8. Nick

Oona thinks I’m stupid. She must, because for the past hour and a half since we left the fishing lagoon, she’s done nothing but cluck her tongue at me like my mother used to do when I was a child. I’d come home with bad grades? She’d put her hands on her hips and cluck her tongue. Come home with a black eye because I got into another fight? Tongue clucking.

I don’t love thinking about my mother, of all people, when I’m with Oona. I already feel like I’m entirely dependent on my new friend, if I can even call her that, and I want to be able to show her that I’m not completely helpless.

But when she put that spear in my hands, I froze and had no idea what to do. Now, with my shirt unbuttoned and hanging off me in shreds from getting tangled up in a bunch of vines, she’s clucking her tongue at me again. Then she peers at the angry red scratch marks on my abdomen.

My tattoos are also visible, and I noticed she hasn’t stopped staring at them since she saw the enormous eagle inked on my upper chest. I look down at my stomach and frown. I’m not much of a gym kind of guy anymore, but even when I was, it was hard to pack on the muscle. I’ve always been lean. A swimmer’s body with none of the swimmer’s skills, you could say. But the way she stares at my abdomen with a mixture of disdain and curiosity has me tilting my head at her.

“What?” I ask, running my hand over the scratches. “Barely even broke the skin,” I mutter. “I’m fine. It’s just that we’re out here in the middle of nowhere, walking through bushes that happen to have thorns on them.”

My pants are soaked, of course, so I roll the cuffs up to my knees for makeshift shorts. Not perfect, but better than nothing.

As we continue to stalk through the water and tall grass, I glance down and notice something small and dark clinging to my foot. When I lift one of my legs up out of the water, I scream. Oona whirls around, ready to fight whatever it is that’s attacking me. But when she sees the tar black, wriggling leeches on my calves, she lets out a deep snarl and scoops me into her arms to bridal carry me to the other side of the water.

When she sets me down in the grass, she wastes no time in prying the leeches off one by one carefully. She’s done this before, no doubt, though she doesn’t have any of the little bloodsucking bastards on her body as far as I can tell. She hisses as each little sucker is popped off. It hurts. A lot, in fact, but I grit my teeth and bear the pain as she works. I don’t want her to think I’m weak even though I’m sweating through my shirt and feel like I’m about to pass out.

“I guess I’m not exactly dressed for the environment, huh?” I say in a teasing voice, and when her dark eyes meet mine, they narrow. She’s not in the mood for joking, I guess. After Oona extracts the sixteenth leech from my calf and tosses it unceremoniously behind us, she sits down next to me and lets out a deep, resigned sigh.

“Sorry. I’m that disappointing, huh? Yeah, I know. Humans aren’t exactly made for the wilderness. That’s why we live in giant buildings made out of concrete,” I say.

I pat her on the arm, and she looks down at me with one brow raised. The sun overhead is at its apex, and the sweat sliding down my forehead, neck, and back is starting to itch. What I wouldn’t give to take a dip in a lake that isn’t infested with leeches, piranhas, and gators right about now.

As though sensing my thoughts—or maybe she just sees all the sweat coming off of my body in thick rivulets—she grabs my hand and pulls me up to my feet. Then she squeezes my hand gently and leads me through another thicket of bushes. At first, I worry that we’re going to end up right back in the lagoon again for another disastrous hunting lesson, but when we reach the other side of the trees five minutes later, there’s a glistening pool of glassy water waiting for us.

The water is so clear I can see the pebbles resting on the bottom and the teeny tiny fish that dart around the raised tree roots. On the surface of the water sit several enormous lily pads, all sporting gorgeous flowers of pink and white petals in full bloom, soaking up as much of the sun’s rays as they can. I can’t believe something this beautiful exists out here, especially not after my encounters with all the horrors nature has to offer.

Oona kneels down in the cool, crisp water and splashes some of it on her face, then looks over at me expectantly. I splash the water on my face, too, then bring it to my lips to drink. She nods, encouraging me.

