Page 26 of The Hornet’s Hucow Pet

I savor the last few flutters of my orgasm, relaxing into the afterglow.

Another wave of pain hits, but it’s the mildest yet, and it passes with a quiet moan.

“Yes,” Zyren says, kissing my forehead. “I will quite enjoy using you.”

Overwhelmed with contentment, I drift again into hazy bliss.

CHAPTER 8

NOVA

Zyren’s house is nestled in a copse of trees nearby, made of wood pulp like his office. The circular structure rings the tree’s trunk, and each room has at least one wall lined with hexagonal cubbies.

Natural textures layer throughout the home—woven jute rugs, dried flowers hanging from the ceiling, tables fashioned from polished wood.

The kitchen bears a strong resemblance to Zyren’s office, featuring a carefully organized wall of ingredients and a wide workbench with a variety of glass devices.

As I lean against Zyren’s chest, he holds my weight with one arm and uses the other in concert with his legs to prepare coffee.

Water comes from a spigot on the trunk side of the tree, and I assume Zyren has some sort of rainwater collection tank above us. It’s what I would do if I’d been pitched the problem as a Solver.

He holds a glass of cool water to my lips, and I drink obediently. Even without words, I feel his approval settle over me like a warm blanket.

The ache has returned to my hips, but it’s easy to distract myself from it when I focus on the warmth of his chest.

Zyren leans to set me down, and a pang of anxiety runs through me. Before I can even start to say Don’t worry, I’m fine, Zyren has already moved on, having committed to continuing to carry me.

“I’m sorry you can read my mind,” I mutter.

Zyren glances over at me. “Why is that?”

“Because you’ll see just how needy I am, and you’ll want a refund.” I mean it as a joke.

Zyren doesn’t think it’s funny. “I take this commitment very seriously, Nova.”

I don’t have a retort for that, so I just lean into his chest again.

You’re asking too much, I told myself when my past lovers recoiled from my constant need for touch. Pressure, warmth, massage—it all eases the pain, even if just for a moment.

You’re an adult, one boyfriend had said to me. I don’t think the amount of attention you want is realistic.

Well, maybe ending up the hucow pet of a wasp-man doctor isn’t realistic either, yet here we are.

Zyren fetches a mix of fruit and nuts out of the kitchen’s cubbies, laying most of it out on a wooden cutting board. Using his feet and his free hand, he deftly cuts a purple, round apple-like fruit, somehow making it look like a swan.

As he sets this in my hand and I marvel at it, Zyren continues slicing fruit.

“I didn’t give that to you so you could stare at it,” he says cooly. “You know how to eat, don’t you?”

“Wh… but it’s too pretty to eat.”

Without missing a beat, Zyren grabs the piece that makes the swan’s wing and shoves it in my mouth.

I make a noise of surprise, then reluctantly chew.

“If you like it so much, I’ll make you another any time you like.”

Warmth blossoms through my chest, and I think I catch Zyren smiling from the side of his mouth facing away from me.