Chapter Fourteen
Safe in the privacy of Pelai’s bedchamber, Krais squeezed the ends of the clothespin cautiously. Warily. The metal spring rubbed against the wood, making it creak softly. Trying it a few more times, he made it groan low when he squeezed slow and squeak comically high when he pinched fast a few times. Amused, he did it again.
His doma cleared her throat. Pointedly. But only after a dozen squeaks or so, letting him know it was okay to play a little bit. But only for a little bit, because she quietly urged, “Go on . . .”
Right. The edge of my palm first. She said it’s a fairly neutral spot. Lifting his left hand, he pried the jaws of the clothespin wide . . . and then wider still. He had big hands, meaty with muscle. It wasn’t easy to get the clothespin to stick. When he finally did, about two thirds of the way down from the base of his little finger, on the edge of the pad of his palm . . . it hurt a little bit, yes, but not unbearably so. Instead, what captured Krais’ attention was the odd tingly feeling of his flesh being firmly squeezed.
“How does it feel?” Pelai asked.
“I . . . I like it,” he confessed. His face heated even as he said it, but Krais didn’t care. “Should I leave it on or . . . ?”
“Yes. Apply a second one,” she directed. “Same hand or the other one, your choice. Don’t be in a hurry for anywhere else just yet, so stick with your hands for the moment.”
Nodding, he picked up another from the dozen she had placed in a pile on the spell-neatened bed, the padauk wood a strong red against the soft, pale blue cotton of the blanket. The contrast didn’t look as strong against the brown and beige of his hands, but that was fine. Adding the second pin intensified the pain and the tingly ache. When he picked up a third pin and tried to apply it to the edge of his little finger . . . that hurt a bit more. Not until he rotated the pinch to the meaty bit at the front did the ache ease.
“Why did you shift its placement?” Pelai asked.
“It hurt differently. It didn’t feel quite the same. Not as pleasurable, there.”
“An excellent observation.” Shifting forward on her knees, she braced her palms on the bed, peering at his hand.
The creak of her doma leathers sounded not too dissimilar from the creak of the clothespins. That little sound aroused him, Krais realized. Absently, he picked up a fourth pin, making it creak faintly for an aural stimulation.
“There are certain places on the body you should never pinch, or shouldn’t pinch until you’re highly aroused,” she warned softly. “One of the most painful spots is the inside of the biceps. There’s a nerve that runs along the inner side of the upper arm, and it’s very close to the surface.”
“I know that spot,” Krais reassured her. “One of the first lessons my brothers and I had in self-defense was how to pinch that spot, if someone tried to grab one of us to kidnap us and do terrible things. Naturally, as soon as Foren learned it, he tried it on me, and Gayn tried it on him. We didn’t get into nearly as much trouble for pinching each other as when we punched each other . . . so we pinched each other a lot, growing up.”
“Can you think of other places it wouldn’t be wise to pinch?” she asked. Her nearest hand shifted, moving to cover the one holding the fourth clothespin down at bed level.
“Um . . . anywhere there’s a major vein or artery near the surface,” he said, blushing at the warmth of her touch. He lifted his left hand, the one with its three clothespins still pinching and tingling and aching. “And . . . don’t pinch for very long, because the lack of blood to that spot can cause serious problems. Father did lecture us about that, when he found Gayn tied up, once.”
“Yes, a good top always checks for the circulation of the bound or constricted body parts of the bottom they’re tying up,” she agreed. Her fingers squeezed his right hand, then released it. She shifted so that she sat cross-legged, close to him, and rested her fists in the enclosure of her folded legs. “For now, those pins are light and your hand will be okay. Would you consider putting that fourth one elsewhere?”
“I’m a muscular man,” he pointed out. “I don’t have a lot of loose skin.”
“Your hands are one of the toughest parts of your body . . . but you can put it on your toes, your earlobes, your lips, your scrotum, nipples . . . breasts on a woman, labial folds . . . clitoris, too,” she added, being both blunt and clinical. Her right hand shifted, moving in to touch his stomach, to rub it through the dark red vest he wore today. “And everyone, no matter how muscular or slender they think they are, always has little folds of flesh on their belly when they hunch over. So let’s put that fourth one on your belly. On the bottom edge of your belly button.”
Going from discussing the clitoris to the belly button amused him. “You mean my navel?” he quipped, smiling.
“I mean, get naked. Now,” she clarified, and in what looked like a mix between amusement and impatience, added, “Sartorlagen!”
