“You don’t do this with your partners?”
He blinks at me. “Partners?”
“Boyfriends. Girlfriends. Romantic partners. The Vyastil you’re married to?—”
“We do not marry.” His words are short. Clipped. But then he takes a breath. “There are political alliances that allow for some breeding. We do not engage in marriage the way humans do. And we do not…do this,” his hand skims down my spine, “with each other.”
I can’t imagine living in a world with no real intimacy. It must be so fucking lonely.
God, he must be completely touch-starved. And the way he’s clinging to me tells me I’m right. Maybe that’s why he didn’t like it when I pinched him. He’s never been treated with real tenderness.
My stomach twists, and I squeeze my thighs around his, backing him against the headboard. “I can’t give you more cum tonight.”
His fingers clutch at my hips, and they spasm a little when I speak. His ears flick in mild irritation, but he doesn’t look angry. “I will collect tomorrow.”
I snort. “Oh, I bet. But…” I glance down at his bare chest. Up close like this, his skin looks like it has scales. They shimmer a little more than usual, and I wonder if it’s tied to his mood.
I touch his sternum, then skate a touch lower. Then lower. “Can we keep doing this?”
“Touching,” he says.
“Gently,” I answer.
His breath trembles on his inhale. “Why?”
“Because I like it. I like touching you. It feels good. Your body’s so different from mine, and I like learning it.”
He doesn’t tense. He doesn’t fight me, even if he doesn’t give me a verbal answer. My hand skims lower, and I lay more of my weight on his impossibly strong thighs.
When he shudders, I lean in and fix my mouth to the side of his neck in another kiss. His groan turns into a purr when I part my lips and suck, and my hand drifts even lower toward the place a cock or pussy should be.
He has nothing, really. I know technically there’s a slit there. Basic Vyastil anatomy taught me that males have cocks hidden in their bodies, but they’re never out. Never visible.
Never played with or milked or sucked.
They don’t fuck, as he’s told me so many times.
I attach my teeth to his neck in a firm bite, and as I do, he groans—the sound almost like voices layered on top of voices. His entire body begins to vibrate, and then beneath my fingers, something thickens.
There’s suddenly wetness there, and when I pull back and glance down, I see it. For a moment, it looks like a tongue poking out from his slit.
But I realize it isn’t. It’s his cock, thick, covered in his natural lubricant, a deep, rich indigo. I have no idea how big it is—how long it is. But what’s appeared curls at my fingers, and I squeeze down.
Rathyn gives a sharp, startled gasp, and then suddenly it’s gone. His eyes are wide, staring at where it had just appeared. Then he looks at me.
Neither one of us says a word for a long, long moment. The silence is so thick it’s almost tangible.
After what feels like an actual eternity, he leans forward and gently moves me from his lap, depositing me beside him on the bed. “You must sleep.”
“I’m not tired.”
He doesn’t answer, instead slipping off the bed. He glances at me for a split second, then walks to the door before freezing and turning toward me. His clawed toes thud on the floor as he makes his way back toward me, and he takes my hand in his.Lifting my fingers to his nose, he breathes in the scent he left behind…
…and then he lets me go.
I have no idea what to say. I swallow back any attempt at making words and watch as he leaves the room and closes the door behind him with a very firm click.
eleven
