So, I quickly resumed helping him bathe, gently cleaning the wound before scrubbing the rest of him down. Only after his hair was clean did he rise from the tub. The front of my tunic was wet, but I paid it no mind as I watched him dry himself. It didn’t escape my notice that his golden tattooed cock was hardened, bobbing against his abdomen.
Strangely enough, my eyes lingered on it before I forced myself to look away. I would know it well soon enough, I thought, knowing that the joining celebration drew near.
Once he was dry, he sat on the edge of the bed, still nude, which I tried my hardest not to notice as I cleaned the wound for a second time…though my face burned.
Arokan noticed and commented, “Humans are strange about bare flesh. Why?”
Swallowing, I kept my eyes on the slash, making sure there was no debris or dirt inside it. “I don’t know. We just…cover ourselves around other people.” I gave him a pointed look. “It’s polite.”
Arokan made a sound like a snort. “I am not ‘other people,’ as you call it. You will know my flesh like it is your own soon enough.”
Goddess help me, I thought, now my ears burning. He said it so nonchalantly, like it was a given. In a way, it was.
“Humans are strange about mating too, it seems,” Arokan commented next, eyeing my expression. “Why? It is natural.”
I cleared my throat, reaching for the hook needle and easily threading the gold strand through, despite my trembling fingers. “I don’t know. It’s just…it’s a private matter. We don’t usually discuss it so openly.”
“There is no one here now,” he murmured. “This is private.”
Startled, my eyes met his and for the second time that afternoon, my tongue was tied. To give me an excuse not to answer, I quickly pierced his skin with the hook needle and made the first stitch. He didn’t even flinch, which made me wonder how many times he’d done this.
“You know how to do this well,” Arokan commented, looking down at my neat stitches, when I didn’t reply.
“I worked as a seamstress in my village,” I told him softly. “Flesh and fabric are not so different.”
“I see you made your own clothing while I was gone,” he said.
“I didn’t steal the razor or the needle. I won’t have a way to kill you in your sleep if that’s what you’re worried about, horde king.”
He huffed out a small, startled breath and I felt it across my cheek. I hadn’t realized how close we were until that moment, but I could feel his heat along my side, could smell his scent.
“Nik, kalles, I am not worried about that,” he murmured. We lapsed into silence as I finished up the stitching. Only when I cut the thread and spread salve over the closed wound did he say, “You will need to wear the Dakkari ceremonial dress tonight.”
My lips pressed together as nerves stuttered my heartbeat. Softly, I said, “I’m sure thepikialready have it prepared.”
Arokan grabbed my wrist gently when I finished placing the padding on his chest. It looked like he wanted to say something, but then his jaw ticked and he looked away, releasing me. He stood and pulled on a pair of fresh pants from his trunks.
Then he said, “I will see you at thetassimaratonight.”
With that, he ducked through the entrance and left.
“You’re welcome,Vorakkar,” I grumbled to the empty tent, wondering what the hell had just happened.
Chapter Eleven
“You can’t possibly want me to wearthis, Mirari,” I exclaimed, eyeing the ‘ceremonial Dakkari’ outfit in horror and dread.
Or rather thelackof an outfit.
Stomach knotted in nerves, I pressed three of my fingers to my lips, trying to keep it together. It was bad enough that I was going through with thistassimaraat all, bad enough that I would freely give my body to a horde king who seemed cold and surly most of the time. Bad enough that I would most likely live out the rest of my life among the Dakkari, never to see my brother again.
And nowthis.
The ceremonial outfit was only a short, hide skirt, embroidered with beautiful gold swirling stitching accompanied by a heavy gold necklace. The necklace had one wide strand that wrapped around my throat and one thick plate that hung at the level of my breasts. Mybaredbreasts.
“Where’s—where’s the top?” I asked, my voice sounding breathless and light.
“No top,Missiki,” Mirari replied, taking a pot of gold paint from Lavi. She dabbed her fingers into it and then smeared it over one of my pebbled nipples, making me screech in surprise and dart away, rounding the bed. The necklace bobbed against my breasts, cold and heavy.
