Page 14 of Vexing Valmir
I turn and snarl at him, hands clenched at my sides. "Here's a thought, telling a woman you can smell her cooch is not the way to win her heart!"
His feline mouth twists into a smirk. "I don't want your heart."
I turn away, storming down the beach to put distance between us.
He doesn't get the hint. Valmir follows me, jogging. "Your heart doesn't have to be involved. Just your reproductive organs."
"Again, not making me want to fling myself into your arms with all this talk of reproductive organs."
"What is the appropriate way to refer to it, then?"
I ignore him, because he's just being a dick. "Don't you have somewhere to be right now?"
"You mean hunting you a perfect animal skin so I will be allowed your favors? Yes, I will be starting the hunt today...unless you want me to wait and help you with that juicy cunt I smell."
"Still not the way to get a lady's attention."
To my surprise, he goes still. "What is the proper way?"
I turn to look at him. "Are you serious?"
He sneers at me. "What, I can't value guidelines and rules?"
A love of guidelines just doesn't match up with what I know of him. He's arrogant and caustic, and unpleasant to everyone that he talks to. I also can't think of a single instance in which he's bent the rules established here on the beach. Maybe he's not as highmakamakaas I thought? He just seems like the type to have his chin in the air with a high opinion of himself, but maybe I'm wrong. "I'm sorry if that came out wrong. You just don't strike me as the type to appreciate rules. You seem more like you'd get annoyed at being told what to do."
"I'm not an anarchist. If there are rules to human society, I'd rather know how to proceed." His reply carries a hint of starchiness, as if I'm offending him simply for thinking otherwise.
"Wow, okay, big words."
This time he glares at me. "I'm not an idiot, either. I don't know why that surprises you, female, unless you think the only sort of male you can attract is one with the mental competence of a sea slug."
Woof. Talk about knocking someone flat with a statement. He's not entirely wrong, either. Why am I thinking the worst of him if my khui selected him? What does that say about me and my genetics? "You know what? This conversation is taking an unpleasant turn and that wasn't my goal. I'm just on edge."
"I know the cure for that," Valmir says in a sly voice.
"I do, too, and it isn't happening." I flick a finger at him in a shooing motion. "Don't you have something you could be doing right now? Like, say, getting me my perfect animal skin?"
Valmir doesn't get the hint. He stops, moving right in front of me and forcing me to stop in my tracks, too. His eyes gleam with triumph. "Eager to get me into your bed, are you?"
I put my hands up automatically to stop myself from running to him. For some reason, I'm having a hard timelowering them. Is it because his khui is thrumming under my palms, singing along to mine so painfully loudly that it feels as if my entire body is abuzz? Is it the hard muscle under his tunic that I could grope if I was just a smidge bolder? My pussy clenches. I can feel a flush creeping up my face as we stare at each other.
I have to take a step backward to break the spell. "You keep telling yourself that. You're going to need more than just one animal fur to get me into bed."
He goes still, his ears pricking in an intent sort of way that tells me he's listening so hard he's practically vibrating. "Is that so? How much more?"
This feels like a trap. If I tell him four, he's gonna be in my bed with bells on before the sun sets. If I tell him a hundred, Valmir will know for sure that I'm stalling and I don't have an answer for this situation. Part of me wants to move forward and put my hands on his chest again. Bad April. Bad.
What's a good number that seems like a reasonable ask for courtship? "Twelve tasks. You know, like the Twelve Labors of Hercules."
"Twelve?" His shaggy feline brows go up — does he have whiskers there? Why do I give a fuck? — and he turns thoughtful. "So eleven more after I retrieve the skin. Doable."
He doesn't ask who Hercules is. I'm surprised. I was mentally bracing myself to come up with some sort of explanation. "Yeah, twelve is the standard," I lie. "Everyone knows that."
"Indeed." Valmir rubs his hands together. "Then I should get started so you do not have to suffer for too long."
"Me, suffering?" I snort, as if this is ludicrous. As if I'm not squeezing my thighs together as we speak. "I'm not suffering at all."
"Do I get a prize for finding you this skin?" He gazes at me with speculation.