“Wish you’d brought me here earlier, but better late than never, I guess,” I say, then take another drink before stripping my shirt off and setting it along one of the upraised tree roots. She watches, her eyes turning to slits as I unbutton my pants, set them aside, and wade into the water up to the edges of my boxer briefs. I’m not sure how she feels about nudity, but seeing as how she hasn’t worn a stitch of clothing since I’ve met her, I doubt she cares all that much—so I take those off, too, and toss them on top of my pants.

Her eyes immediately rove up and down my body. Not hungrily, like some women have done in the past. I’m thin, but I’m in good shape. Not bulky like some of the other guys I worked with in the organization, that’s for sure, but no matter how much I lifted or how often, I could never pack on the muscles like they could.

Oona’s eyes drink in the ink on my chest and abs, and then they meander down to my cock. I’m at half-mast, and I don’t even know why. It’s not like danger gets me off. Leeches are definitely enough to make me go soft forever, but something about the way her dark eyes take me in makes me feel … I don’t know, desired? I haven’t had a woman look at me like that in a good long while, so maybe it’s just an instinctive response.

Because I don’t even know if Oona is into sex, for one thing, and we’re not the same species, so….

I scratch my chin as she continues to stare, then lower myself down into the water. My breath leaps into my throat from the shock to my system. The water’s a lot colder than it felt on my legs, and I decide to just bite the bullet and submerge myself. Get it all over with so I can acclimate more quickly. When I dip down to let the water cover my shoulders, I hiss again, and Oona chuckles—actually chuckles—at me.

“I bet this is hilarious to you,” I say with a roll of my eyes, but nonetheless, I’m grinning. “Do you even feel the water? Or are you like other reptiles and amphibians, and are cold blooded? I wish we could have a real conversation,” I murmur.

Oona wades further into the water, up to her inner thighs, and that’s when I spot it—the opening down there. At first glance, it didn’t seem like she had any sort of genitalia to speak of. No nipples on her breasts, so I know she doesn’t feed young the same way humans do, and no cleft between her thighs. Or at least, there wasn’t before, but there certainly is one now.

My eyebrows inch up my forehead as the slit between her legs grows, revealing a very human-like cunt that wasn’t there before. My length hardens as my eyes roam over the swoop of her emerald curves. Oona has a sensual elegance to her that I hadn’t noticed before, because I was always doing my best to not look at her, too fearful that she’d misconstrue my curiosity for a challenge.

When I meet her eyes, she looks away immediately and lets out a soft chuffing sound. The sentiment is clear: I wasn’t supposed to notice.

“H-Hey, no fair. You looked at me,” I tease, and splash in her direction. “But I get it. I won’t look without permission anymore, promise.”

Oona takes three steps through the water, and she’s already looming over me. I should be intimidated, screaming, running for the hills. But if she wanted me dead, I’d already be a digested piece of meat in her gut by now. She’s had plenty of time to kill me, yet she hasn’t. In fact, she’s been keen on protecting me, and I’m still not sure why. You’d think she’d be eager to get rid of me, because I’m only hampering her ability to care for herself the way she’s used to.

She brings a webbed hand up, and I assume she’s going to ruffle my hair again like usual. But instead, she strokes my cheek with a tender fondness I haven’t experience in decades. I flinch, then move against the coolness of her palm, resting my face in her hand.

“Thank you,” I say. “For bringing me here. I needed this, I think.”

Oona’s lips curl back into that almost-sinister grimace as she tries to smile at me. I can’t help but laugh at the sight, because … dammit, it’s just too funny. She tries so hard to smile, to broker a connection with me, and it’s great. How she tries so much. I place my hand on her wrist and smirk. Then she lowers herself down into the water so she sits in front of me, her face hovering inches away from mine. At least now I don’t have to crane my neck and strain a muscle just to make eye contact.

For the next half hour, we bathe in silence, occasionally stealing glances at one another. When I get out of the pool to dry off, I notice her eyes dip down to my hip bones. She’s not human. Not even a little, though she is womanly-shaped. And yet I suppose there’s no denying the universal power of the Adonis Belt. Or, as Maurice once called them when he was drunk out of his mind, “cum gutters.” Gross. V-cut, hip bones … anything would be better than cum gutters.

It’s been nice being away and in more feminine company for a while, even if the feminine company is a giant lizard woman. She’s still a lot more hygienic and much less annoying than the guys in the mafia.

