The Pleasure Slave Page 4

  Sorceress? Binding spell? "She cursed you? But...why?"

  "Why does any woman curse a man?"

  Because she'd been spurned hung in the air unsaid.

  "This Arcadia you mentioned," Julia said. "Is that where you're from?"

  "Nay. I hail from Imperia."

  Arcadia. Imperia. Both were names she didn't recognize. Julia's stomach tightened as her thoughts spiraled off in a direction she didn't like. "Are either of those places, um, on Earth?"

  His lips thinned into a tight line. "Nay."

  Okay. The thought of life on another planet or dimension or whatever stretched her imagination to the limit. Remember, Julia, your own personal pleasure slave is sitting mere inches from your reach. So...interplanetary travel? Not too hard to believe, actually.

  "If we're from--" she had to swallow her disquietude before she could continue "--from different planets, how do you know my language?"

  "Another spell, this one cast by an exiled member of Gillradian society. Whatever land I visit, that language do I speak."

  "Magic language. Of course. I'm surprised I didn't guess."

  His warm, rich chuckle rained over her like a silky caress. "I think you speak another untruth, little dragon." Still grinning, his gaze circled the kitchen. "What manner of home is this?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "It is...so small."

  "Small?" A laugh bubbled past her throat. "You've got to be kidding. This place is three thousand square feet."

  "Of your feet, mayhap."

  Considering she'd grown up in a two-room adobe hut, this place suited her to perfection. "I'll have you know my house is not small. In fact, it's the biggest house in the neighborhood."

  "I am sure this is fine for one so tiny as you."

  "I am not tiny, Conan."

  He shook his head. "I am Tristan, not Conan."

  "Never mind." She waved a hand through the air. "You know, for a pleasure slave, you lack certain pleasuring skills."

  "Do I?" With a lascivious grace at odds with the sheer size of him, he eased to his feet. "Well, then, I will have to remedy that impression immediately."

  Julia almost jumped out of her skin. "I don't know what you're planning, but I know I won't like it."

  "You will like it," he vowed. "I have been pleasuring women for centuries now, and know exactly where to touch you to make you scream."

  Oh, my holy Lord most high. "I'm sure you do, but I swear to God I don't need a demonstration."

  "Oh, I think you do." And with that, he approached, striding around the table and straight toward her.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Always Gain Permission Before

  Touching Your Master

  WITH A SPEED Superman would have envied, Julia's guilt fled, replaced by confusion, panic and just a dash of eagerness. "What are you doing?" she demanded as Tristan continued his wicked-minded approach.

  He stopped, only a whisper away, and positioned his hands on both sides of her chair. His hard body ignited a fiery heat deep inside her, a heat that, once kindled, might never be doused.

  "I am giving you a demonstration," he said huskily, "of the pleasure I can give."

  Omigod, omigod, omigod. Her heart pounded sporadically in her chest, a pitter-patter of conflicting emotions. Did he plan to kiss her? Or...more?

  Before her tongue could turn to mush, she blurted out, "There will be no pleasuring me in this house!" The prospect of bodily delight both frightened and intrigued her. He was a stranger, after all, but dear God, he was handsome.

  He uttered another sexy, rumbling chuckle. "As I am yours to command, I will simply have to see to your displeasure."

  "Wait! That's not what I meant."

  When he leaned down, his lips softening for a kiss, she hastened to add, "I meant to say you will pleasure me right now."

  "That is all I desire, little dragon. That is all I desire."

  Irritated with him--and herself--she wrapped her arms across her chest. Why did this always happen to her? Why did her brain refuse to work properly in the presence of a romance-minded man?

  "You will please me," she said carefully, "by staying on your side of the kitchen."

  One of his dark brows arched. "You are sure?"

  "No. Yes. Yes, I am sure. You stay on your side, and I'll stay on mine."

  "Such is your command, and such will I do."

  Tristan moved two small paces back. His very presence flustered little Julia, and he would be lying if he claimed he did not like her reaction to him. The slight trembling of her body, the parting of her lips. The deep color in her cheeks. Oh, he liked. He liked very much indeed.

