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“Then what is the problem?” I said. “Give me your jurmz and stop fretting about it.”
She smiled. A small expression, the tiniest tug of her pink lips upwards. It tugged something deep inside me in response, unspooling warmth.
“Here,” she said, “I have an idea.”
She stretched to the side – I would not release her waist to let her go very far – and grabbed the jar of Vrika’s blood. She dipped her fingers inside, pulled them out slick and glowing, and then rubbed the Vrika’s blood onto her mouth.
Seeing her lips so wet like that was astoundingly erotic. I stared, my whole body taut like the bowstring I’d snapped this morning.
She returned her hands to me, on my shoulders this time.
“Open your mouth,” she breathed. I did so instantly, like her words had some sort of central command over my body.
And then Fiona kissed me.
She moved slowly at first. Gingerly. I realized that she was focusing on my split lip, transferring the Vrika’s blood from her mouth to mine with tiny little swiping movements. The pressure was exquisite in its softness, especially against the raw places in my mouth. My breathing felt stuttered and strange, so distorted from its usual rhythm that I wondered for one helpless, heady moment if I were dying.
But I did not think a dying man could be as hard as I was. My cock strained and jerked, hot and so very hard with need.
All too soon, she stopped.
I growled, wordlessly threatening to drag her back to me as she leaned back and observed me.
“I just want to make sure the Vrika’s blood did its job,” she panted. She placed her thumb on the outside of my lower lip and then dragged it down, flipping my lip so she could see the inside.
“Well?” I asked, though it didn’t really sound like the actual word at all with my lip pulled all inside-out as it was. But Fiona seemed to have understood my impatiently-garbled question, because she did that up-and-down thing with her head, smiled, and moved her hands to my jaw.
“Better,” she said.
Thank the sands.
Both times Fiona had kissed me, at New Year’s Eve and now, she had been the one to do it while I’d stayed there frozen. But not this time. This time, I dragged her hard against me, relishing her little feminine gasp as her chest collided with mine. And then I swallowed that gasp with my mouth.
This was not like our first closed-mouth kiss. Instantly, Fiona parted her lips. I tasted her wetness and nearly climaxed on the spot, cock pounding between her cunt and my belly as her legs straddled my lap.
Instinct drove my tongues into her, swiping and sliding through that cavern of hot, silken flesh. Her tongue was smooth, small against my three, and easily pinned as I drove further inwards.
She made a choking sound and pulled away.
“Holy fuck, those tongues are long,” she gasped. “I mean, I knew they were but seeing and feeling is very different.”
“I did something wrong,” I surmised out loud, my sight stars scanning her face. “Tell me what it was and I will fix it.”
“Wow,” she said, slender brown brows rising almost past the blunt fringe of her hair on her forehead. “I don’t think I’ve ever been with a guy who actually asked for constructive criticism for kissing.”
“Well, now you’ve met me.”
In fairness, I never usually asked for constructive criticism, either. I typically learned things by charging ahead and failing, often very painfully. It was something my Uncle Taraken had chided me for in my youth. Instead of heeding his warnings about the power of a dakrival’s kick even as it lay dying, for example, I had to let the half-dead thing split my shoulder open when I tried to gut it before I learned some patience.
But I would not fail. Not in this. Not with her.
I did not know how many chances I would get. I had to make every single one count.
Fiona’s eyes took on a hooded, glazed quality that made my cock respond with a hot throb.
“OK,” she murmured. “A little more slowly. Like this.”
Her lips came to mine with gentle pressure, her tongue sliding into my mouth with an exploratory slowness that made my tail and cock spasm in unison. I fought the urge to shove the full lengths of my tongues into her mouth again, even though I wanted to rather badly. If she’d let me, I’d lick them all the way to the back of her throat, just to see what she tasted like there. But based on the choking sound she’d made before, and the way she’d kicked me this morning when surprised, I had a feeling that there was a very good chance I could get one or maybe even all three of my tongues bitten right off.
