Each Step Like Knives (5 page)

She dunked two tea bags into two oversize mugs, then
added liberal amounts of cream and sugar, added a few cookies from
a tin and put it all on a tray. Cookies could fix a lot of
problems, her grandmother had been fond of saying, and even if they
couldn't heal a man who'd nearly drowned, they'd sure make him feel
better. She added a flashlight and returned to the living room.

She paused after setting down the tray. The man from
the sea had fallen asleep. His head lolled back, mouth slightly
parted, eyelashes casting shadows on his pale, still bluish cheeks.
His chest peeked through the holes in the afghan, and she could see
he was still breathing, at least.

An inclination she couldn't understand made Helena
reach out and smooth his drying hair away from his forehead, then
let her fingers trail down his cheek. She withdrew before he could
wake. Then she tucked the blanket more firmly around him, pushed
his head softly onto a pillow and sat down with her tea in the
overstuffed chair across from him.

There was something definitely odd about him, and
more than the way he'd entered her life. He looked...exotic.
Foreign. Had he fallen off a cruise ship? Was he a merchant sailor
from some far off land?

Her tea spilled onto her lap before she realized she
was also falling asleep. Helena winced at the stickiness left
behind by the salt water. A shower, then bed, if her mystery guest
hadn't woken by then. She checked him again, but his breathing was
smooth, his pulse seemed normal enough, and his color was good. She
checked the phone again, but it was still out, and likely would be
until morning.

After a rinse in the cold shower, her body didn't
seem so interested in sleep any longer. She checked on her visitor,
but he still slept. Helena wondered if she ought to wake him
up...weren't people with head injuries not supposed to sleep?
Uneasiness sent a chill down her spine. What if he died in the
night?

She put another couple of blankets over him, fully
aware he was still completely nude under them. In the flashlight's
dim light, his face looked impossibly serene. She bent low over
him, uncertain why, and brushed her lips along his forehead. Then
she stepped back, stunned by her own actions.

She fled to the safety of her bedroom and the covers
under which she could hide from the night and the storm
outside.

What is this darkness to which I have succumbed?

Beneath the waves, the Carrageenai took rest, but
were never overcome by this darkness filled with thoughts and
visions he knew were not real, but seemed so vivid he thought he
could reach out and touch them. One of the visions was of the woman
bending to press her mouth to his skin. A kiss. She kissed him, and
as Jeenai heard the soft pad of her feet as she left him, his eyes
opened to more darkness. This time, to the darkness of the night,
and not of dreams.

Strong
hands caressed her and she writhed wantonly beneath them. It had
been so long since a man had touched her that way. Helena let her
legs fall open to his urging. His fingers traced tickling patterns
on her belly, over the springy curls, down to her thighs.

She sighed and lifted her hips to the touch. It felt
so good. This was the best sort of dream. She gave herself up to
it. The hands of her dream lover caressed her thighs, then drifted
upward to tangle briefly in her curls again before slipping a
finger delicately along her slick folds. She sighed and parted her
legs. The finger stroked her, dipped inside, then slid upward to
press gently on her clitoris.

Her body jerked at the sudden, delightful pressure.
She heard herself moan. Was that out loud? Helena discovered she
didn't really care.

She slid her palms over her erect nipples and
tweaked them in time to the gentle press and release from below.
Ah, she was going to come. The entire focus of her body became
centered between her legs. Her breathing quickened. Slickness
coated her thighs as she shifted them to urge her dream lover to
give her more of what she craved.

He did. Another low cry burst from her throat when
his tongue swiped along her flesh. His finger slipped deep inside
her now, fucking her in rhythm to the stroking of his tongue on her
clit. Helena lifted her hips. This was perfect. A lover who knew
exactly how to touch her, where to touch her. A faceless, silent
lover who pleasured her without demanding anything in return.

As though from a far off place, she thought she
heard the crashing of the ocean. Her body responded. Cresting and
falling like waves on the sea, her climax built. It centered
between her legs, on her clit and inside her cunt, but the pleasure
radiated throughout her entire body. Her nipples tingled. The first
shudders of orgasm swept over her, and she felt her flesh begin to
pound and spasm.

She came hard, then rose and came again. The second
climax was milder, but lasted longer. For what felt like an hour
she surfed the contractions rippling through her.

She caught the scent of the ocean now, not just the
sound. Salt and water, the tang of seaweed, a hint of fish that
might have been unpleasant if it did not so totally blend with the
other scents. The smell was familiar. More than just a beach smell.
Still coasting on the aftermath of her orgasm, Helena let herself
sink lower into her soft bed. The dream was fading. Her dream
lover...

Her eyes opened, startled, and she sat up in bed
with a scream that shook the room. "What the hell do you think
you're doing?"

The man she'd rescued last night knelt between her
legs. The daylight streaming through the window highlighted hints
of blue and green in his black hair. His eyes met hers without
blinking, and she saw the same colors echoed there.

Helena pulled her oversized T-shirt down over her
thighs and sat up against the headboard. "What..."

She couldn't find any more words for a moment. With
her body still languorous and sated from its recent climax, she was
having a bit of trouble focusing. She bit on her tongue, hard, then
shouted, "Get out of here!"

He cocked his head and studied her. Then he lifted
his hands and made a fluttering motion with the fingers, moved one
hand in a semicircle that ended with the palm facing up and made a
low squeak in his throat.

Fear stabbed her. "You freak! Get out!"

He looked alarmed and shook his head. Then he
reached for her. Instinct took over, and Helena pistoned her foot
out. It caught him directly in the chest and flung him back and off
the bed. He hit the wood floor with a thump that shook the
room.