Before we leave the pond, I doggy-paddle over to one of the ginormous lily pads hovering on the water’s surface to get a better look at it. I’ve never seen anything quite like these before. The soft blush coloring of the flowers is pretty and reminds me of the toybox roses my mother used to grow in her garden when I was a little boy. Before Stim ruined our lives.

This might be a stupid idea, but I push myself up out of the water to hoist myself up onto the lily pad. I want to see if it’ll hold me. The muscles in my arms strain as I clamber out of the water and roll across the pad on my side with all the grace of a drunk at three in the morning.

When I sit up and cross my legs, I spot Oona watching me with that tilted head look I’ve become so fond of. She dips underneath the water’s surface, and within seconds, she’s beside the lily pad and grinning up at me.

“I wanted to see if it would hold my weight,” I explain with a shrug, then run my fingers through my wet hair.

Oona chuckles as she follows my lead and climbs on to the lily pad. It rocks back and forth, sloshing water around, and I’m almost knocked off into the pond. But Oona reaches out to grab me by my waist and pulls me against her chest, steadying me.

I crane my head back and stare up at her, a grin plastered on my face. “T-Thanks. Wow. These things are a lot stronger than they look,” I say.

Oona lets out a soft chuffing sound as she traces one of her dark claws across the nape of my neck. I shiver against her body, cool and damp from the water, as she runs her claws down my skin. She moves from my neck, trailing a little circle slowly across my shoulder blades, over the twin rose tattoos. If I could purr right now, I absolutely would. It’s been eons since I was touched in any sort of way. Years without a hug. Hadn’t even realized I missed being touched until Oona first ruffled my hair, and then I surprised myself by craving more.

“What is this?” she asks. Last night around the fire, we spent some time learning conjugation, state of being verbs, all that exciting grammatical stuff. I’m not the best teacher, I know I’m not, but I’m thrilled she’s retained this much.

“It’s a tattoo,” I murmur as I lean forward on the lily pad, allowing her to get a better look. Her light scratching makes my skin burn and heart thunder in my chest. I hope she doesn’t notice how pink my skin is getting right now. “Ink. It’s … art.”

“Tattoo,” Oona says, trying the word out for herself. Her voice is light and feminine and plucks at my heartstrings like a guitar. It’s funny how her voice seems to change with her moods, like a human. “Tattoos are art.”

“Yep,” I say, smiling. “Most of the time, they are. And then sometimes you get someone like Maurice, who has a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos tattooed on his right leg because he thought it was funny.”

Oona blinks. Of course she didn’t understand any of that. I need to slow down when I speak so she picks things up more easily, I remind myself.

Before my brain can catch up to the fact that she’s still running her nails across my skin, I’m suddenly swung up into Oona’s arms so she can hold me like a baby. Her strong arms, covered in scales, cradle me against her chest. Despite her size, she’s amazingly gentle when she wants to be. I could put a stop to this. I could say no and move away. She keeps her grip on my body loose enough that I could free myself at any point, but I don’t want to. Her claws rake against my cheek, and her eyes flicker from dark purple to green, then finally settle on a soothing pinkish hue that mirrors the petals of the lilies surrounding us.

She hisses something under her breath like a question, and I nod.

“Yeah, this is okay,” I say. I’m not even sure if that’s what she was asking, but at this point, I don’t care. I allow my muscles to relax in her arms. Unconsciously, my hands reach for her face, and I stroke the soft underside of her chin. I blink as Oona begins to purr, the vibrations from her throat rumbling against my fingers. “Oh, you like that, huh?” I tease, and her eyes glint in the dying sunlight.

A few stars overhead twinkle as evening gives way to twilight, and the crickets in the underbrush chirp. Fireflies flicker in the distance, reminding me of late summer nights in my backyard as a kid. Evening is finally here, and normally, the two of us would be sitting beside a fire for our language lessons.

