“Of course.” I feel silly. I have mated with this male before. I have borne his kit. A mouth-mating is nothing. But for some reason, it seems very important.

He puts the basket aside and then takes my hand in his. His grip is warm, dry. Mine feels clammy, and my palms are sweaty. I am so nervous. Why am I nervous? “Would you like for me to mouth-mate to you, or do you want to mouth-mate to me?”

“Does it matter?”

“I only ask because if we both move in at the same time, we might scrape each other’s lips.” He puts the tip of one finger on his fang and grins at me.

Ah. He has a point. The humans do not have to worry about such things, because they have weird, square little teeth. “I will take the lead, then.”

He nods and waits.

I lean in and put my hands on both sides of his face, just in case he moves around. I do not want to do this wrong. I lean in and push my mouth against his, waiting. It feels…unexciting. I frown and meet his eyes. “What did you think?”

“I think they do it with open mouths.”

Oh. I guess I have not paid close enough attention. Usually when the mated couples get affectionate, I turn away. “Open mouths, you say?”

He gives me a slow nod. “Like my mouth on your cunt. It is more like licking each other, I believe.”

I feel a flush of heat through my body at the reminder of what we did last night. Lick his mouth like he did my cunt, eh? I study his face again, strategizing, and then lean in and mash my lips against his again, then push my tongue forward, into his mouth.

A wave of heat immediately pulses through my body. I gasp against him, because the shock of my tongue moving into the hot well of his mouth is…stunning. He groans, pulling me against him, and his hands go to my buttocks, dragging me into his lap. “Again,” he murmurs against my mouth.

I want to do it again, too. I go with my instincts, licking gently at the seam of his lips, and when he opens for me, I flick inside, exploring. My cunt is throbbing and wet, and I am incredibly aware of the press of his big body against mine. I cradle his face as I lick at his mouth, and when his tongue moves against mine, dragging lightly, it feels as if his tongue is moving along other, more sensitive parts of my body.

Oh.

Oh, I see why humans do this.

“I think I like mouth-mating,” I whisper between darts of my tongue. I cannot get enough of this. I like the position, too. I am straddling Hemalo’s lap, with his hands on my backside. His tail flicks against mine, and I automatically let mine wrap around his, locking us together. My hands move over his cheeks, and I bury them into the thick length of his glossy mane, deepening the kiss. I am tired of soft, playful licks. I want deep, hungry licks like he does to me when he is trying to make me come. So I drag my tongue deep into his mouth, and thrust, mimicking mating.

His groan of response makes me breathless. He holds me tighter, and the kiss gets deeper, our tongues playing back and forth as we toy with control. Sometimes he takes the lead, mouth-mating me with hard, sure thrusts that make me ache between my thighs. Then I decide I want control again and fist his mane as I delicately sweep my tongue along his.

By the time we break the kiss, we are both panting with need, and the scent of my arousal is heavy in the air.

“I like that,” Hemalo rasps, his eyes hooded with desire. “I enjoy mouth-mating very much.”

“I do, too,” I murmur. My khui is singing to his so loudly that it feels as if it is trying to drown out the sounds of our own voices. Hemalo gazes up at me, pure need on his face. I know if I tell him to mate with me now, he will push me onto my back and be inside me before I can draw another breath.

The thought is exciting…and frightening, as well. What happens after that? Do I raise our kit alone? Are we mated? I need more from him before I can move forward. Last night when he pleasured me, it was good, but I am still confused. “Can we stop there?” I whisper. “I need to think.”

He leans in and presses his mouth to mine in a light caress. No hungry thrusting of tongues. Just a nuzzle of his lips to mine. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” I slide off his lap and detangle my tail from his, and I feel sad that I do not wish to continue. A mating is nothing but two bodies joining together for pleasure. It should be nothing to fret over.

But this one feels important. This next time we come together, it has to be just right.

The air between us feels thick with tension, and we pass the rest of the day in a restless sort of calm. We talk, we laugh, and we work, but there is something that makes both of us unsettled. My cunt feels hot and needy, and I want to push my hand—or his face—between my thighs and relieve the tension, but that feels like it is something I should not do. Not until my mind is settled.

The root outside is still undisturbed. The metlaks have not returned, and when the suns come up in the morning, I am sad to see that the weather is pleasant and the skies clear. That means that I must say goodbye to Shasak for good. I know he is already gone, but part of me hoped I would find them outside the cave, waiting, and the mother would hand her kit back over to me. It is just a dream, I suppose. It still makes my heart sad.

Hemalo seems to sense my grief. He is full of caresses and comforting touches this morning as we dress in layers and strap on our packs. He gives me a deep, searching kiss before we leave the cave, and I am so breathless and distracted from his mouth that I forget all about being sad when he takes my hand and we walk away, heading back toward the vee-lage.

Travel during the brutal season grows tiring fast. I have a new appreciation for what the hunters go through day in and day out while I sit in the vee-lage, cozy near a fire. The air is so cold that each breath burns, and every bit of skin exposed to the air feels numb. The snow is deeper than I have ever seen, and Hemalo quickly takes the lead so his larger body can forge a path for me to walk in behind him. I grow cranky with fatigue, and I want to chastise him for leaving the tribe—and me—behind. But every time I open my mouth to complain, I see a mental image of him, prone in the snow, the metlaks standing over him. And I swallow back my anger. The travel is miserable, but we are both safe.

Because the snows are high, though, our travel is slow, and by the time the light starts to fade in the sky, we are nowhere close to the protection of a hunter cave. Hemalo is not worried, though. He finds us a sheltered spot near a rock bluff, and we both gather extra fuel to burn throughout the night. We make a fire and put our backs to the rock, and between the two, it is not so bad. I still shiver despite my furs, and so Hemalo pulls me into his arms, and we huddle together near the fire’s warmth.

We do not talk, but it does not matter. Hemalo’s presence at my back is comforting, and his body heat keeps the worst of the cold away. My eyelids grow heavy with sleep, and I am just about to drift off when his tail brushes against mine. It is an intimate touch, and it fills me immediately with longing. I think of the kisses we shared yesterday and how I was too afraid to go further.

And then I think of Hemalo, on the ground, with the metlaks standing over him. Every moment we have suddenly seems precious. I clutch his hand, pressed over my shoulder. “Hemalo?”

“Mm?” He sounds drowsy.

“You know how you said it would be my choice to decide when I touched you again?”

“I remember.” His khui begins to sing, telling me that he is suddenly very aware of me.

“I wanted to yesterday.”

He chuckles, and the sound is low and delicious, his voice moving over me like a rippling blanket. “I wanted to yesterday as well. Why did you stop?”