“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 h*ps 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 h*ps 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 h*ps 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.