Page 32 of Taken to Lemora
“What kinds of undergarments?”
Raingar’s eyes are focused on my face, causing the tingling to return. “They support my breasts and between my legs they stop me fromleakinganything on my thighs.” I squeak that last part.
He raises both brows until they almost reach his horn line. “What are you leaking? Like pee?”
A loud, violent snort shoots out of my nose and I hiccup instead of laughing. “Why is your first assumption always that I’ve urinated myself?” I laugh and snort and chuckle again, but I don’t cover it. My hand flinches toward my mouth, but I…just don’t.
Raingar’s mouth twists up on the right side. His teeth gleam white in his pretty mouth. Pretty? Did I just call any part of this blocky male pretty? The thought makes my smile stretch.
“So what do you leak then, if not urine?” He asks with complete seriousness.
I bite my lip and shift uncomfortably from foot-to-foot as I ignore my inner Igmora whispering at me that the male does not need to know these things. For whatever reason, I want Raingar to know everything. “Every solar there is a little liquid. And if I’m having my monthly, then it’s blood. I can place a small cup inside of my body to catch most of the blood, but the undergarments help catch anything that I might leak out. There’s alsopleasureliquid. If I’m aroused, the undergarments are helpful in capturing it.” My cheeks burn. “But that doesn’t happen often.”
Only if Igmora and Tyto force me to wear pleasure beads in my panties. Their vibrations stimulate me. They were very competent in teaching me how to stimulate myself because the lubricant, they said, could help increase the males’ pleasure, as could the tightening of my inside walls when I orgasm.
“You leak…when you feel pleasure?” His chest inflates, like a balloon. He seems to be holding his breath. There’s a fresh scent that rolls off of his skin that surprises and alarms me. It smells like dew on moss at solarbreak — a smell very new to me, but that I’ve smelled every solar for the past nine, since I got here.Lemora. He smells like Lemora.
“To…uhm…” I scramble for an elegance that’s suddenly elusive. “It…uh…lubricates the entrance for the male. At least, this is what I was taught. I’m sure you must have personal experiences to support this unless Lemoran females are…constructed differently.”
“How should I know?” He balks, throwing his arms out to the sides. He shuffles a half step back and six of the pins I’d been using to keep the tantu fabric up fly free. The synthetic fibers fold down his legs and slump lamely onto the floor, revealing the monstrosity of a garment that he’s got on underneath.
“I’ve never been with a female. How could you think that?” He scowls at me,offended. “On Lemora we only mate with our mates. That’s why it’s calledmate. Don’t tell me you’ve been forced to mate with males that aren’t your mate…” His furious expression devolves quickly to shock. He clasps a heavy hand over his mouth and whispers between his fingers, “Stars, Essmira. Have you?”
My jaw hangs open. His words go in direct contrast to what Igmora and Tyto have taught me about males. Males use females. Males do not need to respect females. Female bodies are built for male pleasure and that, alone. But this male is telling me he’s never even touched a female because they haven’t been his mate?
Two simultaneous sensations hit me, though neither are expected or appreciated.
The first, a surge of possessiveness to be that first female to show him pleasure. IknowI could show him a pleasure that would make his mind and all three of his Lemoran hearts explode. I’ve been training my whole life for it. For this. For him.
The second, a deep, brutal wave of sorrow that I might never get that chance. Because he’s not meant for me, the Igmora in my head says. He’s meant for a strong female who can bear him strong Lemoran kits in a way that I can’t.
“Essmira?” He says my name. I like the way it sounds in his accent. Like a wave. I’ve always liked it. But right now, I wince away from it. “Essmira, it’s alright if you have. I know that Igmora and Tyto didn’t treat you…”
“Oh. Nob. Nob, that’s the one thing they did make sure of. I haven’t been with any males.” I almost tell him that though I haven’t been with any males, Iamhighly proficient in all sexual acts and would be able to offer him the greatest pleasure of his lifetime — way better than any other female on this stupid rock — but I don’t want to pressure him or deny his future mate that right.
I also don’t want to humiliate myself by suggesting that I could be his mate. Haven’t I already suggested it enough? I thought my intentions towards him had been plain. Maybe they weren’t plain enough. Maybe…when I oil his horns…I can try to spark something…Ohr! What am I talking about?
“I didn’t mean to upset you…”
“Nob. I’m not upset.” I roll my shoulders back and smile, but I struggle to meet his gaze. So I drop it again to his pants.
Collecting the small pins from the stone floor, where the pins and the stone almost blend together, I jump up and say with forced brightness, “If you don’t mind, I can’t work on your pants with the other pants underneath. We’ll need to remove them, undergarments or not. Is there somewhere more private we can conduct the fitting?” I try to sound professional, like taking off his pants doesn’t affect me at all.
He stutters, hesitating, searching for words and repeating every sentence I’ve said and each question, too while I try to roll my jealousy and disappointment into acceptance.
There’s no point in crying over something I can’t change, or wanting something that isn’t possible.
Igmora believed heavily in Fates and that ours are all already written by the universe because nothing is new, because everything has happened in infinite universes born before and because everything will happen in infinite universes to come. Again and again, the cycle repeats itself. He will always be clan chief. And I will always be pleasurer.
“Raingar,” I say, trying to sound assured in a way I don’t feel. “Which will it be? Bare-assed in your great hall or someplace more private?”
Raingar gawks. He stays gawking for a long while, but I don’t break his gaze as he searches mine. Finally, his shoulders slump forward and he rubs the space between his eyes.
“Follow me,” he grumbles as he trudges out from behind the throne and off to the wide hall that branches left.
Curtains separate the left and right corridors from the great hall. They’re large breezeways, too, and this left one is quiet. It leads to several smaller rooms that I know make up his private quarters.A place I haven’t been and won’t be permitted.
Painted a deep, almost brown-blood-colored red and studded with heavy metal bolts, the closed doors at the end of the hall taunt me just a little, because before we reach them, we stop short.
