Then abruptly, he stands.
“Nope. Nope. Nope.” He shakes his head, pacing back and forth, his hand running the length of his smooth skull. “It’s not happening. It can’t happen.”
“Oh, come on!” I whine.
I sound ridiculous. Hell, this whole thing is ridiculous. The fact that I never want to fuck any man and suddenly, here’s this . . . person . . . creature, whatever you want to call him. And all I want to do is all the things to him, and I think he wants to do all the things too. But instead, he’s too scared. The very laws of nature might be against us.
He’s standing in front of his tank now. Bulge and everything. No shirt. Only shorts.
I remember that I, too, have my shirt hiked up, my own body exposed.
“Jules. This is dangerous, what we’re doing. Not just because we don’t know what would happen if I were to . . .” He tilts his head a bit, his voice lowered. “Come on you or inside you . . .”
I moan at the very thought. Again, his gaze darkens, and he shakes his head.
“But there are so many other things we don’t know. I don’t even know what I’ll be in the next year or the next month. Hell, the next day. And you . . . you can’t get tangled up in this. You’re so . . .”
“Don’t say beautiful,” I clip out.
“Vulnerable” is what he says instead.
“I already told you I’m not scared.” Which is only a partial lie.
“Maybe you’re not. But I am.”
I let out an exasperated sigh, crossing my arms over my naked chest. I glance down at my flesh, exposed to him and to me.
Like a camera flash, an idea lights up my brain.
“Just wait a minute. Wait, wait, wait. I have a proposal. Will you hear me out?”
He furrows his brows together. “I don’t want to, but I’m intrigued. My curiosity often gets the best of me.”
“You’ve already seen me naked, and nothing bad happened, right?”
He gives a cautious look. “So what?”
I lean forward a bit, dropping my arms to expose my breasts again. “So, get naked in front of me.”
His hands go to the waistband of his shorts, lingering there. An involuntary response, no doubt. He’s scared, I get that. I’ve lived my whole life scared. But also . . . These feelings. They’re reciprocal.
He fingers the waistband along the cut of his waist. His muscles are defined and sinewy beneath his scales along his thick forearms, wrapping like cling wrap. “Haven’t you ever heard of a slippery slope?”
This time, I let my fingers travel to my nipples, lightly circling one until it beads up, aching and pink. “You can’t trick me. I’m a copywriter, and I write for science magazines. And one thing I know about a slippery slope . . .” I glide my finger from one nipple and then over to the other. Satisfaction surges through me when he bites his lip and winces in response. “It’s a logical fallacy. A false argument. So go ahead, then. Get naked. Only look. I promise. I won’t touch, there’s no slippery slope here . . . unless you want there to be, of course.”
Puns! I’ve got puns today. I have never openly expressed this side of myself before, and I’m ravenous for more.
But also, I do mean what I said to Mack. I’m not an asshole. I don’t touch anyone without their consent. I know all too well what that feels like.
For a brief second, I worry if maybe I’ve pushed things too far. I’m new to these situations; I’m only working off instinct, and I have no way of verifying if what I’m doing is right.
But it must be. Because Mack drops his shorts, steps out of them, and kicks them to the side.
And there he is in front of me.
Completely bare. His body is so cut that I can barely see an ounce of fat on him. Just tight muscle, taut and lean down his long form, and opalescent scales now shimmering a little bluish green in the light.
And his dick is . . .
Ummm . . . glorious.
It looks like a human dick. Mostly, at least. It’s the same shade as the rest of him but with more pink and red hues. And I can’t quite tell, but there’s something along the top ridge of the shaft. Is it a fin? Is it an appendage? What is it?
I want to get closer. I have to get closer. There’s no way I can get this far and still leave with this one unanswered question.
I fall to my knees on the ground. Then I put my hands down and slowly crawl to him, my neck craned upward so that I can keep my eyes on him.
I’m out of line. I’m a filthy slut. I never thought of myself that way before, but my mother used to sometimes call me those names. “You’re dressed like a whore. No wonder all the boys want to sleep with you.” “Show the photographer how nice you look in your bikini. Pull up the straps a little tighter.” She never knew which way she wanted to yell at me. Either I was a slut, or I was being slutted out.
But now, I want to be a slut in a whole different way. In a way that’s about me. Never has being a slut sounded more like freedom.
I crawl a little closer toward him. “Just . . . let me . . . let me touch it. Suck it. Just one little suck. One tiny little suck.” So I can really know what’s going on with you. So I can have you inside me once and for all.
His eyes darken again. And this time, they really darken, not just in the sense that it looks like he wants to eat me. Now, it’s more murderous. The whites of his eyes turn dark gray, the blue part going almost completely black.
My pulse pounds through my body. My knees ache on the ground.
I don’t care.
