Page 53 of Farborn

I cannot yet speak, because we are still joined and my brain is barely in my skull. Instead, I skim my other hand up his back and pull him down, onto my chest, and hold him still while my body and his do what they are obviously intended for.

It takes about fifteen minutes before my cock releases its hold inside him and I can finally speak. “I cannot bite you without a mate contract,” I gasp. “Iwillnot.”

“I think this proves I want to be with you.”

“It does, but I wish for more time.”

He stares up at me. “Are you afraid of me walking away from you?”

“I am afraid of you regretting your decisions.” I need to distract him. So I reach between us, where his cock is already stirring again. I take him in hand and slowly squeeze. “I do not want to talk about that tonight. I want to feel you inside me.”

He smiles. “You’re trying to distract me.”

“Is it working?”

“Fuck, yeah, it’s working.” He helps me tuck my cock back inside my pouch, and then slides his own inside with it. I shiver with renewed pleasure as I feel his cock ease along mine.

His eyes drop closed as he pauses. “Yeah,” he whispers, sounding almost reverent. “That’swhat I hoped it’d feel like.”

My hands rest on his hips as, this time, he is using me for his pleasure.

It gives me pleasure as well, but I can hold back now and watch his face, study the passion growing there even as I feel it build within me.

Nothing I remember from my time of maturity felt anything close to this wonderful.

Now, I know what pleasure is.

I do not know if it is because Davies is human, or because my previous partner was not as skilled.

I do not care.

If this is what I have to look forward to for the rest of our lives together?

Then it will not be a hardship.

Not at all.

* * * *

We eventually fuck each other into exhaustion and fall asleep sticky and sated and smiling.

Eventually, we awaken, shower together, and then cook dinner together.

Mostly, I cook and Davies helps where he can. I no longer expect him to help “cook,” unless it’s scrambled eggs.

I prefer my food edible.

He tries very hard, but his luck apparently is used up on his mathematical and navigational skills.

He is intelligent, funny, sexy, and lovable. So what if he cannot cook?

No one is perfect.

After dinner we make love again, and then lie in my bed with my head resting on Davies’ chest and his arms around me.

“So?” he teasingly asks. “What’d you think?”

“I think that was money well spent, my love.”