Oona’s tongue pokes out from between her thin lips until it slithers down to brush against the shell of my ear. I shiver again as heat floods my cheek, neck, and chest. What am I doing right now? This is Oona, lizard woman of the lagoon and definitely not my type. My type is short girls with wide hips and dark hair. Tattooed women. Women with piercings. Women with?—

Her tongue slides from the shell of my ear to the lobe, and I let out a soft gasp as my cock twitches to life. Oona’s tongue retreats back into her mouth, and her eyes flicker from that lovely pink to a mottled brown as she watches my facial expression. Then her eyes rove from my face to my abs, then down to my fully erect cock now dripping with precum.

What’s gotten into me? This really shouldn’t be turning me on as much as it is, and yet … and yet. I let out a deep groan as I run my palms down my face, and Oona moves me from her lap back down onto the lily pad.

I’m in front of her before I know what I’m doing, scooping her cheeks into my palms. For once, they’re warm. Her body is normally so clammy and chilled, but right now her skin is so warm my palms are scorching. She stares at me in wide-eyed wonder, and my eyes flick down to her lips. They part slightly, enough so I can peek the forked tongue inside her mouth.

“I want to kiss you,” I say. “Do you know what that is?”

She shakes her head.

“Can I show you?” I ask again, hovering inches away from her face. From those beautiful, full green lips.

Oona nods again, and her thick curtain of lashes flutter. Then I brush my lips against hers. Slowly, at first, because I don’t want to frighten her or move faster than she’s ready for. After a few long moments where my heart feels like it’s going to rip a hole in my ribcage, I slide my fingers through her damp hair. She purrs. It’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. My fingers caress along her neck until I reach the delicate slits of her throat. Her gills.

Oona’s body tenses, but she doesn’t break the kiss or push me away. At first, I’m worried I’ve hurt her, so I move my fingers away only for her to let out a low, disappointed growl. I chuckle and pull back.

“Oh, you like this?” I ask, brushing the back of my knuckles against her gills again.

Oona’s eyes turn cherry red, but even without the color to clue me in, it’s obvious she’s enjoying herself. She snatches my wrists and pulls them down into her lap even as a shiver ripples through her body. “Yes. But….” She seems to be searching for a word as her tongue flicks across her bottom lip. Then she switches to her own language. “They’re too sensitive.”

“They’re too….” I furrow my brow. I don’t know what the last word she said was, but I gather enough from the context that touching her gills might be like touching a woman’s clit before she’s ready. I nod in understanding. “Okay. No problem, Oona. Thanks for letting me know.”

I rub the back of my neck, still high from the kiss I never thought would happen. “Did you like kissing, at least?”

“Yes,” Oona blurts out without hesitation. “Oh, yes. A lot. Thanks.”

My erect cock is unmissable and is still leaking precum. She sits back onto her knees and goes perfectly still as she waits for me to finish rubbing my eyes and hair. Oona slides across the lily pad to sit next to me and reaches for my cock. Her hand hovers in the air, and she looks down at me, her eyes flickering like campfires.

“Sorry. Is this okay?” she asks. The softness in her voice is enough to make my heart break.

I nod, looking at her, and smile. She isn’t going to pursue anything if I don’t want this. And I shouldn’t want this. Tell that to my dick, though, which is more than happy to take Oona up on her offer.

I fist my cock in a tight grip and give it a slow tug. She’s watching me the entire time, so still she might as well be a rock. Her long, thin tongue slithers between her lips as her eyes pulsate in a bright, fiery red. It’s so fascinating to me how her eyes can do that. She’s like a living mood ring. Oona moves her claws down her stomach until they rest against her pelvis.

“Do you … want to…” I murmur, and release my cock to let it bounce back down gently.

Her eyes narrow, and she lets out a soft chuffing sound again as she scratches the area just above her slit. Those claws are sharp—too sharp, in fact, and I’m worried that if she does end up touching herself, she’s going to cut something important. I approach her and drop down to my knees.

“I can help you. My fingernails are short,” I say, and hold up my hands and wiggle my fingers to show her.

She lifts her brow as the idea clicks into place. Then she nods once, then twice, and before I can get into position, she holds out her hands for me. I place my hands into hers, and her large fingers curl over mine.

“Please,” she rumbles. My gaze darkens as I look down to her blossoming cunt and lick my lips.

“It would be my pleasure,” I murmur, and then lower myself between her thighs.