Then it turned away because I had seen a painted warrior with a woman who was wearing a short sarong, not a long one like mine and all of the other women I had seen while in that world. The back of her sarong was at her waist, she was bent forward, he was behind her, she had nothing but his hands pounding her hips into his groin to keep her up and they were fornicating.
Fornicating!
On the dance floor!
Diandra called it sordid?
I’ll say sordid. Good God!
My eyes swept the scene and I noticed something I hadn’t noticed before. Most of the crowd had moved the revelry amongst the tents. The front of the dais was taken up now by painted warriors and a lot of women the type I’d never noticed before. Skimpy bandeau or halter tops (if they had any on at all!) and short sarongs, bare feet, very painted faces, wild hair.
And I knew that the celebration had changed. This part was for the warriors and these women were not wives or brides. They were something else.
And there were a lot of warriors, enough that at least some of them had to have wives.
Seriously, I needed to get the fuck out of there.
“Kah Lahnahsahna,” Lahn called and I turned my head to him. “Vayoo ansha,” he ordered, his voice quiet, his head tipping to his lap.
I stared at him, my heart lurching.
“What?”
“Vayoo ansha,” he repeated with another dip of his head to his lap.
Oh God.
I didn’t move, just stared.
He leaned toward me, his fingers curled around my elbow, gliding down to my wrist at the same time pulling my arm away from my legs. Once he had it extended to him, he lifted it high and repeated, “Vayoo ansha, Circe.”
Fuck. He wanted me to come there.
My concern was… why?
Hesitantly, I slid my heels off the throne, let my legs go and got up. Lahn didn’t let go of my hand and kept it lifted high until I was standing in front of him. Then his hand released mine, both of his came to my hips and he pulled me forward, not so I was sitting in his lap but so my knees were in his throne at either side of his hips and I was straddling him.
Shit, shit, shit.
Luckily, I’d been able to use my sarong to shield my legs from the sun but my current position still wasn’t comfortable because his horns had no pads and they were hard and rounded, digging into my shins.
He tilted his hips down and reclined against the back of the throne so my privates were resting on his and his hands slid from my hips, up my back, pulling my torso closer.
Shit!
When his hands were between my shoulder blades and my face was close to his, he spoke to me softly saying something I didn’t understand.
“You know,” I replied, “I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”
He tipped his head to the side, his mouth twitched then he spoke some more.
When he stopped, I informed him on a shake of my head, “Nope, didn’t get any of that either, big guy.”
“Big guy,” he muttered, his mouth twitching again.
That was appealing, I had to admit, but not so appealing I could forget he was a huge dick.
I looked over his shoulder.
“Circe,” he called, one hand gliding down my back, the other one going up to curve around my neck and I looked at him again.
“Yes?”
He said something else, it was soft, it was gentle, it went up at the end in a question and if that didn’t do it, his brows went up too.
But all I felt was his hand that had lowered to cup my ass.
Dear Lord, I hoped he didn’t think I would engage in what was happening all around us.
“Lahn,” I replied, squirming a little with discomfort in his lap.
He repeated what he’d asked but this time, his hand at my neck moved around and when he finished his question, it had curled around my jaw and his thumb and forefinger moved the sides of my mouth up in a smile.
I guessed at his question and answered, “No, I’m not happy.”
His hand drifted down my neck, my chest, over my breast and I sucked in breath when it stopped, holding me there.
This wasn’t getting better.
“Good?” he asked.
“No, not good,” I answered, shaking my head and wondering what would happen if I pulled away.
“Okay?” he went on and I shook my head.
“No, not okay,” I stated and lifted a hand to curl it tight around his wrist at my breast, making my point.
His fingers tensed at my bottom.
“Not okay,” he muttered, his painted eyes moving over my face.
“Nope,” I affirmed.
“Me sah,” he stated, his fingers giving my breast a light squeeze then he took them away and lifted his hand, touching his finger to my chest, “Sah.”
Not this, he said, this. In other words, he wasn’t asking if I was okay with him touching me but if I was just okay.
“No, Lahn, I’m not okay. My skin is burned, my ass hurts from sitting for hours, I don’t like what’s happening out there,” I swung my arm behind me but kept his eyes at the same time I shook my head, “and I’m tired. I want to go back to the tent.” I pointed at me and then said, “Cham.”
His fingers moved to trail lightly along the top of my bandeau as he said something in a quiet voice.
“Whatever,” I muttered, looking over his shoulder.
Then I heard him call out and I looked back at him to see his head turned. I turned mine in that direction and saw a woman with a tray headed our way. She nodded, bowed, turned and scuttled away. I looked back at Lahn when he started talking and the only word I understood was cham.
I hoped this meant I was released from my duties and going home.
Then his hand lifted, going around my back, he pulled my hair off one side of my neck then his hand wrapped around the back of my neck and he drew me closer and to the side until his mouth was at my ear. He whispered something there as his other hand left my bottom and started to stroke my back.
I had a feeling this meant I had the sweet Lahn back but too little, too late. My skin was fried, I’d been bored out of my brain and people were fornicating on the dance floor, something he had to know was not of my culture but definitely knew I didn’t like. He didn’t give one shit about me. He could be sweet but when he wasn’t, he really wasn’t and there were far more of those times than the sweet ones.
His fingers tensing at my neck pulled me back and positioned me until his face was all I could see and his hand kept stroking my back in a light, sweet way (the brute!) when he spoke again.
“Me Geoffrey, na kuvoo?” he asked, his face serious but not hard.
“No Geoffrey,” I stated and he nodded once.
“No Geoffrey, Circe. Nahna Dax tahnoo tee, na kuvoo?”*
He shouldn’t have dismissed Diandra; I had pretty much no clue. The only thing I could do was nod.
“Dohno,” he muttered, his hand left my neck, his eyes moved to it and I watched his face go soft when he stared at it.
That look was appealing too, the asshole.
Then he moved his hand to his chest and wiped it all around and even in the firelight I saw he was rubbing my gold dust on his skin.
