We do this at several more stores — a spice stall manned, or womanned — by a pair of Lemoran sisters, a blacksmith, a keeper of the pad pad beasts, a team that deals in lumber, and a bakery where Raingar insists on stuffing me full of Rekkaru, Hypha and Asgid delights — before finally arriving inside of a shop full of fabrics. All kinds of fabrics.
I feel giddy with nerves and struggle to contain myself as I glance around at the multitude of different colored bolts inside the cool, brightly lit space. Eshmiri orbs float around the low ceilings, shuffling in the wind and casting shadows this way and that, illuminating striking colors, shines and sparkles. It’s stunning.
I try to remain calm and reserved as Raingar approaches the Lemoran male behind the counter. They exchange the traditional Lemoran greeting before Raingar turns to look at me. He frowns and his gaze drops to my toes before sweeping back up.
“Do you need to urinate or defecate?”
“Stars! Nob. Nob, I don’t.” I laugh and snort. I almost cover my mouth to suppress the sound when I remember that Raingar doesn’t seem to mind it, so I don’t. My hand twitches and his gaze falls to it before returning back to my mouth and he smiles, as if he knows the struggle I just went through and is pleased with the outcome. I flush with pride. Pleased to be able to please, as I’ve been trained to feel since forever.
“Nob. I’m just feeling excitement. Thank you, Raingar, for bringing me here. This is amazing. Even just seeing all the options you have is so rewarding. I mean, even if you didn’t mean to purchase anything…”
“Not…not to purchase,” he gasps. “What are you on about! We didn’t come all the way down to the village for you not to purchase!” He’s shouting again and I laugh and roll my eyes. Roll my eyes? Roll my eyes! Are you insane, Essmira? The Igmora voice screams inside.
“I just meant that it’s beautiful. And I’m happy to help you select the material you’d like for your trousers,” I finish with a smile.
“Material,” he all but whispers. “Trousers?”
Staring into his eyes, I feel my lips pinch with pleasure. Every time I speak to him he’s either shouting at me or he’s forgotten what we’re talking about in the first place. And I find it charming. Stupid and unhelpful, but charming.
“I said I’d help you make trousers, Raingar?”
He sucks in a breath and straightens up, his chest puffing out. He looks suddenly twice his previous size, as large as he did when he was fighting the Egama. He takes a brutal step towards me and I feel suddenly caught in his shadow even though the light hasn’t moved. Stars dance in my peripheries. Freaking suns! Raingar is aroused. I can see the bulge forming on the front of his trousers and my own body responds immediately. I step forward, my lips part, my torso sways, too heavy for my legs and between my thighs, liquid heat puddles.
“You’re looking for fabric for pants? Pants for Raingar? Raingar wants new pants?” The female’s voice jerks my attention around and severs whatever poison or elixir Raingar and I were both high off of simultaneously. What the ohr was that? I feel a little shaken. I was taught of pleasure in all its many forms, but never of that, whatever that was…
“Yeffa.” I clear my throat. “Yeffa, I am.” I am? What was the question? I clear my throat louder and try again, “Yeffa, I am hoping to make new pants for Raingar and tailor his current pants. I mean…” Ohr! “Not that these aren’t fine trousers. They’re just…I was hoping to slim them down to fit his form.”
The male behind the counter grunts and I tense, worried that I’ve insulted him. Then he says, “I think I made those pants for Raingar’s fat father. I don’t think I’ve ever made a pair of pants for Raingar himself.”
“The last time I told him he needed new clothes, he told me that he’d rather eat fried pad pad dung.” The female stands at one of three sturdy tables littering the space. She looks up from the swatch of fabric in her hand that she’d been studying and grins lopsidedly.
She looks surprised as her eyes flick between Raingar and me and I’m immediately embarrassed by it. Did she see that, too? Cosmos, I hope not.
“Looks like the issue wasn’t with the pants, but with the tailor. I’m happy to help you help him get out of those rags. What are you looking for, heelee?”
