Page 88 of Zalis
“Maybe, but it’d have to be small. You and me, Emry and Ren, and your parents. Small.”
“Tell me the vows.”
“Well, we promise to love each other; honor and respect each other.” She laced their fingers together, his lilac and hers a pale beige. “Then we give each other a ring and kiss to seal the deal.”
He placed a hand behind her head, mindful of the surgical patch, and drew her to him. His lips claimed hers. This. He would never tire of the way she sighed, her breath mingling with his, and the way her entire body melted into his.
“Do you desire an Earth ceremony?” he asked again.
“Maybe. A little,” she confessed. “I’m not a fussy person and the idea of a large party is making me anxious, but a dream wedding with a big cake and an even bigger dress is something that’s in all our stories.”
“Then we will have a ceremony to your preferences.”
Her smile returned. “Okay, but I want to meet your mother first.”
“She is anxious to meet you,” he said. “Would you like to bathe?”
“Yes. I smell, don’t I? No, don’t tell me. I haven’t showered since before the surgery.” Gemma rose to her feet. “I don’t carewhat the medics claim, that disinfectant gel is not the same as a shower.”
“I will assist you.”
He followed her into the cleansing room and helped her undress. She was perfectly capable; he simply enjoyed it.
As each article of clothing was removed, he lavished her skin with kisses, mapping her. A mole on her upper shoulder. The small surgical incision on her abdomen from a removed vestigial organ. A scar above her right knee acquired while riding a bicycle. Her body told a story of resilience, and he was determined to memorize every word.
The shower was large enough to accommodate them both comfortably. With the soap, Zalis scrubbed and washed her with the same attention to detail. He worked the shampoo into a thick lather, careful to avoid the bandage covering the incision on her scalp.
“Tell me again,” he said.
“Tell you that I love what you’re doing with your fingers?” Gemma tilted her head back, resting it against his chest. She smiled up at him, soft and dreamy. “I love what you’re doing right now.”
“I intend to do more.”
“Show me.”
His hand dipped down to the apex of her thighs. Wet and ready, it did not take much for him to bring her to the point of trembling desperation. Her back to his front, she reached up to grab him. She came on his hand, gasping and crying his name, as it should be. As it would be several more times.
After, he dried her with a towel and helped her into a Sangrin robe before dressing in a matching robe. The old-fashioned style had excessively long sleeves designed to fold over the hands.
Gemma wiggled her hands, making the long sleeves flap.
“That is disrespectful for my culture,” he said.
“Is it? Sorry.”
He grinned and flapped his own sleeves. “Every child does it.”
“Are youteasingme, Zalis Layneno?” She sounded shocked, then winked.
He had mentally rehearsed the steps for the tea ceremony: arranging cushions side by side on the floor by the low table, covering the table with the cloth, rinsing the pot with hot water, dumping the rinse water, steeping the tea leaves, and how to pour without spilling.
None of that prepared him for being in the moment, sitting by his mate’s side, or how his hands shook.
“The tea is a special blend meant to aid in relaxation,” he said, pouring the tea.
Droplets splattered on the front of his robe.
Mortification came over him. He would only experience this moment once with Gemma and now all he would remember was a ruined robe.
