Page 6 of When She Wishes (Risdaverse)

Chapter

Six

PAYTON

H aving Bodhrri here is utter bliss. In the space of a month, he's gotten the farm into shape and somehow made himself indispensable to me. He took over all the chores for a while, but as the doctor eases me off bed rest now that my fatigue is improving, I'm trying to do more around the house. I have to fight Bodhrri to let me do anything, though. It turns into a game between us—I'll start making dinner and he'll take the utensils from me. I'll gather laundry, only to discover that he's hidden the basket when I turn my back.

"Your job is simply to grow the children," he tells me. "I can do everything else."

It's hard to fight with that. It's not as if I'm dying to put fresh hay in the barn or I really love cleaning my floorboards. Sometimes I get restless, though, so Bodhrri bought a bunch of scraps from the tailor in town so I can make blankets and tiny clothes out of the castoffs. I spend most nights sewing baby clothes that look more like sacks with a gathered end, because I know how big human babies are, but I have no idea how big praxiian babies are.

My stomach is not a good guideline, because it's ridiculously enormous and seems to double in size every time I look in the mirror. My hips have been spreading, and my back hurts as I struggle to carry the weight of my belly in front of me. I've made a sling that goes around my neck and under my belly to try and give it some support, but then my neck just ends up hurting. So...I sit a lot. I sit a lot and drool over Bodhrri as he takes care of me and the house, and I feel like a creep because I'm as big as a planet with babies and yet I've never been so turned on in my life.

It doesn't help that Bodhrri's everything I wanted in a partner. He's warm and caring. I love talking to him. Love just hearing about his day. His sense of humor matches mine. He loves a good cup of tea, fresh air, and morning sunrises. He approaches every day with enthusiasm, and even the smallest of chores make him happy because he's here on Risda. I know just how he feels. This planet is a gift, and I have yet to take it for granted. It's his enthusiasm for life that I find as appealing as the rest of him. I try to come up with things I don't like about him and...I can't. I don't even mind that he's fuzzy and has different, cat-like features. That's just who he is. He's affectionate and funny, and I just...I'm obsessed.

Call it hormones, call it whatever, all I know is that I think about him constantly.

I don't do anything about it, of course. I'm heavily pregnant and I've never felt less sexy. I worry that my attraction to him is one-sided. He might be humoring me because he wants to stay on the planet, and the thought of him playing along makes my pride shrivel. So I say nothing.

I do feel guilty he sleeps in the barn, though. My house is small and there's very little room, but I'm pretty sure I can squeeze a cot for him in the living area. I need to ask him to move inside. I just haven't come up with the right way to phrase it yet. I think about this all day, and I don't know how to bring it up without it feeling like the creepy older woman is hitting on him. I don't want to chase him off because I need his help desperately.

That night, I decide I need to bring up a change in circumstances. It's unfair to make him sleep in the barn any longer, and I toy with the idea all through dinner. Do I casually bring it up? Have a sit-down conversation and make it a big deal so he doesn't think I'm hitting on him? What?

I'm quiet through dinner, waiting for the perfect moment to bring things up as he eagerly discusses the repairs the barn needs for the upcoming colder weather. I toy with my noodles, nodding assent.

Bodhrri reaches over and puts his hand on mine, startling me. "Are you well? Is your stomach bothering you?"

"Hm? Oh no, I'm fine."

"But you are not eating. And you are very quiet. Are you feeling all right?" His expression is one of pure worry.

Me, I can't concentrate on anything but that big, warm hand covering mine. I want to grab his fingers and hold his hand tightly. I want to drag his hand over me and use it to do filthy things to my body. I chicken out, though. "I'm just having a craving for pickles. That's all."

Bodhrri's expression brightens, as if I've said just the thing that pleases him most. "It is a lucky day, then. Guess what they had in stock at the store in Port?"

I gasp, my mouth watering. "No! Pickles?"

He nods. "The farm that makes them brought back a fresh batch, so I bought all of them."

I moan with excitement, pressing my hands to my mouth. "You did ?"

"I did," he agrees, smug with pleasure.

I could kiss him right now. Pickles and tart things have been a huge craving of mine over the last few weeks, and every time I go into Port, there's never much to choose from. A week ago I found a jar of pickled vegetables for sale, but it was the last one. I tried to pace myself but ended up eating the entire thing in the space of a day. My mouth keeps watering and I have the urge to cry out of sheer happiness. "You didn't have to, Bodhrri."

"Of course I did. You crave it, and I will make it happen." He gets to his feet and heads to the kitchen pantry, and I see several jars of pickled veggies stockpiled, and the sight fills me with glee. He pulls one jar out and returns to my side, opening it and holding it out for me. "You should lack for nothing."

