Chapter Text
If you asked him, Jake Sully could say with a straight face that he wasn’t afraid of his mate. Really. It was a fact. Why would he be? They were mates. He was literally inside her head half the time. He knew her soul, her heart, and exactly which spot on her neck made her purr. So, technically, he was the expert here. He was untouchable.
At least, that’s what he kept telling himself as his palms started to sweat against the plastic of the data pad.
Except—right now—the “brave Toruk Makto” act was wearing a little thin
He was supposed to be reviewing the scouting reports from Norm. He was supposed to be focused on the movement of the RDA’s perimeter. But how does one focus when Neytiri is sitting three inches away, radiating a fucking aura like a forest fire about to jump a break?
He could literally feel the heat of her skxawng-deterring rage seeping into his skin.
She had stormed into the high-ground camp minutes ago, looking like she was ready to snap a bow in half. She hadn’t said a word—which was the first red flag. She’d just dropped onto the mat beside him, limbs stiff, jaw set so tight he thought her teeth might crack.
For a few miserable minutes, Jake tried to play it cool. Eyes on the screen. Stylus in hand. Just a guy doing chief stuff.
I got this, he thought, a smug little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. She’s just moody. Maybe she missed a hunt. I’ll just give it a minute, let her simmer, then I’ll say something charming and we’ll be fine. I’m her mate. She’s not gonna kill me…right?
But the silence wasn’t just quiet—it was fucking heavy. It was humming in his ears like a swarm of stingbats.
And it wasn’t like her. Usually, when Neytiri was pissed, you knew it. There were gestures. There was pacing. There were hissed Na’vi insults he only half-understood but fully felt. She was a hell of a storm—she blew through and moved on.
But this?
This was the stillness before the strike.
She was sitting perfectly still, her knee agonizingly close to his, her long fingers twitching against her thighs. She looked like she was gauging the distance to someone’s throat—most likely his.
This was new. This was fucking dangerous.
Jake swallowed hard. Okay—she wasn’t mad at him. At least, he was ninety percent sure he hadn’t messed up lately. But the weight of her presence pressed down on him all the same.
His brain—the old Marine scout part of it—was screaming Retreat. Tactical withdrawal. Get to the ikran and don’t look back. But instead, he just sat there, gripping his datapad like a shield.
He had two choices:
Keep pretending to read.
Ask.
Option one was not an option. His skin was practically crawling under the weight of her silence.
So that left him with his only option.
Alright, Sully. Use the charm. Works every time.
He didn't look up from the screen, but a little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You know, if you stare at the floor any harder, you're gonna burn a hole right through the level. And I'm pretty sure we need that floor, Ney."
He finally cut his eyes toward her, offering a wink that was about 40% genuine confidence and 60% "please don't kill me."
"You know, whatever it is, I'm sure it’s not as bad as my Na’vi grammar," he joked, though his voice came out a pitch higher than he intended. His mate really is one intimidating woman. "Want to talk about it, or are we just gonna sit here and look scary?"
She turned her head. Slow. Like a palulukan scenting blood in the air. Her yellow eyes weren't just angry; they were burning with a fierce, amber fire that made Jake feel like he’d accidentally stepped into a snare trap.
Jake felt his throat go bone-dry. His heart did a frantic thud against his ribs. Yeah. I’m a dead man.
“You have a very big mouth, Jakesully,” she spat. Her voice was steady, but it had that sharp, biting edge—the one she used back when he was a "clumsy dreamwalker" knocking over sacred things and falling out of trees. “You tell the people many things about your world. Stories of the sky. Stories of the 'pinkskins.'”
Jake’s cocky smirk faltered. A cold, bad feeling settled in his gut. “Okay... what did I do now? Is this about the story I told the hunters? Because that was mostly true, I swear—”
“Answer me truly.” She shifted then. Not a big movement, just a predatory lean forward that closed the gap between them, her ears pinned flat against her skull.
Their thighs brushed. It was a light touch, but Jake’s entire nervous system hit the panic button. He locked up. She was too close, too warm, and smelled like rain and woodsmoke.
Does she want to mate? Is this a new kink she learned? She could just ask instead of trying to skin me alive with her gaze.
Neytiri didn’t pull back. She didn’t even blink. Her tail lashed behind her, whipping the air with an audible snap.
