Page 54 of Born for Lace

I focus on Tomar, a beautiful man who is almost too kind to exist in a world like this. Warm gratitude moves inside me. I do like him. He is a much safer and quieter option to Lagos as a companion. I only wish my body agreed.

He rubs his jaw, hesitation challenging his response. “To be honest with you, I don't know anything about sex, Dahlia. I can assure you, that’s not what we were discussing.”

I scrunch my nose. “I don't believe you.”

Tomar chuckles, but his brows draw in. “I think you should eat something, Dahlia.”

“Why are you laughing?” Shuffling on the chair, I adjust myself, wincing once when a needle prick of pain hits my rib. I continue with a breath, “I'm not a child. I’m a grown woman.”

I’m not sure why I felt the need to clarify that, but the words come out with a defensive snap.

Lagos’ body is warmer than the air when he stops at my side. I don’t look at him. Don’t need to. I seem to be able to feel him, even without touch, achingly close to me.

A tattooed hand holds out a piece of dried fish in front of me. “Eat,” he demands.

Tomar nods to the food, and I take it as he says, “I'm not laughing at you, Dahlia. I would never. I am more like you than you realise. You were protected from depravities. In an echo chamber ofspecificinformation. I don’t want to discuss this?—"

“Tomar is abstinent,” Lagos says, sitting on the side of the boat. He crosses his feet at his ankles, and it’s any wonder the catamaran doesn’t tilt under the mass of his muscular body.

I cock my head. “What?”

He smirks. “He doesn't?—"

“I understand the word, Lagos!” I shoot him an agitated look but find his eyes dark with warning, like he doesn’t want to talk to me about sex. I take a breath and look at Tomar. “Why?” I don’t get it. “Why would anyone abstain from something so healing and therapeutic?”

Tomar glances at Lagos and then back at me again. I think he hates this conversation, or it makes him uncomfortable, but he says, “It's distracting.” He shrugs. “And I have a Purpose.”

Lagos seems to find time for it. The thought comes fast and unwanted.

I clear my throat. “But… It's meant to relieve, to soothe, to bring peace?—"

“And it can.” Tomar points at the fish in my hand, and I take a bite. A flick of pain reminds me of my split lip, so I nibble the fillet instead.

He continues as I slowly eat. “But it is also addictive. A temptation. Remaining celibate, abstaining from sex, avoids inner conflict. I can’t choose a woman over my Purpose.”

I blink at him. I have no idea if he’s being honest with me, but it doesn’t make sense. It goes against everything I have been taught by The Trade. “And you believe that if you have sex, you’ll… be distracted from your Purpose? That is the opposite of everything I was taught.”

He smiles gently. “There are different kinds of Purpose. Mine is entirely consuming. It’s a chance I am not willing to take, Dahlia. Neither should you.”

I’m struggling with this information. “But it must be a good experience to have such a positive effect on men. Right?” I find myself needing a clear answer. Digging for one. I was conditioned to believe my Trade saved The Cradle from decades of depression and suicide. That’s all true, isn’t it? The nausea of deceit sinks to the pit of my stomach. Is it all a lie? To what purpose?

My pulse beats in my neck. “What about lowering blood pressure, loosening muscles, clearing a man’s mind?”

“Sure.” He sees right through me. Leaning forward and holding eye contact with me. “If a man is in love and it’s kind and consensual, then it can be a great experience. A loving one.”

“Don’t soften this.” Lagos uses his shirt to open a bottle of liquor. The kind I’m not familiar with. “Tell her the truth.” He drinks from the spout. It fizzles. “Tell her?—"

“If a man is without it,” Tomar cuts in, his voice strangely hard. “Or denied…” He struggles with his message before admitting, “This is very unpleasant to explain to a young woman such as yourself, Dahlia. It is the most basic of needs for a man. Primal. Wanting it is?—”

“Wild,” I finish, thinking about the way Lagos’ body moved over that girl, the way Beauty mewled like a feline, the erotic sounds, grunts, and groans.

“It can become an obsession,” he confirms.

“But women like it, too?” I see Beauty’s face twisted in pleasured agony. What was he doing between her thighs… Lifting my chin, I stare straight at Tomar. “I'd like to try it.”

“Lace Girl, quiet now,” Lagos says, tone deep and gruff.

“Well—” Shock lodges in Tomar’s throat, and he coughs into his fist. “Well, I think it will only distract you from Spero.”

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