Текст книги "Married to the alien cowboy"

Автор книги: Ursa Dox

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

16SILAR

Perhaps in my panic I was too forceful, because Cherry gasped and stumbled backwards at the pressure I applied. Her back bumped the wall, and I closed her in, massaging the soft mounds of her chest, half-blind with terror. I’d read about this in the book. Frost… Frost tooth? Frost claw? Frost something. When the tip of a human extremity gets so cold that it becomes frozen and hard and the tissue dies.

This part of Cherry had not been hard before this morning. I would have noticed. She’d been submerged up to her chest in that cold water and now the ends of her udders were about to fall off and it was all my fault.

Even what I was doing now – trying to warm her flesh and restore healthy blood flow – was not working. If anything, these frost-toothed spots were only getting harder!

You fool. There is a fire right beside you!

Ignoring Cherry’s screech of surprise, I swiftly spun her so that her back was to my chest, her front to the fire. I ripped the cold, damp fabric away from her skin and gripped her soft mounds, aiming the hard points towards the warmth of the fire.

While Cherry had been momentarily still when I’d first touched her – perhaps going into some sort of paralytic shock from the pain – she seemed to have regained full use of all her strength and faculties. She swatted fiercely at my hands.

“What are you doing?!” she cried. She tried to look back at me but only succeeded in slapping me in the face with the long, wet serpent of her hair.

“I am trying to get you warm,” I told her through gritted fangs. “If we can restore heat and blood flow quickly enough, the frost tooth should not cause any permanent damage.”

She gave me another slap on my forearm, then went motionless.

“Frost… Hold on. Do you mean frostbite?”

Frostbite. That sounded right.

“Yes,” I growled, squeezing her softness harder, trying to get the tips nearer to the heat. She gave a throaty sort of gasp at that, her back arching oddly against my front. I tried to gentle my touch, terrified I’d hurt her. “If we don’t act quickly,” I explained, thinking perhaps she did not know very much about this frostbite phenomenon, “then the tips of your udders will die and fall off.”

Cherry paused, and then, in a shockingly careless denial of the severity of the situation, she actually laughed.

“There is so much wrong with what you just said I don’t even know where to start,” she groaned between wheezing breaths. “Do you seriously think I have frostbite of the nips just because I was being all whiny about sitting in a bucket of cold water for, like, thirty seconds? And did you just call them udders?”

“You… You do not have frost tooth?”

“I do not have frostbite,” she corrected. “Though I may end up with third degree burns to the titties the way you seem to be intent on roasting me over this fire.”

Empire, no.

I snatched her away from the oven.

“Get back in the water,” I hissed. A rather nonsensical thing to say, because I was already lifting the tub, ready to drench her in the cold water. There was no way she could get back in it now.

“Oh, God, no Silar,” Cherry said, her eyes growing big and round. “I was joking!”

“Joking?” I held the tub aloft, my chest heaving, my heart beating faster than it ever had. Faster even than it had at my trial.

“I don’t have frostbite and you didn’t burn me! The fire is very cozy, thank you. But I don’t need you to aim my, erm, udders at it like that. I’m fine!”

“You’re fine.” I echoed the words brainlessly. Though it felt like an eternity, they finally began to make some sense in my empty head. Keeping an eye on my wife, I slowly lowered the tub to the floor.

“I’m fine,” she repeated stoutly. She held the sides of her shirt against the round parts of her chest, which still looked oddly hard at the tips.

“I…” Poisonous heat flamed through me. “I am sorry I touched your… udders.”

She snorted.

“Sorry,” I said again. “I know they are not called that. But I have not gotten far enough in the book to know the correct term. Zabrian females do not have… those.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks were very pink. It made her eyes look even bluer. Her hair was so dark when wet, glossy and dripping, moisture soaking further into her shirt.

I wanted to grab at the shirt and wring out the fabric into my own mouth. Suck on the soaked ends of her hair. Taste the water on her skin. Touch the things she did not call udders again. Feel the curved weight in my hands when I was not half out of my mind with fear.

My cock strained.

I am a foul excuse for a male.

“So… You are fine,” I said again blankly, trying to swim upon a raging sea of sick desires and claw my way back to the banks of reality. “Why did that part of you get so hard?”

“It is from the cold. But it’s not dangerous,” she added quickly when I tensed. “It’s a sensitive place. They get hard when touched, too.”

“Would you… would you tell me the correct term?”

Her cheeks grew darker. She moved her head up and down.

“The round parts are called breasts,” she said breathily. “The parts that get hard are nipples.” She swallowed, and I longed to feel the contraction of her throat beneath my palm. “Do… Do you want to see?”

My tail squeezed its hook so hard I knew it would be bruised tomorrow.

