Chapter 7

MARGARET

Okay. This is okay.

What am I thinking? This is not okay. How did I get into this position? The last thing I remember is how hot it was and then things became a little fuzzy.

None of which adds up to me naked and where are we? Moving slowly, because I'm now sure that he's asleep, I turn my head. There is no sky above. We're in… something. Tent. It must be a tent. Nyanna said this would be at least a two day trip each way and that the Zmaj would bring all we would need for it.

Okay. A tent. Fine. I'm in a tent. That's why it's so dark, that and it must be night. But the last thing I remember it was maybe noon at the latest. Everything between then and now is a blank in my memory.

Well, not a blank. The dream is there. Remnants of it at least. That certainty that, somehow, I have Hank's blessing to move on. I don't think I needed it, but maybe I did. Maybe I was clinging to some vestige of what I had and that was keeping me from seeing the possibilities of the now and the future.

Such as being naked under a blanket with a Zmaj who is entirely too young for me, but there is no denying that he, uh-hum, gets my motor running. I'm wet. Wet in a place and way that hasn't happened in so long I wasn't sure that my body was still capable of it.

Curious, and honestly really horny, I slip one hand down between my thighs. I'm not imagining it. I'm definitely wet. I accidentally, mostly, brush my clitoris as I check myself and cannot suppress the shiver of pure, unadulterated pleasure that blasts its way up and down my spine.

Mohlad stirs behind me and I instantly regret my mistake. I'm still lost as to how I ended up here, naked, and more or less in his arms. It's a little uncomfortable, him having seen me naked. My body shows the signs of my age. I've lost the padding I'd put on in my latter years after the crash, but that doesn't mean that my body is what it was in my youth. Whose is? Except maybe Mohlad.

His abs and that delicious diving V live rent free in my head. And as soon as I see it in my thoughts that so familiar coiling tightness happens down low and a gentle spasm rocks my pussy. At the same time, I realize that I'm incredibly thirsty. Probably shouldn't be surprising because one part of my body is trying to lay claim to all the moisture I have, but still it's really bad. I don't want to move because the longer I lie here and the more awake slash aware I become, the more sensations soak into my thoughts. The awareness of him, naked, pressing hard against me. How cool he is. The feel of his hard muscles against my back. And, let's not ever forget, the feel of something else that is pressing not only against my ass but onto the back of my thighs.

How fucking big is his cock?

I know he has a cock and I know that a Zmaj cock is compatible with my own lady bits. If that wasn't the case then there clearly wouldn't be the hybrid baby. Or all the human women who have mated with Zmaj. All of whom seem to be very happy too. Even the ones who've been together since before they showed up with us.

I try to lie still and enjoy the moment but the thirst is growing. My tongue feels like sandpaper when I move it around my mouth and my throat itches something fierce. I try to clear it because it feels as if something is stuck halfway down the pipe. The moment I give a soft cough Mohlad sits upright. He instantly leans over the top of me and our eyes meet. My cheeks flush with a rush of blood both from looking into his gorgeous eyes and from embarrassment.

"Awake," he says, speaking softly. He presses his palm to my forehead and then to my cheek and nods. "Cool. Good. Water?"

"Ple—ase," I say and my voice cracks oddly in the middle because I'm so parched.

He slides out from under the blanket, moving around on his knees. A moment later he is leaning over again with a waterskin in his hands. But my attention is on the shadow that swings between his legs.

Oh… my.

He places the mouth of the skin onto my lips and I accept the water gratefully. It soothes the parchedness of my tongue and throat. This might be the sweetest water I have ever tasted in all my life. I gulp it down greedily but he pulls the skin away.

"Slow," he admonishes, patting his stomach with one hand.

Which of course pulls my attention down. And down. Where that shadow continues to swing delightfully except now it's not only swinging. It's rising.

Oh my indeed.

He cups one hand behind my head and assists me to a sitting position. The blanket falls onto my lap as I rise, exposing my bare breasts that gently flop with the sag of age. Which makes my skin flush once again. The thing I've hated most about getting older is the sag that hit my breasts. I used to be so proud of them. They were larger but still pert. I could get away without wearing a bra clear into my forties, but those days are gone.

His eyes drop and he makes a low grumbling sound that I'm not sure how to interpret. Is it a growl? If it is, is that a sound of pleasure or contempt?

