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Was this man for real? I was barely worse-off than if I’d simply scraped my knee, and he was out here saying, Not on that leg! like I was some kind of suicidal idiot?
Before I knew it, Fallon had brought me into what appeared to be a simple but spacious bedroom. He placed me down on the edge of a large rectangular bed and yanked open a closet door with so much force I was shocked it didn’t come swinging off its hinges. He stepped inside the closet, and a half-second later stuff started flying out, flung frantically over his shoulders as he looked for… who the hell knew what.
“Do you… Do you need help?” I asked cautiously.
Mental help, maybe?
“No!” he practically shouted. “I need you to just stay there and… found it!”
Fallon came careening back out of the closet with a small metal box in his hands.
“What’s that?” I asked as Fallon thundered back across the room and flopped down on his knees once more.
“Bandages. Antiseptic. Suture materials,” he rattled off. He opened the box with such chaotic energy that half the shit inside went bouncing out like a wound-up Jack-in-the-box.
“Fallon,” I said in what I hoped was a soothing and not exasperated tone as he cursed and collected the fallen materials from the floor. “I do not need sutures!”
“You might!” he responded instantly. “Human blood does not clot as quickly as Zabrians’. I read it in the book.”
“What is this book I keep hearing so much about?”
Without answering verbally and using only his tail, Fallon opened a drawer from a wooden dresser nearby and pulled out an honest-to-goodness book.
I consumed pretty much every form of media digitally on my comms tablet, so seeing a book with actual pages was a bit of a novelty. Fallon’s tail dropped it into my lap as his hands got to work dumping some kind of spicy-smelling liquid onto a clean square of white fabric. He dabbed the wet fabric on my knee, and I nearly tried to kick him again.
I inhaled sharply through my nostrils at the sting of it.
“Sorry,” Fallon said, sounding pained but continuing to rub the acid-like burn of the liquid onto my knee anyway. “It’s antiseptic made from a local plant. Very effective, but blazes, does it burn.” His left hand stroked my thigh soothingly as his right hand cleaned my wound. My pulse fluttered as I watched that strong hand moving up and down my thigh the way it might a horse’s – or a shuldu’s – neck.
The sting of the antiseptic was fading a bit after the first shock of it. Unfortunately, that meant there was nothing to detract from the exquisite sensation of Fallon’s calloused hand running its warm, rough surface up and down my sensitive skin. My entire thigh tingled. The place between my legs throbbed.
Oh, no. Absolutely not. I was not going to get turned on by my own husband.
Trying to distract myself, I took a look at the book Fallon had dropped in my lap. The front cover had an illustration of a human woman in a wedding dress. A quick flip through the pages told me that everything was written in Zabrian, but based on the pictures here and there it seem like a book with information about human customs, anatomy, and history. All pretty tame, until…
“Is this pornography?!”
Somewhere across the galaxy my mother had a heart attack at the word that just came out of my mouth. A wife was never supposed to question her husband’s pornographic proclivities.
But I couldn’t help it. It had just slipped out in my surprise. I stared at the horny-ass, illustrated humans in their various sexual poses.
“What?” Fallon asked distractedly as he wrapped a clean bandage around my knee. He tied it off and then looked up at me. I spun the book so the pages faced him.
“This!” I cried before turning it around to look at the pages myself once more.
Oh, no. Oh my fucking God…
“Did you try to colour her hair pink?!”
Yup. There was absolutely no mistaking it. The woman in the images had brown hair that appeared to have been covered over with some sort of pink substance. And now that I looked closer, the virile and extremely happy-looking man featured in the poses with the pink-haired lady had a suspiciously orange tint to his skin tone…
“Oh. That? Yes,” Fallon said without a hint of artifice, modesty, or guilt, the bastard.
“You coloured these images to look more like us?” I squawked, heat rising to my face. This was so freaking awkward. Why wasn’t he embarrassed?!
“I was… visualizing…” he muttered, scratching the back of his head, his bicep bulging.
Visualizing. That was one hell of a euphemism for masturbating if I’d ever heard one. There was no way to miss the fact that the sexy pages with Fallon’s DIY art seemed more creased and handled than the rest of the book. An image of Fallon lying down and holding the book over his face with one hand while his other hand –