I did not answer but nor did I leave. Cherry stared at me a long moment. And then carefully, slowly, watching me the entire time, she parted her shirt.

Damp fabric slid over her skin until her chest was bared to me. Two round, heavy globes of flesh moved with each of her shaking breaths. Their tips, which I’d imagined in my fear to be black and frozen, were actually a delicate pinkish-brown, the pointed tips like taut little buds, the skin looking flushed and warm and healthy.

The tub was between us.

I wished I was closer.

I wished I was anywhere but here.

I wanted to touch her and I wanted to run. Run, before she understood just how filthily I wanted her.

I wanted to rut her. To turn her around, bend her over, and drive into her from behind the way I’d seen bulls and shuldu do it. Only, I did not know if that was what humans did or even what Zabrians did and I was utterly, entirely, miserably at a loss.

Cherry still clutched the lower part of her shirt together with one hand, shielding most of her belly and her sex from me. But I could see all of her legs, all of her breasts, all of that pale throat and her face, so foreign and so lovely.

“You can… You can touch me again. If you want. And if you’re gentler this time.”

For the first time I noticed the redness at the sides of her breasts, no doubt from my kneading and squeezing. I groaned and wanted to strangle myself with my own tail.

“I-”

“It’s alright,” she interrupted. “You don’t need to apologize again.” She smiled tentatively. “We’re bound to run into more of these sorts of misunderstandings as we get to know each other. But I figure that if we talk to each other and…” Her voice caught. “And touch each other… We’ll figure it out.”

“Do you want me to touch you?” I hated the thought that she might be standing there and suffering my touch just so that I could get a hands-on human education.

But she dispelled that fear with a single word.

“Yes.”

My wife wanted me to touch her.

I would have to be careful, I told myself sternly as I nearly tipped the tub over in my haste to get back to her. I could not lose control. I would be stoic. Scientific. I would explore her with nothing but the purest, most mindful sort of curiosity. I would not think bad thoughts of tongues on skin or cocks in cunts. The kinds of thoughts I was sure no decent woman would tolerate in her husband.

And Cherry, I was beginning to learn, was far more than just a decent woman. She was warm, caring, not to mention generous, allowing my big, rough hands to close over her breasts once more.

“Oh,” she breathed, tipping her head back against the wall. Thinking I’d been too hard again, I ripped my hands away, only for her to grab them and guide them back to the achingly soft curves of her flesh.

I stifled a groan as I felt the tips, the nipples as she’d called them, stiffen once more. Sensitive, she’d said.

A sensitive part of my own body was stiffening rapidly now, but I paid it little heed, staring down with lurid fascination at the way my hands covered so much of this part of her body.

“If these are not udders,” I rasped, pressing lightly until Cherry gasped, “what are they for?”

She let out a small laugh.

“Your instinct actually wasn’t far off,” she murmured. “They are for milk. For babies.”

“If they are for babies,” I choked out, “then I should not be touching them.”

I should also not be struck with the sudden desire to suck on them, either, but I did not say that horrifying part out loud.

But Cherry did not seem horrified. She shivered under my touch and shyly said, “They can be for husbands, too.”

There was no denying the sudden spurt of seed from the tip of my cock. It was but a small tremor of ecstasy, not a full climax, but it was there all the same, slick and wet.

“For… For milk?” I asked dizzily.

“No, that doesn’t happen until you actually have a baby. But men… Well, human men, anyway, seem to like them.”

Either I was not quite as perverse as I’d thought…

Or human males were even more perverse than I could have imagined.

Whatever the case, Cherry did not seem afraid of the way my touches grew bolder, greedier. All hopes of a cool and sterile exploration of my wife’s body were dead now, killed by my own longing. I swallowed a growl of need, dragging my thumbs across the taut nipples.

“Do humans only kiss at weddings and funerals?” The question crawled up my throat before I had a hope of calling it back.

“Funerals?” Cherry whispered. Her eyes looked unfocused, the dark parts in the centre larger than before.

“Is kissing merely ceremonial?” I ground out.

“Oh, no.” Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as my thumbs circled her nipples once more. Her breathing turned arousingly ragged, and it took her a moment to begin speaking again. “No, humans do it all the time. Whenever they want.”

Oh. Maybe that was good. Good that kissing was not so formal or ritualistic. Maybe I would not offend her human sensibilities too much if I-

“I want to put my tongue inside you.”

Instantly, I froze. Had I actually just said that? I was meant to be keeping all my depraved desires buried where pretty Cherry would not see them. But here I was, so soon after she’d arrived, my control already unravelling like the frayed ends of too-old rope.