"You're spoiling me," I say, taking a spear of pickled root and crunching on it. Oh god, it's the best thing ever. I exclaim again and devour the entire thing while he watches me, eyes warm.

But then his expression changes and he tilts his head, eyeing my legs. "Where are your shoes? Your feet are bare."

I pluck another pickle from the jar and bite down, closing my eyes in pure bliss. It's not the same as an earth pickle, but gosh it's close. "Feet are swollen today. My shoes don't fit."

Bodhrri makes an unhappy noise. "You should have said something."

Opening my eyes, I glance up at him as I polish off the second pickle. "Why? The doctor said it's normal. Happens to a lot of pregnant ladies." I know because I sent a comm to him the first time it happened to me and he reassured me that everything was fine.

"Would it help if you elevated them?" he asks, concern written all over his feline features.

I genuinely have no idea if it would or not, but I hate to see the worry on his face. "It can't hurt, I imagine."

Bodhrri gestures that I should stand. "Get up. Let us make you comfortable on the couch. You can eat more pickles there."

Well, I don't need more convincing for that. I let him help me stand and we move to the couch. He brings the jar of pickles and sets it on the little table next to my end of the couch. Then he sits on the other end and indicates I should bring my feet to him. Is he...serious? "What are you doing?" I ask. "You said I should elevate them, right?"

"Yes, but I can rub them, too. Try to get your blood flowing. I thought it might be helpful. Would it bother you?"

Mutely, I shake my head and eat another pickle. Would it bother me? Absolutely not. Will it turn me on an insane amount? I mean...probably. "It's not necessary..."

"I would love to rub your feet," Bodhrri says. "I love taking care of you and the children."

He's not real. This all has to be a hallucination, a fever dream brought on by pickles and pregnancy. Because Bodhrri seems too good to be true. What man loves to dote on his very pregnant employer who is puffing up by the day? I should take advantage of this, I realize, but I feel shy. "What if my feet are ugly?"

"I am not judging them for their beauty. I am going to rub them to ease you."

I sigh, because he's right and I'm just being silly. "Okay, fine." Gingerly, I lift one foot into the air and hold it out to him.

"By the stars!" He recoils in horror.

I jerk back, just in time to see him grinning, and then I give his arm a shove with my bare, swollen foot. "You jerk! That's not funny!"

"It's kind of funny," he says, laughing.

I'm laughing, too, because it's broken the weird tension we've had between us. "I told you human feet are ugly," I retort, and put my other foot in his lap, too. "And mine are swollen to boot."

"How can you tell they're ugly if you can't see them?" he teases, and I chuckle all over again. He takes one foot in his hands and caresses it, then begins to rub.

And I melt like a puddle of goo. I suck in a breath as he drags his fingers over my swollen arch and kneads it gently. I didn't realize that they were aching, but his touch makes my foot feel so much better. Or maybe it's that I'm now irrevocably turned on and everything needs touching. I bite back a moan as he strokes my foot and lightly skims his thumb down my sole. "Feel better?" he asks. "Or do you have suggestions for how I should touch you?"

Yes, between my thighs and with your tongue, I think. Instead of saying this, I mutely shake my head.

He gives me another pleased smile and continues to rub my feet—first one, and then the other. I drift between boneless joy and horny arousal, broken only by a massive shifting in my stomach. It's as if all three babies decide they need to switch positions at once, and I'm kicked and elbowed and prodded from within while they fight each other for dominance. I wince and spread my hands on my belly as if that will somehow help the situation. I give Bodhrri a wry look. "I think they're jealous of the attention my feet are getting."

Bodhrri stares at my belly with intense fascination, and I realize I've never asked him if he wanted to listen or to touch my belly. It's such a human thing to immediately ask—and some people don't even ask. They just plaster their hands on your belly like it's community property. Happened to me the last time I went into town. Maybe it's not a thing with his people and he doesn't know how to ask.

Somehow this is easier to talk about than living quarters. I gesture at my belly. "Did you want to touch? To feel them moving?"

His eyes go wide. His whiskers twitch, and he gazes down at my body, sprawled on the couch. His fingers squeeze my feet lightly. "You...don't mind?"

"Not if it's you, no. I figured you might be interested in hearing them move around, especially since they're part of you." I bite my lip the moment the words come out, because I've been deliberately avoiding referring to them as "ours" so he doesn't get ideas. But as time goes on, I get more comfortable with the idea of Bodhrri being in their lives...and being in mine. "You probably can't hear their heartbeats or anything, but when they're active like this, you'll be able to tell they're moving around."

