10. Oarus

10

OARUS

Iscoop Yvonne out from the hot spring, realizing soon that I am disappointed when she is clothed again. I enjoyed the exploration of her contours and the way my fingers glided along the peachy pink nub of her nipples, following the road to the blooming rose between her legs.

The way Yvonne trembled and her breathing hitched, I wanted to taste her. Yet there remained a droplet of fear in her voice, which for some reason halted my resolve.

It is all invariably new to me. Sea creatures engage in carnality at their whim. Hesitation is a laughing matter. I feel strange as I carry her through the shadows, her warm body pressed up against my own. I feel the urge to maintain this warmth so I present her toward a flickering fire and offer a fresh set of attire retrieved over the years of my wanderings.

“Your clothes,” I said, pointing toward the opening of the cave. “I will wash them and let them dry with the sun. For now, make do with the options offered.”

I place Yvonne down on her feet, and her fingers trail down my shoulders and settle on my chest. She is gazing up at me, those soft, amber eyes, and lust engulfs me like a raging storm.

I take her by the waist with a commanding jolt, and she gasps, which only furthers my conviction. I remove her clothes as if to make good on my promise to wash them, and her naked glory returns to the cave, her rapid and shallow breathing an expression of her own eager longing.

Her mound rubs up against my genitals, and I begin to feel the scales parting. Her hands are studying the details of my torso with avid curiosity, while my own plunge to her ample rear, cupping them with a grunt. The crackling fire lashes and whips in union with our rabid desire.

I cannot delay it any longer. My neck bends to meet those plump, wet lips, lifting her chin forcibly to meet my gaze. She stands up on her toes, and I crush her with my mouth, a succinct groan of relief emitting through the vibrating cells of our forms.

I part her lips and dance with her tongue. She follows along, an enthusiastic learner, her stilted breath and moans encouraging my ardent need.

I spin her around and lift her, pinning her up against the stone wall of the cave. Her legs naturally snake around my waist as our fever continues to burn, her core dampening as it massages against my pelvis.

My mouth travels fiendishly along her cheeks, nibbling at her ear lobe, along her jawline, and along the tender flesh of her neck. Hot red blush rushes down over her precious, pale skin.

I bite down on each word. “Yvonne, I must have you. Every part of your form, I must investigate, I must indulge, I must make you sing in rapture. I have to have you.”

Yvonne, whose hands were tangled in the seaweed flow of my locks, halts her frenzied gyrations. Her breathing is still unnaturally paced, but the malleability is gone. Her body has returned to its rigid, tentative state.

She swallows hard and implores me, her voice airy with fear.

“Please put me down, Oarus. We should speak about this.”

Disappointment invades me, but I do as she requests. Once she is on her feet again, a petite excuse for a being, she points at a blanket. I retrieve it, and her naked form is submerged once more.

Yvonne appears as she had upon our first meeting, when I rescued her from her most certain demise. She trembles, and it disturbs me.

“Can we sit down for a little? I appreciate the bath you gave me. It’s been such a long time since I felt this clean.”

Her gratitude is momentarily distracting, but I remain perturbed. I nod acceptance and watch her move toward the bed. She takes a seat, the blanket still enfolded around her like an overzealous cloak.

I stay where I am, hesitant to obscure her comfort. I crouch toward the blazing fire and wait, the steel of my emerging genitals yet to recede.

I wait. The fire hisses and snaps. I begin to envision taking her against her will, owning what is mine, restraining her against the bed with my insurmountable strength. It would be akin to an eagle taking a worm within the grip of its talons. No challenge in the slightest.

The image is not appealing to me. My stomach churns.

“Have you ever been with a human woman before?”

Her sweet cadence pulls me from my reverie, and I fixate on the dulled light of her amber eyes.

“I have not. Is that something that bothers you?”

Yvonne shakes her head. She has pulled the blanket in taut to her body. As if it were chainmail.