His clothes disappeared, landing with a flump of folded fabric on top of her wardrobe chest. None of hers vanished, he noted. “Not yours, too?”
“Later,” she dismissed. “Remove the pins, and stroke yourself hard.”
That wasn’t difficult. Removing them, Krais laid the clothespins neatly in front of himself, then cupped his shaft, squeezed, and stroked. When his noble writer’s pen stood up hot and hard, dark with lust against the paler skin of his palm, he heard her give the next command.
“Pinch one of your nipples, pull it out from your chest, and apply a clothespin to the base. The tip will be extra sensitive, so just apply it to the base,” Pelai instructed.
“Not my belly?” he asked.
“I changed my mind. I want to see you handle an unexpected location,” she replied. “Do it.”
Krais shivered. Releasing his shaft, he picked up one of the pins in his right hand, and pinched his nipple with his left. That turned him on. So did pulling it outward. Applying the pin, however . . . that hurt. Enough that his breath hissed through his teeth. His cock twitched, softening slightly under the intensity . . . then hardened again as the ache in his nipple continued, growing hotter with pain-induced lust. “Goddess!”
“And the other one!” she ordered, her voice striking like a flogger.
He fumbled for a second clip, trembled and lost his grip on his nipple—no one told him that when his arms moved, his chest muscles would make that damned pin pinch even more—and managed to get his flesh pulled out on the second try. His cock jumped and strained even as his breath hissed in and out . . . and his next breath sucked in sharply from the feel of her head dipping, her braid thumping his bare thigh, and her lips closing hot and wet over the head of his shaft.
“Goddess!” His shout echoed off the bedroom rafters. Head jerking up, he overbalanced and flopped onto his back. That move thrust his shaft up into her mouth even more, making her hum and grip the base of it. Panting, Krais struggled to deal with the conflicting sensations of the painful ache of his nipples being pinched hard by the pins, versus the glory of her lips and tongue gliding and swirling and suckling his penis. “Goddess . . . Goddess . . .”
Pulling her mouth off of his shaft—leaving him chilled from the air caressing his saliva-coated skin—she purred, “Pelai. Not the Goddess. Say my name . . . or my title, as you like.”
“Pelai,” he managed . . . then gasped when she reached up and flicked one of the sideways-dangling clothespins. “Doma! Doma Pelai’thia! Netherhell, that hurts!”
She licked his aching cockhead, then reached up and flicked the other one. “But you like it, don’t you?”
“Yes, damn you!” he hissed. Her hands withdrew from his chest and cock. Krais realized she was testing him, and gripped that soft blue blanket under him, but otherwise did not move. “What . . .” He licked his lips, dry from panting, and tried again. “What are you . . . going to do now?”
“Flog you. Count the blows to twenty, and I will release the clothespins,” Pelai told him, rising up on her knees and summoning the purple suede with a gesture. It soared off her tool rack and thumped into her hand . . . and then smacked across his thighs and his belly, making him jump and twitch. “Count!”
“One! Two! Three! Four!” he gasped. She deliberately paused, letting him pant for breath, then he had to count again, rapidly. “Five Six Seven! Eight!” he yelped when she whisked the strands stingingly hard against his jutting shaft. When she brought the flogger back, she trailed it over and around his bollocks, his shaft . . . and pulled it free, lashing his stomach twice, hard. “Nine, Ten!”
“Flick both clothespins,” she ordered. “Flick them several times!”
Unclenching his hands from the blanket, he reached up and flicked the ends of the pins, hissing. Pain and ache and heat flushed down through his chest—she whipped his belly again and he called out the numbers, eleven, twelve, thirteen, before she ordered him to part his legs wide, and to keep flicking the pins. That earned him stinging hard strikes on his inner thighs, but it got him to sixteen, seventeen, another on his belly, eighteen . . .
She smacked his cock with the flogger, nineteen to the right, twenty to the left. He shouted the numbers, bucking a little. The rush of pain and pleasure made him groan, straining at the edge of climax. Immediately, Pelai dropped to her knees at his side, reached down, and yanked each clothespin off, making him cry out from the pain of release, of blood rushing back into place. She quickly rubbed his chest back and forth, soothing and stimulating his tormented flesh . . . and that triggered a second round of overwrought pleasure-pain.
It triggered his orgasm. Groaning loudly, he spurted up and over himself, coming hard. Some of it spattered on his chest and stomach, some of it struck her arm. Smiling, Pelai scooped up some of his lover’s ink and smeared it over each of his throbbing, aching nipples, painting him with his own desire.
