, I think, once I got to know what she liked.
I bite my lip with one sharp fang as I try to keep my voice in. My skin is electrified, and it won’t take much for me to finish after what I just saw on the television.
Would she wrap her legs around my hips that way? Would she cry out the way the human woman under the sheets did?
I buck into my hand and bite down harder as I finally ejaculate. Bliss radiates through me, down to my toes, and I let out a heavy sigh.
That afternoon, when she finishes with her work, Fiona announces that our clothes are ready and we must go pick them up. This time, I let Shathar take the front seat in the car without arguing, but he shoots me a dirty look anyway as he gets in, like he suspects I’m up to something.
I suppose I am. I will learn to get along with my rival as much as I possibly can to show that I am the better out of the two of us. Then he will look silly as he tries to fight with me.
The tailor is waiting with our garments, and we each try on a pair of pants in the dressing room. My new “jeans” fit like a glove, though I don’t like the starchy, unforgiving fabric as much as I do my leggings. They have room for my tail, with a strap over the top that snaps into place, keeping them up.
Shathar steps out at the same time, his jeans a darker, earthier color than mine. It fits his body flawlessly, and once again, I am frustrated by how attractive of an Arshurian he is. He might be older, but it doesn’t show in the shape of his legs or rear end.
I bristle, thinking how difficult it is to compete with this.
Fiona examines both of us, making ooh and ahh sounds. She pauses to admire me, and her smile is radiant. Some of my anxiety unfurls at the genuine pleasure on her face.
“You look great, Khesan,” she says, playing with the hem of my shirt. “Almost like an Earthling!”
I grin down at her, tempted to take her right here in a kiss, but then Shathar clears his throat and Fiona moves on to compliment him, too.
