For Chrissakes, he’s just trying to take care of me and I’m thrusting into his fucking hands. Maybe with the lubricating salve, he won’t notice the growing wetness.
His fingers stop just below my clit.
“You are built so differently than our kind, but your cunt is still beautiful to behold. Like a delicate shell that holds a precious pearl,” he whispers.
The air between us feels charged with electricity. Maybe it’s just his venom still coursing through my veins. There’s a part of me that wants him to take advantage of the situation, despite my tender flesh.
“You know, maybe it might be smart for you to help me out next heat, just so I don’t hurt myself.” I say aloud, knowing that he’ll not be able to understand me.
It’s only when he looks up at me that I realize that I’ve been staring at him.
I look away, feeling my cheeks burn hotter than before.
It’s gotta be the venom.
“I don’t understand, Leeenuh,” he says, finishing his application in a gentlemanly manner, unfortunately. As he pulls his hand away from my crotch, his fingers linger and delicately trace the intricate lines of my tentacle tattoo wrapping around my thigh.
When it comes to tattoos, I have a strong affinity for all things nautical. The ocean, to me, has always carried an aura of pure magic, perhaps because of my landlocked upbringing in Minnesota.
“At first I thought these were some strange broken camouflage, but your skin decorations are beautiful.”
“Oh, I take it you guys don’t have tattoos.” I try my best to ignore the feeling of his fingers as they linger on my skin. Speaking, I notice Kitaico tilting his head, trying to understand my words.
How do I even convey the idea of tattoos to an alien without a shared language?
“Tattoo,” I repeat slowly, tapping the oceans scene on the underside of my bicep—a spot less dangerous than my inner thigh.
“Tahtooo.” Kitaico overenunciates the word like he does my name.
“Good.” I smile, tracing over the curve of the wave on my arm.
“You drew those on yourself?” he asks, his eyebrows shooting up as the realization kicks in.
“Well, I didn’t draw this one—but I could.” It’d be an awkward angle to attempt on my own. But there’s no point in confusing him, so I just nod.
“The Andjin don’t have these tahtooos. I fear they would ruin our cloaking…but on you, they’re perfect.”
An extraterrestrial saying something nice is a pleasant surprise, especially when compared to the rude comments I’ve received while bubble dancing.
“Maybe you could draw something beautiful for the nest? Something to help pass the time.” He pauses, his jaw setting, and he stands before he continues. “Before your next heat.”
Oh, the damper on everything, the fucking heats.
“Speaking of, I was out to get those.” He points to the pile of purple puffs he dropped earlier. “To pad out the restraints. Something that’s supposed to keep you from hurting yourself shouldn’t be uncomfortable.”
When he stands again, I see that his sentient head tentacles must have been squirming the entire time he was touching me. The skin, normally yellow, is now inflamed with a bluish hue where it was constricted against his torso.
I flip the wrap skirt down, tucking my ripped bubble babe bodysuit gingerly into the waistband.
I can't bear to see Kitaico suffer when he's putting in so much effort into taking care of me. I slip out of the bed with caution, determined to hide any signs of pain from him.
He watches me as I cross the room over to the purple pile of what I now think might be alien sea sponges. I reach for one, and then hold it out to him.
“You first,” I point to the tentacles that he calls the unruly brothers.
“I’m fine,” he waves me off.
Fine my ass.
I can see now, on closer inspection, that the lashings are cutting so tightly into him that his blue blood is welling up where it’s tied the tightest.
“No.”
I reach out for one of the ties, but his hand quickly grabs mine.
“I can’t control them. They’ll touch you.” His face is deadly serious and his eyes narrow.
But I can’t let him keep hurting himself.
“We’ll figure something out,” I say before ripping the knot free.
It takes all of ten seconds before the brothers ratchet around me and pull me tightly against him. Kitaico’s skin flashes purple, and I look up just as his eyes darken.
8
good boys
