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“Have you ever tried that thing we saw down in the village?” I ask.

“What thing?” Their focus is too honed on my nipples to think deeply about that question.

I bite my lip. “The dildo.”

They let out one long breath. “Huh.”

“That glass figure for self-pleasure,” I elaborate.

“No, I know what you mean.” Their voice returns, deeper than usual. “I’ve used one on someone else before.”

Who and when, I wonder, but it’s not my place to ask. “What are they like?”

They jump down to the foot of the bed instead of answering. I wiggle my hips in protest, but they grab me by the thighs and drag me down to the edge of the mattress, leaning down to scrape their teeth along my abdomen until they’re kneeling between my legs.

I squirm as their warm breath washes over me, and they press a kiss right to my pussy.

Why am I only now realizing that lovers can kiss that spot down there? I don’t know why it’s never occurred to me that lovers can kiss each other everywhere.

“A dildo can fill you up better than your fingers can,” they say, speaking against my pussy. “Why do you ask? Do you think you’d like to try one?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll make sure you get one.” They lick me, and my thighs shake. “Do you like how it feels when you press your fingers inside of yourself?”

“I do, but—” I lose my words as the tip of their tongue circles my clit.

“But you want more.”

“Yes,” I plead, but I’m not sure what I’m asking for.

“It’s ok, I’ve got you for now.” They draw two fingers along the inside of my thigh and bring them to my slit, groaning as they sink in.

The bed frame creaks, and I press onto my forearms, catching their hips thrusting forward. They see me looking and hold themself still.

I wriggle closer, wanting to watch them struggle. I want them to want this as much as I do.

They flash their eyes at me. “Do you still want more?”

“Yes.”

“Such a needy princess,” they say, pulling back and working another finger in.

I fall onto my pillows as they pump all three inside of me and lick my clit. The sensation is so intense, I can’t pinpoint one distinct source of pleasure.

Their tongue and fingers are moving in tandem, a mixture of warmth and wetness and pressure. That creaking starts up again, and I know they’re moving their hips too, pushing them up against nothing.

I cover my mouth as my climax rushes in, and I hear a flick that has me lifting my head. Zephyr’s wings are thrown open, stretching out from the holes in their shirt. They flutter as they lick me down from my orgasm.

When the waves begin to recede, the lashes from their tongue turn into soft kisses that they trail back up my belly. Reaching my face, they tuck their wings back and roll beside me.

“Shouldn’t I do something for you?” I ask.

“No, I should probably head back to my room now.” They fold their hands over their chest, and I try not to let disappointment ripple through my enjoyment.

“Why don’t you stay?”

Their eyes close. “I prefer to dissolve or shift into a smaller form while I’m sleeping.”