Page 236 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

I am almost finished when I hear the door opening. I am quite sure that the footsteps I hear do not belong to my Grace, so I am cautious as I leave the bedroom, not wanting to frighten Molly. She still starts when she sees me, her eyes growing wide. I press my fist to my heartspace in greeting.

“Good day, Molly,” I say.

She watches me warily for a long moment, eyes narrowed in suspicion or distrust. She does not look like my Grace.

If I did not already know that they were only mother and daughter in spirit, I would have suspected it.

Where my Grace has curled hair, a light brown in colour, Molly’s hair is dark.

Their faces are different shapes also, their skin different tones.

But there is a similarity between them in their manner.

Molly is more outward in her distrust, but I wonder if it comes from a similar place to my Grace’s - a hurt in her past. It aches at my heartspace to think that she might have suffered something akin to my Grace.

I doubt somehow that Molly being a youngling would matter much to a male who would buy a person.

“Hello,” she says eventually, using a raskarran word. Then she turns abruptly, heading into her bedroom and letting the curtain close behind her.

It is not the most warm of greetings but we do not have so many words to exchange between us. I am simply pleased that she said something for now.

It is late afternoon before Sally’s youngling is born - a female she names Marsal.

There are many raskarran and human heartspaces full to bursting as Jaskry hands his daughter round, beaming pride on his face.

A lucky male, truly, to be blessed with three healthy younglings.

I only hope many more of my brothers, old and new, are so blessed.

My Grace is a little while longer appearing, attending to Sally’s recovery.

When she does emerge, she wears an expression of exultant exhaustion, her hair tied back with a scarf to keep it out of her face.

I go to her, leading her to a chair and finding her refreshment.

She has cleaned her hands, used her salve on them.

The smell of it tickles at my nose. Beneath it, the scent of blood and sweat and the healing work she has done this day.

A new life brought into the forest with help from her hands.

To my great delight, she draws me down into a seat next to her, shuffling close so I can wrap my arms around her. Her body sinks into mine, and I cannot help but sit up a little straighter to know that she draws comfort from my closeness, my strength.

We feast and celebrate the new arrival. Many of my brothers drink too much poffi berry brew, their good sense leaving their headspace. I join with the first toast, but decline all others. I wish for a clear head tonight and tomorrow, no matter how joyous a celebration this is.

As the evening grows late, we start to head back to our huts.

I help my Grace to her feet, wrapping an arm about her shoulder as we head together to our hut.

Ours. I like how this feels in my heartspace and headspace both.

Molly walks beside us, and shares a few quiet words with my Grace.

There is a tension in our youngling’s shoulders that I cannot interpret without understanding her words, but I will speak to my Grace of it when we dream together.

Molly goes straight to her bed when we arrive home, drawing her curtain shut behind her.

I follow my Grace to our own bedroom, noticing how she suddenly grows shy as she peels off her clothes, changing into her nightclothes.

There is a hesitance in her movements as she slips under the covers, an anxiousness in how she looks to me.

I stroke my fingers down her cheek, then draw her to me, tucking her body against mine so she is enveloped in my warmth, her back pressed to my chest, her head nestled beneath my chin.

Quickly, sleep starts to spread through me, my limbs and eyes growing heavy.

“Did you not want to touch?” my Grace asks as we arrive in the dreamspace.

There is a vulnerability to her question, and perhaps this makes me a bad male, but my heartspace soars to hear it. She wishes for my touches, worries that I did not wish to give them to her again.

I brush my fingers through her hair. “Very much. But I think you find it more comfortable and enjoyable when we can speak as well as touch. I thought you might prefer it if we kept certain things to the dreamspace for now.”

The unease in her expression fades, replaced by growing joy, and then she throws herself into my arms, kissing me fiercely.

After I have made my joy in touching her well known, I draw her into my arms to talk.

“Would you speak to me of what is troubling Molly?”

I feel my Grace stiffen a little, but it only takes my hand soothing over her arm a few times for the tension to melt back out of her.

“She’s worried that we don’t want her living with us. Not long ago, she wanted nothing more than to have a hut of her own. Now she desperately wants to stay.”

There is exasperation and warmth both in my Grace’s voice.

“She has realised how lucky she is to have such a caring mother,” I say. “But why would she fear we would make her leave?”

“She thinks we’ll want our space, our privacy.”

I look round at the dreamspace. “We have all the privacy we could ever need right here.”

I am so attuned to my Grace’s body now, I feel the slight hint of tension going through her again.

“You don’t mind?” she says. “You really don’t mind only touching here?”

I roll onto my side, facing her. “The rains will come soon. By the time they have ended, I should think we will have shared in dreams long enough to start to understand one another in the waking world. If by then you feel comfortable to speak and touch in the waking world, then we shall try it. If not, then we shall keep our pleasures to this place. It is no pleasure for me to touch you where you are less comfortable, Grace.”

Her gaze is soft, but there is a curiosity behind it. “I don’t think it’s much pleasure for you just touching me.”

I would correct her in this, but her gaze travels down my body to where my cock is hard in my leathers, and even the touch of her gaze against it robs me of the ability to speak.

“You’ve shown me such wonderful pleasure,” she says, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “Would you show me how to pleasure you?”

I kiss her, deep and long. When she is relaxed, her skin hot with need, I find her hand, draw it down to my leathers.

I loosen the ties, pushing them down my hips, before bringing her hand around my cock.

I keep my own hand wrapped around hers, guiding her movements, the pressure, the pace.

It is not long before I am breathing hard, a pressure building low in my abdomen as I race towards my peak.

I crush my lips to hers, kissing her hard, and her little moans are enough to send me over the edge.

I growl my release, hips jerking into our interlinked hands as pleasure courses through me.

“Was that good?” my Grace asks, kissing along my jaw.

I chuckle. “Better than good, linasha.”

The word is out of my mouth before I can think better of it.

It is not calling her ‘mine’ but it is at the same time, and I fear I may have just ruined a perfect moment with my careless speaking.

But my Grace just smiles, nestling closer to me, and I wonder if already she is growing comfortable with the idea of belonging to me.

If perhaps she is realising that it is not something to fear when the belonging goes both ways.