Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 117336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
"A picture in a book?" Her fingers go to my mane and she scratches idly at my scalp, as if she wants to touch me, too. "What kind of book? What was it about?"
I shrug. "I do not know."
"What do you mean, you don't know?" She sounds puzzled.
"I cannot read. I only look through pictures to try and determine the answers I seek."
She goes still under me. "You can't read?" When I don't reply, she exhales slowly. "That was a dumb question. Of course you can't. It makes sense that you wouldn't know what the books say. I just thought…your library…"
"Even without the ability to read your language, I still learn a great deal from the pictures," I admit. I feel oddly vulnerable. I don't like her thinking I am not smart. That I lack information that might be easily available to others. I don't want her thinking…less of me.
Melina strokes her fingers through my mane again. "I'm not much of a teacher, but I could help you learn?"
"I…would love nothing more." I press my mouth to her thigh again.
Chapter
Sixteen
MELINA
Azar is unusually quiet the next morning.
Part of that might be my fault. Last night was weird for me. After he'd eaten my pussy as if his life depended on it—and god, I'm still clenching with arousal thinking about it a half a day later—I'd made up some excuse about how I needed to get up and stretch my legs. I was afraid he was going to ask if he could do it again…and that I'd say yes. I'd whip my legs around that man's head so fast that we'd both be dizzy. Oral sex is great when done well, but most men don't seem to care if they do it well. At best, you might get a man that gives you a bit of licking and gets mad when you don't go off like a rocket the moment his tongue touches your clit. At worst, he won't even bother. He'll just shove his dick inside you and think that's enough to make you come.
It's been a hell of a long time since someone touched me to give me pleasure…and enjoyed the process.
Scratch that. He didn't just enjoy the process—he reveled in it. I could hear him making sounds of pleasure as he ate me out. There was no faking his enthusiasm, or the fact that he kept touching me once I'd come, as if he was reluctant to let me go. And when he got to his feet again, I could tell from the wet stain on the front of his robes, that he'd come, too. He didn't ask me to touch him, though. Didn't shove his dick in my face and demand his turn. If anything, I'd had suspicions he'd ask to go down on me again.
And that gave me weird feelings. Not bad weird, but what-the-fuck-are-you-doing-Melina weird.
Because Azar's supposed to be the enemy. He's the conqueror of our city. Never mind that the fort seemed to want to be conquered. Never mind that he strong-armed his way in and is now improving life in the fort. He forced me to be his consort. He's treated me well enough, but isn't a gilded cage still a cage? Even if the gilding is enthusiastic oral sex?
I spent far too long hiding in the bathroom and when I finally emerged, Azar was in bed, his back to me. Thank god. I didn't want to discuss what we'd done…or if I'd do it again.
Because I am a weak, weak woman when presented with a talented tongue.
Azar doesn't bring up the night before while at breakfast that morning, though. He talks of the weather, of the well in the center of the fort that's been used constantly, and some about plans for fall gardens. He's so casual and easygoing, asking me what types of vegetables are best for the fall season here, and do I have suggestions for other improvements, that it throws me off. Doesn't he…want to talk about what we did? At all?
Or did he satisfy his curiosity and now he's done with me?
I don't know what to think. I certainly don't want to be the one to ask about it. Yes, I know I've sworn undying hate for you, but do you think you could roll my clit against your tongue again like you did last night?
So I say nothing. I stew on it quietly as I head to my clinic and try to distract myself through the day. Nothing seems to be going right, though. A box of what I thought were sealed bandages turn out to have mold on them and have to be thrown away. Someone that came in for an infected foot stole my entire bottle of rubbing alcohol, my very last one.
And my rose bush is dying. No matter how much I water it or put it in sunlight, the leaves are yellowing and drooping. I feel like a failure.