“Am I... a failure?” she challenged. Her chin tilted up with a supreme, regal arrogance that was laced with genuine, wounded fury. “Am I lacking in the standard of the 'bedroom'?”
Jake blinked, “Wh—what standard? The what?”
Neytiri let out a long, suffering hiss that vibrated deep in her chest—a sound of pure, unadulterated frustration. She slammed her elbows onto the table, resting her chin on her crossed arms, looking like a sulking, lethal forest cat. Her lower lip jutted out in a pout that was dangerously pretty, even if she looked ready to rip his throat out for his "sky-person" inadequacies.
"The 'human' way," she hissed, her eyes narrowing into slits. "Speak, Jakesully! Am I not... hot?"
"Whoa, whoa—baby! Ease up," Jake stammered, his hands coming up in a frantic 'peace' gesture before he risked a careful touch on her shoulder. He could feel the muscle tension and she was wound tighter than a recurve bow. "Believe me, Ney, you’re the... uh, hottest woman I’ve ever been with. By a long shot. No competition."
"You lie!" Neytiri hissed, her ears pinning back so far they nearly disappeared into her hair.
"No, I’m not! I swear on Eywa," Jake said, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. This was spiraling fast. He reached back, grabbing his queue and offering the kuru toward her. "Here. Check. Take the link, see for yourself. I’m not playing with you."
Neytiri paused, her golden eyes wide with genuine shock. For a Na’vi, offering a link just to prove a point was like handing someone the keys to your soul. And all this just for a minor argument? He knew it was a heavy move. Thankfully, it made her go quiet for a few agonizing seconds.
Then, the silence broke with a name that sounded like a curse.
“Ronal,” Neytiri spat, the word dripping with venom. “That woman... she is like a zakru that will not stop stinging! We were gathering, eating the apitaya fruit. She took the stem—the long, thin reed—and she put it in her mouth. And then she told me what you said, Jakesully.”
Neytiri’s tail gave a sharp, whip-like lash against the floor, narrowly missing Jake’s shin.
“You told them,” her voice rose to a dangerous, melodic snarl, “that in your world, anyone who can tie the stem of a fruit into a knot using only their mouth is someone of... 'great talent.' That they are 'superior'. A master of the mouth-touch!”
She lunged forward, her fangs bared inches from his nose. Jake leaned back so fast he nearly tipped off his seat.
“Ronal did it, Jake! She did it in the time it takes to draw a breath! And then she looked at me—the mate of the Great Toruk Makto—and she laughed. She said, 'Perhaps this is why the Shadow Rider looks so tired. His mate has the tongue of a clumsy ikran.'”
Neytiri shoved his shoulder hard, her pride absolutely shredded. Jake felt a cold sweat break out. Ronal? The Metkayina woman? She was formidable on a good day, but as a rival for Neytiri? This was a disaster.
He never imagined things would go this far.
He just gave some advise on how to eat fruits to some hunters and before he realized, thousands of Na’vi from every corner of Pandora were packed into their valley. The Olangi had ridden in from the plains; the Tipani had emerged from the deep wilds; even the reef-dwelling Metkayina had made the long trek inland.
He thought there were some Na’vi tradition he didnt know and Neytiri must have forgotten to mention. Why? Simply because they had fucking traveled for weeks, crossing continents and oceans. And for what? To learn the finer human-style foreplay.
Now these… visitors will not stop asking him questions about tongue, hands, leather and all the shit. Jake rubbed his temples, feeling a migraine pulsing behind his eyes.
“I am the daughter of Eytukan! I am the daughter of the Tsahìk!” Neytiri’s voice trembled with pure, unadulterated fury. “I have mastered the bow, the ikran, and the hunt! I can strike any animal from a hundred paces in the dark! But I cannot tie your stupid metal-world knot!”
She snatched a fruit from the bowl and shoved it toward his face so hard it hit his nose. “So answer me, skxawng—is this a truth of your people? Or am I a failure of a mate?”
Jake forgot how to breathe.
It flooded back to him now—a late-night fire, a few too many bowls of fermented cider, and a bunch of curious hunters from the eastern clans pestering him about "Sky Person" mating rituals. To get them to shut up, Jake had tossed out the first stupid bar trick he could think of, thinking it sounded "exotic." He hadn't realized they’d take it as a sacred test of skill.
