"We can fuck when we safely extract you and leave a fake dead body behind." I said, blunt—almost rude—because of my discomfort with the situation. She wasn't offended though, just smiled at me and started sliding clothes on. But of course, she had said she could read me across whatever link we shared. I'd have to ask her to teach me that.
For a noblewoman, she was startlingly quick to pack and I was pleasantly surprised how little she was taking with her. I must confess I was a ball of confused emotions at this point. Incredibly, every time my mind wandered off on a paranoid tangent, she was there—pausing her packing for a moment to touch my arm, or say a couple of words, or reassure me in countless small ways. I had never noticed the lack of warmth in my life until she entered it. It was as if I had lived my hole life dehydrated and was tasting water for the first time.
I had a small studio apartment in a quiet section of Lawndon. I didn't use it much, generally preferring to ambush prey in the country; but it was furnished and clean. I set her down gently, and then froze. I'd never been on a date, let alone a situation as weird as this; I had no idea what to say or how to proceed. Suzanne—of course—jumped in to save me as always. "So I can't be Suzanne Warneki any longer. We should pick a name for me and use it even in private. What do you think of Heather?" I relaxed and said "Heather will do I think." The conversation moved on across a broad range of topics. She could doubtless sense I wasn't ready to talk about my past, so instead she asked me about all aspects of my craft, showing genuine interest.
When she suggested we could both use a shower, I didn't object. Disrobing with her present was thrilling, but felt entirely natural. I was quite wet at this point as was she, but neither of us felt any embarrassment from the other's gaze. Indeed, I was quite flattered that the prospect of making love with me could excite her so.
When we kissed, it was my first kiss. Washing each other quickly turned to foreplay as we both intended. Her hands exploring my soap-slicked body lit a fire in my core; I was so keyed up that I had my first orgasm merely from her inserting a finger. She cradled me against her warm body as I came, shuddering and moaning in pleasure. She had me sit against the shower wall and spread my legs. Even as inexperienced as my lover was—she was also a virgin—her enthusiasm and the information the link fed her allowed her to rapidly improve.
The more time we spent together, the better I was able to experience her thoughts and feelings. What I saw was a mind at least as calculating and ruthless as my own, but focused on social warfare—or politics for the non pretentious—where mine was focused on killing. I saw how we were complementary, two halves of a truly frightening partnership. I also saw her loneliness; hers was not as all-consuming as mine since she'd had parents and an older sister who loved her, but she'd never been able to meet others as a child. My eyes welled with tears as I held her in my lap, lackadaisically petting her. She too had to worry that anyone she met was an enemy.
After my sixth orgasm, I insisted that we trade places. She tasted good beyond my expectations. My world was her sex, the smell and taste of her and her warmth against my eager tongue. I was attuned enough to our link by then that I came each time she did. Soon, though I don't remember which of us suggested it, we sat legs entwined and tribing. It was a truly unique experience to feel my lover's sex against mine at the same time I felt an echo of her sensations. We kissed as we had our final orgasm of the evening—the most intense orgasm of them all.
We fell asleep in each other's arms, nude and cuddled close. I had only known her a bit over twenty-four hours, and had only really known her for a hand full of hours, but already I couldn't imagine sleeping alone. It seemed almost part of someone else's past. It was the first intimation that I was changing.
