Mason didn’t stop. He used her. There was no other way to describe it. She spread herself out, arms wide, legs splayed and let him fuck her while she lay in a strange place. She was aware of him, of his actions, but unable, or more likely unwilling, to participate actively.
The heat of his cum leaked out of her bottom hole. She’d heard him grunt, felt the shudder of his ejaculation, but it wasn’t until the hot cream filled her ass did she stir and peer over her shoulder.
He was beaming. There was no other word to describe the look of sheer pleasure on his face. “Fuck, girl, you’re made for this.” He leapt off the bed. “Stay there. I’ll clean you up.”
Sometime later, as she lay next to the sleepy Mason, she traced her finger along his collarbone, exploring his facets with the certainty he wouldn’t mind and felt the rise and fall of his slumbering chest. The twirl of his tattoo, which decorated most of his arms and torso, wasn’t black but had a bluish tinge in the pigment.
“Blue,” she said aloud.
Mason’s eyes sprang open. He was awake. “Yes. The color of my Stratum. We have blue in many of our things, including our bodies. Carers prefer green. Workers, reddish hue.”
“Is that what the Stratum is all about—what you are?” She propped her arms on his chest and nuzzled her nose against his neck. He smelled delicious.
“How are you divided on Malimor?” he asked.
“It’s less about who or what. I suppose it’s more about where. We’re community based and location is the key to how we define ourselves. Where I was born, educated, that kind of belonging. I love my town. My friends.” She halted, aware of her rambling.
He stroked her hair, a comforting action and appreciated. She was recovering from the highs and feared the crash of a low point, which often came after she’d had sex. So far, she felt amazingly happy.
“Each to their own,” he remarked. His obvious rapture continued as he explored her, using just his hands to skate across her skin. “Smooth. I’d thought because you come from a hot, dry place, I’d feel it in your skin—that dryness. But… no. It’s not so.”
Jade sighed, enjoying the way the tips of his fingers brushed along her figure, into the valley between her breasts, down the flattened plateau of her stomach toward her navel and then underneath to the rising arch of her back before circling around to her hipbone, where his hand rested. She copied his idea, followed his lines, admiring his translucent skin. The paleness wasn’t the pallor of an ailment or weakness, nothing like that; it was marble, strong and rigid to touch, giving his muscles and sinews a chiseled appearance. She traced his biceps, the stretch of his pectorals across his chest and the nook below the throat stone, which moved as he swallowed, hard.
She hitched herself up and greeted his blue eyes. Something glinted from deep within Mason. She recognized its significance.
“Love-drenched eyes,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“That’s what we say, when, you know…” She tapered off—he would deny it anyway and proving her point, his cheeks blushed faintly.
She backed away from him slightly. “Sorry. I forgot, love isn’t important—”
He pressed his finger to her lips. “Shush. That isn’t true. We might rely on compatibility testing for mating, but no one is forced into a relationship. I’ve rejected potential wives and I know that women do so also. Just because our marriages are formally arranged doesn’t mean love isn’t our goal.”
Worlds apart. She and Mason were born into such different cultures. “We date, a lot. Party. Mix and match.” She hadn’t had much success with any of those and blamed it on too much alcohol or rushing into the bedroom; sometimes it wasn’t either, simply lives not ready to share.
“Not exactly romantic either,” he pointed out with a grin. “Sounds terribly chaotic and poorly planned.”
She laughed. “Not thought of it that way. It’s fun. No regrets, because nobody has treated me badly.”
“You’re not expected to conform to a particular role, then?”
“Conform?” She pulled a face. “Forced?”
“Not like that.” He eased himself up onto his elbow to face her. “When girls become women, through that evolution, they are ready to perform their functions.”
“Functions?” She rolled her eyes upward in disbelief. “Wow, sounds robotic.”
Mason puckered his lips, then relaxed into a smile. “I’d not intended it to sound… so mechanical.”
“Can’t you just be who you are?” Nobody had programmed her like an object.
“I would say the process of evolving brings out the best in people. Men become good at leading, controlling dangerous situations, and protecting their wives. Our women are pleasing, cooperative, and obedient. Good at nurturing and serving, too.”
“They’re roles, though, aren’t they? Like acting.”
He frowned. “Nobody acts. It’s genuine. It’s thrilling, intense, and effective. The purpose of the Stratum is to encourage stable relationships. For a husband, the best way to ensure cohesion is through heightening sexuality, like orgasm control—”