“You look so beautiful right now,” she murmured, caressing him, keeping him stimulated. “You did very well, Krais. I’m proud of you.”
Her words pleased him even as he drifted down from the pinnacle of pain-pleasure. Her praise meant something, Krais realized, on this journey into exploring his perverted sexuality. He nodded a little, unable to speak just yet. At his nod, her hand slipped down to his shaft, stroking it gently, petting it rather like she would’ve petted her cat, he realized. He trembled a little under her touch, his skin hot wherever the flogger had struck, his nipples aching and throbbing a little. His flesh twitched under her caress, but he needed more time to recover.
She seemed to sense it, and shifted to gently rubbing his thighs, then his belly. Soothing touches, not arousing ones. It made sense that she would know; Pelai was an experienced doma, after all. When the tension had left his muscles, she gave him a few more moments, then stilled her hand and gently asked, “Well? Would you like to go again? Or try something wildly different?”
Licking his lips, Krais dredged up enough voice to rasp a question. “What, uh . . . what do you mean by, uh . . . ‘wildly’ different?”
“How would you like to flog me, and apply a few clothespins?” his doma asked.
His cock twitched palpably, hardening at that thought.
Pelai chuckled, and patted his stomach just beyond his re-arousing flesh. “I take it you like that idea?”
“Really like it,” he confessed. He blinked and tipped his head just enough to look up at her, kneeling at his side. “But . . . is that okay?”
“You’ll be doing it under my guidance,” she reassured him. Spotting his frown, she realized what he meant. “No, I’m not going to be submissive. It’s an exchange of activities, swapping top and bottom positions. I do like having things done to me, too, you know.”
“Well, I didn’t think you’d ever let me,” he reminded her. “But I do now . . . and . . . I think I’m honored you trust me enough to try. Under your instruction on what to do, of course.”
“Of course. But first . . .” She helped him to sit up, then murmured the spellword that removed all of her clothes, too. Before he could ask her what was first, however, Pelai leaned in and pressed her lips to his. Showing him, by kissing him.
Surprised, he hesitated only a single moment before pressing back. Warm and soft and sweet, he kissed her back. Kissed her like new lovers, slowly tasting, exploring . . . touching, too; when she caressed his chest with a hand, he rubbed her arm. When she nipped at his lip, he suckled on hers. The intimacy in the wake of his “punishment” felt wonderful, soothing the last bits of mental tension inside of him just as her touches had soothed his physical stresses.
Finally, she ended the kiss with a sigh and a murmured, “Thank you . . . I don’t get to kiss anyone very often. I miss it.”
Krais could guess because it was not exactly proper Disciplinarian behavior . . . but his was not exactly a proper disciplining. “You can demand a kiss from me any time, if you like,” he offered. “I quite liked it . . . and I don’t get nearly enough of it, either.”
She nodded. “Did you like being caressed, after your climax?”
“Very much so,” he confessed. “I know Father has caressed a few of the subservients after their punishments for aftercare. Some, he made sure there was a hot bath afterward; others just got wrapped in a cloth and given something to drink while they recovered. I don’t think I’d need much of that sort of thing, the bath or the blanket, but I liked being touched . . . and I liked last night’s cuddling, too.”
“You struck me as a cuddler type,” Pelai admitted. “I am, too. Gentle touches at first, stroking and caressing, followed by snuggling. I like being able to breathe for a few minutes with only light physical contact, while my nerves and reflexes settle.”
“That’s important,” Krais agreed, catching on to what she meant. “No cuddling right away, but gentle touches to, uh . . . I think the term is to ground you back into reality, right?”
“That’s right,” she praised.
“Got it,” he said. “So . . . what should I do first with you?”
“I like having my breasts licked, before having the clothespins applied,” Pelai said. “Does that appeal to you?”
He nodded quickly, looking down at her apple-half curves. “Yes, they’re very nice breasts. Very delicious looking.”
She grinned and leaned back on her palms. “Then get to licking right away.”
“Yes, Doma,” he agreed, and braced an arm past her far hip so that he could lean over her torso and gently tease one dark brown nipple with the tip of his tongue. Tracing circles around the tip, he felt her skin shrivel and pucker . . . and nipped with his lips at her nipple.
“Oh, nice,” she breathed, approving. “Don’t forget to lick the underside. It’s very sensitive down there, at my ribs.”
