Page 55 of Born for Lace

My cheeks flush. “Maybe when I get to the Common Community, I will find a boyfriend, and I’ll have sex with him.” I can’t seem to stop my mouth. “While I’m awake. Both of us. Would be awake.” I lock my lips, halting the provocative nonsense. But feel the current of disapproval on my cheek. I risk a look at him—Lagos—finding his eyes have darkened, his attention pinning me to the chair. “A farmer’s son, maybe,” I say to Lagos as I stand, and his jaw pulses. “To teach me how to live like my own kind.” I walk to Tomar, stopping at his side. “Will you listen out for Spero while I bathe?”

He doesn’t move, looking strangely stiff in his seat. “Of course. You can access the cave around the side.” He stands awkwardly, perhaps because he’s unwell, preparing himself to guide me.

“Please, I’d like to go alone.”

His uncertain eyes sweep the length of me. To convince him I’m capable, I straighten my back and ignore the tightness in my side.

After a few moments, he relents. “Okay. We have lowered the ramp for you; it’s only a slight gap anyway. You’ll see a hole in the overhead formation where the fall trickles through; it collects into a small pool. You can shower there. Are you sure you’re alright to go alone? What about your rib? I could face the opposite direction while you bathe but be within reach...”

My pulse flusters to the vision of Lagos watching me shower like he did that day at the cove. Though, I could have imagined that…Oh,I probably imagined it. “I’ll stand under the water. I won’t use the pond, so I should be fine.”

“Yell out if you need me.”

I nod at him. Impatient to escape the heavy gaze setting my skin ablaze, I set off toward the private rocky space.

ChapterSeventeen

Dahlia

Under the soft glow of worms, I pull Lagos’ black shirt off with one hand and cup my side with the other, supporting it. I ache, but I’m slow and careful as I move and stretch.

I leave my knickers on.

Prickles race across my thighs and arms; every little blonde hair stands to attention as the salty air kisses my skin.

There are rocks to get closer to the careening ceiling of the cave, closer to the downpour. I have always liked a bit of pressure when I shower. I take the steps and shiver as the cool ocean water blankets my body.

My breasts draw up, nipples stiffening on the small mounds. I am sure my body feels healthier than it should, thanks to Lagos. A hazy memory of his hands cleaning me in the cove, applying cool compression to my wounds, comes back in flashes. With them, guilt. I yelled at him. Lashed out.

I shouldn’t have.

I should thank him.

Sighing, I wash my arms and chest. The water pinches at my open wounds, reminding me that salt and minerals mingle in the clear fluid. That’s good. The Cradle’s natural antibacterial source.

Pulling my red hair forward over my shoulders, I work my fingers through the wavy tangles. I flick my hair back, the long, water-soaked strands slapping my spine. I feel good for a moment and forget, twisting to clean my backside when the pain in my rib roars.

A cry breaks my lips seconds before the thundering of heavy feet approaches from behind me.

“Flower—”

I turn around and freeze. Lagos is only a few metres away, staring at me naked and dripping with water.

The cave shrinks, a narrowed world that includes only his gaze and me. His eyes fall to my toes, lazily travelling upward, lingering at my trembling thighs, over my belly to my breasts.

His attention snaps to my eyes.

I blink at him.Speak.Say something. “I’m fine. I just… twisted in a...” I swallow as he strides toward me. “Strange way.”

“Mine.” The depth of his tone rumbles through me, and I can’t breathe. As he stalks into the downpour with his clothes on, he adds, “To keep safe,” in a way that seems forced. As if that wasn’t what he meant at all. That ‘mine’was the word urged up his throat, cut from a deeper thought he wants to deny.

He stops a stony step lower than me. I peer up at him, standing so close that his massive body blocks me from the downpour, offering me only the rush of water that touches him first.

It is overwhelmingly intimate.

And I see his nictitating membrane for the first time. The third eyelid swipes from the side, clearing the tiny beads of water from his near-black irises. It is a unique Xin De trait that humans engineered. The gene was originally copied from birds or some other beast.

His warm hands grip my hips. “Turn around slowly.” He eases me to face the other direction. My heart races up my throat while I oblige, now staring at the rocky formation.

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