Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Tia pulls back and gazes up at me, her expression thoughtful. I wait for her to speak, to make hand gestures, but she simply shakes her head again and returns to kneel next to the tripod. As I watch, she puts on a thick, fuzzy glove, picks up a rock from the coals, and adds it to the water in the pouch. It hisses and bubbles, and the scent of something cooking fills the air.
“If we were home I could make you a metal pot,” I say, thinking of the differences between our peoples. “Or rather, I would not make it, but trade for one for you. We have a metal-slinger who teaches his secrets only to his sons, just like the weaver only teaches his sons his most complicated patterns.”
“Mmm.”
She is not being cold to me, but it is clear something is making Tia melancholy. I hate that and I desperately want to fix it. To see a clever smile on her lips. To see that determined glint in her eyes. I don’t like the expression of defeat that is there now.
“Is it me?” I ask, suspecting the answer.
“Snot hallways saboutchoo,” Tia replies, her voice tart. She fishes another stone out of the coals and adds it to the pouch, watching it closely. “Sabout me sometimz.”
I watch her closely, but I do not see anger or despair directed at me and our resonance. She seems…wrapped up in her sadness. For a moment, it reminds me of my father, who is alone even in a cavern full of people, and my heart aches. When my father’s mood takes him to low places, there is not much I can do except be at his side and wait it out. Sometimes, though…sometimes a distraction pulls him free.
Perhaps it can be so with Tia. While she tends to the pot, I pull out my bag and begin to unwrap the prize that I stole from the village. The weavers will not be pleased to find that one of the smaller looms was stolen away, along with the project half-completed on it. But I had no choice. Tia wanted a loom…
And more than anything, I want to please my beautiful stranger.
She fishes a few of the clahms out of the pouch of water and then adds a sprinkle of salt and some herbs to the opened contents. “Yoo hongree?” she asks, looking over at me. “Rem’eb…”
Her gaze falls on the pieces of the loom, tangled with the threads.
“Satmy loom?” she whispers, forgetting all about the food. Her eyes are wide and she scoots closer to me, her adoring gaze on the mess of hard lengths and knots of thread.
“I had to take one that was in use,” I confess, picking up a piece that looks like an oversized comb. “But I do not know how it works. I did not have time to ask. I was going to insist that the weavers teach me the basics, so I could then teach you. But…now I have a loom and no idea how to put it together. I am so sorry, my Tia.”
She looks at it, and then at me.
Then, she flings her arms around my neck and kisses my face with excitement. “Nevrr sorreh! Thiz dabest!”
Her lips press against my skin, and I automatically put an arm around her, holding her close.
With a soft sound, Tia puts her mouth on mine and kisses me, crawling into my lap. Resonance sings between us, as loud as the roaring waves. I groan as she bears me backward, sliding her leg over my hip. The food is forgotten. The loom is forgotten. All that matters in this moment is Tia’s mouth on mine, the welcome weight of her hips over my stomach.
She kisses me again, her tongue playing against mine. “Rem’eb.”
“You taste so good,” I breathe, lost in the sensation of her soft, sweet mouth. “I did not understand why your people put their mouths on each other at first, but now I am addicted.”
Tia chuckles, and she strokes a hand down the side of my neck, to my chest. “Kinatouchoo?”
“I am yours,” I reply, guessing at her words. “Whatever you wish to do to me, I will take it and gladly.”
She kisses me again, sucking on my lower lip in such a way that my frill engorges. I gasp like a fish out of water, fascinated when she continues to kiss down my covered chest, heading straight for my groin. Yes, I think. Put your mouth on me. Then I will put my mouth on you.
The thought of doing that to her makes me feel an entirely new and different excitement. Not just at claiming my own pleasure, but of watching her claim hers. Surely after that, we will both want to fulfill resonance—
Tia gets to my belt buckle, looks up at me, and then sits up. She blows on her nails and rubs them against her clothing, a bored expression on her face. “Mebbe latr.”