"Oh, Sas... It's not just your obedience that I want." She ran her hand down my face, softly gripping my chin. Her dark gaze burnt a trail to the redness of my cheeks, the hollow of my throat, the quivering of my knees, and then back up.
A taunting...
"So what does this say then," she huffed out a laugh, reaching to point at my page. I inspected the word for a moment, sounding it out in my head. I made sure my face didn't scrunch in a confused way so no one saw my struggle.
"Beef." I cleared my throat, resting my elbows on the table.
"Oh," she hummed. "I think I like beef." Emma gestured for the bartender, trying to grab his attention. "Sir. Excuse me, where is your beef imported from?"
The slim-faced man turned to her. His nose bent in a funny way, and bruises colored it purple. He raised a thick brow. "Otowoha."
"Otohuh?" She turned to me, shifting her entire body. "You heard of that?" I shrugged, shaking my head no. Squinting her eyes, she whipped back around. "Well, is it fresh?"
"Do you want it or not, lady?"
"I want to know if—" I cut her off, resting an arm on her shoulder while inspecting the prices.
Hushing her, I whispered. "We can't even afford it." Emma's shoulders sagged, the choppiness of her hair falling forward to cover her face. She groaned, and her free arm curled around her stomach in dramatic discomfort.
I released my grip, bumping her with my arm. "We have a job to do, okay? Then we eat."
It seemed to cheer her up, to my relief. When she lifted her head back up a newfound emotion was in her eyes. Determination.
"Well?" Emma chimed. "Let's get to it." It wasn't that simple. My eyes flittered across the mass of bodies. She wasn't here yet.
"You shouldn't be here when she comes," I decided. It was my job, after all.
Emma stood. She stretched her arms above her head with a grunt, coat raising to expose her underlayers. She was hot. Sweat glistened on her forehead.
"Don't attract any attention," I warned her. She trekked off, mumbling a yeah fine, as she shuffled to the door. She took a spot in the corner of the tavern, still able to see me but closer to the breeze coming from the rotted door. She rested her head on her hand, inspecting the grooves of the table she occupied with rapt attention.
I pulled the hood to my jacket up, ignoring the stuffy feeling it caused. Sweat collected at the back of my neck. I resisted the urge to pull up my sleeves as my blood ran hot. It was cold in the crowded room. I knew it was because I could see the misty tendrils of my breath escape after every exhale. Still, my hands fidgeted in front of me in discomfort.
The stool beside me creaked and I sent a glare to ward off another unwanted patron.
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I couldn't stay at the bar counter for long. It sat too close to the fire, and the sweat became sticky and unbearable. The crooked-nosed bartender wouldn't stop glaring at me, insinuating I should buy something. After an hour of shifting, uncomfortable in the heat, and glaring at people who tried to take the seat next to me, I moved.
