"Mm...I'd love that," Sahar said, for the altar was starting to hurt. But as Ihlsep moved atop her again, Sahar rolled onto her back again, legs opening for him, and would not have protested a second round here--
Except for the fact that they were rudely interrupted.
Her heart just about tore from her chest and she jumped, at first thinking it was Nasrin who had walked in, but when she lifted onto her elbows she saw it was...both better and worse. Better because it was a crowd of strangers and not anyone she'd ever have to face again, like her sister, but worse because it was an entire crowd of women who were catching them like that.
Ihlsepar bolted, and Sahar jerked upright, her face hot, and yanked her soiled robe on as quickly as she could. She jumped down from the altar, but thank Hakeshna the women were more interested than him than in her, because it meant she could slip by them and make a beeline for her room.
Because...now that she was walking...ugh. Gift from him to her, indeed. She needed to dress and, more importantly, she needed to clean up. Because fun as that was, it was messy--and now that she wasn't in the throes of passion, it was also kind of painful. Her thighs ached from holding them in a position she didn't normally hold them in, and other places ached, and she walked a little awkwardly as she made it back to her room.
Nasrin could wait.
Little did Sahar know that Nasrin was waiting, and she was waiting in the room Ihlsepar burst into. Seated cross-legged on a prayer rug on the floor with her knife and a small whetstone, she glanced up at his naked form with one eye, moving from his member slowly up his body and taking in the red scratches covering him. Her lips thinned and she glanced behind him as though expecting Sahar.
When Sahar didn't enter, she looked back at Ihlsepar and narrowed her eyes. And slowly, very slowly, never breaking eye-contact, she dragged the whetstone over her blade with the long, low schiiiick of metal.