  The knowledge made him curse inwardly and he struggled to fortify himself against her appeal. Over the years, he had served many women of many different worlds. Except for a rare few, all of his guan rens--his female masters--had been selfish and vapid, expecting him to give total and complete obedience while they gave only commands and empty promises. Those demands always began immediately. Some hadn't wanted him sexually, but they certainly took full advantage of their ownership.

  Clean this, slave. Massage me, slave. Caress me until I scream with pleasure, slave. He'd heard every demand imaginable.

  Nay, he shouldn't like this woman, not any part of her.

  Still...little Julia had yet to request anything except his absence. And his friendship.

  Mayhap he had lived inside the box too long, and that was why she seemed so alluring. Or mayhap she simply reminded him of his homeland with her flashing dragon eyes--green, lush and intense.

  For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine that things would be different with this woman, that she truly wanted nothing more from him than his company. However, cynicism soon overrode his optimism. How many times had he dared hope for a measure of compassion only to find indifference?

  Countless.

  Give this one time, he thought, and she will demand submission just like the others. At least bedding her would be no hardship.

  Right now, the little dragon wore only a pair of panties and a thin white chemise held in place by tiny scraps of material, leaving most of her creamy skin visible for his perusal. She possessed a curvy waist and full, luscious breasts, as mouthwatering and sensual as her exotic feminine fragrance. Her hair hung down her back in a symphony of colors. From glossy dark brown, to gold, to the pale locks that framed her face.

  Her cheekbones were high, and she had a small nose. At first glance, and maybe at second, her prettiness wasn't readily apparent. The more he had studied her, however, the more he liked what he saw. She was an intriguing blend of courage and timidity, prudishness and sensuality.

  It was the prudishness that drew him most. That stay-away, do-not-please-me demeanor of hers challenged him in a way nothing had in centuries. Every time he hinted at carnal indulgence, she became agitated.

  He considered that. He had been forced to pursue women before. Some simply liked to be chased. Was this a game Julia liked to play, then? After all, bed sport began long before the first piece of clothing was actually removed.

  Nay. No game, certainly. The woman radiated fear. She was like a newborn dragon unable to fly away from approaching danger. Was she simply surprised by his intent? Or, if he approached once again, would she retreat? Finding out...hmm, the prospect intrigued him.

  Grinning, Tristan closed the distance between them for the second time. Before she could order him away, he leaned down and sniffed. "I see you have taken care of the smell." Stroking his chin, he studied her from top to bottom. "It does not seem as if you are in pain, and the hair is gone."

  Her face scrunched up adorably in confusion, and she dropped those fringed lashes in shy perusal. "What are you talking about?"

  "Earlier you mentioned needing a bath, having your woman's time and manlike legs." He stared down the length of her. "I must say, they appear perfect to me. Slender. Smooth. The kind that lock a man in place until he gives you full pleasure. I am most thankful you ar
e no longer wearing drocs."

  Her gaze collided with his, her eyes alight with aroused wonder. "Drocs?" she asked, breathless.

  He smiled, drawing out his next words and finding more excitement in this one act than anything he could last recall. "Drocs are leg coverings, little dragon. Leg coverings."

  "Leg..." Slowly realization set in. Red-hot color licked a path from her forehead to collarbone. "I'm in my pajamas," she said. "I'm in my freaking pajamas." Wide-eyed, she rose from her seat and raced out of the kitchen, both delicately shaped hands over her buttocks to shield his view.

  Tristan chuckled.

  But slowly, with the release of a breath, his humor abandoned him. This guan ren might be entertaining, but being owned, being chained to another, was far, far from humorous.

  Once Percen, High Priest of the Druinn, had learned of Zirra's curse, the High Priest had cast a spell of his own, hurtling Tristan's box away from Zirra, where he traveled from world to world, by fair means or foul. From one cruelty to another.

  Tristan knew why Percen had cast such a spell--to prevent the mortal Great-Lord from discovering that Zirra had broken the Alliance, already a fragile treaty at best, yet one that had at last ceased the war between their people. If word escaped that the Alliance had been broken, war would have once again raged.

