Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
A moment later the tent flap closes and the wind becomes muffled. I can hear nothing but the sound of my own breathing. Pashov shifts in the darkness, and I feel his big body move onto the furs next to me. Not too close, but close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “Are you hungry?” he murmurs. “I have some rations—”
“Not hungry. Just tired.”
“Then sleep. Everything is taken care of.”
I lie down. In the darkness, I can feel the blankets shift. Pashov’s body brushes against my arm, and I realize he’s lying down on the other side of Pacy. It’s almost like we’re a family again, and I’m hit with a bolt of such intense longing.
Please get your memory back soon, Pashov, I pray silently.
The wind picks up in the middle of the night, the walls of the tent shaking. The temperature drops again, and even with Pashov’s big body providing heat, it’s still chilly. Pacy wakes up to feed, but then goes back to sleep, completely unaffected by the wintry storms.
Me? I feel like a popsicle. And I’m drawn impossibly to all that heat. I tuck Pacy into his basket at the head of the bed, and slide a little closer to Pashov under the covers.
His arms go around me, and he pulls me against him. I’m enveloped in warmth, and his skin is touching mine, and it feels so good that I want to cry. My eyes well up, but I work on composing myself. The last thing I want to do is freak him out. It takes several minutes before my eyes stop pricking and the knot in my throat recedes enough that I can relax. I’ve missed my mate so much.
Here I keep thinking I’m being strong, and all it takes is a brush of his skin against mine to make me collapse again.
I rest my head in the crook of his arm, and my hand goes to his chest. He’s shirtless. I shouldn’t be surprised. Even the worst of the weather seems to roll right off of the sa-khui and their velvety blue skin. I should pick my hand up and keep it to myself. I tell myself this, but I can’t quite seem to lift my fingers. He’s so warm, and familiar, and I’m hit by a wave of arousal.
Oh boy.
It’s been weeks since Pashov and I last had sex. Weeks since I’ve felt the touch of my mate. My body’s craving him, hungry for his touch. For affection. For love. For connection. And so, even though I know I shouldn’t, I trace my fingertips lightly over his stomach muscles. One of my favorite things to do when we’re in bed is just to touch him. To feel the differences between his skin and mine. To explore every hard muscle with my fingers and get to know every intimate inch of him. Even when I was a jillion months pregnant with Pacy and completely uninterested in sex because I was so uncomfortable, we’d lie in bed for hours and just touch. His fingers would move over my skin, caressing me, and I would explore him with my hands, and we’d talk.
We’ve always been a handsy couple. That hasn’t changed since the day we met. After the first time we had sex, Pashov grabbed my ass and jiggled it with one big hand. “No tail,” he’d said, as if both awed and surprised by this fact. And I had laughed, because it seemed such a ridiculous thing to say. Of course humans don’t have a tail.
That little ritual has continued for us. He always grabs my butt and jokes about my lack of a tail. He says it’s because he likes to make me laugh. It’s just a silly, corny moment between mates, but god, I have missed it so stinking much.
For now, though, I’ll take the touching.
“Is this okay?” I ask as I trace my fingers along his ribs. I can feel them a bit more prominently than I could in the past, but I know that’s because he was sick. He’s better now, and other than the horn, there are only small changes left behind.
In response, his hand covers mine. His thumb strokes over the back of my hand, and it’s such an easy, affectionate gesture that I’m lost. This is my mate, isn’t it? That’s how Pashov always comforts me, with caresses. Touches. Simply grounding me with a caress of his hand.
In that moment, I really, really want sex. My khui fires up in my chest, thrumming. I can feel the need spreading all through my body. This isn’t resonance, this is just me responding to my mate, his nearness, my need.
So I stroke my hand over his chest, gliding over one of his nipples to see how he’ll react. He immediately pulls me tighter against him, nuzzling at my hair. My mate. My love. “Touch me?”