I grab the blanket and pull it back up, hooking it into the pits of my arms to keep it in place. He quickly turns his head to the side.

"Apologize," he says.

There is no ignoring what is between us now. His cock has risen to full attention, pointing directly at me.

"Apology? Why?" I ask, forcing myself to look away from his rock hard member.

"Forward, too," he says, shaking his head. "Not…" he trails off and it's clear he's searching for the right word to use. He says something in his own language, then snorts and shakes his head again as he shrugs. His eyes dart towards me then he turns his head again. "Sorry."

I chew my lip trying to decide what I should do. I know what I want, but is what I want the right thing to do?

Open your heart Marg…

Hank's voice echoes in my head, so real, so accurate that I would have sworn he was whispering in my ear right now. Impossible though that is.

This is it. The decision is mine. I can cling to that which I've lost or I can live. Because if nothing else in the dream I had is true, this one thing is. I've clung to the past. Not in a bad way, really, because I did love him dearly. Yet he's gone and I'm still here. And I've been alone. Alone in the ways a girl never wants to be.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, then lick my lips as I let it out. I lift my left hand and reach towards Mohlad. I'd planned to touch his arm, but at the worst, or maybe best, possible moment he turns to say something more and my hand brushes his cock.

Oh my indeed. That is one impressive cock.

The side of his dick is an interesting sensation. The top is hard, more than hard, rigid I guess, but the underside is softer. Or softer in a human penis kind of way. I'm not sure what I felt and it's too dark to really sort it out, but there is no mistaking the gasp he gave as my hand made contact or the fact that I want to do a lot, lot more.

"Don't be sorry," I say, my voice sounding husky because my throat is so tight.

I lift my arms and let the blanket drop. If he doesn't like the way my body looks there is literally nothing I can do about it.

"No?" he asks but he turns his head and his eyes are on my tits.

My skin flushes and part of me wants to retreat, hideaway, but I push that into the darkness where it belongs. I am who I am. Accept me or don't, but I'm not going to worry about what I can't control.

"No," I answer, shaking my head which has the mostly unintended side effect of making my tits jiggle too.

Even in the dimness of the tent I see his mouth drop open and his eyes widen. His eyes… they gather the little light that there is and pools it in such a way that they shine in the dark.

"Beautiful," he says, his hands reaching for my breasts but he stops halfway. He looks up, meeting my eyes. "May?"

My heart swells so much it makes my chest hurt. Permission? An alien but yet a gentleman?

"Please," I say, leaning forward. "May I?"

I motion towards his cock with my left hand.

"Please," he says, his voice gruff and grumbly making the word sound harsh.

He puts his hands onto my tits, cupping them, at the same time I take hold of his cock from the underside, wrapping my fingers around it.

He moans and I do too as he lifts my tits and gently squeezes. His thumb finds my sensitive nipples, making a circle and I shiver with pleasure.

I tighten my grip on his dick, struggling to understand what I'm feeling in the dark. I run my hand down its considerable length to the base. When I'm stroking back up it spasms in my hand and I think I understand why it feels different.

The top has a cascading ridge. The crests of the ridge, which aren't high or too big, lean towards his pelvis. I shift my grip and pinch a ridge between my thumb and forefinger. It has a little bit of give to it.

Cartilage. It's made of cartilage. Stiff and hard, yet flexible. And as understanding dawns I get the idea of how that will feel inside. Filling me up in ways I have never, ever been. Stretching out the delicate folds of my womanhood. Teasing nerves that have never in their life been activated. A man's or my own fingers do a lot, but I don't think they could ever compare to what his cock will do. All of which makes me even wetter than I was.

He continues to play with my tits and it feels really good, but I want, no I need, more. As if reading my mind he shifts himself closer, grunting as my hand slides down his shaft. He hooks an arm around the back of my shoulders and with his other hand he pushes me down.

I let him take control, unsure what his plan is, but willing to go wherever he takes me. When I'm fully onto my back he runs his hands over me. Down my arms, over my breasts, onto my stomach. I have another moment of self-consciousness but I ignore it. The sensations are more than enough to keep me focused.

As he moves his hands lower and lower the blanket slides down until I'm fully exposed. His hands are on my thighs and he gently presses until I separate my legs for him.

Hank, for all his good qualities, was terrible at oral. It's made me more than a little embarrassed about letting anyone down there. I tense as my legs part and that sensation of being exposed and at my most vulnerable comes over. My legs clench, moving against him and he doesn't force it. Instead, he looks up to me, his bright eyes shining over my belly.

