The Pleasure Slave i-2 Read online

  "This is where you'll sleep," she told him.

  He glanced around, taking in the furnishing. A redwood dragon cabinet, a mirrored dressing table, ethereal wine-colored drapes and turquoise decorative pillows. "What type of animal is that?" he asked, indicating to the far wall where an alabaster beast sprouted green leaves.

  "That's an elephant plant stand."

  "And what is that?" Frowning, dreading her answer, he pointed to a small boxlike structure.

  "That is the bed," she told him. Just as he'd suspected.

  "A child would not fit in such a contraption, much less two people."

  "You—you're sleeping alone," she said. "The bed is big enough for one."

  She began chewing on her mouth, an action he was beginning to loathe almost as much as he liked it. Her lips were spectacular—lush and soft and pink. They were the kind of lips that made a man willing to battle a thousand armies for a single kiss, and Tristan swore to Elliea the next time she nibbled on those delicate morsels, he was going to soothe them the only way he knew how—with his tongue.

  "Nay. I am not sleeping alone. I am sleeping with you."

  Her eyes darted around the room like those of a trapped animal searching for escape. "I thought you understood the sleeping arrangements."

  "I understand that I do not want to pleasure you in such a small setting. We must find larger accommodations since I plan to bring you to climax over and over again."

  "Climax?" She made a strangling sound in the back of her throat, and even folded her hands around her neck. "Over and over again?"

  More strangling sounds. Had he frightened her to the point of choking? Concern rushing through him, he pounded her between her shoulder blades.

  "I'm… fine… thank… you… Stop!" she managed between blows.

  He did as instructed, though his palm lingered on her back. "You are unharmed?"

  She arched her back, then twisted about at the hips, maneuvering each section of her spine. "Except for a few broken bones," she said dryly, "I'm okay."

  Broken bones? Tristan ran his hands up and down her body. And what a body it was, all soft curves and feminine roundness. Her shoulders were small and fragile, her hips soft and voluptuous. Her breasts were full and heavy, and the plump mounds overflowed in his hands. Were her nipples pink or brown or a color in between? He caressed one peaked tip with his fingertip. She sucked in a breath but never once uttered a protest.

  Encouraged, he traced his finger over the other tip. "Your bones do not feel broken," he whispered, letting the warmth of his breath fan her ear.

  "I was joking," she said, the words barely escaping.

  "So you are well?"

  She nodded, nibbling on her bottom lip. "Promise."

  There she was, chewing on her mouth again. Always a man of his word, Tristan leaned down until his lips were only a rustle away from hers. "This I am glad to hear… because now I am going to taste you."

  She didn't pull from his grasp, nor did she attempt to push him away. She merely blinked up at him as if he'd spoken a foreign language. Then her eyes widened.

  "I'm not sure—"

  "No lecture." His fingers tangled in her hair, dragging her deeper into his embrace. "Not now."

  She gulped and tore her gaze away.

  "Look at me, Julia."

  Slowly, so slowly, her long, sooty lashes swept upward until she met his stare. He knew what she saw in his eyes. Hunger. Raw, primal hunger. He wanted her, wanted to forget his surroundings, wanted to forget who and what he was, wanted to lose himself if only for a moment and find strength in the familiarity of a woman's arms.

  "My tongue burns for the taste of you. My hands itch for the feel of you. And my shaft screams for the core of you. Let me have you."

  Lust flared in her eyes, causing the deep, dazzling green irises to darken and the lids to lower halfway. She was desire incarnate just then, and an invisible force seemed to draw her closer, closer still until his hardness nestled her softness. Her exotic scent, like moonlight and stars, wafted to his nostrils.

  He moved his hands lower and palmed the soft skin at the back of her neck, guiding her face inches from his. Her small, soft body fit perfectly against him, and he knew instinctively that he would fit even better inside her. Once, twice, his lips brushed hers, lingering, hoping to absorb her sweetness.