Nuzzling his way down a little, Krais lapped at the seam between breast and chest. Her pleasure emerged in a sort of purring sound. One that had him chuckling and asking, “Did you learn how to do that from Purrsus? Purr like that?”
“Mmm . . . maybe,” she hedged slyly. “Don’t neglect my other breast. You can use your hands, too.”
“Yes, Doma,” he mumbled, kissing his way to her other curve. He lapped first at the underside, then nipped at the tip . . . and scraped his palm over her other, abandoned, still damp nipple.
“Goddess, yes!” Pelai hissed, cupping his head with one hand. “I like that! Don’t be afraid to twist or to pull. Make them ache, Krais. Make them feel your touch!”
Ache, huh? He shifted his hand, cupped her whole breast, and squeezed. Not super hard, but enough to make her flesh bulge between his splayed fingers. She moaned and clutched at his head for a moment, tugging on his braid, then dropped her hand down to her mound just so she could stroke her folds. Experimentally, he rippled his fingers, varying the pressure around the edges of her breast. She panted and stroked harder.
Krais returned his mouth to her other breast, licked all around her nipple to dampen it, then sucked. Hard.
Her hand sped up. “Goddess, yes!”
Breathing in the musky scent wafting up from her body, Krais licked and suckled, squeezed and tugged, even twisted. She moaned, hand working in frantic circles, before finally shifting to grip his shaft with damp fingers. His turn to moan softly. “I like that . . . I like that a lot. Are we going to . . . ?”
Shaking her head, blinking a little, she eased her fingers away from his shaft and cleared her throat. “I . . . got ahead of myself. Sorry. Tonight is for sensation play, not intercourse. Um . . . right . . . where were we . . .”
Krais cleared his own throat, a little disappointed in one way, but still quite aroused in another. “I believe you were going to show me exactly where you like having clothespins attached.”
“Right. Pat them a little, a light sting,” she told him. “That makes the skin a little more sensitive—if I had pale skin, you’d see the blush start to rise, but to get Mendhite skin to really show it, you have to spank it quite a lot, and I just want a little blush raised.”
“Like this?” he asked, patting the undersides of her breasts back and forth, striking just enough to make his own fingers tingle a little.
She smiled at him. “Yes. Just like that! Now take up a pin, and pinch my skin, about an inch up from the base of the curve.”
“Right . . .” Stretching a little, he found one of the padauk-wood clothespins, squeaked its wooden jaws open, and carefully pressed and eased the thing shut.
Pelai bit her bottom lip and hissed a little, gripping his thigh with her fingers, and her fingernails. Before he could remove the device, she nodded firmly. “That’s good!” Her words came out a little breathless and strained, but with enthusiasm. “Do it again, the other side—same breast, symmetrical!”
Grateful for the clarification, Krais found another clothespin, squeaked it open . . . and discovered this one squeaked louder. Amused, he played with the spring, squawking it open and shut until she actually chuckled, but dug her nails into the naked skin of his inner thigh.
“Apply it. I’m not the one being punished tonight.”
His brows rose at that. Krais no longer thought of this interplay as a punishment. But, obedient, he applied the clip to the outer edge of the underside of her breast. Reaching for a third, he refrained from opening it, instead rubbing the smooth-sanded wood of the closed jaws against her nipple. She blushed hard enough at that, he actually saw the pink glow under her naturally tanned cheeks. Saw some of it spreading down her neck to her chest. Watched as her fingers released his thigh and dug down between her folds, rubbing in double-time to her panting breaths.
He opened and closed the pin just to let her hear the squeaky sound of it—and she burst into laughter and hugged him. That rubbed one of the pins against his chest, and that aroused him. Grinning, he nuzzled her cheek with his nose. “You like the sound of it, admit it!”
“So do you,” she teased right back, and wrapped her fingers around his recovering, thickening flesh. Nipping at his lips, she kissed him hungrily for a moment, then pulled away. Not giving him time to protest, Pelai stretched out on her back, moaning softly when the shift in position pulled on the skin clipped by the two pins. Her far hand dropped down to her mound, stroking herself again. “Apply a few more to my belly . . . and then, down here.”
She tapped her little peak, then stroked it, smiling almost smugly. Clearly aware that her tattooed muscles and curves aroused him, she teased him by playing with herself with her left hand, and playing with him with her right. In retaliation, he leaned over, teased the closed end of the clothespin in his hand around the dimple of her navel, then squeaked it open and clamped it over the rim of the lower edge.
