EMVOR

I finish cleaning up around the barn and fixing some of my tools after dinner. I’m not avoiding her, I tell myself. I’m just giving her space. And I sure don’t feel guilty. 

I figure if I keep telling myself that, it’ll eventually ring true.

When I go inside, the house is cleaned up, the floors shiny and swept. I’m not a slob, but I don’t care much about doing chores. Even so, I can appreciate when the place is sparkling clean. I know she’s trying to prove herself, and I feel another twinge of guilt. There are fresh baked goods on the kitchen counter and it smells nice inside, like she’s baking other things. I think about what she said earlier, about cooking when she feels stressed.

There must be a lot of stress. I guess I can’t blame her for that.

I hear the hum of the clothing steamer in the background, and the sound of running water. My place is small, but I don’t see her in the living area or the kitchen. What else is she cleaning, I wonder? Curious, I head toward the bedroom. I’m not sure how I’ll feel if I find her knee-deep in my underclothing, scrubbing it.

Instead, I turn the corner and find her…naked. She has her back to me, standing in the small nook that serves as bathing facilities for my private bedroom. I can see her in the mirror, and the pale color of her skin is blinding against the gray of my walls. It’s clear that she hasn’t heard me enter over the sound of the running water. I should say something. Clear my throat.

Something.

But it’s impossible not to look. Not to stare at that expanse of naked, gleaming skin. Her teats are exposed, and as I watch, she drags a wet cloth over her skin, over the pink tips and rounded swells. My cock stiffens painfully in my trou, and I immediately turn away, heading out of the bedroom, out of the living area, and out the front door. I sit down on my front step and put my head in my hands, trying to calm my racing heart.

Instead, all I can see is all that naked, wet skin. When I close my eyes, I see the dreamy expression on her face as she presses the cloth to her breasts. I see the tendrils of golden hair brushing against her shoulders, and the gentle curving flare of her hips. I think of the rounded swell of her buttocks, and how pale and plump they were, and how seemingly lewd the cleft of her ass was without a tail to cover it.

My cock feels like stone in my trou. Kef. It’s been far too long since I’ve looked at a woman, even longer since I touched one.

I don’t think you’re ugly.

No, I remind myself. No matter how much you might be fascinated with her, it’s because she’s the only female you’ve been around for longer than a moment in the last several years. It’s not because you find her attractive or likable. It’s not because of her smile or the jiggle of her bottom when she walks. 

She’s not strong enough to be a partner in this life. And that’s what I need—a tall, strapping partner that can help me with the fields. That’s all I want.

It takes me a while to compose myself. Every time I stand up, convinced that I’m fine, my cock stiffens and I imagine her naked and washing herself. I end up walking circles around the house for an hour, thinking about which of my meat-stock I’ll breed to the bull this season and which I’ll hold back for next season. Thinking about bovines and meat is enough to kill whatever eagerness my cock has left in it, and I’m able to go inside with a loud, deliberate slam of the front door.

Nicola’s back in the kitchen, pulling something that looks suspiciously like homemade bread out of my wood-burning stove. Her hair is wet, twisted in a knot high on her head and a few tendrils curl around her face. Her clothes are different, but I can still see the swell of her breasts through the material. She beams at me, all smiles as I come in. “Hello again.”

My cock immediately responds to her voice and I shift on my feet. “Gonna sleep outside,” I bark at her. “You get the bed.”

She holds the bread for a moment longer, a curious expression on her face. “I don’t want to take your bed, Emvor—”

Kef, now she’s saying my name and my cock’s responding. This is unbearable. I ignore her, storming toward my room. I snatch the extra blanket off of the lid of my trunk and head back out, mumbling something about how it’s a nice night. Sure, let her think that.

Just don’t let her notice the front of my trou.

NICOLA

Emvor’s quiet over breakfast. He scarfs his food down quickly, if neatly, and doesn’t talk. He told me he’s not much of a talker, so I’m fine with that. It’s the fact that he won’t look at me at all that bothers me. I think about last night, and how he practically raced out of the house to avoid me, and I worry. I didn’t sleep much last night, and I know I’m going to bake up every bit of food in this kitchen with panic if he doesn’t speak to me, just a little.

So I wait for him to take a big bite of food, one that’ll take a moment for him to chew, and I clasp my hands. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

He has a startled look, like a deer in headlights. It’s kind of cute. I don’t know why he thinks he’s so hideous. There’s something so appealing about the way the mesakkah look with their strong faces, and he’s got lovely features. His horns are big and arching, his shoulders broad and his neck thick. It doesn’t matter to me that one side of his face is a little torn up from scars and the corner of his mouth is twisted down a bit. It means he’s got a story behind that, a past that he’s fought through. He’s a survivor.

I can appreciate that. I like that a lot, actually. I just wish he liked me.

“What is it?” he says, and his voice is gruff and unyielding. It makes me want to twist my hands or run away and hide.

“I know you’re angry at me.” I resist the urge to grab the nearest bowl and start throwing ingredients in it. “I realize that what I did was unfair to you. I wasn’t thinking about how you’d feel at being deceived. I was only thinking about how to save myself. It’s much easier when you don’t know the person on the other side of the problem. Now that I do, I know that what I did was wrong and I really do apologize—”

“Stop,” he says, and I flinch. That makes him scowl all the more. “I may not be the friendliest man,” he begins. “But I’m also not a heartless ass. You did what you had to do. Don’t apologize to me.” Emvor pauses, then continues. “I can’t keep you, though. I need a pa—”

“A partner, I know.”

“Someone else is gonna want a bride.” His tone is gruff but kind. He meets my eyes and his gaze is steady. “I’m not sending you back. You don’t have to be scared.”

“I’m not scared,” I bluff.

“No? Must’ve been me that was crying last night.” His tone is mild with rebuke, and he takes another bite of his breakfast.

Did he hear that? Oh great. Now he’s really going to think I’m a wimp. “I’m fine. Just emotional. It’s all the hormones I’ve been on recently.”

“Hormones?” he asks, shoving another mouthful of breakfast into his mouth. I’ll say one thing for him—he’s got a strong appetite, or he loves my food. Makes me feel good about that, at least.

“Yes, hormones. So I can get pregnant.”

He freezes, mid-chew. His gaze flicks to my body and then he flushes, his cheeks becoming nearly purple with color. “Right.” His voice is strangled and he shoves one last big bite of food in his mouth and gets up from the table, then heads out the door.

I watch him go, curious. That’s an interesting sort of reaction. Is he a virgin, I wonder? This place is very remote, which is precisely why it’s perfect to hide out. But Emvor can’t be attracted to me…can he? Maybe because I’m the only female around. I feel a stab of guilt. He’s lonely and I stomped on his dreams of having a bride by showing up and lying to him.

No wonder he hates me. I’m lucky he’s tolerating my presence at all. I feel a surge of gratitude for him and swipe at my eyes. I know he’s frustrated, but I’ve got to find a way to make it up to him. I may not be the strong, strapping wife he wants, but I have some skills at least. If I can’t be what he needs, I can at least be a good houseguest until he gets rid of me.

I tap on the kitchen’s datapad built into the counter and consider the list of foods, trying to think of something that would please him. I noticed when I woke up this morning that several of the fresh rolls I’d made and almost all of the cookies were gone. He likes baked goods, then. That’s perfect, because I love baking. I pull up a list of traditional mesakkah recipes and get to work.