Page 38 of Born for Lace

Then his focus shifts to Spero on the ground beside my feet, and I share my gaze between them. Watch them eye each other with a keen and strange interest.

“Do you want to hold him?”

Lagos slides his hand from behind my head and steps backward from us.

“You’re my responsibility now,” he states, his tone deep, his attention still tethered to Spero. “Until you’re both safe, you’re mine.”

You’re mine.

Two words.

And I panic.

Not in a bad way— Wait… not in a good way either. In an overwhelmed way. By everything I feel, his words, closeness, and the fact he is actually talking to me. Not just grunting.

I don’t move a muscle… Can’t seem to convince my legs that the conversation is over, and I should move away from him…

Move away, Dahlia!

Oh,I wish I wasn’t attracted to him, but then he drops his jeans and briefs at the same time, exposing the entire, long length of his form.

And he wades into the water.

I can move now. Inhaling the air, the scent of metals from the boats and salt from the sea mingle. I scoop Spero up, not wanting to witness whatever happens between Lagos, and the three girls waiting patiently for him to notice them. I walk away. I’m feeling a little better, knowing he doesn’t want to hurt Spero and doesn’t hate me, when a giggle from behind me snaps at me like a whip, jolting the truth into my head—I’m jealous.

ChapterTwelve

Dahlia

“I love it,” I whisper, staring at myself in the mirror in Sweets’ room. Her space is slightly larger than mine, with the same basics, yet it is full of clothes and colourful drapes—an explosion of fabric.

Spero gurgles on her mattress, chubby fingers fumbling with a soft piece of silk. Silk is rare and royal, not an easy fabric to come by in The Cradle. I have heard that Silk Girls wear only silk, a fabric to match their station as the breeding girls for the lords of The Cradle. I wish I could feel it on my skin, all over me; I’m certain it is divine.

Dressed in a cream corset that shows the tops of my breasts, bone structures hold me tight down the curve of my waist, and a frilly, cream lace skirting, I’m something between a Lace Girl and House Girl. My red hair ripples down my spine and over each shoulder, pieces in chunky tendrils. It’s wild and uninhibited.

Lagos might like me like this.

“Men like the fantasy,” Sweets says, standing behind me, the chipped full-length mirror showing her reflection. She dabs the end of a perfume bottle on my neck, scenting me with citrus top notes and deep base notes of vanilla. Another rarity her trade probably provided her. “Every man wants to fuck a Lace Girl while she sleeps.”

“But I won’t be asleep.” I turn to face her. “And they will know that, right?”

“You’ll be pretending, and they will know. It’s just a game. You’ll bring in a lot of attention, Lace Girl, just like when we first got Beauty. She was our prize. Our little Trade Nurse. She plays nurse with them, and they offer up a good exchange.” She smiles, delight glimmering in her eyes. “What do you want? Chocolate? Fabric to make clothes? New boots? A hairbrush?”

I don’t have to think long. “Ginger. Butter. Flour. Sugar,” I say.

“Really?” Sweets curls her nose. “Fresh butter will be difficult. You don’t want a gem,” she breathes, “like this.” Her delicate hand comes to her chest, fingertips dancing along the fine-linked chain to a deep red stone.

I chew my bottom lip, scrutinising my body in the mirror again. I’ve never looked like this before. If I saw myself on the streets, I may even be jealous. That makes me smile.

“Can we try?” I offer a little shrug to show I’m not counting on it. “If not, oil will do, but not animal. Vegetable or flower oil is best.”

She turns me to face her, hands now on either side of my upper arms, supportive. “Are you sure you want to do this? Lagos and Tomar have been looking after you. You don’t need to.”

“Yes.” I nod. “I’m my own person now. I belong to no man. I want to know what it feels like to be with a man, and to be desired. Lace Girls are ignored. I’ve watched men grovel for House Girls in the Half-tower. Chase them, need them intensely like their last breath.” A flutter of excitement fills my stomach at the thought of requesting butter, of having men offer me jewels, having them drop chocolate between my parted lips, so they can taste it on my tongue…Oh,my cheeks burst with pink, my shameful fantasies on display.

“I can choose a nice man for you,” —dropping her hands from my shoulders, she faces herself in the mirror to adore her own lovely reflection— “for your first time, but the gentle ones typically don’t have very interesting exchanges.”

“It’s not my first time,” I say straightaway, more to myself. The idea of my first time being with a stranger makes my stomach churn. “I’ve been with my Ward many times. I was just in the Deep Sleep.”

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