Pelai opened her mouth as if to say something. She breathed deeply for a moment, then let her eyelids drift shut. Licking her lips she finally said, “It takes a while for the pain to build on that spot . . . but I can feel it right into my womb, and down to my clitoris. . . . Pin my untouched breast. Anywhere you want . . .”
He groped for a fresh pin, found it by her outer thigh, and detoured it to her inner thighs to scrape and tease her soft skin. His own thighs had more tattoos than hers; they shared the ox-kick one on their knees but his thighs had the tattoo-runes for landing from a high jump with all the force of a meteor strike, yet none of the normal, accompanying personal damage. Then again, it made sense she had fewer markings inked on her skin; Pelai had spent her days as a Disciplinarian mostly sticking around the capital, with penitents brought to her, rather than her going out to find them.
Once upon a time, he would’ve seen fewer tattoos as a sign of weakness, vulnerability, an inability to withstand the rigors of fighting. That, however, was no longer an interest of his. He no longer wanted to have to fight for his father’s approval, literally. Dragging the clip up to her netherlips, he nudged her hand out of the way, rubbed the closed pin along her folds until the wood darkened with the dampness gathering there, then brought it up to her lips.
“Kiss it, and I’ll clip it to your nipple.”
She licked it, and smirked.
He playfully nipped at her lips with the squeaking bits of wood and spring, careful not to actually close the pin on her flesh. Even he knew that had not been negotiated. Of course, her putting my pen in her mouth wasn’t negotiated, either, but if I’d thought she’d have gone for it, I would’ve said yes . . . There, she’s kissed it.
Lowering the twice-dampened wood to her right breast, he gently settled the pincers around the bead of her nipple. She cried out, squeezing his shaft almost painfully tight. He started to ease the grip, but her hand suddenly shifted into rapid motion, stroking the loose cowl of skin rapidly up and down in time with the thrumming of her fingers against her peak.
Her left knee drew up and out, giving her fingers more room. Inspired, Krais groped for one more pin, held it up in front of her dazed eyes, her panting lips, and asked, “Do you want me to thrust into you with this?”
Her fingers clenched around his cock once again, if only for a moment. “Yes!”
Aroused by her frantic on-the-edge state, Krais licked the shut clothespin to dampen the wood, then brought it down to her folds and pushed up inside. His fingers bumped into the knuckles pumping up and down along her slit, but they did not stop him from slowly pumping the wood in and out, in and out, in and—Pelai clutched at him with her right hand, hips lifting rhythmically into his efforts, and cried out a strangled version of his name, along with a garbled order.
It took him a few seconds, but as soon as he realized what she asked, he snatched away the two pins on the underside of her left breast. She cried and bucked up into his touch. He grabbed the third clip, the nipple clothespin, and pulled slowly and steadily upward. At least with his left hand; his right plunged the finger-sized pin in and out, over and over, increasing his speed. Only her own jerking made the nipple clothespin tug harshly on her flesh, yanking until it popped free.
That did it. Crying out again, she came, coating his fingers with musky warmth. Easing his movements, Krais pulled the makeshift clothespin phallus out of her depths. He tossed it onto his thigh—the feel of her warm wetness cooling quickly against his skin aroused him—and cupped his right hand between her thighs, pushing it firmly against her mound. That pressure seemed to help. With his left hand, he pressed against her reddened right nipple, very slowly and gently massaging her breast as a whole while she panted.
After a few seconds, her hand came up, dragged his fingers from her chest to her belly. Obliging her silent command, he eased the final clothespin off the rim of her navel, and then slowly, firmly rubbed her abdomen, soothing and grounding.
Gradually, she relaxed her body. The only parts that kept moving were her fingers, gently ripple-squeezing his excited, leaking lover’s pen. A deep, slow breath ended in a smile she angled up at him. “I see I’ve got you rearoused. Shame on me. I’ll just have to beat it out of you. As for tomorrow night, mmm . . . I think I’ll introduce you to some of my other floggers, and to the spike-wheel. Maybe a little hot wax play . . . or save that for Family Day? Maybe I should welt you right before you go home for Family Day, too. What do you think?”
Heat flushed his face, an unsettling mix of mortification and desire. Last night and tonight proved he did like mixing pain and pleasure, in carefully controlled, safely applied, freely consented amounts. Clearing his throat, Krais stated, “I think you’d better make sure I’m thoroughly sated before you send me out, if you do either . . . or I’ll arrive at my parent’s house with my kilt tented up.”
