Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 144433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
"Well what?" I jerk my gaze up from his pectorals and back to his face.
"Am I no longer orange?"
Oh, right. I'm here to check out his color. I step forward into the shower, past the hard plas-screen that acts as a shower curtain, and lean in touch him. The fur on him is thickest at the base of his neck and on his shoulders, and reminds me of a lion's mane—or at least it would if we hadn't chopped it all to shit. I take a few strands of his fur and rub them between my fingers, and study my skin. No residue, at least. I glance down—past the sausage, Maeve, past the sausage—and at the bottom of the tub, there's a hint of orange tinting the water, but not enough to make me fret. "You're losing some color but I think that's to be expected. I'll add some of the spices to the shampoo and body wash in the future, and it'll help keep your color refreshed until your roots come in. When those do, we'll tackle the all-over body plaster again."
He grunts, soaping his arm up and glaring down at the short licks of fur that stick up. "I hate this. I look foolish."
"No, you don't. I actually like it better than the long fur. Looks sexy."
"I am not supposed to look sexy. I'm supposed to look regal."
"Because you're a politician?" I arch a brow, daring him to respond.
He scowls, his lips pursing, and turns his frustration in my direction. "You know I will not speak of it."
I wave a hand, dismissing that. He's already said enough. "Whatever, I don't care. Just look at it this way—now you don't have to have ten people brushing your hair for an hour a day. You can put that time to good use."
"Lovely," he mutters. "More time to clean the barn."
"You can take up a hobby. There's more to life than just cleaning the barn."
"Clearly, because it is obvious you never clean it."
I stick my tongue out at him. "You're in a shitty mood suddenly. What happened?" Is it me? I wonder. Does he not want to have sex with me? Is that why he's being a turd after his earlier giddiness? "You wanna talk about it?"
Zhur stretches his arms out. "Look at me, Maeve. I am a hideous orange. My fur is ragged and my clothes are revolting. How am I supposed to meet Nassakth? How am I supposed to greet him properly when I look like a fool?"
Aw. "Then maybe we skip meeting him until you no longer have to lie low?"
"No, I fear this will be my only chance. Once I return home, I do not foresee myself leaving again." His expression is sober. "I must see Nassakth when I am in hiding or I will never get the opportunity."
"Uh huh." I don't know why his declarations unnerve me. He's made it quite clear that he's here only for a hot minute and then he's going home. It should make me feel better about fucking him. We can hit it and quit it.
And yet, somehow, I don't like the thought.
CHAPTER
FIFTY-THREE
ZHUR
If the spirits of the universe are trying to teach me a lesson in humility, they are doing an excellent job by sending me to this planet. Here I am with a human for a wife, a mane that has been hacked to pieces, a barn I must clean regularly, and the male I look up to most in the universe is here...but I have nothing but the garb of a clown.
It is enough to defeat a lesser male. Yet somehow I must persevere.
Strangely enough, Maeve's presence helps. She makes sympathetic noises as I complain, as if she knows I am troubled and acknowledges it, but cannot do anything about it. Just hearing my grievances acknowledged helps, even if we cannot address them properly. It is nice simply knowing that I am not insane for disliking my situation.
I don't dislike Maeve, though. I eye her appreciatively as she pulls a towel from the storage under the cabinet and unfolds it. If I must wed a human, she is a good one. She is clever and quick with words, and she is able to make conversation with literally anything and anyone. Maeve has a kind heart, too...and nice shoulders. I don't know why I am obsessed with her shoulders, but they fascinate me. Perhaps because they are so smooth when mine are furred.
She holds the towel out for me, and I cannot help but notice that she is eyeing my form. Deciding if I please her or not? I suck in my stomach, throwing my shoulders back and trying to appear as attractive as possible. I know I am a good-looking praxiian, but human tastes might be strange. If she likes a hairless body and a small cock, I am not the male for her. "Do you like what you see?"