Page 89 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER TEN

Vantos

I hope the words I have spoken were to bid her to sleep well. Certainly, her breathing steadies and slows almost immediately, all her soft little sounds suggesting she has fallen asleep already.

I will not be so lucky. Not while my cock is hard as stone in my leathers.

All from the brief glimpse of Rachel’s pale skin as she got changed.

The human females are all so different. Anghar’s Ellie and the one called Khadija both have brown skin, dark hair.

Gregar’s Liv has dark hair, but paler skin.

Her sister, Sally, has hair like sunshine.

So many different shades and colours. They are fascinating to me, but none so much as Rachel, with her sunset hair and skin almost as white as chosta flower petals.

My headspace fixes on the image of her back as she changed to her bedclothes. So smooth and soft. I am not the most imaginative male, but it is easy to picture how it would feel to trace my fingers over it. The same as it felt to touch her soft cheek.

My cock throbs, and I know I will not be able to rest if I do not give myself some relief.

I rise from my pelts, doing my best to move as silent as a hunter.

It is not my best skill, but I manage to escape the tent without rousing Rachel, and I settle the fabric over the entrance, so no cool breeze can trouble her, before staggering off into the trees.

I cannot go far. I do not wish to leave her alone for long. She is as safe as she can be within the tent, but my sense of responsibility to her will not allow me to stray far from her side. She is mine to protect, and it is a sacred duty. I hate that my desires are preventing me from fulfilling it.

I go just far enough to be out of sight, then release my cock from my leathers and take myself in hand. I stroke my shaft, my headspace filling with pictures of Rachel. Rachel walking beside me. Rachel’s little hand in mine. Rachel’s eyes shining as she laughs.

Rachel’s body beneath mine, writhing as I move inside her.

Her back arching, pressing the soft mounds of her breasts into me.

My fingers tangled in her sunset hair. Her mouth parting as soft sighs escape her, then crying out as her pleasure builds, her little nails digging into my skin as her climax shakes her whole body.

I am not the most imaginative male, but these images come to me easily, as if they are memories, not fantasies.

I can almost feel her fingers on my skin.

My sac grows tight with the building pressure of release.

Another few strokes, and I am stifling my cries as I peak, my seed spilling onto the forest floor.

Breathing hard, I tidy myself up. I will sleep now, yes, but the climax felt unsatisfying.

Hollow. They always have, but it is worse knowing there is a warm female waiting in my tent.

One I would delight in pleasuring. One whose gentle manner and kind nature has invaded my heartspace, planting a seed that has taken root.

I glance up at the trees, my headspace edging towards dangerous thoughts.

Ungrateful thoughts. Angry thoughts. Anger at Lina that she did not see fit to bless me with Rachel as my mate.

I sigh, scrubbing my hands over my face. If Lina did not see fit to bless me, then the fault is with me. I am not the right male for Rachel, and I have to accept that. Even if my body’s urges make that very difficult.

I head back to the tent, quietly parting the entrance and slipping inside.

Rachel shuffles in her pelts, but does not wake, her breathing still the slow, even rhythm of a sleeper’s.

I watch her for a moment, the dark such that I can only really see her outline.

The hint of her frame beneath the pelts.

After a moment, I lie down, try to get comfortable myself.

My eyes feel heavy now and I know I will sleep.

I just wish the dreamspace was waiting for me when I do.

The next day is much the same. Walking, walking, walking.

A pause for a meal at midday, then walking some more.

The terrain grows tougher, more wild. Rachel does not complain as we scramble over branches and fallen trees, as we ford streams and climb banks.

She does not show any signs of discomfort or fatigue, though I know she is working hard.

Her cheeks go pink when she exerts herself, and with skin so pale, there is no disguising it.

Nor the sweat that beads in her hair. I wish that we could stop near a stream or pool large enough for her to bathe - I think she would like that.

But though I remember there are places like that on this route, we will not come upon them this day, or the next.

When the sky starts to darken, Rachel starts looking around her more intently as she walks, and I know she is looking for the djenti berries to add to our water.

Her healer’s spirit is strong in her, and she seeks to care for us both.

I am glad to feel stronger today - almost at full strength - though it does mean that I no longer require her attentions.

It is a good thing. I try to convince myself of that.

Rachel is talkative as we set the tent and build our fire. She gathers the twigs as I sort the tent, a constant stream of words coming out of her mouth.

“ Thinkwevmadegudprogresstoday, ” she says as she fills her arms with twigs.

“ Godmyfeetaraykin, ” she says as she arranges the twigs in a pile, leaving plenty of space for the air to travel between them. Good fire building technique. She has been watching me closely. I smile at the thought.

“ Hurtinplacesinevanewihad, ” she says as the fire starts to lick over the twigs, the wood popping and cracking as the water boils out of them.

She reaches behind her neck, digging her fingers into the flesh, massaging herself.

None of her words have been anything short of cheerful, but I can see the tension in the set of her shoulders now my attention has been drawn to it.

Of course she is aching and stiff. It has been difficult walking today, and she is not accustomed to it.

She just hums, though, as she crushes some djenti berries into my waterskin and takes a long drink.

It will help. Overnight, as she sleeps, the berries will do their bit to unknot the muscles, to soothe the tender places on her body and leave her refreshed to travel again tomorrow. But it will not do much for her now.

I could help, I think. I could reach the places on her back that she cannot.

Work away the knots in her muscles with my fingers until she feels relaxed and comfortable.

