RYST

  Nayth Carmidee was sitting—no, lounging— on the sofa of my rental. Knees wide, right arm slung over the back of the furniture, slouched in his seat. Just relaxing. Completely covered up. Except for the top four buttons of his coat. I couldn’t even see his chest hair. Did Nayth have chest hair? Wait— why was I thinking about chest hair when that beautiful man was on my sofa looking relaxed and waiting to see what I wanted?

  He was waiting for me when I came out of the bathroom, teeth brushed and refreshed. He waited on the sofa; waited for me to approach him. Giving me time. Letting me decide. Patience. And affection. And love. I couldn’t sense all of him, just patience. And love. And affection. He would give me everything I wanted, but patiently, and when I chose it.

  That was sexy, and sweet. My Ahtah was a sweetheart! He was gentle! Everything about him said relaxation, sitting there like that. But all I felt was sex, sex, SEX! My eyes narrowed at him, and I honed in on him, leering at him. Stalking him. Like a predator who’d scented prey. Sliding towards him like a gazelle.

  His eyes darkened. His body tightened. Just a bit. It would tighten more. It would tighten for me. Inside me. All mine. Forever.

  I straddled him, and pushed myself against him. Danced my fingers around the back of his neck. Kissed him. Kissed him deeply. “Mmmmm,” I sighed into his mouth.

  “Mmmm,” he agreed. I worked my fingers over the buttons of his coat. Damn coat. All those buttons. Why so many buttons? I hated buttons. I pulled at them and growled into his mouth.

  He laughed against my teeth. I felt humor rising out of him. And patience. He was being patient. Why? Why wasn’t he ripping my clothes off like I wanted?

  “Do you need help, love? With the buttons?” he asked.

  “Yeeugnh!” I screeched like a harpy. “What is with these Sturm coats? You stupid Sturms and your chastity coats! Why! Why do you cover up your men and hide them behind buttons? To protect them from horny women? What is wrong with your fashion?!” I tore at the buttons.

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  He laughed, and started working on the buttons from the top. I unbuttoned from the bottom, working my way up his torso. Finally, stars above, the buttons were done, and I pushed the jacket from his shoulders.

  “EEEEnnnh,” I wailed. “More clothes, Nayth? Why more clothes?” He laughed, and there was a joke I was missing. I was missing something about his clothing and culture and layers of clothing.

  I didn’t fucking care about culture. I wanted skin. Skin to lick and to push my naked breasts—my breasts weren't naked! Why did I have clothes on?

  I kissed him hard. I jerked off his dusty turquoise tank top. There was something about the tank top I was missing. I felt him laughing to himself that I didn’t understand. He was patient. Lustful, but patient.

  Why was this man so patient? Is that what this culture was about? Cover up your men in layers of stiff clothing and turn them into docile, patient, calm lovers?

  I reached for his pants, trying to unzip them. He tensed. It was getting harder for him to be patient. I felt his breath stuttering. I jerked at his trousers. I hated trousers. Trousers should not exist! Burn all the trousers! What was WRONG with these trousers?

  “Uuunnng!” I growled in frustration, pulling at the waistband. “What is wrong with your trousers?!” I demanded.

  He laughed against my mouth, “They have buttons too.”

  “Chastity TROUSERS! This is the stupidest sphere I’ve ever been to! What is wrong with you people?! I’m so sick of celibacy, I’m turning as purple as my shirt. Take off the damn trousers, Nayth Carmidee!”

  He laughed and complied. I could feel him starting to burn.

  “Will you please take my clothes off?” I demanded.

  “I’ve been trying to figure out how to get this purple celibacy shirt off for five minutes,” he replied, running his fingers all over it.

  “Zipper, left side” I murmured against his lips. The top came off. Finally, my breasts on his skin! I straddled him, and he ran his hands all over my pants, searching. “Zipper, left side,” I murmured again.

  I felt relief pour off him. He was being patient, but he was hungry too.

  My pants came off. Oh, thank the stars! He pushed me back, and slid on top of me. My legs wrapped around him. Finally he was in my arms and naked and—“Condoms?” I asked. He already had one in his hand, and I grabbed it from him and slid it over him.

  “Sorry, I’m not patient,” I said, pushing against him. He laughed against my mouth as he kissed me, deeply, long and slow. He was still holding back. I could feel it. He was waiting, wanting to make sure I was ready. “Unng!” I growled at him, pulling him.

  He took his time. I wouldn’t let him. I grabbed his cock, and slid it into me. He held himself still, so I moved. He moaned against my neck, and I felt his resolve break.

  It had been too long. Too long for both of us.

  Finally.

  Finally.

  Finally! Our bodies sang.