Page 217 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Dazzik

I am afraid of so many things when it comes to my Sam.

I am afraid that she is still hurting from her injuries.

The djenti berry tonic I have been feeding her has taken care of the bump at her temple, her bruises are fading and her pellets make her cough grow better every day.

But still, I touch her as gently as I can as I explore her body, afraid that I am too strong, too urgent in my need.

Afraid that I will squeeze her too hard or be too rough.

She seems so fragile to me and I am afraid of that, also.

But I am also afraid that if I do not touch her, I may burst, so I hold as much of myself back as I can - the desire to grip her tight, to pin her down and drive hard into her warm and willing body.

I am gentle and cautious, taking my time to touch her everywhere, to stroke my fingers through her folds and be sure she is ready for me.

When her fingers grasp my cock and squeeze, though, I am nearly unleashed.

I groan, holding myself frozen as she works me, pleasure shuddering through me so intense that I see stars before my eyes, even though we are inside.

My hips buck, shuttling into her hand, and I am angry with myself for letting go even this much until my Sam makes a humming noise.

A satisfied little sound, as if it pleases her that she has me so close to the edge of my control.

I drop onto my forearms, pressing my face close to hers, searching in her gaze for any signs of fear, of hesitation.

She only stares back at me with eyes full of heat and desire.

Slowly, I take one of her hands, draw it up over her head, pinning it there with mine.

Positioning her this way makes her back arch just a little, her breasts jutting upwards towards me, and I like it. I like it far too much.

My Sam shivers, opening her legs wider, running one of her feet along my calf. Her eyes are on my mouth, so I press mine to hers, taking her mouth fierce and hard, testing the edges of her limits. She moans as she responds, thrusting her tongue against mine.

When I draw back to check on her once more, we are both panting, her cheeks flushed red. Not the sickly flush of before. This red is bright need written on her skin. I put a hand to her face, brushing over the dots there that I have come to so admire, drinking in her beauty.

Then my Sam lifts her other arm above her head, tucks her hand under mine so I have hold of both of them. This offering of trust, so sweetly given, makes me come undone.

I probe at her entrance with my other hand, pumping fingers into her core to be sure she is ready for me.

She gasps with pleasure, writhing under my touch, and it is a sight I do not think I will be able to get enough of.

My Sam driven wild beneath me, her untidy hair haloing about her face, her body under my control. It is everything to me.

“Linasha,” I growl, pressing my cock to her entrance and thrusting deep.

She cries out, her body arching into mine. I hold a moment, giving her time to get used to me, then draw almost all the way out of her, before driving deep again.

“Oh, Dazzik,” she says. “ Sogud. ”

I start moving against her, slow at first, building up to the pace my body so needs, making sure she is pleasured still by it, never wanting to push her over some edge into discomfort.

But my Sam, my perfect Sam, she meets me thrust for thrust, takes everything I want to give her. Her legs squeeze me, encouraging me onwards, her pretty lips babble sweet nonsense words, making her pleasure well known to me.

Our bodies grow slick with sweat, slipping and sliding against each other, and when my Sam cries out, her cunt squeezing at my cock, satisfaction wells in me to know that I have made my female peak.

For all I would like to draw this out, to have her come on my cock many times, the pleasure of it is too intense, and soon I am following her, roaring as my climax crashes through me.

And then I am collapsed in the bed over her, both of us breathing hard. Spent.

My Sam shifts in my arms, turning so she can press her mouth sweetly to mine.

“ Ahmsogladyoofoundme, ” she says, her voice a sleepy whisper.

My poor tired linasha. I have asked much of her this night when she is so newly recovered. I move so I am curled around her as she likes, tucking her against me. In moments, she is asleep, her breathing deepening, snuffly little sounds coming from her that I could listen to all night.

But I do not listen for long. My own tiredness comes over me, and I draw the covers over us, wrapping us both up before I close my eyes. Sleep.

“I’m so glad to be back here,” my Sam says, toying with a lock of my hair.

She is draped over my chest and we are lying on the bed in the dreamspace travel tent once more, my arms wrapped around her body, our legs tangled together.