Oh, fuck. I’m so dead.
Neytiri snatched a stem from the bowl, her movements jerky and sharp. She shoved it into her mouth, her jaw working with a desperate, furious intensity. For a second, she looked like she was trying to chew through a piece of granite.
Then, she spat it out. It hit the floor—unknotted, straight, and mocking.
She let out a hiss that started deep in her chest and vibrated through the floorboards. With a scream of frustration, she swiped the entire bowl across the mat, sending fruit flying.
Holy— Jake ducked. Neytiri throwing stuff? This is fucking serious.
"Neytiri, listen—"
"No!" she snapped, her tail lashing the air like a whip. "You go to that wretched salty sea-woman! Go to Ronal and her 'talented' tongue if that is what a Chief requires!"
She loomed over him, her chest heaving, the bioluminescent dots on her skin flaring a brilliant, agitated white. She looked like a goddess of war who had just been told she couldn't shoot a bow.
“See?” she spat, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous snarl that vibrated right through Jake’s ribcage. “I cannot do it. This 'talent' you prize... I do not have it. I am skxawng in the mouth!”
Jake’s voice was a slightly strangled rumble. He swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the exit of the tent. “I—I mean... baby, is that really so bad? It’s just a piece of stem.”
“Not bad?” Neytiri whispered.
The shift in her tone was worse than the shouting. It was fucking cold. He shivered. She leaned in, her face inches from his, her pupils blown wide until her yellow eyes were almost entirely black—two bottomless pits.
“You say this is not bad? To be lacking in the eyes of my mate? To be shamed by a woman who smells of salt and fish?”
Jake wasn’t breathing. He couldn’t. His entire body was locked up, frozen under the sheer, suffocating weight of her gaze. Naive as he was, even he knew he’d stepped into a minefield of pride and female rivalry that no Marine training had prepared him for.
Neytiri? Bad at anything?
Jake’s mind immediately filled with every single moment where she had been anything but bad. The way she moved like liquid under the canopy, the way she leaned in too close just to watch him scramble, the way she looked at him when the sun went down—eyes dark and knowing, like she enjoyed watching him lose his mind.
Neytiri wasn’t bad at kissing. She was a goddamn force of nature. She was a hurricane in a wrap-around skirt.
But the jarhead part of his brain was glitching the fuck out, unable to translate that into words without making everything worse. How the hell did you explain that you’d made the whole thing up? That it was just a dumb, human bar trick you’d told a bunch of guys to make them stop talking, and it had somehow become a benchmark for Na'vi excellence?
His throat was bone-dry. His heart was hammering against his rib. Every survival instinct he had was screaming at him to flee, to dive into the undergrowth and never look back.
And then—she really looked at him.
Not with fury. Not with mockery.
With focus.
Neytiri reached out, her long, slender blue fingers curling around the back of his neck. Her grip was firm, possessive—anchoring him in place. It wasn't violent. It was worse. It was intentional.
Like she was brewing some bad bad idea.
“You look at me with fear, Jakesully,” she murmured, her voice sinking into a low, lethal purr that made the hair on his arms stand up. “Is it because you are afraid I will discover you lied to the hunters?”
Her thumb shifted, pressing lightly, rhythmically, beneath his jawline.
“Or,” she continued softly, dangerously, her breath hot against his lips, “are you afraid… that Ronal is right? That your mate is... unskilled?”
She pulled him closer, guiding his face up until their foreheads touched—the nì’awve gesture of total, bone-deep focus. There was no room to look away. No space to breathe. Jake was staring into the sun, and he was pretty sure he was about to get burned.
Her thumb shifted, pressing with a hunter’s precision beneath his jaw, tilting his head back to expose his throat.
“Tell me now,” she breathed, her words brushing his lips like a threat. Her tail curled tight around his calf—an inescapable, velvet-covered anchor. “Show me this ‘talent.’ And if I fail…”
Her eyes searched his, bright and unblinking, the pupils wide with a predatory hunger for the truth.
“…you will explain to me exactly what I am missing. You will tell me why a woman of the reef thinks she can mock the mate of Toruk Makto. Is it because her mouth knows more than mine?”
