8
MEGAN
M y new cave—the one I’m going to share with Cashol for the rest of my life—feels entirely too
small. I stare up at the ceiling, unable to sleep, and constantly, permanently aware of Cashol at
my side. His big presence is everywhere, and there’s no corner I can escape to without being confronted with him, his gorgeous, lanky body, his easygoing grin, the penetrating look in his eyes. The sound of his cootie, constantly revving like a motorboat.
He gives me such hot, searing looks every time we make eye contact that I wonder at his shyness at all.
He doesn’t seem shy. Incredibly eager, yes. Shy? Not so much. I suspect the “shyness” is an excuse for his stamina, which probably won’t be much since he’s a virgin. And that’s fine with me. I’m certainly not going to hold it against him. Things like that come with time and practice, and since we’re both still resonating like crazy, I imagine he’ll get time and experience in spades.
I shift uncomfortably on the blankets. He made me come earlier, but my body still feels…well, revved up.
Like I’ve been ignoring my needs for a thousand years and it’s all coming to crash down on me at once. My skin feels hot and achy, and I’m twitchy, and I want nothing more than to grab his hand and shove it between
my legs again.
This resonance thing is potent.
As if my cootie can hear my dirty thoughts, it revs even louder, which is terribly awkward in the small cave.
I try to ignore it, hugging the blankets higher on my chest, studying the ceiling with great enthusiasm as
Cashol looks over at me again.
“You cannot sleep?”
I shrug, then take the coward’s way out and blame it on the party still going just outside our doorstep. “Hard to with that going on. Aren’t they tired?”
He chuckles. “It seems not.” He reaches over and very carefully brushes a lock of hair off my forehead, as if he can’t bear to not touch me.
It’s…sweet. It’s nice. It also makes my nipples harden so desperately that it feels like I’ve got two lighthouse beacons sticking out of the front of my tunic, flashing for attention. I glance over at him and he’s watching me with another hungry look on his face that makes my entire body flush with awareness. I can’t bring myself to make the first move, though. I feel like this needs to be his choice.
If I fling myself at him, I’m always going to worry that he didn’t want this nearly as much as I do. That I’m forcing myself upon him just to ensure I have a home here. I doubt he’s thinking that—Cashol is nice, above all else—but I can’t help but feel that way. It feels like I’m trading sex for security, which is the same situation the alien kidnappers had me in.
I hate that I’m thinking like that—no matter how true it is—so I pick at the blankets and offer him a faint smile. “Are you not sleepy, either?”
He shakes his head. “My mind is too full of noise.”
“The party noise?”
Cashol reaches out and traces his finger along my hairline. For a moment, I think he’s smoothing my hair back again, but when he continues, I realize he’s just using this as an excuse to touch me. His fingertips move at the edge of my brow, and I swear, it feels like the most erotic touch ever. “Other noise. Noise in my thoughts.”
I know just what he means. My brain won’t shut down, either.
“Would you like to go hunting with me tomorrow?” Cashol asks, his fingertip gliding over one of my brows.
“I am not sure if it is resonance or something else, but I do not like the thought of being apart from you, even for an afternoon.”
The thought of him leaving makes me feel curiously panicky, too. He’s my safety net, my lifeline in this crazy world. I don’t want him going anywhere. I grab his hand and hold it to my chest, just over my heart—and my singing cootie. “You’re leaving?”
“I would not go far,” he promises. The heated look in his eyes deepens as he gazes down at our joined hands. “Just a small hunt. It is my duty as a hunter to provide for the tribe.”
“But you just resonated. Is there a rule that says you have to go back out right away?”
“No.”
I rub my thumb over his knuckles, and lord, do my breasts ache. All of me aches, but I want to grab his hand, shove it under my leather tunic, and just drag it to all my sensitive spots. I lick my lips, feeling ever so slightly breathless, and try to remain casual. “Are you even going to be able to walk tomorrow?” If he feels anything like I do, the answer will be a firm “no.” I don’t think I can even cross the room without getting weak in the knees. I can’t imagine leaving the cave to try and do something productive like hunting.
He gives me a sheepish smile. “Perhaps not. Very well, then. My invitation to go hunting together will stand for the next time I go out, then. When I am able to walk without being in pain.”
That makes me freeze. “You’re in pain?”
Cashol gives me a faint grimace. “More like a constant ache?”
Oh. Of course. I glance down his chest, my gaze on his loincloth. He’s wearing nothing else, and I can see his enormous, beautiful feet peeking out from underneath his furs. He’s not sharing furs with me, which is probably for the best. I think. “Are you sure you want to go slow, then?”
“Absolutely,” he manages, but his voice is hoarse.
I’m pretty sure he’s lying. My cootie purrs a bit louder, and something clenches deep inside me. What is he
stalling for? What is the problem here?
Is it…me?
Does he need a nudge? I told myself I was going to let this be all his idea, but maybe this odd shyness is getting in his way. I lift our joined hands to my lips and gently brush his knuckles with a kiss. “I’m sorry you’re
hurting.”
He groans, his gaze rapt on me.
“Has anything gone down?”
“Gone…down?”
I point at the blankets. “Downstairs?”
“Down…stairs?”
Right. They don’t have stairs here. He’s not going to get my euphemisms. “Is your cock bothering you?”
That makes his crooked, silly smile return. “I would not say it is bothering me.” He pauses. “But it is rather alert.”
I chuckle. This man is so very strange, yet endearing. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
I nip at his knuckles, and I swear his eyes darken with lust. It makes me feel powerful to do that, and I know I’m flirting with danger, with pushing him just a touch too far, but I can’t seem to help myself. “What about this makes you shy? Is it me?”
His throat bobs, Adam’s apple working. “It is…complicated.”
“You can tell me.” Lord, if anyone understands complicated feelings, it’s certainly me. “I won’t judge you.”
“I just…” He sits up. Rubs his hand over his mouth. I notice he keeps the other one locked in my grasp, as if he’s unwilling to let go of me for a moment. Cashol stares at the wall, and I wait for his answer, curious. “I feel we should take things slow.”
“Is it because you had feelings for someone else?”
He glances over at me, that crooked smile beaming. “Never. I have only seen you, even when you did not know my name.”
Ooh, ouch. I feel a bit like a jerk. “Are you worried I won’t like it? Or that you won’t have enough stamina?
Because if it’s not perfect, that’s fine.” I nip at his knuckles again, then rest our joined hands against my breastbone, letting his hand brush against my bare skin where my collar is open. “I don’t expect perfect.”
He’s panting, unable to look away from me. Is that a hint of sweat on his brow? For a man that wants to go slow, he sure gets worked up easily. “I just…”
“Yes?”
“Want…”
I wait.
“To…go slow,” he manages to strangle out.
