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I’d read about it in the book. I’d been surprised that females could experience such sexual pleasure without a cock. But there was no denying the pulsing squeeze of Darcy tight around me now, the high, broken cry of her voice. My body answered in kind, my shaft swelling to its final engorgement and then unleashing its lust inside her as I pinned her hard against the wall. For a long moment, I didn’t move, couldn’t move. Could only stand there, shaking and loving her, my cock spewing inside her. My breath came fast, every muscle locked in trembling place as I filled my wife over and over, giving her everything I had.
Darcy slumped, her arms going limp around my neck. Her eyes were unfocused as I linked them with my own.
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk after that,” she said, and I would have worried that I’d hurt her, only she gave me a flicker of a smile.
“Don’t need to walk,” I heaved out as my cock gave a weak pulse. “I’ll carry you.”
She laughed softly, which made her whole body shake, vibrating down upon my sensitive cock until I grunted and sent out another round of hot seed.
“Don’t be so sure,” she said, trailing cool fingertips along my jaw. “You might be a little wobbly yourself after that.”
As much as I loathed the idea of disconnecting from her, I wanted to test the strength of my legs without half-crushing her against the wall. Slowly, with aching agony, I pulled myself out of her and let her down to the ground.
Despite Darcy’s warnings, neither one of us collapsed.
The sun had moved since we’d started. We were no longer in shadow but in full light. The sunshine illuminated my wife’s glowing face, the tangled pink glory of her hair, the quick rise and fall of her chest.
“I should go clean up,” she murmured, shifting back and forth on her feet in such a way that I wondered how much of my seed was seeping out of her now. Was it coating the tops of her lush thighs? I was about to drag up her skirt, hungry for the sight, when my gaze snagged on her scalp.
“What’s this?” I demanded, my fingers carefully going to the top of her head and tipping it down so I could get a better look. There was new growth, visible along the part of her hair, but it was not pink. It was much paler, almost similar in colour to my own.
My stomach plunged. Nutritional deficiency? Already?
“What?” Darcy asked, yanking her head from my grip and looking up at me suspiciously.
“Your hair! It is growing in a different colour. Do you need more protein? Or sunlight? Or less sunlight? Why aren’t you wearing a hat?!”
Her brows, a colour very similar to the new hair growth I’d just noticed on her head, shot upwards.
“Oh, no. That’s just my natural hair colour coming in. The pink is artificial. I colour it. But it’s been more than a month since I last dyed it pink.”
“The pink… That is not your real hair colour?” I asked, astonished by this fact. It had never occurred to me that a person might want to adjust their hair colour.
“No. Human hair doesn’t come in that shade naturally. I guess that’s surprising for you, considering how varied and colourful Zabrians seem to be.” She touched the top of her head and sighed. “Back to blonde for me, I guess. It’s not like there’s a salon around here.”
“A saloon? I believe there is one in Warden Hallum’s province.”
“Not a saloon. A place where you go get your hair coloured,” she clarified. “It’s alright. I knew my hair would grow back in eventually. I’ll just miss it.” She lifted her shoulders and let them drop.
My wife was already missing Magnolia and whatever else she’d left behind. I did not want her to miss this, too. I mulled over the conundrum of her changing hair colour as she left me to go clean up in the house.
27
DARCY
Fallon thundered into the house just as the sun had dipped down past the horizon.
“Sorry I am late!” he nearly bellowed, coming to a panting, dusty stop before me in the kitchen. “It took me longer to mix this up than last time. I needed a lot more.”
“What is it?” I asked peering at what looked to be a bucket, like those he used for milking the bracku, in his hands. The mystery of the bucket and his loud entrance was actually a bit of a welcome relief. It gave us something to talk about other than the whole I-came-harder-on-your-dick-today-than-I-ever-have-in-my-whole-fucking-life thing. I’d been waiting for him, throat dry and stomach flip-flopping the entire time I’d been putting together dinner.
“It’s what I used to colour the female’s hair pink in that book,” he explained. “It’s made from the petals of a flower that grows out along the creek. I thought it might form a sort of ink or stain for your hair.”
“Hold on,” I said, my gaze going from the bucket to his excited face. “Are you telling me that not only did you paint in that book, you literally had to make the paint yourself to do it?”
“Of course! It is not as if I’ve used any of my credits to order ink to have on hand. I’d never had need of such a thing before.”
I blinked at him, unsure if he realized just how insane and fucking industrious he sounded. Want to paint porn doodles of your wife but don’t have any paint? Just make it yourself!