He wanted to ask if she was going to do anything about his current condition, but wasn’t sure if it was . . . Don’t hesitate, just ask, he ordered himself. She gave permission for you to speak your mind, Krais. “So. Are you going to leave me this hard and aroused all night, allow me handle it, or handle it yourself?”
“Mmm . . . I’m enjoying handling it, alright,” Pelai murmured, and rolled onto her side, pressing her cheek and breasts up against his thigh. The position change meant swapping arms so that she could fondle him better. “Is there anything in particular you like when a woman does this? A particular grip, speed . . . body part?”
“Well, I’m not Gayn; I don’t find being rubbed by feet all that exciting. Breasts are nice, but mouth and fingers are just fine,” he offered. A little breathlessly. Her fingers feathered over his sac, making him shiver and all but squeak, “Just like that . . .”
Pelai laughed, but it wasn’t out of cruelty. Teasing, perhaps, but more from what seemed to be a giddy sense of pleasure at figuring out how to make her former quasi-nemesis squeak. She did it again, teasing his sac to make him hiss and squirm, until he flopped onto his back, laughing and aroused and—She swallowed him up in her mouth, bathing his shaft in unexpected warmth. Krais slid from laughter straight into pleasure, like a gondola launching into a lake.
Eyes rolling up in his head, climaxing in pulses that clenched his stomach but didn’t wrack his body in hard shudders, a stray thought crossed through his head. When did I get on a gondola, inside my head? How rude of me; I didn’t greet the prow or the oarlock, yet . . .
Drifting back down out of bliss, he found his left side rather warm, thanks to the smug female snuggling up against him. She chuckled a little, clearly pleased with herself, and purred, “You pinched and pulled your nipples mid-climax, did you notice?”
He shook his head slightly, and managed a semi-coherent, “Nuh-uh . . .”
Another chuckle accompanied a soft pat of his tattooed chest, and a muttered cleaning spell. “Sleep well, Krais. You’ve ear—“
“Maau! Mrrauww! Mau!”
“ . . . And there goes my cat, demanding to be let in,” she observed dryly. Purrsus cried out again, clearly offended by the bedroom door being shut. Pelai muttered a cantrip spell that opened the door just enough to let the cat trot in and leap up onto the bed. He sniffed at Krais’ toes, headbutted them, and mauwed at the two humans, before vigorously grooming his silvery gray shoulder. She watched him for a few moments, then settled back against Krais’ side. “You’ve earned a good night’s rest. I’ll save the hot wax and the welting for Family Day. Tomorrow, you go looking for that sight-and-sound sharing tattoo.”
“Mmh, yes,” he agreed. “Pelai . . . I wish I hadn’t been an idiot all these years. We could’ve gotten to know each other a full decade ago, and more.”
“Oh, please, we were both idiots back then,” she scoffed.
“I was more of an idiot,” he reminded her. “You didn’t have the urge to please my father dictating your every idiotic move.”
“True,” Pelai agreed. She shifted a little, stretching up an arm to wave her hand over the runes controlling the mage crystals lighting her bedroom. Darkness engulfed them.
Her readiness with that reply made him laugh softly. “Not even a token protest . . . ?”
“Nope. But I was an idiot. Everyone is until they finish maturing at around twenty-five, and ten years ago, you and I were still, what, twenty-one?”
“Twenty-one. I’m thirty-one,” he reminded her. “Half a year younger, or so. But still, I regret being an idiot for so long.”
“Well, you did come to your senses,” she pointed out fairly. Pelai started to say something more, then squawked and shifted, doing something with Purrsus who squawked in turn. The cat thumped onto the bed somewhere past her far side. “Oy! No walking on my belly, bad kitty!”
“I dread the day he steps on my groin,” Krais muttered. “That’s not the kind of pain I want to experience.”
“Duly noted,” Pelai agreed promptly. “No using my cat to step on your delicate bits.”
“No crushing my pen by other means, either,” he warned her, using the euphemism since the darkness of her bedroom already made things feel that much more intimate between them. He did add honestly, “I do want to be able to write a family some day.”
“Some day,” she agreed. “But not by making love in my Fountain.”
“ . . . What?”
“Never mind. Long story. Guardian stuff. It’s a bad idea, anyway,” she dismissed sleepily. “Snuggle-time now.”
“Do I even want to . . . ?” he asked hesitantly.
“No. Goodnight, Krais. Sleep well.”
Shifting a little to be more comfortable, he cuddled with her, and agreed. “Sleep well, Pelai.”