Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 71832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
What's a good number that seems like a reasonable ask for courtship? "Twelve tasks. You know, like the Twelve Labors of Hercules."
"Twelve?" His shaggy feline brows go up — does he have whiskers there? Why do I give a fuck? — and he turns thoughtful. "So eleven more after I retrieve the skin. Doable."
He doesn't ask who Hercules is. I'm surprised. I was mentally bracing myself to come up with some sort of explanation. "Yeah, twelve is the standard," I lie. "Everyone knows that."
"Indeed." Valmir rubs his hands together. "Then I should get started so you do not have to suffer for too long."
"Me, suffering?" I snort, as if this is ludicrous. As if I'm not squeezing my thighs together as we speak. "I'm not suffering at all."
"Do I get a prize for finding you this skin?" He gazes at me with speculation.
I should tell him no. I should tell him to fuck off until I'm good and ready to deal with him and I've come to terms with resonance. But the thought of rewarding Valmir is far more thrilling than it should be. "I'll let you have dinner with me."
Instead of being pleased, he just blinks, expression blank. "What's special about that? We all eat."
"No, no. Dinner is like a date. Alone time for the two of us. It's special in human culture and a chance to get to know each other better. If you're not interested..."
"I didn't say that," Valmir replies quickly. "So I get you this skin and you reward me with dinner, and then we will speak of my next task."
"Something like that, yeah." God, is he purring? Why is that giving me chicken skin all over? Why am I desperately wanting to race behind the nearest rock and touch myself for a while?
He moves closer to me, so close that I can smell him even with my pathetic human nose. I hate that he smells good, like smoke and leathers and an unnamable sort of musk that must be his own. He stands over me, blocking out the wind, and gazes down at me as if he wants to devour me. "You know what would also let us get to know each other better?"
"Don't say it—"
"Mating."
I sigh. Why must he always ruin my fantasies? "You're a nightmare. I hope a snow-cat eats you."
He laughs with delight. "Oh, it will not. I will get you your fur, April, and then I will have you for dinner."
"Have dinner with me," I correct.
And now I really, really need to rub one out.
The least private place in the entire galaxy is this damn beach. I feel feverish with arousal, constantly aware of the pulsing between my thighs and the extreme sensitivity of my skin. I want nothing more than to duck away to go and touch myself, and I want to do that several times a day. The problem is that there are people everywhere. We have dozens of tribe members all living in a small cove sheltered by cliffs. Huts are tiny so most people spend their time outside, around a fire or working on chores. They're all social creatures laughing and talking together.
They're driving me fucking crazy.
Every time I try to slip away to clear my head (or touch myself) I run into someone. J'shel pulling in nets from the water wants to chat with me and give me his resonance experiences. Callie is picking up shells on the beach with her daughter and wants to tell me all about how much she hated M'tok when they first resonated. I find a sheltered nook and a breath of privacy, only to run into Bridget, who's wanting to set out some of her pottery to dry.
"How are you hanging in there?" she asks me, all sympathy.
I want to claw my hair out and scream at the top of my lungs. "I'm fine."
"You'll get through it! We all do, and then you wonder why you ever put your foot down about it in the first place." Her smile is sweet, as if it's really that simple. She gently sets one of her pots on a ledge and fusses with the lip of it, clucking over a dent.
Get through it. Oh sure. I'll just endure horniness until it wears me down and Valmir starts to seem attractive. Why not have my brain removed while I'm at it? The end result would be the same. "I just remembered something I need to do," I mumble, and escape the cave, stumbling back out onto the beach. Surely there's got to be somewhere that no one will offer me platitudes or anecdotes, or I can at least be alone?
As I storm down the beach again, I see Yasmin, one of my fellow clones. Her thick hair is twisted up atop her head and covered by a big fluffy scarf tied jauntily at her nape. A pack made from woven reeds is slung over her shoulder, resting on her hip. She waves at me, cupping a hand to her mouth. "There you are! Valmir's looking for you!"