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“That mating beast is sounding more like a submissive pup,” I blurt, scared the moment will be lost.
“I’ll be your puppy if you’d like that,” he offers. “But that means you have to take care of me.”
I’m shocked, but I like it.
“Come, feed me dinner,” he purrs, flexing his waiting tongue at me. “Please, wife. Shall I learn how to beg you in your native language too?”
“You’re chatty for a puppy,” I tease.
“I’ll be very quiet with your cunt on my mouth,” he says. “So shut me up.”
“Look at us talking like lovers,” I sigh. “Isn’t this dirty talk dangerous?”
It’s just meaningless foreplay, I think, trying to temper myself. But it excites me, whether or not I know what to do with it.
“I am your lover. I never agreed not to be, never agreed not to love you,” he replies. The mating fever isn’t comparable to being drunk, but words pour out of him more easily in this state. Will he remember it all?
I shimmy forward, afraid to hear more. I’ll take him up on his suggestion to shut him up before things get any more confusing.
He’s instantly distracted when I lift my hips to unzip the crotch of my suit. Then, I lower myself over his face with one knee on either side of his head. This might’ve been a crazy idea, but it certainly makes this feel more procedural than passionate.
“Are your arms alright?” I ask him. My shins are pressing down on them.
“Hm?” He staring at my crotch. “Oh, they’re fine.”
“Okay,” I say. “Then go for it.”
Extremely unromantic? Check. Not having a panic attack? Also check.
“I can’t open you up myself, so I need you to sit with your knees as far apart as they’ll go,” he instructs me.
I do as he asks, ending up in a frog-legged pose. It’s not uncomfortable, except I feel like I’ll smother him.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. His nose presses into the tangle of hair. I can hear how deeply he inhales before he praises me again. “So perfect, Francesca. You smell so good.”
The groan he releases is pathetic. He sounds lost in it, like he crawled through the desert and I’m the first drop of water he’s tasted.
What is there to say? I check in with myself, trying to confirm that I’m still present and comfortable with what’s about to take place. The whole point of this arrangement was to allow me an escape. As I set my palms against the bed for purchase, my fingers are threading through his hair. The blue curls splay out across the foot of the bed, so long that they disappear over the edge. They’re a soft comfort to my bare hand, so lovely that I pause to remove my other glove. There’s no way to sink into the past when the present is distinctively new to my senses.
I settle, letting the tension in my limbs dissipate. I spent so much time agonizing over how to get through this that I never stopped to wonder what a Kar’Kali might know about licking pussy.
Fortunately, it doesn’t matter whether he’s good at it. So long as we share the fluid on his tongue with my body, we’ll have achieved our goal.
His tongue strokes between my lower lips, and the bright spark of pleasure that shoots through me is unexpected. Not only do I feel blessedly un-nauseous, but I also feel aroused.
When I don’t react negatively, Mak continues, licking again and again. His little strokes seem curious, as if he’s testing the waters first. He hums his approval, softly vibrating against my skin. Maybe it’s the sense of control I feel sitting atop him, or maybe it’s the fact that aside from that place, we’re not touching at all. But with his first gentle attentions, I decide I’m alright.
Not only do I believe I can get through this, but…
It’s actually nice?
With my curiosity piqued, I relax into it, wondering if it’s only a matter of time before the illusion breaks.
At the start, he explores me slowly. He frequently pauses, and I realize he’s stopping himself to look up at me and gauge whether I’m okay with continuing.
“Go on,” I urge him. “I’m alright.”
He licks at my opening like I’m dinner, and I feel a strange ripple of heat. He’s not shown any attention to my clit, yet somehow the places he touches start to throb like they’re sensitive.
