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“Oh, God, no Silar,” Cherry said, her eyes growing big and round. “I was joking!”
“Joking?” I held the tub aloft, my chest heaving, my heart beating faster than it ever had. Faster even than it had at my trial.
“I don’t have frostbite and you didn’t burn me! The fire is very cozy, thank you. But I don’t need you to aim my, erm, udders at it like that. I’m fine!”
“You’re fine.” I echoed the words brainlessly. Though it felt like an eternity, they finally began to make some sense in my empty head. Keeping an eye on my wife, I slowly lowered the tub to the floor.
“I’m fine,” she repeated stoutly. She held the sides of her shirt against the round parts of her chest, which still looked oddly hard at the tips.
“I…” Poisonous heat flamed through me. “I am sorry I touched your… udders.”
She snorted.
“Sorry,” I said again. “I know they are not called that. But I have not gotten far enough in the book to know the correct term. Zabrian females do not have… those.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks were very pink. It made her eyes look even bluer. Her hair was so dark when wet, glossy and dripping, moisture soaking further into her shirt.
I wanted to grab at the shirt and wring out the fabric into my own mouth. Suck on the soaked ends of her hair. Taste the water on her skin. Touch the things she did not call udders again. Feel the curved weight in my hands when I was not half out of my mind with fear.
My cock strained.
I am a foul excuse for a male.
“So… You are fine,” I said again blankly, trying to swim upon a raging sea of sick desires and claw my way back to the banks of reality. “Why did that part of you get so hard?”
“It is from the cold. But it’s not dangerous,” she added quickly when I tensed. “It’s a sensitive place. They get hard when touched, too.”
“Would you… would you tell me the correct term?”
Her cheeks grew darker. She moved her head up and down.
“The round parts are called breasts,” she said breathily. “The parts that get hard are nipples.” She swallowed, and I longed to feel the contraction of her throat beneath my palm. “Do… Do you want to see?”
My tail squeezed its hook so hard I knew it would be bruised tomorrow.
I did not answer but nor did I leave. Cherry stared at me a long moment. And then carefully, slowly, watching me the entire time, she parted her shirt.
Damp fabric slid over her skin until her chest was bared to me. Two round, heavy globes of flesh moved with each of her shaking breaths. Their tips, which I’d imagined in my fear to be black and frozen, were actually a delicate pinkish-brown, the pointed tips like taut little buds, the skin looking flushed and warm and healthy.
The tub was between us.
I wished I was closer.
I wished I was anywhere but here.
I wanted to touch her and I wanted to run. Run, before she understood just how filthily I wanted her.
I wanted to rut her. To turn her around, bend her over, and drive into her from behind the way I’d seen bulls and shuldu do it. Only, I did not know if that was what humans did or even what Zabrians did and I was utterly, entirely, miserably at a loss.
Cherry still clutched the lower part of her shirt together with one hand, shielding most of her belly and her sex from me. But I could see all of her legs, all of her breasts, all of that pale throat and her face, so foreign and so lovely.
“You can… You can touch me again. If you want. And if you’re gentler this time.”
For the first time I noticed the redness at the sides of her breasts, no doubt from my kneading and squeezing. I groaned and wanted to strangle myself with my own tail.
“I-”
“It’s alright,” she interrupted. “You don’t need to apologize again.” She smiled tentatively. “We’re bound to run into more of these sorts of misunderstandings as we get to know each other. But I figure that if we talk to each other and…” Her voice caught. “And touch each other… We’ll figure it out.”