"Okay?" he asks.

I bite my lip and force the muscles to relax. I nod, unable to speak. Be open to new experiences. It will be okay.

Mohlad either senses my hesitation or else he's just a better lover than I've ever experienced. Hank would dive right in, trying to force an orgasm or whatever it was he thought he was doing, no matter how many times I tried to tell him differently.

Mohlad is nothing like that. He gently kisses my stomach. Soft, almost butterfly kisses that dance from side to side along my soft belly. Some tickle and make me wiggle, others are sensual and ignite my desire further than I ever would have thought possible.

He takes his time. Not rushing for, well, anything. When Hank and I made love there was always this urgency to it, like we were in some kind of a marathon to get me off as fast as possible before he would relax enough to seek his own pleasure. Mohlad has no such concerns.

He kisses down one thigh to my knee. Slow barely describes the way he moves. It's more languid, as if there is no other care or concern for him. No other thought in his world except giving the kiss he is engaged in all of his attention. He nibbles, licks, kisses and works his way down. When he reaches my knee and finishes there he shifts to my other leg and repeats the process, working his way back up to my hip.

While he does this I relax. As I do I run my hands through his hair, onto his shoulders, then as I become even more comfortable I touch his horns. I've been wondering what they feel like since I first saw him and now I softly run my fingers up and down them.

They are bone, clearly, with concentric ridges that start at the base of his skull and rise to the pointy tip. His, unlike some of the Zmaj, are very pointed at the end. I imagine they could be used to deadly effect, but that's a distant thought as he is kissing across my lower belly, just above my bikini line.

I wiggle my hips as his lips both tickle and delight. He grumbles a low sound of pure pleasure. He has his hands on my thighs and is running them up and down. Almost involuntarily I part my legs wider. It wasn't a conscious action but at the same time it is an invitation. I am ready. Ready for him to go all the way.

He pauses, glancing up to me, and biting my lip I nod. His smile is quick and brilliant. I expected him to dive right in, but again that's old memories of Hank, not Mohlad. He resumes kissing my belly and slowly, so, so slowly works his way lower while moving side-to-side.

He ends up on my left thigh but his warm breath is flowing over my wet lips. I tremble in anticipation, ready. Wanting. Needing.

Then he moves in, still slow. He pauses just over my pussy and chooses that moment to look up the length of me and into my eyes. Embarrassment surges but he has a soft smile and his eyes dance with delight.

"Beautiful," he whispers then lowers himself into my pussy.

He licks from as low as he can go all the way to the top, not piercing my folds with his tongue, but lapping up the moisture that has leaked out. He groans with deep pleasure. His tail slaps the ground repeatedly.

I lose myself to his tender ministrations as he slowly works my pussy like some kind of magician. Licking over and over until his tongue is piercing deep inside of my pink folds. He works and works at it, never staying on one place or keeping any fixed position.

He approaches and retreats from my protruding clitoris over and over and part of me wants him to land there and work it until this building orgasm breaks, but the other part of me is fully invested in his own approach. His time taking, building, slow working that makes me feel so much like a coiling spring tightening to an intense pressure, ready to break free.

I wriggle, moan, tug his hair, and dig my nails into his shoulders and still he continues to work his magic. It is incredible. My body is on fire. My skin burns, my thoughts are scattered, the pleasure is so intense I am little more than putty in his hands.

When my orgasm comes it takes me by surprise. I've felt it building for so long it had become a white noise but then it hits and when it does, it comes hard. There is nothing but pleasure.

My back arches, toes curl, and as I slowly come back to awareness I realize that I've locked onto his horns and am bucking against his face while using them to keep him pressed hard into my pussy. I drop back onto the blankets and let him go, more than a little out of sorts.

"Sorry," I murmur.

"No," he says as he shifts around until he is lying beside me, his head resting on one hand. "Sorry, no."

I try to smile but another aftershock of orgasmic pleasure leaves me shivering with pleasure. He runs his fingers through my hair. A surprisingly gentle gesture. I roll onto my side too so we're facing each other. In the edge of my vision I see his erection, rock hard and pointing at me. A smile spreads over my face, but at the same time doubts are swirling in my head.

"What are we doing?" I ask, wanting more, wanting to give more, but I have to know this first. Know, for certain, that I won't be hurting him.