Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 85553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
He makes a face. “I am a strong, tireless gladiator. I am not sweet.”
“You’re sweet to me.” I give his hand a squeeze. “And I like it.”
“Then I will accept it as a compliment,” he says, but his voice is grudging. “Tell me that you like it? That I built you the best hut on the beach? On the planet?”
“I’m sure you did,” I murmur, amused. I study the hut, my hand over my humming heart that might be racing for reasons not entirely related to the khui. He built me a hut. Of all the things he could have done for me, this might be the most perfect, the most thoughtful. I gaze at the stone walls, admiring the large slabs of rock that make up the base platform. It’s raised off the sand, but not as much as the wooden huts. It looks more solid, though, and with a stone floor I won’t have to worry about a spark catching fire on my surroundings. “This is incredible,” I tell him, and then I realize there’s no entrance. “But where is the door?”
“In the back,” he says, releasing my hand to hop up on the slab of rock. He holds a hand down to me to help me up, even though it’s not a huge step. “There was not a way to make a wooden door, as Jason says you have back home, so I have put a privacy flap like the others have. But I knew it would feel exposed, so I made sure the door was built to the back. Now no one will be able to look in.”
Oh. It’s just another way he’s showing his thoughtfulness. I’m touched, and my eyes get suspiciously wet. “It’s a really good idea,” I admit. “The privacy flaps don’t feel all that private to me just yet.”
“I wanted you to have the best,” he tells me, all excitement. “Come inside and see.”
The interior is just as wonderful as the outside. It’s the size of my bedroom back home, with a large, stone-lined firepit in the center. The slabs of rock that make up the base have been mortared together to make one large floor, and although the interior is empty, it muffles the sound of the nearby village. There’s a hint of light coming in from the smoke hole, and while the build is very similar to the other huts I’ve seen, this one is even better because it’s mine.
Skarr watches me expectantly.
“I don’t know what to say.” I’m overwhelmed with emotion. He’s worked so hard to craft this for me, and I’ve been avoiding him and resenting him.
“Say that you like it.” His face is tight, anxious. “Say that it is the best hut on the planet and it pleases you.”
“It is and it does.” I take a step toward him, putting a hand on his furs-covered chest. “And it makes me want to give you a kiss.”
He grins at me, leaning in…and then pulls back before our lips can meet. “Do you wish to kiss me because you are grateful?”
“Yes.”
Skarr shakes his head, his expression flashing with disappointment. “Then I do not want it. I only want your kisses if you want to kiss me. Not because you feel you should.”
I understand what he’s saying. I pat his chest, clarifying. “I wanted to kiss you because I’m happy and because you’re the one that made me happy. It felt like the right thing to do, not an obligation. I suggested it as a way to show my happiness. I wouldn’t have brought it up if I didn’t want to kiss you.”
He gazes down at me, thoughtful. “But…Vivi, I still have two penises.”
My face heats. We’re going to talk about this now? “Okay, but I was talking about kisses. You’re taking things to eleven.”
“My body does not please you. I can build you huts and kiss you all day long—and I would love to kiss you all day long—but it will not change the fact that I have two cocks. I will never be the mate you want me to be.” Skarr is somber, holding me loosely, as if he’s afraid that I’ll pull away again.
I realize that I’ve hurt him, and I feel even worse. How many times have I felt awkward in my own skin, being too tall and too plain? It’s a feeling I recognize, a memory I have, and I hate that I’m making him doubt himself over something out of his control. It just makes me feel worse.
I gaze at his chest, unable to make eye contact. If I do, I’ll never be able to spit out the words I clearly need to say. So I fuss with the leather strap that crosses over his pectorals and attaches to his belt. It keeps the leather wraps pinned to his body and prevents his belt from sagging on one side when his belt pouches are full. I know it’s a practical sort of garment, but I think it looks a tiny bit rakish and I like it. I fuss with it, straightening it and trying to think. “We should talk.”