It would help her to sleep. It would ease her hurts.

I would like to do this for her, but it feels dangerous.

In my headspace, I wish to help her just because it is the right thing to do, but I am not sure my cock will be in agreement.

I fear touching her will only encourage it.

So I make no offer. Just prepare a meal for us.

I remember too late that I was going to ask for her assistance, to help her learn to cook for herself.

My headspace is all twisted round and muddled.

I am a bad male and a bad friend to Rachel.

My headspace is stuck on my own wants, and not thinking about what is best for her.

I will remedy that tomorrow. I will teach her then.

I will put this selfish nonsense about touching her out of my thoughts.

My resolve breaks when she is helping me tidy up. She bends to pick up our bowls, wincing as she straightens out, her hand going back to the same spot at the back of her neck. It is not this that breaks me, though. It is the way she turns to me, a sadness in her expression.

“ Mitestruggletokeepuptomorrow, ” she says, her lip wobbling a little.

I do not know what her words mean, but that sadness is more than my headspace or heartspace can bear.

I take the bowls from her hands, guiding her to get comfortable by the fire.

I clean and tidy everything away, making sure there is nothing remaining for her to think she may need to help with.

When everything is done, I come to sit beside her.

I put my hand to her back, keeping my touch light, gentle, not wanting her to fear I would not stop the moment she told me to.

“Would you like me to massage your shoulders?” I ask, but of course she does not understand me.

Rachel says nothing, silent for the first time since we stopped.

She does not look afraid or uncomfortable - mostly confused.

I shift my hand so it is better positioned, and rub my thumb along the muscles at the centre of her back, up to her shoulder.

Her lips part, her eyes fluttering shut, as she lets out a soft exhale. Relief. Pleasure. Both, I think.

“ Yes ?” I say, recalling one of the other words Sally taught me just in time.

“ Please, ” Rachel replies.

This is not one of the words I know. I hesitate, but Rachel shuffles round so she is sitting in front of me, scooping her hair over her shoulder to leave her back and neck free.

I try to draw a steadying breath, but my heartspace is racing.

With as much gentleness as I can muster, I touch my hands to her, settling my thumbs over the area she indicated she had pain.

I start off slow, warming the muscles with the heat in my palms as much as the gentle pressure I apply as I begin to work the knots and tension loose.

I have never done this for another person before, but I have done it for my own aches enough times to know the basic principles, even if I am not a healer trained.

I pay attention to Rachel’s cues, easing off if she whimpers, applying more pressure if I feel I am not making any difference.

I am touching her through her clothes, but you would think she was naked for the way my heartspace hammers, my hands tremble.

I try to put my own body out of mind, focus on her in a healer’s way.

Exactly as she does for me. It takes a little while, but eventually I fall into the rhythm of it, focused utterly on working out every last kink in the muscles of Rachel’s back, until, at last, I run my hands over her one final time and feel nothing.

I touch a hand to her shoulder to let her know I am finished. To my great surprise, she leans back against me, sighing contentedly, her eyes closed as she smiles up at me.

“ Thawusahmazin.”

I believe this to be good. I am pleased, though I am frozen in place by her proximity to me, her back pressed against my chest, her head resting against my shoulder, tipped back so her neck is exposed to me.

It seems very vulnerable. Trusting. I do not know what to do with my hands, but Rachel must sense this, for she reaches for them, wrapping my arms around her, her little fingers linking through mine.

And after a long moment of holding my breath, I relax into it, the stiffness going out of my arms and body, allowing Rachel to settle more comfortably against me.

We sit like this for a time, watching the fire crackle and smoulder.

Apparently content with the talking she has already done, Rachel makes no further attempt to communicate.

It is… it is more than just pleasant. It is like coming home after a long day of patrolling the village.

It is like my heartspace has only ever been half full before this moment, and now it is overflowing.

I wish to keep her caged in my arms forever. Wish I could stop the sun from rising and just remain in this moment for the rest of eternity.

But I cannot.

I do not let Rachel go, though. I wait until she sighs again and pats my hands, then starts to move away from me. I release her, but it takes a conscious effort to fight back the instinctive part of me which wishes to snap and snarl and refuse to let her go.

“ Bedtime, ” she says, yawning widely and stretching her arms up and out. “ Needmarest. ”

Then she leans forwards and cups my cheek in her palm, her thumb tracing lightly over my skin. The smile on her face is warm and affectionate, and I have to look away before I am undone.

That night I wait until Rachel’s breathing takes on the rhythmic quality of sleep, and again slip out of our tent to relieve myself.

I supplement my imaginings with the recollection of how it felt to touch her, achieving my release even faster.

It feels worse. Not only empty, but insulting to Rachel.

I do not like to imagine how she would feel if she knew the ways I have pictured her.

I am like a youngling who has been warned by his elders not to poke at an erastas’ nest, but cannot resist doing just that. I know I am going to get stung. I know that the pain will be more than the brief moment of rush is worth. And yet it seems I am powerless to stop myself.

I sit outside a while, hoping the cooling night air will take the heat from my blood.

The big rains draw ever closer, and the colder season will follow.

It is possible now to taste it approaching in the air.

I hope it will not be too disagreeable to the human females, that their delicate skin will not suffer in the cold.

My headspace strays once again to thoughts of Rachel.

She needs a mate to warm her pelts at night, to care for her, to…

I shake my head sharply, trying to dislodge my thoughts from the path they are on. I will make myself sick with want for things I cannot have and it is the greatest of follies.