“Neytiri…,” he whispered, his brain feeling like it was short-circuiting.
Her lips pressed together, frustration coiling sharp and restrained beneath the heat. Then, quietly—with a stillness that was far more terrifying than her hissing—she asked the one question Jake was absolutely not ready for.
“You have sex with others,” she said.
Not a question. A fact. Cold. Clean. Dropped between them like a fucking blade.
“In your world of metal,” she continued, eyes never leaving his. “Before you were born into this body.”
It wasn’t an accusation. It was a fucking statement. The air in the tent suddenly felt thin, as if the forest itself was holding its breath. Jake’s brain—his usually functional, Marine-grade brain—went completely offline.
He forced himself to breathe. Swallow. Speak.
“…Yeah,” he managed at last, his voice rough, scraped raw. “Back home? Yeah. I—yeah. I’ve been around. Not— not like that much, but—”
She leaned closer.
Her scent—rain, ash, living earth—flooded him until his thoughts scattered. Her fingers slid to his knee and tightened, nails biting into muscle. Not enough to hurt. Enough to warn.
“Then you carry a memory of this standard,” she murmured. Soft. Deadly. Silk pulled over a spearpoint.
“Sex,” she said, the word sounding foreign on her tongue.
But the word still landed heavily. Jake’s heart slammed against his ribs like it was trying to escape.
“You would say you know what you are doing?”
He fucking choked.
“I—Ney, listen—Ronal is just—she’s an asshole, okay? She’s trying to get under your skin.”
“She has succeeded,” Neytiri hissed.
Her hand slid from his jaw to his chest and shoved—hard enough to put him back against the mat. She climbed into his lap without hesitation, weight solid, grounding, inescapable. Predatory. Her tail lashed once behind her.
“Then show me, Ma Jake,” she said low. “Show me what you told those hunters. Show me why I am ‘clumsy.’”
“Baby—”
“Sex,” she interrupted calmly.“I must master sex.”
Jake just stared at her.
What the fuck was he supposed to do with that?
His pulse roared in his ears. Every instinct screamed the same answer.
Say yes.
He should say yes.
That was the normal answer. The expected answer. The logical, Jake-who-has-his-shit-together answer.
But with Neytiri this close—her gaze steady, like she was actually waiting for Jake’s response, like this wasn’t the single most derailing conversation of Jake’s life—
“I… I don’t know?”
His own voice betrayed him. Weak. Unsure.
Neytiri raised a thin, elegant eyebrow. “You do not know?”
Jake exhaled sharply, trying to shift, but her tail tightened around his leg, holding him there.
“I mean, yeah, I’ve… had sex with others before, but—” He broke off, breathing hard. “With you? It’s… different.”
Her eyes searched his face, sharp and searching, like she was stripping him down layer by layer.
“Different how?” she asked.
He laughed once, short and breathless. “Like I’m constantly waiting to mess it up.”
That did it.
Her grip tightened—not painful, but firm enough to anchor him. Her other hand slid up, fingers brushing his jaw, tilting his face toward hers until he had no choice but to meet her eyes.
“So,” Neytiri murmured, voice low, dangerous, almost thoughtful, “the great Toruk Makto is afraid.”
Jake’s pulse thundered. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Terrified.”
Neytiri hummed.
That hum—low and thoughtful—slipped down Jake’s spine like teeth against skin.
Neytiri tilted her head slightly, eyes dragging over Jake’s face, slow and measured, like she was studying him. No—like she was picking him apart.
Like she had just found something interesting.
And then—too casual, way too casual—
“But you should still be pretty good at it, then.”
Jake stared.
Neytiri smiled.
Jake stared harder.
His brain—already barely keeping up—completely short-circuited.
His first instinct was to laugh, because there was no way this was a real conversation. This was some kind of prank, or test, or—
“Why are you asking me this?” Jake knocked his knee against Neytiri’s, a laugh bubbling out of him—too forced, too nervous, too not-normal.
Because what the fuck?
Why were they talking about this?
Why was Neytiri looking at him like that?
Like she was considering something. Testing something.
Like she was about to—
Neytiri didn’t answer right away.
She just drummed her fingers against his thigh, lazy and absentminded, like she had all the time in the world. One tap, then another. Jake could hear it in the quiet of the room, the steady rhythm against denim.
