"I will never leave you." Myra reached for him.
Jaspir trudged over to the bed. "Then no more talk of speaking to my employers. They may assign you to another and I would hate that." He laid his head on her bosom, still firm and ample for a woman who had birthed two boys and lived a life of luxury.
Lady Myra sighed as she ran her hands through his dark curls. Jaspir felt an argument coming on so he ran his fingers up the insides of her thighs.
"Perhaps," he said, "the solution is to increase your visits from two times a week to three." His fingers found a warm, wet heat at the apex of her thighs. "Maybe four."
Lady Myra's head fell back, all fight gone from her.
A loud bell chimed.
Jaspir's hand stilled. He looked up into her glazed eyes, apology on his face. "I'm sorry, my lady. That's all the time we have today."
Jaspir rose from the bed and extended a hand to the disoriented woman. He helped her into her clothing. She left his rooms with a promise to book him the next day. Jaspir placed a lingering kiss on her hand and then summarily shut his door.
He went to his washroom and began to wash her scent off. There was no point in taking a bath, he had another client arriving in twenty minutes. He had only enough time for a bird-bath and a quick bite.
Jaspir caught his reflection in the mirror. His dark hair was a bit overgrown and needed a cut. His golden brown skin looked a bit sallow from all the time he spent inside these days. His dark eyes looked tired. He caught a gold glint from the corner of his eye.
The watch.
Jaspir walked out of the washroom, unclasping the expensive band as he went. The band was heavy in his palm. It would likely fetch a good price at the trader store. He opened a drawer and tossed the watch inside. It clanked as it met with the other jewelry inside. Diamond ear pieces. Platinum rings. Jeweled cufflinks. A necklace made entirely of sterling silver.
At the bottom of the drawer was a photograph. Jaspir took out the picture and stared at it. The lush land settled peace in his heart. He stared at the small cabin sitting on the land. The cabin was styled with an old-fashioned chimney alongside modern solar panels. He could just make out a small pond of water, rare so far inland. There on the north side of the property was where he would build the garden. It was five acres of land at the outskirts of the city. It was perfect.
Lady Myra wanted to buy him and have him as her pet. She wasn't the only one. That wasn't the first offer to be owned by another person that he'd received. Jaspir had no interest in servitude.
No, Jaspir wanted ownership. Something that belonged to him. Something no one could ever take away from him. And it was nearly his. His fingers pinched the photograph as though he could feel the blades of grass on the pads of his fingers. In just a matter of months, he would have enough money to purchase the land.
He placed the picture back beneath the jewels. When he closed the drawer, he clenched his fist once more. The pad of his finger that hurt earlier was fine now.
Jaspir shook his hand and reached up to remove his shirt. His next client would be at the door any moment.
4
Merlyn woke with a start. Her heart raced, her chest heaved, her lips felt swollen. She'd had the dream again. Though she still felt the after effects of the dream, she couldn't remember the details.
Merlyn collapsed against the sheets in exasperation. She knew the dream. It was of Jaspir. The time nearly ten years ago in the garden when he'd pulled her into an embrace and placed his lips on hers. She had dreamed of him nearly every night since. But with each passing year the dream faded and only the physiological effects remained.
She still saw his face, the excitement there. The dark heat of his eyes. The flare of his nostrils. The moisture at his lips. She saw the dirt under his fingernails, the parts where he gnawed at them. She remembered the shirt he wore, saw the thread coming loose at the collarbone, the hole at the armpit as he'd raised his hands and reached for her. She saw his eyelashes, the sunspot on his neck.
But when Merlyn reached for the memories of the feel of his lips against hers, she pulled up haze. Her subconscious clearly remembered it, as evidenced by her damp, tangled sheets. But something blocked the part of her mind that could recall sensory detail.
Merlyn tossed the covers off. She dressed quickly. Unlike her sister, Alyss, who took at least an hour before emerging from her wardrobe, Merlyn had few selections. The majority of her sheaths were grey, brown, or black. She spent most of her days in her lab, getting messy. She didn't care for color or variety, only functionality.
A grey dress went over her head today. The sleeves covered her arms as a layer of protection against the chemicals she worked with. They caught at her wrists so as not to obstruct when she wrote or mixed the chemicals. The dress fell down in a straight line to her calves for freedom of movement for her legs. She gathered her hair and tamed the strands into a bun at the nape of her neck. She took a washcloth to her face and wiped away any remaining evidence of the dream. She was ready.
Merlyn left her room and walked the long hallway to the dining area. The voices within told her that she was the last to arrive.
"It is not my opinion, Mother. It is that of the Sisterhood." Alyss was dressed