I flush at the implication of her words. Does Raingar…like me? Like me, like me? Like me beyond my ability to pleasure? Like me as he might a potential female he’d wish to engage with in courtship?
The thought is so overwhelming, it fills me with lethal combinations of hope that it might be true and shame for even considering it. He’s a clan chief. I’m something that was sold. I have a price tag attached to my toes. He’s priceless. We don’t exist in the same realm and I’m a fool for reading into any of his actions. He’s just a gentleman. A grumpy gentleman.
But…he does want me to make him pants and he did fight an Egama warlord for me.
Banishing these terrible, tantalizing thoughts, I turn my attention fully towards the female, offer her the Lemoran greeting, which she returns, and say quickly, “I’m wondering if you’d be so kind as to point me into the direction of durable fabrics? Feranin fibers may be suitable, but wego or tantu would work just as well.”
She tilts her head left, but I don’t feel uncomfortable under her scrutiny. I just stand beneath her taller form and allow her to look her fill. Not all females benefit from attention. You will allow others to observe you. It is your responsibility to accept this gift and bear it. And she is staring. Her striated gaze drags from my hair to my face down to my chest and feet, hidden by my cloak. Had she been Raingar, I’d have opened my cloak to allow her to look more freely.
I heat anew at the thought, unable to help the way my gaze cuts to him. Light trickles in through the skylight in this single story shop. It’s pink, the light, and colors his brown skin pink, too. My gaze travels down his back to reach his hips. His pants fit around his waist far too high and fall haphazardly over his rear. He’s a muscular male and his torso speaks to spans spent doing manual labor.
Many of the Lemoran males and females share large physiques but where some have rounded middles and soft pecs, Raingar has hard ridges that make up his abdomen. His back is streaked with muscles that bunch and flex, even when it seems like he’s hardly moving. His arms are thick and meaty and I imagine his thighs are too, underneath the shapeless material of his pants. I bet he even has quite a nice muscular ass. My mouth twitches to form a smile at that.
But that’s when I realize that I’ve been caught in the act.
Raingar’s expression is one of pure bewilderment as my gaze lazily travels up to meet his. I quickly look back at the female. “Oh yeffa. I mean…I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you. Would you say that again?”
The female glances between Raingar and me a half dozen times more before her lips quirk up into a wry smile. Her head tilts even further and her eyes narrow as she places both hands on the tabletop in front of her and leans her weight onto her palms.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Essmira.”
“I’m Lyla.”
“It’s a pleasure,” I tell her, fighting the urge to bow. Merquin told me once that Lemoran find it strange to bow. It makes them uncomfortable.
“I think the pleasure’s about to be all mine,” she says.
I just smile back, unsure of what she means.
“Huh.” She looks again at Raingar even as she speaks to me. “So you two are…”
I understand what she’s implying and smile at her brittlely. Brutally. Longing floods my arms, making them hurt. Raingar makes a throaty, horrified sound behind me that just makes everything hurt that much worse. Of course he wouldn’t be courting a female like me. One who cost him all that kintarr. I’m a charity project for these clan chiefs. An expensive one.
“It is so generous of you to assume that Raingar might have chosen someone…might have chosen me for companionship. It was only his kindness and bravery that brought me here from Quadrant One
. You see, I’m…” I swallow, unable to meet her gaze — or anyone’s — as I say stiffly, “I was in the care of Igmora and Tyto before Raingar and the other clan chiefs purchased me. I’m…” I stagger, struggle, ashamed that this is so hard. “I’m a pleasure female, currently just a guest of the Lemoran clan chiefs until I find my place in the community.”
“A pleasure female!” The female shouts.
The male at the counter spits out whatever he’d been drinking all over Raingar and then steps onto a wooden crate, breaking whatever was inside, before toppling over. “You purchased her!” He shouts from the floor.
But Raingar reacts to none of it. Instead, I feel his gaze on me, colder and more distant than it was. I look into his eyes and a fire sparks, hot and wild, restless energy drawing a small gasp from my lips.