“Well,” she begins, taking another long, audible swallow. “With human connection, there is more to it than the simplicity of the physical. There’s an emotional element that goes along with it. Do you know what I’m referring to?”

Her tone is not condescending. It is one of earnestness. I respond in kind.

“I have an idea of the human customs, yes. But I have yet to engage.”

She nods, her eyes averting to the fire. I wait again, still somewhat flummoxed.

“It’s called intimacy,” she recites. “An emotional connection, an understanding of one another, that goes hand-in-hand with the physical part. People get to it through acts of courtship.”

I glower. These human activities make no sense to me.

Noticing my perplexity, Yvonne rises to her feet. She drifts into a shadowy corner of the cavern and for a moment, she disappears. I hear rummaging, and she emerges with two logs cradled in her arms.

I remain crouched, watching her with perfervid attentiveness.

“Courtship is a lot like adding logs to a fire. Or driftwood, sticks, twigs. The more you add, the bigger the flames grow, the more sustained and powerful.”

Yvonne crouches in front of the fire, the blanket slowly wandering off her shoulders as she places one of the logs gently into the flames. It makes another topple over, sparking briefly, then settling back into a constant state. Just as she had narrated, the fire grows stronger and begins to roar.

Our eyes connect, and Yvonne smiles. It is both sweet and mischievous. My innards melt, or at least it feels like they do, a warmth brewing within me at the glorious sight of her smile.

“Courtship,” I reiterate, narrowing my glare back to the fire. “I am starting to understand your meaning. Do go on.”

Yvonne stands up, allowing the extra log to lean up against the bed, then takes a seat. The blanket has settled against her bosom, revealing some inviting cleavage.

“Courtship is also like a slow dance. It’s getting to know someone well, their personality, their values, what makes them burn…” Her eyes avert to me, then the fire. “Outside of sex, I mean. When you burn in other ways for each other, it makes the burning for union far more potent.”

I bring my hand to my chin and stroke it thoughtfully. Courtship is an entirely new concept for me and my kind. If sea creatures have the desire to fuck, then we simply do so. We are ageless after all and do not require such decorum. Seemliness is a human construct.

But Yvonne is adamant in her own delicate way. And my attention seems to make her anxiety dissipate. I like to watch it flow out of her body.

“Hmm,” I murmur. “And this courtship, this intimacy prior to sexual engagement, is what you request of me?"

Yvonne hesitates. She wraps the blanket back around her body like a protective barrier. She gives me a vulnerable look, her full lips parting with a long breath, and I already know the answer.

“Yes, it is. I would very much like to let our intimacy grow before we copulate. That is crucial to me.”

I admire her confidence, especially during such a strange circumstance. But I want to make her happy. I want to taste every inch of her form, more so than any other sea creature I have longed for in the past. There is certainly something different about the human female that intrigues me.

Or simply it is perhaps just this human female.

I nod, staying in my crouching position, a fair distance away from her resting on the bed. I want to touch her as I respond, but I fear her recoiling. That is a new sensation for me.

“And what steps would you require me to follow in order to align with these human expectations of intimacy?”

My inquiry causes Yvonne to beam like an ancient lighthouse breathed back to life. It stirs my desire once more, but then all at once, something else as well.

“You want to know what courtship looks like?” she asks, lively once again.

I nod as I speak, my ignorance beginning to reveal a vulnerability of my own.

“I am not very aware of this human custom. My knowledge is limited to literature I retrieve from the seashore or tales told by my kind. I would like to hear it from you, Yvonne, if you would be so inclined.”

She stands up from the bed, her expression having brightened twofold. She moves toward the pile of clothing I’d initially offered her and begins to rifle through them with an energy I barely recognize.

“Let me put some clothes on first, then I will regale you with the tales of courtship.”

Yvonne steps in the darkness, leaving me by the fire dismayed by her dispelling nakedness but enthralled by the conversation that is to come.