  His breath caressed her nose, her cheek, as he waited for an invitation to partake of what waited within. When she didn't open, his tongue flicked out and traced the seam of her lips. She moaned, a low, shimmering sound that weakened his knees as it washed over him in slow, erotic waves.

  "Open for me," he said.

  Surprisingly she did so without hesitation.

  His tongue slipped easily inside, and he began a slow dance of touch and retreat. She moved with his mouth gently at first, as if exploring and learning, but soon her dam of restraint collapsed and she increased the pace.

  She thrust hard and fast. Her lips meshed against his, and her arms locked around his back, her nails clawing at his flesh. She moaned, trying to sink all the way past his skin. Her taste deepened with passion, a heady combination of savage desire and untapped wildness.

  "Delicious," he whispered, forcing himself to disengage from her for a moment to gain perspective. "I want more."

  "More. Lots more." She jerked him back to her, holding him tight and keeping him close to her as she rocked her hips forward, sank back and rocked again—no longer acting the innocent.

  She was feral with the force of her need. His brow furrowed with confusion. He'd never before encountered a woman who erupted so quickly. "Julia?"

  "Don't stop," she said. At each point of contact, each time the apex of her thighs brushed his erection, her hands clutched him tighter, a little more desperately. No matter Julia's former protests to the contrary, these were the actions of a woman in need of immediate fulfillment.

  She liked him in that way.

  Satisfaction swept through him as he imagined fulfilling her in every fashion he knew.

  "I can't get enough," she panted, her breathing labored, her eyes still closed. She continued to gyrate against him. "You promised more. I want more."

  Her words went straight to his shaft, making him harden and swell to the point of pain. He knew she was wet, so wet he would have no trouble sliding his width inside of her.

  "I'll give you everything," he said. His own breaths were coming a little too quickly. "This I swear to you."

  This time when he claimed her mouth, he did not have to request that she open for him. Eagerly her tongue swept out to meet him. rolling and sparring with his. Even their teeth clashed with the force of their need. She nipped at his bottom lip as if she wanted to devour him. Her legs entwined with his, and she rubbed more forcefully against his erection. She gripped his buttocks, then reached around and cupped his heavy sac through his drocs.

  He sucked in a breath. She was like liquid fire and a wild storm combined. At that moment he wanted to push so deep within her she could only gasp his name. He wanted to feel her inner walls clench as she searched for release, wanted to feel that powerful surge of pleasure while he held her naked and spent himself inside her.

  He wanted all of that from one simple kiss and a few caresses. Inconceivable.

  A kiss shouldn't be this good, this magical, he thought. A kiss shouldn't consume him, shouldn't make him yearn for impossible things. But it did. Suddenly he yearned. With each press of their tongues, with each brush of their bodies, he yearned for their souls to connect, for their hearts to beat in sync.

  He yearned for forever. No, surely not.

  He had never felt this… pull before. This need for another to be a part of him. Surely this had nothing to do with Julia herself, he rationalized, but everything to do with a man's desire to conquer.

  Aye. That was it. Little Julia was proving to be more enticing, more exciting, than he'd first imagined, and his warrior's instinct demanded he conquer her. That was all. She might
taste like ambrosia and feel softer than gartina petals, but she meant nothing more to him than the rest of his women.

  She was not special.

  Determined now to prove to himself that he could take her and remain emotionless, he trailed kisses down her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, all the while keeping his mind detached. She is nothing, he told himself, merely a guan ren.

  "I'm going to remove your clothing now, nixa."

  "Yes, I—" Julia paused. Something wasn't right, she realized. Something was different now. He sounded cold and callous, completely uncaring.

  She shoved her way out of the sensual fire raging inside her mind and slowly regained her common sense. Details danced within her grasp, then solidified. Tristan wasn't breathing hard, wasn't even winded, while she labored for every breath. He appeared perfectly skilled, dispassionate and restrained while she arched and writhed for more.