“Is that what you think is happening here?” He hisses and a splinter of fear cuts through me.
“Which…which part?”
“A pleasure female?” Lyla bellows. She drops whatever she’d been working on, good progress lost as pins scatter wildly across the floor.
She comes to stand directly in front of me, blocking my view of Raingar and stamps her foot onto the wooden floorboards, making them all rattle. “Don’t you dare tell me, Raingar, that you have in any way used this stunning creature for your own personal pleasure.”
“Pagh! Of course not. But even if I had, it would be none of your ohring business!” I can see him shaking his fist over the top of Lyla’s shoulder. This is expected. What isn’t? Her growl.
Even the male on the floor manages to shoot up onto his feet, his one bare foot spearing through the bottom of the crate as he drags it along with him. He stomps towards Raingar and the female closes in and I panic, worried that a fight’s about to begin.
“Are you telling us…”
“How dare you come into my shop…”
“You know that we don’t deal with…”
“We need to alert the clan chiefs…”
“We won’t stand idly by and let you abuse this creature!”
“Pagh! Ohring asteroids, strike me down! Come outside, the both of you,” Raingar roars, cutting into their babble. He grabs both the male and female by the scruffs of their necks, making them look like younglings despite the fact that he’s only marginally larger than the male. He hauls them out of the front door, which he kicks shut behind him with a loud thwack.
My skin prickles with goosebumps.
I curl my left hand into a fist around my palm, fingering the raised skin there. There’s no scar, but the skin is puckered slightly from where I cut myself on the window. It serves as a reminder that I was a pleasure female once, but that I’m also a female who fights for her freedom.
I never truly minded the idea of being a pleasure female. I thought it would be nice, to be good at something, to be valued for it, and to be treated well — even revered — for being good at a thing that brings pleasure to others.
I hadn't wanted to be bought and sold by the creatures I encountered in Quadrant One though, at least those I met before Raingar. But now, hearing the reactions of the other Lemoran, I feel even worse. What Igmora and Tyto made me is a shameful thing in this society and it hurts to know that that’s how these proud, strong creatures view me.
I rub the cut on my palm, distracted by it, until the doors blow open and the three Lemoran return, expressions entirely changed. Raingar is holding onto one of his horns again and has trouble meeting my gaze. It makes me frown.
Could it be the pain his horns are causing him that pushes him sometimes toward me, and other times farther away? I make a mental note to ask him to stop at the herb and flower stalls so that I can pick up some materials to press soothing ointment for them.
Lyla starts to smile and turn to face me, but Raingar reaches up in a menacing motion, grabs her by the horn and wrenches her back around. They exchange a few more hushed words that I can’t make out before breaking apart. It bothers me, the sight of his hand on her horn, and I find myself frowning at the pair, even as they both turn back around.
“So! Yeffa! I have materials for your pants,” she says, voice cheery, while the male shop owner resumes his place behind the counter.
“We’re sorry for our outburst, heelee.”
I shake my head, shame still making my eyes prickle. “It’s alright. I just…” Nob. I won’t say anything. I don’t want to make them uncomfortable. “Nevermind.” I shake my head and force a smile, but all three of them are frowning at me now.
Raingar steps forward, blocking out everything behind him with his broad shoulders and rocky frame. My gaze tips to his horns, and then to his eyes. It’s hard. He isn’t a hard male. A grumpy male, sure, but a hard one? Nob. It’s an unusual look for him and makes me nervous.
“What is it, Essmira?”
I’m a practiced liar, having been trained by the best, but I find myself incapable of getting the words out. Instead, I utter a soft truth, “I did not know that pleasure mates were so shameful here on Lemora. If I had, I wouldn’t have brought it up. I didn’t mean to shame you.”
“Shaaaaaame?” His voice strangles. He grabs onto his chest, hands clawing at his center like he’s trying to tear through it. “You…shame…nob…nob nob nob.” He starts walking towards me and I back up because otherwise, it looks like he’d run me over.
“Raingar?”