Helena leaped to her feet and put up her hands,
ready to defend herself if she needed to. She waited for her
attacker to stand up, but her resolve faltered when he did. His
eyes were bright with longing, and they somehow pierced her to the
soul.

He stood, his mouth thinned into a grim line, as
though he were in terrible pain.

No wonder, she thought. She’d just kicked him in the
chest.

He put a hand to his heart then moved it outward,
palm up, and curled the fingers closed. He made a gesture as though
tossing the invisible something in his hand toward her, then put
both hands, fingertips together, to his lips. He repeated it
twice.

Sign language. "Are you deaf?"

He shook his head and cupped one hand around his
ear.

"You can hear, but you can't talk?"

Again, a head shake. Helena realized suddenly the
man was still naked. His body was pale and finely formed, with
sleek lines and defined but not overlarge muscles. His skin still
had a faint bluish cast. His penis curled between muscular thighs,
but no hair surrounded it.

Helena pulled her embarrassed gaze away from his
crotch. No hair on his chest, either, or under his arms. No hair
anywhere that she could see, but for the thick dark layers on his
head.

He repeated his earlier gesture two more times, his
gaze sincere. He wisely kept his distance.

"You're sorry?" She didn't know how she knew that's
what he meant, but her guess had been correct.

Relief curved his lips into a smile. He nodded. He
looked pointedly at the bed, then down to his penis, which twitched
and made as though to rise. He pointed to her and passed his hands
flat down in front of him as though he were stroking her from
throat to hips.

Her nipples poked at the front of the soft T-shirt
when he did that, and Helena crossed her arms over her chest. "I
don't know where you come from, buddy, but you just don't crawl
into a woman's bed and..." And what? Lick her to one of the best
orgasms she'd ever had? "Well, you just can't do that. Not without
my permission! That's rape!"

The problem was, now that the initial surprise had
faded, she didn't feel raped. She didn't feel violated. Quite the
opposite, Helena mused, as the man's cock thickened a bit more in
front of her fascinated gaze. She felt quite horny.

"You just can't do it," she finished lamely. "I
don't know who you are, or where you came from, or anything about
you!"

He pointed out the window, where a glimpse of now
blue ocean peeked in at them. He put one finger in the air and
mimicked the water funnel's motion, then threw out both his hands
toward her.

"Yes, I know you came from that freaky funnel thing.
But how did you get there? Who are you?"

It seemed he couldn't reply. He put a hand to his
throat and shook his head sadly. Then he shrugged.

For a long moment, they stared at each other from
across the room. Finally, Helena sighed. "Are you hungry? C'mon.
I'll make us something to eat. Then we can figure out what to do
with you."

She provided him with an article of clothing he recognized but had
to struggle to get into. The two tubes of material were meant to
cover his new legs. Jeenai had no trouble seeing that. But how did
these split-tails...humans, he reminded himself. How do they manage
to get them on?

He lifted one foot, which made the other scream in
agony at the extra pressure. He was able to stick his leg down in
and repeat the process, then pull the stretchy circular opening up
to his hips. The fit wasn't perfect. A good two hand's-breadth of
ankle stuck out below the bottom edge. He was covered, though,
which Jeenai knew to be important to the humans, and he felt better
with his equipment tucked away beneath something protective. He
might get used to feet and legs, but he'd never get used to having
his penis and testicles exposed for all the world to see.

"They look good on you," the woman told him when he
entered the room where she was fixing the food. "Sit down. I'm
making eggs."

Jeenai had seen many humans using what they called
beach chairs, but though this looked similar, the back was higher
and the legs longer. He sat gingerly, unused to bending his body in
such a fashion. He was surprised to feel how comfortable it was to
rest his weight entirely on his posterior, especially since it
meant the pressure released a bit on his feet.

The woman put a platter of what looked like sponges
in front of him. The Carrageenai did not eat sea sponges, but he
lifted some on his fingers and tasted it warily. Not sponges at
all! Something better, something delicious. His stomach rumbled and
came awake. He was fiercely hungry. Jeenai gobbled the rest of the
platter as the woman watched. He looked up to see her
expression--one he recognized. She was bemused.

"You were hungry."

He nodded, familiar with her terminology. He patted
his stomach, then gestured a thank you.

"You're welcome."

She understood him. The sea hag had been wrong. He
could not speak as the humans did, that was true enough. But he
could communicate.

She was not eating. She sipped from a cup of some
brown liquid. He asked her if she was not also hungry.

She furrowed her brow at him. He tried again with
the crude gestures used to communicate with Carrageenai infants.
Her face lit with understanding.

"No, I don't want any, thanks. Coffee is enough for
me." She showed him the cup. "Want some?"

He had never consumed a liquid as part of
nourishment before. The seawater he regularly took into his mouth,
nose and gill slits never reached his stomach. He accepted the cup
she handed him, sniffed the dark liquid, then touched his tongue to
it. It was as hot as a thermal spring, and he gave it back to her
with a shake of his head.

"No?" She laughed. "It's a bad habit of mine. I'm a
monster without my coffee in the morning."

He didn't understand what she meant, exactly, but
her laughter prompted his own. His mouth stretched into a grin, and
he saw her face go from amused to shocked.

"Your teeth!" She set down her cup so hard her
coffee spilled. "They're so sharp!"

He clamped his lips closed. He had forgotten for a
moment that human mouths were filled with dull, useless teeth. That
was why they needed to use tools to cut their food for them.
Apparently, though, the sight of his teeth had startled her. Worse,
disgusted her.

Jeenai looked at the woman for whom he'd risked so
much. If she could not love him, he would turn into sea foam. He
would cease to exist.