And then—her hand shifted.
Just barely.
But enough.
Enough that Jake felt the warmth of it, right there, on his crotch.
He gulped.
His breath hitched, stomach flipping in a way that made no sense.
He should move. He should.
But he didn’t.
He couldn’t.
Because suddenly, the "Standard of the Sky People" felt very, very real.
He wasn’t sure what was happening anymore.
And worse—he wasn’t sure if he wanted to stop it.
Jake stopped breathing.
His whole body went rigid.
Because Neytiri was still watching him. Just looking—quiet, unreadable, like a hunter waiting for the wind to change. Then, she leaned in, her voice a feather-light brush against his ear.
"Can you show us?"
Jake’s brain fucking crashed.
Us?
“…What—what do you mean ‘us’?” he rasped, his eyes wide.
Neytiri didn’t move away. She didn't laugh, and for once, she didn't call him a skxawng. She just let her thumb trace the hard line of his length, her gaze dropping to his mouth with a focus that was absolutely predatory. There was no teasing in her eyes.
Jake shifted without thinking, hips tipping up just enough to make it worse. His eyes went half-lidded, his body betraying him, leaning into something his brain was screaming was a terrible idea.
“I mean exactly what I say,” she replied.
Then Neytiri’s fingers rubbed his crotch—a touch so light it was almost a ghost, but Jake felt it like a brand. His entire universe narrowed to that single point of contact.
He sucked in a breath he didn’t remember choosing to take.
“They wish to know what it is like,” she continued calmly. “They speak of it. They compare. They whisper.”
Her eyes flicked back to his, sharp and amused.
“I am tired of whispers.”
She said it like a statement of fact. Like this was a problem, and she had found a solution.
“You know this,” Neytiri went on, voice smooth, confident. “You come from a people who do not hide such things. You have done it many times. You carry skill.” A pause—then, she leaned in to whisper, “Why would I not use what is already provided?”
She said it so easily, as if she were asking him to help her fletch an arrow. But there was something underneath the bravado.
Hesitation, a flicker of raw, unshielded vulnerability that hit him harder than any physical blow.
"You already know how. You have many experiences," she whispered, her breath ghosting over his skin. "So all it would take is one lesson from you. It would silence the rumors of my... clumsiness. Ronal would see that Toruk Makto's wife is no fool. That I can keep up with such… excellence."
This was insane. This was way past insane.
“You—you’re asking me to—” His voice cracked, a wreck. “In front of—?”
“To teach,” she finished, without a shred of shame. “Yes.”
She leaned closer, eyes bright, almost amused now—like she was enjoying watching him fall apart.
“You are my mate. You are Toruk Makto. Why would I pretend I do not want to understand my mate?” she said. “Why would we fear knowledge?”
Her lips curved into something dangerous.
“We just want to see.”
Jake just stared. It was too much. Is she really asking him to do fucking porn? Live?
“You’re joking,” he managed, but the words were a wreck. His voice didn't sound like a Marine's; it sounded like a man drowning.
Neytiri didn’t blink. Her lips quirked—not quite a smirk, but a challenge. A challenge he knew he would lose. "Do I look like I am joking, Ma Jake?"
No. She really didn’t.
Jake’s stomach flipped, and he hated it. This was dangerous. This was a fucking nightmare.
But Neytiri was sitting too close, rubbing his dick, looking at him with those wide, expectant golden eyes, her lips slightly parted.
Fuck!
He clenched his fists against his thighs, his nails digging into his palms to keep his head in the game. And then—as if the situation wasn't already a total wash—the scent of her hit him.
The sweet, heavy fragrance of the nì'awve blossoms she crushed into her skin, mixed with the wild, clean scent of the forest. It was everywhere. It filled his lungs, wrapping around his mind and squeezing tight. His whole body felt hot, restless—like something under his skin was vibrating at a frequency only she could hear.
And Neytiri was just... there. Glowing. The bioluminescent dots on her skin shimmered in the dim light of the tent, outlining her features in a way that made Jake’s throat close up. She was beautiful in a way that felt like an ache in his chest.
And she was waiting.
Jake’s thoughts kept slipping. His gaze flickered—her mouth, the pulse jumping in her throat, the line of her collarbone. His hand twitched.