“Nob nob nob nob.” He doesn’t stop walking, not until my back hits a bolt of fabric. There’s an open window to my left that looks out onto the street. I’m surprised to see several faraway faces peeking through it. Young faces, when they see me, they squeal and disappear. I might have laughed if I weren’t so concerned and had Raingar’s hands not slammed against the wall beside my ears.
“You shame no one,” he grunts, voice like gravel dipped in honey and dragged through shards of glass. The moment holds its breath — or maybe just I do — before he lowers his face just a little towards me.
“We don’t have pleasurers here, but we do have a few beings who are now Lemoran but who began as pleasurers. They were enslaved against their will and were only able to venture here by escaping, or because they were too old to be of use to the pleasure houses anymore. Lemora is a safe place for all and we don’t judge anyone. We just don’t have experience with pleasurers who…who pleasure by choice.”
I nod, feeling embarrassed all over, and look down at our feet. His three toes against my five. I’m not wearing shoes, but he’s wearing thick sandals. I don’t know why, but I find the sight of our feet juxtaposed like that kind of funny. Kind of erotic, too.
“Do you…” Raingar swallows, sounding perturbed himself. It’s enough to bring my gaze back up to his. He swallows again. “Would you like to be a pleasure female?” His voice cracks a dozen times over those eight little words, if I’m counting correctly.
A rogue smile breaks out over my face, completely twisting the shame that had been spiraling through me until it winks out of existence. I lick my lips. His gaze flutters down to them. I inhale deeply. His gaze flutters down to my breasts.
“Yeffa.”
His expression hardens, eyes snapping back to mine. I can hear the sound of his fingertips scraping over the hard wood on either side of my head.
And then I whisper, “But only for the right male.” I hope he hears the implication that I’m too much of a coward to voice as a demand. I hope he hears my need.
I think he does, because his face morphs into a mask of shock, but he recovers quickly. Pressing his entire body forward slightly so that we’re separated by little more than my forearm’s length, his heat washes over me.
“Just for one male?”
“Yeffa. Just for one male.”
He chokes and comes forward a little more, to the point that I lose focus on his face and look at his chest instead. I have to clench my palms around my scar in order to stop from touching him. A female must wait for permission before touching the male… Ohr that.
I slid
e my palm over his pectoral, smoothing over the flat, dark brown nipple.
He bends down and growls in my ear, “But Essmira, would you not rather be a mate?”
“A mate?”
“Yeffa. A mate.”
My fingers slide down…down… “I don’t know anything about that.” I touch the top of his pants, fingers so dangerously close to the single strap that holds them up on his narrow hips. So close, I could just…pull it.
He sucks in a breath, his eyelids fluttering over his striated eyes. So many colors. So many layers. Not unlike the male himself. “Would you like to?”
My fingers still. My heart catches.
His eyes fly open and they burn with fire hot enough to singe. Is he… “Are you…” He can’t possibly be… He doesn’t know me. Unless, the way I look is all he’s after. I find that thought immeasurably disappointing.
“Ohr. I’m not good at this. I…”
“Raingar. Uh…Essmira? Would you two bugger away from the window? You’re causing a traffic jam outside of my store!”
“Our store, Timor. Unless you’d like me to take these scissors and cut your useless fingers off with them…”
“Ohr! Our store,” Timor concedes.
I look left and sure enough, more faces shine in the window — this time, no less than a dozen. Raingar shoves away from the wall with a roar and shakes his fist at the lookie-loos.
“Why don’t you creeping knackars mind your own ohring business? Pagh!” He shouts more insults, calling them knackars — insects — dung, asteroids, space junk, and a fascinating array of synonyms for idiot before turning back around and huffing around at the inside of the fabric shop.
“What? What are you staring at now!” He shouts at Lyla and Timor.
Timor’s grimacing and looking anywhere but at Raingar. Lyla’s laughing uproariously behind her hand. “You’re definitely going to need new pants now, Raingar. Though I think we’ll be needing to take the next pair out instead of in.”
Taken to Lemora Page 10