It would be the easiest thing to lift her so she straddles me, drive into her from below.

It is a tantalising thought, and one I intend to explore, but not in this moment.

There are things that need to be spoken of between us. Things my Linasha must know.

I brush her wild hair back out of her face, tucking it behind the shell of her ear.

“I am glad to know you are well enough for the dreamspace to form. I hate how much you have suffered at the hands of Basran’s tribe.”

“You saved me from suffering worse. I thought raskarrans weren’t interested in females that weren’t their mates, but Basran was very handsy.”

She shudders, and I hold her tight to me.

“No male will ever touch you again except me.”

“Good. I don’t want any male to touch me besides you.”

“You like my touches?”

She sighs happily. “I like them very much.”

“I was not too rough with you?”

“You were perfect.”

She presses her lips to my nose, and I wonder if she will move to my mouth, if she intends to initiate more mating. But she does not. Instead, she draws back, looks down at me, tracing her fingers across my unmarked cheek.

“Will you tell me about the scars?” she asks.

And though she is my mate, and I should have no secrets from her, my heartspace twists at the question.

“I know you’re embarrassed about them, and I want you to know that you don’t need to be. I don’t care about any scars. We’ve all got our imperfections. My arms are covered in shiny burn marks from my days in Mercenia’s kitchens, and I’m pretty sure you don’t care about that.”

“I care that you were hurt once, but I do not care about the marks those injuries left behind, no. You are beautiful to me, linasha. No mark on your skin could change that.”

A little shiver goes through her, and she looks at me with delight. “I love hearing you call me that.”

“Linasha,” I say again, making my voice low and rumbling just to tease her.

She laughs, but draws me back to the conversation.

“Why do you turn your face away from me so I don’t see the scars?”

I sigh. “It is not the marks so much as what they signify. How much have you learned of raskarran ways?”

She shrugs. “I’ve only been here a few weeks, most of that spent travelling to Walset and everything else after. I know a little.”

“Do you know what it means to be outcast?”

“What, like, sent away from the village? Made to leave the tribe?”

“Yes. But it is more than that.”

I sit up, look around at the dreamspace and will it to change as it did once for my Sam. I call my worst memories to my mind - Nelsah after the sickness, Nelsah in her bed, unable to leave it. And Basran. Basran and what he planned to do to her.

My Sam gasps as the space around us changes, and then we are in the main living area of Nelsah’s home.

“What I am about to show you is not pleasant, my Sam,” I say, taking her hand in mine. “I am sorry, but it is the only way I can explain this fully. The only way you can truly understand.”

“Okay,” she says, and I think there is a little trepidation in her tone, but she squares her shoulders, nods to me.

I take her through into Nelsah’s bedroom, and I know the moment my Sam realises what she’s seeing, for a gasp escapes her, a sound that is sorrow and sympathy, and she grips my hand tighter.

I perch on the edge of Nelsah’s bed, lay my hand over hers.

“This is my dearest childhood friend,” I say. “Her name is Nelsah. She was the daughter of my mother’s dearest friend, and we were born around the same time, so we grew up together. Always in each other’s huts, getting under everyone’s feet, causing mischief.”

The Nelsah on the bed does not stir. She is sleeping, silent, her bony chest rising and falling just enough for a keen observer to see that she is yet living, not a body without spirit.

That little movement is the only way to tell.

This Nelsah is skeletal, her bones jutting sharply through her skin.

Skin that is not a healthy shade of green but pale, almost yellow.

“When the sickness came, we were younglings still,” I say.

“Both of us were struck - it was inevitable. We spent so much time together. When one of us caught it, the other soon had it from them. But while I struggled for a time, it was not over long before I started to regain my strength. Recover. But Nelsah…”

“It affected the females worse, right?” my Sam says, clutching my hand in hers. “Some of the males survived, but the females…”

“All died,” I say. “Except for one. Except for Nelsah.”

The Nelsah in the bed is a female full grown, though it is hard to think of her that way when she remained so small, so thin. She lived through the sickness, but it was a cruel sort of living.