  While Tristan loathed the High Priest's reasoning, he understood his actions.

  Mortal rebels wanted control of the Druinn, and in turn, Druinn rebels wanted control of the mortals. In their attempts to dominate each other, they killed innocent people and destroyed a once-prosperous land. Before his curse, Tristan had looked forward to quashing them both, for he enjoyed the peace and harmony the Alliance promised.

  Peace...ah, would he ever know its sweetness again? During the centuries of his enslavement, he had endured such anguish, such humiliation, the memories still made him shudder. He was forced to wonder, always wonder, how many more women he would serve in his infinite lifetime. One thousand? Two? He scowled. After so many guan rens, he should have been used to his bondage, should have shrugged at the thought of one more woman. He could not.

  He could only pray for his freedom.

  But he knew it would never come.

  In the beginning, he had searched for a woman to cherish, a woman to entrust with his heart. Then he had realized that if he fell in love with a woman and uttered a true declaration, there would be no magic to hold him to whatever planet he found himself on. He would hurtle back to Imperia. Alone. Forced to live his life without his true love.

  "Love," he spat. The word was a curse more foul than the one he currently endured. To love a woman was to live without her.

  Nay, love was not worth the hardships it brought.

  Tristan surveyed the room, taking in details that had been overshadowed by Julia's presence. The small space and low ceiling did not hamper the artistry of her decor. Fresh flowers overflowed from colorful vases. Elegant chairs pushed against a dark, ornately carved table. A finely woven rug lined the polished wood floor. Delicate, all. His large frame simply did not fit within the constrictors of this home.

  What kind of place was this Am-erica? Were all the inhabitants as small and fetching as Julia? Thinking of her sent a wave of anticipation through him, and he wondered just what the little dragon had planned for him this night.

  He was about to find out.

  She returned, rosy color blooming in her cheeks; she refused to meet his eyes. Disappointment struck him when he spotted her new clothing. Long black drocs. Neck to waist covered by a thick black chemise. Save for her face, not an inch of skin remained visible. Pity.

  "We need to put you to bed." She kept a wide distance between them, remaining in the doorway, as if she didn't dare get too close.

  He might have eased another woman from her embarrassment. Yet glowing such a creamy shade of pink, Julia appeared freshly roused from a vigorous bout of lovemaking--and ready for more. Tristan refused to do anything that might disturb that image. Thus, he said nothing.

  "Well?" she said, a hint of exasperation underlying her tone. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

  "I shall sleep with you."

  "No!" With her mouth tightly compressed, she closed her eyes, blocking all trace of her emotions. A moment passed in silence. When she regarded him once more, determination etched every line and hollow of her expression. "Sleeping in the same bed isn't necessary. I have a spare bedroom. You can use that."

  "I am your pleasure slave. Sleeping with you is my obligation."

  "Your obligation?" She looked insulted. "I don't think so."

  Tristan crossed his arms over his chest and leaned one hip against the speckled counter beside him. Seducing women was second nature to him, instinctive and usually boring. Any pleasure he once received out of the game had long since deserted him and now seemed a chore. Most times, he'd rather count grains of sand. Except...he was not bored right now. Excitement pounded through him. He'd forgotten how it felt to take a woman simply because he desired her.

  "Why sleep alone when you can partake of my warmth?" His voice dipped low and seductive, something that caused most women's eyes to close at half-mast, their knees to go weak and their resistance to melt. "I am here for your needs, little dragon."

  Julia screeched, an all-out, honest-to-Elliea, I've-had-enough-of-you screech. She even stomped her foot. "How many times do I have to say it? I don't want any pleasure."

  "Ah...so you enjoy sensual pain?" he asked, purposefully misunderstanding. Never had a wench been so fun to tease.

  Her mouth dropped open with a strangled gasp.

  He gave her a sublimely immoral grin. "Do you prefer I spank you with my hand or a paddle?"

  "We are not having this conversation," she said.

  "I have need of clarification." He took two steps forward. "For some, the hand provides enough stimulation. For others, only a paddle will do."