Surely, now, she would run from me. She would not even last the thirty days. She would –

She moaned and threw her arms around my neck. She tugged me so hard that my hat tumbled to the floor and my head was forced into sudden descent. When her mouth touched mine, it was not with the swift stiffness I experienced at our wedding. No, this time her lips were a hot caress, wet and wanting. Her mouth opened, and her fingers slid up into my hair. The soaked and silken tip of her tongue touched mine at the exact moment that her fingertips came into contact with the sensitive, healing edges of my ears.

It was also at that exact moment that I climaxed, my sac swelling and my cock shooting seed into the tight clutches of my trousers. I groaned into Cherry’s mouth as pleasure ripped through me, my hands spasming against her breasts, my hips rocking helplessly against her bare belly.

Disgraceful. I had no experience with females, but even I knew that a male was supposed to erupt inside her, not thrusting foolishly against her, soaking his clothing just because she’d been kind enough to let him touch his unworthy tongue to hers. My cock pounded like a second heart, twitching and continuing to give hot little spurts in time to Cherry’s breathing.

“Silar,” she panted, tearing her mouth from mine. “Did you just…”

“I’ll let you get back to your bath. Water should be warmer now.”

“Silar…”

“I won’t interrupt you again.”

17CHERRY

Iwas starting to get used to Silar’s rapid departures, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I watched his retreating figure through the window and let out a frustrated breath. Having him touch me, his hands on my skin, his hips hitching against me had been… explosive. I was sure he felt it too, based on what I was certain had been a spontaneous alien orgasm… Or at least something big happening in the vicinity of his trousers.

But then he’d just disappeared. Again.

Clearly, communication is not my husband’s strong point.

Except for…

I want to put my tongue inside you.

You couldn’t get much clearer communication than that. There had been a broken sort of hunger in his voice when he’d said it. An honesty so raw and ragged that had made me want to give him everything.

I’d been close to coming myself.

I was, even now. Shakily, I dipped my fingers between my legs and I gasped at the molten wetness I found there. I leaned back against the wall, pressing my other hand over my breast in a pale imitation of Silar’s callous-roughened grip.

Stroking my clit in fast, firm motions, I came almost as fast as Silar had.

The orgasm did little to clear my head or help my mood. If anything, afterwards I just felt… gloomy. The room was too empty, the air too still.

I was probably an absolute dumbass for thinking it, for feeling it, but…

I missed Silar.

Well, he clearly wasn’t missing me, considering just how fast he’d hightailed it the hell out of here. It was pointless to get all up in my feelings about this situation. I needed to get back to looking at this as a more distant, formal arrangement. I was here to escape Magnus’ crime organization and to help Silar out with whatever it was he wanted me to do. I wasn’t here to catch feelings, especially if those feelings could have the undesired effect of pushing Silar away from me.

What if, one of these times after I kissed him, he walked away and he never came back?

My throat pinched painfully. I tore off my top and splashed back into the tub, sloshing water over my face so I could pretend the moisture wasn’t from tears. The water was lukewarm now. Not exactly pleasant, but better than before. I finished washing, using some of the soap and shampoo I’d brought with me, and sat stewing in the water for far too long.

Silar didn’t come back.

Doesn’t matter, I told myself as I dried off and dressed in new clothes.

Doesn’t matter, I repeated as I laundered my pyjamas, hung them to dry outside, made use of the outhouse, and ate a late brunch alone.

“Doesn’t matter,” I muttered aloud when night began to fall and Silar still hadn’t come in.

“What doesn’t matter?”

“Oh!” I whirled in the kitchen to find Silar standing in the doorway, his huge figure blocking the last of sunset’s rays, turning him into a velvety shadow. “I didn’t hear you!”

“You were banging the logs around and muttering to yourself,” he told me. “Probably hindered your hearing.”

I flushed, because he was right. I’d been shoving some logs into the oven and none-too-gently, either.

“What doesn’t matter?” asked the shadow that was my husband. Suddenly, his eyes glowed.

“Oh. Nothing. Never mind,” I said, embarrassed by how annoyed I’d been all day. How hurt.

Those white eyes remained on me for a long moment before he grunted and turned away.

Oh, great. Now he’s leaving again.

Except he didn’t. He didn’t walk away but just turned to grab something behind him, hoisting a very large object into the air. When it became clear he wanted to bring it inside, I hurried forward to grab the door and hold it open for him.

Silar turned the object in his hands and brought it sideways through the doorway. Then he put it down on its wooden legs where it was illuminated by the dregs of dusk and the light of the fire.

“The table! You’re already finished with it?”

“Chair’s done too,” he said, already heading back outside, presumably to grab it. He came back a moment later, placing a brand-new chair down at the table.