The triangular ears atop his head swivel forward and he nods once, moving my feet over the side of the couch and onto the floor again. A moment later, a big hand slides over my tunic, and he caresses my belly through the thin material of my clothing.

It takes everything I have not to moan aloud.

"Hello, children," he whispers, rubbing my belly like he did my feet. It's a soft, comforting touch, but it's also turning me on like crazy. His gaze is locked on my abdomen.

I hold still, hoping that one of the babies will move so he can feel it. Nothing happens for a long moment, and then I'm jabbed in the side by a foot or an elbow. "Ow!"

Bodhrri jerks back in surprise, pulling his hand away. "I felt that!"

"So did I." I wince, rubbing the sore spot. "Some days they're more vicious than others."

"Have you thought of names?" he asks. He hesitates, then lightly puts his hand on my belly once more. "Do you know what they are?"

I shake my head. "I didn't want to go in with preconceived notions of having a boy or three if it turns out they're all girls. They'll show up and I'll love them all the same, no matter what gender."

He lifts his head and smiles at me. "It will be a day full of surprises."

"I like to think so." I love how reverent he is as his hands trace over my belly, as if he's worried he's going to somehow disturb them. "I haven't thought about names, either. I figured I'd cross that bridge when I get there."

Bodhrri's expression falls. "Names are very important to praxiian families."

An uncomfortable silence falls over the room. Am I supposed to say something? "Ah," I eventually say, because I'm not sure how I'm supposed to react. Is he offended that I don't have names picked out? Is he wanting to name them after praxiian peoples? Or is there something else going on? "You don't say."

He pulls his hands away and seems disappointed to do so. He almost reaches for me again, then folds his hands in his lap. It bothers me that he's depriving himself when he clearly wants more of this, so I grab his hand and put it back on my side, where I can feel a baby twitching and moving around. "Tell me more about the name stuff."

"Praxiian houses are about honor and worth. My house was not much to begin with, but I was cast out when I was a child because of my lungs. My people value strength, and if one does not have credits, it is expected that those in the house will join the military to earn honors or enter into a slavery contract to bring wealth to the family name."

I blanch, because that sounds awful. "Is it bad that I don't know that I want my children to have praxiian names, then?"

He looks up at me, his smile wry. "It is not because I was cast out from my house for my poor lungs. I have no name to pass them anyhow. Even if I did, I am not sure I would want them burdened with it."

"Absolutely not," I agree. "We'll pick the names for our children together and they can decide who they want to be. And can I just say that your lungs don't sound that bad?" There's a low raspiness to his voice, but I find that sexy more than anything. "Your people are assholes if they tossed you out just because of a little congestion."

"It is very bad in recycled air," he says. "I cannot catch my breath on station. I end up sleeping with an oxygen mask, and the tanks can get costly."

Another reason he wants to stay. It's not just me and the babies, it's his health. I feel guilty, and I'm not sure why. I want him to stay, too. "Bodhrri..."

My side moves, as if one of the babies is turning over. I wince at the pinch in my side, but it lessens after a few moments. Bodhrri's hand remains and intense fascination is writ all over his face. "Fascinating. Can you tell them apart from their movements? I am eager to learn their personalities."

Sometimes I like to imagine that the one that kicks me in all my organs is a tough, feisty boy...but it might just be a girl who's sick of everyone's shit. Either is a possibility, and both make me smile. "No. It just feels like there's a crowd in there, pushing aside my innards to carve room for themselves."

The laugh that erupts from him is both surprise and delight. "Amazing. It is incredible how your small body can carry so much. Praxiians are not small infants."

"Neither are some human babies," I say. "But yeah, the body adapts. It's been a lot of change for me."

Bodhrri strokes my belly again, his fingers dancing over my tunic, and I'm tempted to squeeze my thighs tightly together. "Anything else I can help with? Any...needs?"

The way he says it feels deliberate. Obvious. Does he realize how aroused I am? That every touch of his fingers on my belly makes me imagine them lower? That I touch myself to thoughts of him every night before bed? That I don't know how I'm going to manage to make it through this pregnancy without having sex with him if he's around every day? I bite my lip, holding back the torrent of words that want to flood out of me.

Bodhrri traces a circle on my belly, and the sound of him purring fills the air.

"I'm horny all the time," I blurt out. Fuck it. I'm already pregnant with a billion babies on an alien planet. I'm not sure the universe has much more to throw at me. What's the worst that can happen? "So...there's that."

"I would like to help you with that, Payton." He leans in, and his purring grows deeper. "In fact, I would be honored..."