They had taken advantage of that in their other life. The past, for J'mon, and the future for Gilmore. And the promises he made now sounded just as enticing as they had then. It truly didn't matter that they had heard them before - they would have been happy to hear them a hundred more times if that was what Gilmore felt, and what he wanted. It may have been strange for him to have the sovereign of his home country giving over so much, so willingly. But they picked their favorites. They had been plucked from Ank'harel or further out in the dunes because of some great skill or beauty and offered a home in the palace. Some refused, and J'mon still showered them and their families in whatever gifts they desired. But many chose to stay. They hadn't intended to gather others to them in the same way here - the hope had really been to live a simpler life and experience everything in its truest form - but that did not make Gilmore's presence any less exciting.
They softly stroked the sides of Gilmore's face, expression both delighted and adoring all and once, and trailed back into his hair to bury their fingers in the thick curls there. Denying themself was a much harder thing to do than denying someone else, and they had truly never been very good at it. But they swallowed down the knot of desire and basked in that gaze for a while longer before pulling away, giving Gilmore a soft nudge to coax him back down on the bed.
It was all wordless. They knew power and they knew how to toy with it in the way that Gilmore seemed to enjoy. Pushing him away - just a bit - when he so obviously wanted to draw closer just twisted that tension between them a little tighter. They would give him what he wanted. But slowly.
J'mon brushed their hair off their shoulder and reached for the bit of fabric wrapped up over their shoulder, sliding it down and around, letting it drag through their fingers as they did. It was clearly a performance. And who knew how many times they had given it. But the easy, casual air they moved with implied a certain experience. Once the fabric was pooled around their waist, they began untucking each of the pleats individually. A couple of flower-shaped pins held bits of fabric in place and those were discarded on the side table while the dusty blue silk unwound and eventually fell to the floor entirely. J'mon was left in just the simple tunic they wore beneath it - nearly the same color as their skin - legs bare except for the chains that wrapped around their ankles and down the tops of their feet.
The bangles on their arms clattered together softly as they stretched, knowing exactly how the fabric would rise up their smooth thighs. There wasn't a single flaw or blemish anywhere. Not a freckle. Not a scar. It was eerily perfect. As they stepped forward again and placed themself delicately between Gilmore's knees, they reached for his hand and slid it up the outside of their thigh. "Take," they said. The simplest command. The only thing left to remove was the tunic and they had just given Gilmore permission to do away with it if he pleased.
What he would find beneath was not entirely common. J'mon was a touch smaller than most Marqesian men, even entirely aroused as they were now. And tucked between their legs was a second bit of anatomy. Both, together, formed one smooth line. But J'mon was made of both feminine and masculine and a little bit of something in-between. Their chest was soft, small, shapely, but with a distinct curve. And rings hung from both nipples with a row of bright blue gems dripping from both gold hoops. Today, a triplicate of delicate chains connected them - the same sort of chain that wrapped around their feet and ankles. Gilmore wouldn't know, but it was the exact thing they had been wearing the first time he had come to see them in Ank'harel.