“That is a bad—” he muttered, but the word idea died before it ever reached the air.
Because right now, it didn’t feel like a bad idea.
It felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, toes curling into moss, knowing the fall would be brutal—and realizing, with a sick rush of clarity, that he didn’t want to stop it.
Neytiri didn’t rush him. Didn’t tease. Didn’t press.
She just watched him in the humming silence, calm and patient, like a hunter who already knew the prey was caught—it just hadn’t accepted it yet.
Jake’s chest felt tight, like his ribs were closing in. He swallowed hard, dragging the Marine back to the surface by sheer force of will. He tried again, firmer, as if conviction alone could save him.
“I think it’s a bad idea, Neytiri.”
Her ears flicked once.
Neytiri said nothing.
She just watched him. Waiting.
But her fingers curled—just slightly—at his cock. A small, possessive flex like she was holding him hostage. Her hand is like a fucking vine tightening around a branch it had already claimed.
Jake felt it everywhere.
The warmth of her skin. The weight of her touch. The humiliating way his body responded instantly, leaning into her hand like it had been starving. His breath stuttered, pulse hammering loud enough he was sure she could hear it.
His mouth refused to cooperate. His thoughts were jagged, sparking, shorting out—panic and want crashing into each other without mercy. His face burned. His skin felt too tight, too aware of the humid air, of her, of everything.
He swallowed hard. His fingers twitched against the mat.
It would be so easy to stop thinking. To let the moment take him. To stop being a leader, a symbol, a walking disaster, and just be a man responding to the woman in front of him.
But the insanity of it—the recklessness, the consequences—held him by a single, fraying thread.
He knew exactly what she was asking.
Then he saw it.
Neytiri licked her lips and swallowed.
Just once. A small, involuntary movement at her throat. A flicker of tension that hadn’t been there before.
She wasn’t untouched by this.
That realization hit him harder than anything else.
“Fuck,” Jake’s voice came out wrecked, barely there as he looked at her, completely undone.
“Fuck Baby,” he breathed. Then, because he was already falling—“What… what do you want me to do?”
Neytiri didn’t blink. Her yellow eyes remained locked on his, dark and bottomless. "Just show us how," she whispered, her voice like the rustle of leaves at night. "And we will see if the Sky People truly have anything to teach the People."
Jake’s stomach dropped.
His entire body went rigid, every instinct screaming at once.
Abort mission, Sully! What are you doing?
His heart pounded like a warning siren in his chest.
And still—
"Fine," Jake rasped, his eyes dropping to her mouth. His brain had officially surrendered. "You guys want a lesson? Don't say I didn't warn you."
One second, he was standing on the edge of a precipice—the next, the world narrowed down to the heat of Neytiri’s lips on his.
And—hell.
Her lips were warm. Soft. They tasted of the forest after rain, familiar in a way that sent something splintering through Jake’s chest, knocking the breath clean out of him. But the worst part—the part that actually leveled him—was how gentle she was.
Neytiri didn't kiss him like a student. She kissed him like a hunter who had already won. It wasn’t rushed; it wasn’t desperate. It was slow. Sweet. Agonizingly tender.
Jake’s heart stuttered, a frantic rhythm against his ribs. How was she always like this? So calm, so completely in control while he was a vibrating mess of nerves? He was the one who had brought the "Sky Person" trick to the table. He was supposed to have the upper hand. He was the teacher, right?
And yet, when they pulled back just a fraction, Neytiri was sitting there, her golden eyes sharp and unreadable, watching him struggle for air as if his panic were her personal entertainment.
Neytiri’s ears flicked, a tell-tale sign of her amusement. She let out a soft, feline huff. “Oh? And here I thought the great Toruk Makto knew what he was doing.”
Jake stiffened, his pride flaring up. His ears were burning, his stomach was doing something stupid and traitorous, and she was still smirking at him—that tiny, sharp pull at the corner of her mouth that drove him crazy.
Jake scoffed, his jaw tightening as he tried to reclaim some of his Marine bravado. “I do know. Believe me.”
Neytiri hummed, a low, teasing vibration that made the fine hairs on Jake's neck stand up. Then—slowly, purposely—she leaned in. Not enough to close the gap, but just enough that her breath fanned across his lips, daring him to try again.
