Page 55 of Eat My Moon Dust
I dashed inside and grabbed the two sealed bags on the counter, then added a used red mug and the pen I’d written all my Christmas notes on for our first meeting. Hunar’s tendrils were climbing along the wall towards the door when I whipped back out, my antlers firmly wrapped up in hissenti.I held up the contraband with jazz hands and his colors flashed.
“What are these?”
“You said objects too, so I thought…” I trailed off as he took them in his lower hands with reverence.
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Hunar, I’d give you my dirty socks if it’s what would help you,” I teased, pushing the cup and pen into his hands.
“Not my fetish, but I’ll keep that in mind,” he growled, pressing the button for the lift blindly while he faced me. The doors opened immediately, and he stepped backwards, putting his heels over the seam of the entrance so it couldn’t close. “Good night, Tinsley.”
He lookedperfectstanding in that doorway, Christmas music filtering down from the ceiling, my panties cradled in his lower hands with an unHunar-like amount of gratitude.
How was a spontaneous butterfly meant to cope with all these feelings?
Grabbing the front of his tabard, I pulled him down and pressed my lips to his. Hunar’s mane erupted with bass clicks, swarming my face and neck. The things I’d given him dropped to the steel floor of the lift with a clatter as he pulled on my waist.
I didn’t have to tell him how I felt, but I was powerless not to show him. I’d officially hit the end of my velvet ribbon, and self-control had never been my strong suit. How could I resist such a perfect moment?
BEO binged overhead.
“The lift entrance has been obstructed.”
I pushed back against Hunar’s embrace, thankful for the interruption. I was already taking too much when Hunar wasn’t in his right mind, wasn’t I? Greedy, selfish… I pushed a little harder and he fell back a step. In shock, he let me slip from his hands and mane, a look of pure bewilderment slack on his features.
“Good night, Hunar.” My voice shook. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Hunar looked like he might speak, lips parted, eyes wide.
But the lift doors closed first.
19
?HUNAR?
I paced as the spats ran around the unit, latching the side hip of my dhoti. They were red bark linen from Dharatee and came with a matching tabard. Long tapes of linen bound the edges of the top hung like ribbons to just below my knees. I felt ridiculous wearing something so fashionable, but Reha had insisted. She said I needed to put my best foot forward.
She never clarified if she meant for Zufi or for Tinsley, and I had the distinct impression that–
Tahavir dashed by me. “No!”
Reha came next, a mister clutched in her hand. “Yes! It looks good on Ladh!”
“Yeah, andslimy!”
“You’re such a brat!”
They turned the corner into their room, screaming.
I stopped in front of the bathroom mirror, ignoring the sound of something banging against the wall in their room, and checked my arms and sides with self-conscious care. Had I missed any spots with thesachemoil Tinsley said she liked? If I flashed my colors, did it look good against the darker red outfit?
I gave it a try, my throat,senti,and arms pulsing. They’d brightened over the last five days thanks to our plan to fool Zufi. Rather than cool merlot, they were now bright like rubies, pink through the thickest designs and currant near the edges of my stripes. I hadn’t looked this good since I’d been an engineering student. The other encoiled men weren’t kidding when they said humans were a punch to the pearls. I was strong, full of energy, focused, less of an asshole…
And fucking dying.
It had been five sols since Tinsley kissed me. I never brought it up, mostly because thinking about it made my cock swell so often, the only way I could walk around in public was by wearing my fucking toolbelt off-center like an idiot. The taste of her mouth was an obsession now, and more than once, I’d woken up in the middle of the night with mysentiwrapped around my erection, squeezing pearls from my sac while I dreamed about how hot it would be to see my tendrils slide across her tongue and stretch her lips.
And then I’d see her for lunch, which was exquisite torture. She was a messy eater. Her cheeks would bow out while she chewed, a dribble of sauce catching on the corner of her mouth, and I’d see that little pink tongue dart out to catch it. Glistening, wet, flexible. She’d talk about a printing project or a festival booth or herbirianut bread, and I’dclutch mysentiin my fist beneath the table to keep it from misbehaving.
