I smiled, tilting my head down, so he didn’t see it.
He knocked my chin up, then dragged his claws over my braid before fisting the tail. “Do not hide from me, please.”
I leaned my head to the side in concession. He rushed forward and nipped my neck, sending my blood to my groin. I moaned. Monqilcolnen whispered against my ear, “You don’t have to concede to me, Wyn. We’re courting. I just want to see you—all of you.”
“I understand.”
Straightening, he said, “And I must offer my apologies.”
“Why?”
“I keep touching you, and you said that you don’t enjoy it outside of sex. I’ve been going outside the permissible holding of your tail, and I’ve already used one of my two spontaneous kisses.”
I closed the space between us, so my chest was against his. “We might have to readjust our permissions.”
“After a day?” he asked, his voice even, but I could feel his soul throbbing.
“I underestimated how much I would like the feeling of you against me. While I’ll never be cuddly outside of sex, I don’t mind the occasional kiss and touch.”
“What about biting?”
My cock stirred. I squeaked, “That too.”
He cupped my cheek with a warm smile. “I do not deserve you.”
I shook my head, looking away. “That’s hardly true.”
Monqilcolnen growled. “It is. You’re the best thing in my life.”
My eyes burned. “After a day?”
Chuckling, he said, “Yes.”
When his lips met mine, I groaned, but in the back of my mind, I knew he was either lying or delusional.
Chapter 28
The past is now our play
Monqilcolnen and I chose an experience that was historically based but didn’t reenact any actual events from our records. The creator who’d designed the experience had drawn on the past but forged a whole new story for us to explore. However, this experience was also one where the story wasn’t set. The outcome wholly depended on the choices we made in the moment. By mutual decision, we also chose to engage in the adult version of this story, which meant if we wanted, we could fuck while in character. I’d never done that before, but I was excited to do so with Monqilcolnen.
Some people even chose to have clothes made to match the experience they were doing. I felt that was way too much work,not to mention a waste, even if using dispenser-made clothing, which were easily recycled. For most of us, we simply allowed the experience to overlay the costume over whatever we were wearing.
We both fitted a techplate—a vest with the required technology—on, then Monqilcolnen stepped into the empty suite, which consisted of blank white panels, and I followed right behind him. Soon enough the panels began to pulse and change. Bubbles danced in my stomach. It wasn’t often I indulged in experiences, as much as I adored the story-based ones. My eyes flicked to Monqilcolnen, and he was already staring at me. The feeling in my gut changed to something wholly different.
It was a fire. An all-consuming fire.
When people spoke of inner fires, it was like this—a neverending fire in one’s center. While I did experience a tug in my stomach when I rarely used my inner fire, it was nothing like this. I’d never felt anything even close to this sensation as I stared at Monqilcolnen and he looked back at me. No. This wasn’t fire. It was lava. It was the pulse beat of a soul. It was life its very self. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to step away from him, not again. My soul cried out for him, and, perhaps it was a foolish hope, but I was certain I saw the same reflected in his golden eyes when he looked at me.
As the world changed into a fabricated reality around us, I was unable to rip my gaze off Monqilcolnen, and he was much the same. The pull was so strong it felt as if my soul would be shredded if it didn’t greet his. Monqilcolnen didn’t wait; he didn’t hesitate; no, he strode toward me as if he knew what I was feeling. Perhaps he did.
Without prompting, Monqilcolnen rested a hand over the center of my chest, over my pounding soul. I laid my hand over his soul and just stared into the depths of his golden eyes. Iwhispered, my voice huskier than I’d ever heard it, “What is happening?”
He smiled; it was a small thing, barely a quirk of his lips. Monqilcolnen didn’t answer me. Perhaps he didn’t know, or like me, was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of feeling sweeping through me, through us, between us.
Before I or Monqilcolnen could say a single word, a dramatic voice started to speak, “When the Tilhyn and Vargendil clan decided to stop warring, they pledged a child of the Tilhyn clan leader to the heir of the Vargendil clan to stem the flow of blood. But can a mating save two seperate clans or will it dissolve into even more bloodshed? Only you can decide.”
A randomizer chose who we were to play, and I was garbed in a simple skirt toga that was a deep green, and Monqilcolnen was in the fine brown tunic and trousers. I was the heir of the Vargendil clan, who, from the information that popped up before me on a glowing rectangle, were a forest Drakcon clan, whereas the Tilhyn were a clan who lived in the caves, high up in the mountains.
