She covers her breasts and mound with her arms and hands. “I’m not playing games.”
I realize… She came to me when I told her what she was, what I see her as… I swallow my frustration, trying to understand.
“Why did you embrace me?”
She shakes her head.
“Why?” I demand.
Her eyes shift elsewhere, her body pushes back onto the metal crate she’s nearly perched on. She doesn’t want to answer me. Gemma Hurst, the Communications Director...
Humans do not communicate at all!
“Why?” I ask, louder this time.
“I—wanted to hide,” she answers. Her gaze has landed on my tail and she’s staring hard at it.
“Hide? What do you need to hide from?”
“Everything.”
Cocking my head, I study her. She looms with uncertainty, her skin rising with prickles as my eyes caress her naked curves. Her thick, shoulder-length red waves have gone limp, but her hair retains its gleam. I have an urge to pull it back and have her face clear before me. I don’t want her to hide. She should never have to hide, not while she’s with me. My voice lowers, softens. “Hide from everything? Why would you need to do that?”
Is she in some sort of danger?
Her arms tighten across her chest. Tearing them off her body and tying them behind her back so she may never cover herself from me again would be a service to us both.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“You can hide here. With me. No one can find you here, and if they do, I will kill them. You have nothing to fear.”
Her eyes meet mine. Her lips tremble.
Oh, how I want her lips to tremble upon mine.
I shift closer, and she doesn’t startle away. “You may hide as long as you want, but never from me. I will give you what you need.” My desire for her makes me her begging slave.
A glittering tear beads on the corner of her eye. This time when she nods, I accept it. I want to know why it’s there, why she’s suddenly changed, but I don’t ask. I curl my finger and bring it slowly to her face. She stiffens but doesn’t move as I catch her tear, softly wiping the skin under her eye and taking the tear away.
I lick it from my finger.
I watch her while I do it. Dewy lips parted and eyes wide as black stones—filled with confusion—fill my vision. I savor the salty taste of her.
“You’re not like any man I have ever known,” she breathes.
“Do not speak of other males,” I growl as a fresh wave of jealousy invades. “I cannot bear it.” No new tears form on her lashes. No more salt. I settle back to enjoy her nudity once more. “Drop your arms, female. No more hiding.”
She hesitates, and I wait for her to decide. Slowly, she lowers her arms again. My scales flutter down my back. My female, naked, for me and only for me. Only ever for me. How I’ve imagined this countless times, in many ways, but none of it was as delicious as the real thing.
Gemma will always be naked in my mind, with nothing but her red hair to cover her.
Her breasts are shapely, and the rosy tips are pointed, readied to be teased. The way they appear on her chest makes me hungry to take them in my hands and explore. Seeing her breasts reminds me of my young self, viewing a naked female on a screen for the first time.
A strand of her hair slips to fall upon her chest, and my muscles tense.
“Vruksha?” she says my name in question. I check her lashes but still see no new tears.
“Yes?”
“Have you ever been with a woman before?”
My head cants. “Woman? Females are gone.” I thought I told her this.
“Why? Where are they?”
It is not a subject I want to speak of. “They die during birth. Long ago, those who were left fled together from these lands, never to return. That is all I know.”
“Oh.”
I slip my gaze back to her body, lower this time, dropping down until I’m eye level with her sex—the enticing mound between her thighs. A mound with no hair. I see the peak of her little, swollen nub. She clamps her legs together.
“Open them,” I demand.
“You can—”
“Open them. Do not make me ask again.”
“I need to wash!”
I shoot her a look of uncaring frustration, and her mouth closes tight. She scents of heaven and rain to me.
For a short time, all I hear are her breaths. “You won’t touch?”
This time, it’s me who shakes my head.
She inhales and shifts her feet apart. It’s not enough to sate my curiosity. “Where’s your hair?”
“I… don’t have hair there. Not anymore.” Her voice is no louder than a whisper.
I hum, staring at the milky gift. My prize.
“Can I close them now?”
“I want more.”
“More?” she squeaks. It’s a funny sound coming from her throat. My eyes snap up, and she’s staring at me dumbfounded.
“More. I demand to see it.”
Her cheeks redden feverishly. “I can’t.”
“Yes. You can.”
“No one’s ever—”
“I will, now,” I snap. “Now, or the exchange is off.”
Her chest rises and falls, and she’s hidden her breasts behind her arms again. She’ll lower them when I demand it, I am sure of this now.
But I grow impatient at her continued hesitation.
“Gemma,” I rasp, “Let me see what I have won. You are a prize, one I will die for, die to keep, and I will see what I have won.” If she backs out now, I don’t know what I’ll do.
A terrible tension is filling my loins.
Her feminine heat is so close, it’s upon my face, where I am as a servant before her. Her scent, purely female, is in my nostrils. My member is engorged, swollen with spill and dripping.
She shudders at my words, like they tickle her, and her legs twitch. To my surprise, she drops her