I should not feel so happy about a table and a chair, I scolded myself as I grinned and ran into the bedroom for the other chair. But I just couldn’t help it. Yes, Silar may have bolted earlier. But he’d finished the table, which meant he still wanted to sit and take his meals with me. That had to count for something. Didn’t it?

“I would have brought that,” Silar said, coming towards me as I carried the older chair into the kitchen.

“It’s alright,” I said brightly. “I’m stronger than I look.” I chucked down the chair then patted its back. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Aren’t you going to sit down?” I patted the chair again. “I’ve been wanting to get another look at your ears, anyway.”

The mention of ears sent Silar stiffening. I remembered brushing my fingers against them as we kissed. Touching them when his whole body had lurched against mine with the force of his involuntary climax.

“I won’t touch them!” I added on a hasty breath.

Silar hesitated, then, as if realizing he could not outrun his wife’s stubborn resolve, he came around the table and sat down, removing his hat. As promised, I didn’t touch him, even though I really wanted to. Not even necessarily in a sexual way. I just… wanted to touch him. Stroke the aqua glory of his long hair. Massage the tense muscles at his shoulders until they loosened. Just like before, he was shirtless, though I noticed with a squeeze of satisfaction that he was wearing new trousers.

“They look better, I think,” I said, peering at the edges of his ears. The blackness had receded, and the skin overall looked smoother.

“They are,” he said stiffly. His ears twitched, as if he expected me to touch them despite my promise. They really were way too fucking cute. A big, bulky, masculine marvel of a male like Silar really had no business having adorable, round, cartoonish ears like those.

I wanted to touch them so badly.

But I wanted to keep my promise to him more. So I balled my hands into fists and went to the oven. Wrapping my hand in a spare towel, I pulled out my cast iron. I’d been experimenting with heating up some of the food in the cellar, and had meat and eggs heaped in the pan. I spooned the food onto plates and brought them over, placing one plate down in front of Silar and the other on the other side of the table before sitting down across from him.

The table was small. Intimate. Perfect for two. If I reached over, I’d be able to grab Silar’s hand as he reached for a piece of meat.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, seeming gruffly surprised that I’d prepared dinner for him again.

“You just said that about carrying the chair, too,” I reminded him with a small shake of my head. “I know you said you don’t have any expectations of me here, but I want to be useful. I want to help you with things.”

His eyes, which had dimmed back to blue, burned briefly white.

I turned my attention primly down to my plate while internally screaming about the fact that I had no clue what sort of emotion he was feeling right now. “Besides,” I went on, “I’m used to working twelve-hour-shifts at the factory. I’m not used to just sitting around doing nothing. I’m happy to cook. Or garden. Help with the animals. Anything.”

Silar watched me intently, appearing to consider what I’d said as I began to eat.

“There is a lot of work to be done,” he said at length.

I nodded eagerly. “Put me to work, then! I want to. Really.”

He scrubbed his knuckles against the underside of his jaw then finally growled in agreement.

“I’ll show you a few things tomorrow.”

“Great!” I was probably overly cheery in my reply, but I really was feeling encouraged by his response. I had to find a way to win him over so that I could stay here. Seduction seemed out of the question. While it was clear I had a physical effect on him, that effect didn’t exactly seem positive. He seemed almost frightened of his own desires for me. Or maybe even disgusted. If I pushed him too far, I could push him away entirely. But if I could show him what a good worker I was, maybe he’d grow to admire me, respect me, love me, and –

Hold on. Love me?

I stopped chewing mid-bite, staring blankly at Silar as he shoved some meat into his mouth.

Did I actually want my husband to love me?

Maybe I had been lonely. Maybe I had been searching for something. Maybe I was still chest-deep in grief for Mama.

But love? Here? With him? A man who talked more to his animals than he did to me?

Oh, God. How stupid was I?

This was even worse than borrowing money from the mob. At least the worst outcome of that scenario only ended up with me being dead.

The outcome of this scenario, of falling for Silar and hoping for my unrequited feelings to be returned…

That would end in heartbreak. Which was a million fucking times worse.

Silar’s as solid as they come. The warden had told me so, and I believed him. Silar was good. Decent. Loyal, I hoped, if I could prove myself worthy of such loyalty.

But could he actually love me? Did he even want to?

Somehow, I doubted it. And that hurt a hell of a whole lot more than I wanted to acknowledge. A hell of a lot more than it should have.

With a huge amount of effort, I swallowed my half-chewed bite of egg. When I looked down at my plate again, the food was blurred by a veil of tears.

I shouldn’t be crying over this. I shouldn’t be crying at all. I was safe. I was alive.

I was lucky.

My husband might not end up loving me but he had built me a table and everything was going to be alright…

Probably.