  Julia slapped a hand over her eyes. "This isn't happening to me. I am not standing in my kitchen with a man who has seen my butt and thinks everything I say is a sexual come-on. I'm dreaming again. That's it. This type of torture is too cruel to be real."

  "Oh, no, little dragon. Right now, I am not torturing you. But do you say the words, I will give you the sweetest torture your body has ever known."

  "Enough!" Scowling, she jabbed a finger in his chest. "You will stop that right now, Mr. I'm So Sexy."

  "Nay, I am Tristan."

  "And you are completely missing the point. No more talk about sex. In fact, if you utter one more word about dirty, rotten monkey love, I will personally cut out your tongue. No, don't say it." She held up one hand, palm out, when he opened his mouth to reply. "Don't say anything for at least sixty seconds."

  He waited the allotted time then said, "This dirty, rotten monkey love sounds interesting. Mayhap you should explain."

  Argh! "Why can't you understand? I'm not interested in you that way."

  That gave him pause. "You have no liking for me?"

  At his words, she turned her head away, staring anywhere but at him. "You just aren't the kind of guy I'm drawn to, that's all."

  Hmm...Tristan frowned. Had things changed so much in the past eighty-nine seasons? He gave himself a once-over, yet found himself lacking in absolutely no way. His body appeared as strong as ever, and he still possessed all of his hair and teeth.

  Did the women of her world prefer fat, balding, toothless males?

  He wanted Julia, and he liked not the fact that she found him unappealing. But oh, the challenge of changing her mind enticed him on every level.

  His friend Roake would have laughed right now had he been here. The scarred, battle-hardened warrior had often commented that Tristan needed a refusal or two. Built character, he said.

  "Do you find me ugly?"

  "Ugly?" Julia stared up at him. How could he possibly think she found him ugly? He was like a nineteenth-century porcelain hand-painted dessert plate topped with chocolate eclairs. "You aren'
t ugly."

  His baffled and slightly wounded expression didn't waver.

  She knew exactly how it felt to be found unappealing and lacking, and the thought that she had caused someone to feel that way pained her greatly. "I mean it, Tristan. You aren't ugly, and I'm so sorry I gave you that impression. To be honest, you're one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen."

  "I see."

  She lifted her lashes and looked up at him imploringly. "I truly am sorry that I upset you and made you feel unattractive. I didn't mean to. Honest."

  Tristan tried not to let her ardent apology affect him, but it seeped into his bones like the sweet nectar of gartina petals. As he had never witnessed its like, such genuine concern for his feelings mystified him. "If I am so desirable, explain why you do not like me in that way."

  "You're just so...well, you carry a sword." Finger shaky, she pointed to his talon.

  Ah, she feared his mighty blade.

  The double entendre made him smile inwardly. Women of every world had adored his weapon, clinging to the danger and excitement it added to their seduction. For Julia's benefit, he uttered a long-suffering sigh, gripped the talon by its handle and unhooked it from his belt.

  "One blade is hardly a thing to fear," he told her. "When I lived in Imperia, I strapped weapons all over my body."

  "Good Lord. Why?"

  "To execute my enemies, of course."

  She blinked. "Please tell me you're kidding."

  "Worry not." He smiled reassuringly. "You are not my enemy."

  "I'm thankful for that, at least."

  "You will soon be thankful for many things," he muttered. The silvery metal glistened as he laid his weapon across the table--close enough that he had only to reach out if he needed it. He arched a brow. "Does this satisfy you?"

  Her relief pounded through the room like a palpable force. "Yes, thank you."

  "You are most welcome." With her one objection to him obliterated, she would want him in that way. He was sure of it. She confirmed his thoughts by moistening her take-me-now lips with the tip of her tongue.

  Unable to stop the action, he drew in a breath. He became trapped in her sorceress-like spell, craving another glimpse of that pink tongue, unable to blink, much less look away. His groin tightened painfully with need, and he fought a wave of confusion. More than six hundred years had passed since he'd experienced an impromptu erection--and now he did because of one glorious little tongue. 'Twas shocking, that.