Page 35 of Love Galaxy

Frowning I understand; that is one of the few expressions we have in common. “The creases have more than one meaning?”

“Yep.” She lowers her hands to reveal her mouth, the corners of which are now turned upwards. “Sometimes those wrinkles might mean one thing, or they might mean multiple things all at once.”

“So how do I know which one you are feeling? Or ones?” I add.

“Hopefully you can make a guess based on the context. But you can always ask me if you’re not sure. In fact, it’s better if you ask instead of making assumptions.”

“And when your mouth goes up, akh, like this.” I point between her mouth and my mouth, as I attempt to curve my own lips up. It feels uncomfortable, and I am not sure I am doing it right.

“That’s a smile. It usually means I’m happy.”

“So you are happy now?” I am almost not brave enough to ask.

“Yeah, kind of. I mean, I’m glad you’re back.”

Only when she looks away from me do I realize I have been staring.

“Actually,” She picks up her bag from where I left it by the trapdoor, glancing between the five doors leading off the kitchen. “Dinner needs to simmer for a while, so I’m going to get changed out of these dirty clothes.”

“There is a spare bedroom,” I say, with a nod in the right direction. “Through there.”

“Coolll…” She drags the word out. “Cool, cool, cool.”

“You are cold?” But before I have finished asking, she has already stepped into the room I indicated and closed the door.

Alone again, I rest my elbows on the bench. Then I bow my head so I can hide my face in my hands. I suddenly do not care that I am being filmed. At least Briar is not seeing me like this: desperate for her company yet embarrassed by my own desperation.

The door opens again, and I hurry to straighten, pretending I am cleaning.

She has exchanged her clothes for a similar dress, this one with laces up the front of the bodice. She has left her legs and feet bare.

Her feet are not so very different from my own, but without the scales. I wonder what her skin feels like on her legs, where I can see soft, pale hairs, almost invisible. And how would she feel with her legs wrapped around my waist and my cock deep inside?—

Scudding fek. The more time we spend together, the more vivid my imagination gets.

“I thought I’d make an effort with my clothes,” she says into the strained silence that is me not being able to think of anything to say out loud other thanI want to rut with you. “You know, because of the task.”

When I do not answer, she looks down at herself, as though searching for whatever has captured my attention. Pink colors her face and seeps down her throat to paint her collarbone and the upper curves of her breasts, just visible over the collar of her dress.

“You don’t like it?” she asks. “You don’t really wear clothes, do you?”

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. I clear my throat and try again. “No.”

“No you don’t like it? Or no you never wear clothes? Or maybe you meant both.” Her lips curve in what I now know is a smile. She is happy? Because of the answer I gave? Because Ril’os do not wear clothes? Because I am struggling to remember how to speak?

“I meant—” I step toward her and promptly trip over my own feet. “Fek!”

She laughs, then laughs again when I glare. “Sorry, you’re adorable when you get flustered.” Briar moves to the stove and serves some of her food into a bowl.

“I am not flustered!”

“No? Then what would you call what just happened?”

I hunt for an explanation and find none. “That question does not translate,” I lie instead.

“Oh, really?” She sets the bowl at the center of the table, then presses her hands to her hips, surveying her work.

“You invented this dish? Or maybe it is a common meal of your species.” I step toward the stove to peek closer at what is left of the watery food in the cooking pot.

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