Page 17 of Born For Lace (The Cradled Common #2)

Chapter Sixteen

Dahlia

Leaving Spero swaddled safely in a nest, I take the small steps up the centre of the catamaran to the top deck. Using the rail, I’m cautious. Though the pain is not too great, swapping my weight from foot to foot makes me aware of my light-headedness.

I hear a hiss of cascading water. Then, through the white noise, a conversation presses through, tones and inflictions, but not complete sentences. Only words: impure, fucking, her, something about needing a fuck.

The deep voices pause, probably hearing my footsteps, and I quicken my pace so they don’t think I was trying to eavesdrop—again.

“Coming up.” I step onto the deck and freeze. Gaze around in awe. We are definitely not at The Bite. A screen of water to my left and a rocky structure blocks my right. Overhead stones and the mouth of a spilling waterfall collide. We are hidden behind it—inside it. And it’s a wonderous white curtain that encloses us, hiding us from view.

I close my eyes and sigh. I would have never seen such a thing, such a beautiful part of The Cradle if not for Maple and Spero. Great experiences… food, soap, sex, and I think I have my own to add… I smile. Nature .

Trade citizens are herded into towers to protect us from the Redwind, given Trades to offer us Purpose, but at the cost of discovery and adventure. Of finding who we are in our mind.

And it isn’t simply our Trade.

I open my eyes. “It’s so pretty.” I revel in it. The waterfall mists the air with cool, briny droplets that sheen my skin and dot my eyelashes.

“It’s falling water,” I hear Lagos grunt from somewhere not too far away.

“Well”—I smile at his grumpiness because it’s stunning and he must know that. Deep—deep, deep, deep— inside that thick skin, he knows. “Some things must be prettier when they fall.”

“Hm.”

I blink, breaking the small clear orbs on my cheeks. How I wish Maple could see this… She deserved so much better. My heart twists, and I suddenly feel as though I owe her for this.

For all of this…

For this glimpse of The Cradle beyond the Half-tower, outside the regime.

“Please come sit with us.” Tomar’s voice catches my attention moments before the top of his head appears on the far side of the ship. He waves me over. “There is no spray over here.”

I inhale and try to clear my thoughts. “What were you talking about? Please don’t stop on my behalf.”

I begin toward the back, careful not to trip over the ropes and frames of the catamaran. It is pieced together rather than designed—each element appears salvaged. Mismatched and tarnished but strong.

Slowly, Tomar comes into view. His skin is ashen, with thin blue veins visible beneath his cheeks. He looks unwell. “You look pale, Tomar. What has happened?”

“A little off.” Even his voice seems distant. “I'll be fine. How are you? Your nose looks much better now the swelling is down.”

I don’t care about my nose or the dull ache in my side. I take a step. This area of the large cat is obviously where they spend their time above deck. Fishing rods are set in holders, and large, old tackle boxes are fastened to the edges.

Lagos suddenly appears at my side, his hand on my elbow, helping me over a lip in the frame.

I peer up at him, at his dark-blonde beard and serious gaze. “If you keep this up,” I tease, “I’ll start to think you have a heart.”

“That would be a mistake,” he states, cold, letting go of me the moment I am on the flat. “Bathe, eat, and go back to my room.”

My room… I wish I didn’t feel those two words inside my stomach.

“Fine.” But it isn’t fine. I’m not fine with that. I don’t want to go back to his room. Turning to Tomar, who smiles softly, I find myself grinning lazily at him. “Were you talking about sex when I came up? Is that why you want me to leave?”

Tomar coughs out a “No!”

I lift my chin. “You said something about needing a fuck. I can handle it.” I move around and carefully sit on a small, fold-out chair opposite him.

“Is this the Opi reduction effect?” Tomar asks Lagos, forced amusement in his tone.

Oh , he’s right. Heavy doses of Opi can yield a sluggish and dazed aftermath. I have never taken it twice in twenty-four hours, though I know many Lace Girls who have. Their Wards enjoyed them often, but mine only required me once a month because he was older, much older than me. Though I liked him as a person and a man, I was never attracted to him.

I glance at Lagos once, just quickly.

He is stiff-backed as he moves to a box fastened to the back wall and opens it. “I said give a fuck,” he clarifies. “Not need a fuck.”

I frown ahead. “I want knowledge of all the great experiences in life.” I didn’t mean to say that aloud. “What’s a better way to learn than from two men like yourselves.” I apparently have no control over my own mouth right now.

I don’t gaze across at Lagos again, but I don’t need to. I feel the air beat with disapproval, ripples of energy coming from him, but he says nothing. Does nothing. Am I imagining his tension? I try to push further, testing. “I don’t want it to be a mystery to me. Why are these conversations so private?”

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 of specific information. 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.”

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.