Damn it.
"There is a kiss," I blurt out as he straightens. "We didn't get to do that in town, but it's traditional for the bride and groom to kiss."
Instead of pulling me into his arms and kissing me passionately, my new husband pulls out his data pad. "That is among the list of things I need to ask you about."
"You have a list?" I'd seen him typing while I drove the air-sled back, but I thought he was emailing Khex or something.
"I do." He hesitates, his gaze searching mine. "I thought it would be appropriate to establish the rules of our relationship—that way there is no miscommunication."
"That makes sense." Even if it is a tad disappointing that he's not being swept away by passion right in this moment. Given our circumstances, though, and how many times I've ground my teeth at how impossible he is to read, talking things over before we begin is probably the smartest way to go about things. "You ask your questions, and I'll get started on the cake."
Rektar sits at the small table in the corner of my kitchen as I get to work on the batter. He considers his data pad, typing, and says, "Can you please define for me what a kiss is? I want to be certain I do not misunderstand."
Define a kiss? Lord. I think for a moment, stirring eggs into the flour-like substitute. "It's mouth on mouth. Tongues, too. For pleasure and affection."
I glance over at him and he's making notes, a studious expression on his face. "Is plas-film involved?"
"I hope not." I can't imagine what that would taste or feel like. "Did…you want it to be involved?"
He looks up at me, and his gaze flicks to my mouth. "No." Rektar's voice is hoarse. "No, I don't think so."
"Then we're on the same page." I smile at him and turn back to the batter.
"Do you want plas-film at any point?" Rektar continues. "Mating will involve a great many fluids and not all are comfortable with such things."
Mating…fluids? I glance over at him, because that's the most ridiculous statement I've heard yet. His face is deep blue with embarrassment and he's rubbing his ear. "If you'll recall, I don't have a problem with fluids. Yours or mine."
He makes a sound in his throat and marks something off on his pad. "Will you find it intimidating if I put my cock inside you?"
I blink. At my silence, Rektar looks up, and his expression is so very serious that I giggle. "You know I've had sex before, right? I know how it works."
Rektar stares down at his data pad, and my amusement dies. He doesn't find this funny. He's deadly serious.
For a moment, I worry I should apologize. Will that make him feel better, or worse? I consider, then set down the cake batter and move to his side. I pull the pad from his hand and when he turns toward me, I sit down on his thigh. He's indicated that I'm not too heavy for him, and it gives me another little thrill when he puts his arms around my waist, holding me close. "Rektar," I say gently. "I know you want to get this all figured out ahead of time, but sex is an instinctive sort of thing. You don't have to stress about it, all right? I'll tell you if something happens that I don't like."
His gaze is on my breasts, and then he looks up at me, as if remembering that I prefer eye contact. "My experience—"
"—doesn't matter," I say quickly. I've guessed already that he's not exactly a Lothario. I don't care. It's his goodness and decency that draws me to him, not how well he wields his penis. I mean, that will eventually be important, but we all start somewhere. Knowing what I know about him now, I understand his lack of experience. "Why don't we take things as we go and see how we do?" I brush my fingers over his cheek, just wanting to touch him. Caress him. "Does that sound okay to you?"
Rektar closes his eyes and leans into my touch, his arms tightening around my waist. "No one has ever touched me as much as you, Lucy."
Well, now my heart's breaking, because I haven't touched him very much at all. My poor, sweet alien. "We're married now," I point out. "It's human tradition for wives to be positively grabby to their spouses." I move a little closer, practically shoving my tits under his nose, just because I want him to feel my attraction to him.
"And no plas-film," he murmurs, his hand sliding up and down my back in a tentative stroke. "You are certain this is what you want?"
"I might get mad if you pull out the plas-film," I tell him, leaning in. He's so big and brawny that it takes my breath away. Some might say that he's stout—it's clear that he loves a good meal—but I just find that aspect of him equally appealing. He's as strong as he is wide, and I don't mind that in the slightest. It means that he'll joyfully eat when I cook, and I love to cook. I find his sheer size utterly sexy, and I want to run my hands all over him.