"Then show me, Jakesully," she whispered, her tail giving a slow, mocking lash against his leg. “Show us.”
Jake hated how easily Neytiri got under his skin. How easily she flipped the script. How easily she made him want to follow her into any fire she started. He swallowed, his voice strained and tight. “You think the people would be willing to watch us have sex? Really?”
Neytiri’s smirk flickered for a heartbeat, almost as if she hadn’t expected him to push back. But she recovered fast—too fast. Her fingers trailed up, pausing just under Jake’s jaw. Her touch was a whisper of heat on his blue skin.
Then, just when Jake thought he might actually lose his mind, Neytiri leaned in. She was so close he could feel the ghost of her breath, close enough that Jake braced himself for the impact of her lips.
But she didn't hit the mark.
At the last second, Neytiri turned—just barely—and her lips grazed the corner of his mouth. Soft. Feather-light. A fucking tease that felt like a lightning strike.
Jake sucked in a breath so fast his lungs burned. His whole body locked up, his hands clenched into the mat, his brain—completely blank.
What is fucking happening?
"Neytiri—"
"Hm?" She pulled back, just enough to give him a look—one of those slow, lazy, half-lidded stares that was definitely a violation of every peace treaty ever written. Her lips quirked, like she knew exactly the kind of chaos she’d ignited in his chest. “Is something wrong, Ma Jake?”
Jake saw red. Not because he was mad, but because his brain was malfunctioning so violently that his entire vision was blurring at the edges. His pulse was threatening to explode.
Jake sputtered, "You—you're doing this on purpose."
Neytiri smiled. Smiled. That soft, sweet look that should have been reassuring but was, in fact, the most dangerous thing Jake had ever seen on this planet. And then—because she was a lethal professional—she cupped his face. Her thumb brushed barely over his cheek, gentle, as if she were soothing a frightened pa’li.
Jake felt his entire soul leave his body and flee into the canopy.
"You stress too much," Neytiri hummed, her thumb tracing slow, maddening circles against his skin. "You need to relax."
Relax? RELAX? Jake was about to combust and she wanted him to relax?
“I will have to tell Norm to prepare the clearing for your demonstrations, were going to need a big clearing,” she said, her tone light and airy.
“Demonstrations? What demonstrations?”
Neytiri sighed, all soft and indulgent, as if she were pitying a particularly slow child. Then—because she wasn’t done ruining his life—she leaned in again. Jake stopped breathing entirely.
Neytiri pressed the lightest kiss to his cheek this time. A proper one. Sweet. Intentional. Her lips lingered for a second, warm against his skin, before pulling back with a quiet hum of satisfaction.
"Just stay here, Ma Jake," she whispered. "I will go and spread the word that the great Toruk Makto is willing to share his... special mating knowledge. The people will be most interested."
Jake made a distressed noise—a strangled, Na’vi-sounding croak.
Neytiri laughed. She actually had the audacity to let out a bright, melodic laugh, her eyes crinkling. Her fingers lingered on his jaw just long enough to keep him paralyzed before she finally—finally—let go.
And then—because she was insufferable—she patted his chest. A patronizing little farewell.
"Get some rest," she smiled, her eyes flashing with a wicked triumph. "You will need your energy for our 'lesson' tomorrow."
She turned and walked away, her tail flicking behind her in a rhythmic, sassy beat. She left Jake sitting there, absolutely devastated.
He barely stopped himself from shooting upright, but his legs felt like jelly. His lips still burned, his chest felt like it was on the verge of implosion, and his heart was slamming against his ribs like it was trying to break out and chase after her.
Neytiri had definitely plotted this. She’d planned this moment like a tactical ambush, using that charm and heavy blossom scent as a distraction. And worse—Jake had let her. He’d liked it. He’d wanted her to stay.
No, no, no, no.
He dropped his head into his hands, fingers digging into his scalp. He felt like he needed to physically reboot his entire existence. This was bad. This was so, so fucking bad.
Fuck!
He may need to perform sex in a live audience.
There was no coming back from this. No pretending. No escaping the absolute, undeniable truth sitting heavy in his chest.
He was—
He was—
…Shit. Yeah. He was irreversibly screwed.