  His expression was impassive, his eyes devoid of emotion, his lips firm, hard. He did not look like a passionate lover. He looked… removed. Like a slave doing his master's bidding. He didn't really want her, she realized. He merely played a part. Nausea and embarrassment churned in her stomach.

  With calm, sure movements, he began to work her shirt over her head.

  "No." Julia jerked backward, away from Tristan and the magnetic force of his body.

  I'm an idiot. Why hadn't she pushed him away the first moment he touched her? But she already knew the answer. When his hands had moved over her body checking for injuries, she'd found herself confronting every fantasy her mind had ever conjured. Pure sensation, raw maleness. Total desire.

  How she'd craved—how she still craved—more of his caresses, more of his taste. Lord, he had stroked his tongue across her lips while his hands kneaded her. Tingles and need had shot straight through her like the lightning bolt she'd wanted God to strike her with. Desire had pooled deep in her belly, between her legs, and her nipples had pearled tightly. She'd simply reacted.

  For the first time, she'd known true, consuming desire. Every cell in her body had gone on alert, ready for sensations she didn't quite understand but wanted to. Desperately. His flavor… well, chocolate didn't compare. He'd moved his tongue, body and hands so expertly, bringing optimum pleasure. As she remembered, a dreamy sound of promise and passion slipped past her lips. She craved another kiss, another taste. Would do almost anything to experience one more. Just one more kiss…

  Julia blinked, realizing she was once again losing herself in Tristan, and this time he hadn't even touched her! How could one man affect her so strongly? And how in God's name could Tristan remain so unaffected?

  Was she that undesirable?

  I am, she thought, battling a sudden torrent of self-pity and sadness. I truly am. If she'd had more experience, she might have bolstered her confidence with memories of all the men she'd left in satisfied comas of sexual bliss. But she didn't. And she couldn't. Tristan probably had more experience than most porn stars, while she kissed like a ninety-year-old grandmother suffering from heart disease.

  At that thought, what little confidence Julia had left shattered. Self-consciousness snaked stronger coils around her spine, quickly tightening its grip. This was exactly why she couldn't ever kiss Tristan again, no matter how much pleasure his slightest touch gave her. With him, she would always worry that she wasn't doing things right, wasn't satisfying him. Wasn't woman enough.

  Except, oddly enough, when his lips first met hers, she hadn't thought about anything except the hot press of his body and all the wicked things they could do to each other.

  No. She shook her head. A fluke. Had to be. Were this detached lover to kiss her again, she'd worry, worry, worry that her breath smelled bad, or that he didn't like her body, or that she'd bore him to death.

  What if she'd done that this time?

  Oh, God, he wasn't even kissing her right now and she was beginning to worry. He found her lacking in the sexual arena. She just knew it. That's why he'd become so unresponsive, and he was probably laughing at her pitiful attempt. Julia studied his face, searching for amusement. She saw confusion… and desire?

  No, he didn't desire her. She only saw what she wanted to see, instead of what was really there.

  "Let us go to bed," he said, his honey-rich voice breaking the stretch of silence. He clasped her arm.

  She wrenched away, using anger as a shield. Anything to prevent herself from flying back into his embrace. "You'll be sleeping—or whatever else you want to do—alone."

  His teeth flashed in a scowl. "Alone? I think not. You do not kiss a man with such passion unless you want him in your bed."

  "Really? Passion?" Delight shimmered through her. "You're not just saying that?"

  He worked his jaw left and right, and didn't stop until the bone popped from exertion. "You would be happy with such an occurrence?"

  Not a denial, but not an agreement, either.

  "Forget it," she grumbled. "Just go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

  "Must we go over our sleeping arrangements yet again?"

  "We'll go over it until you get it right." Her chin tilted stubbornly to the side. "This—" she motioned in a circle with her hand " — is your room. That—" she pointed down the hall" — is mine."

  "I removed my weapon. Now you will spend the night with me."

  Jeez, for a man who catered to the desires of women, he sure needed constant instruction. Her exasperation must have given her strength, because she managed to say quite forcefully, "We're not sleeping together."

  "Julia," he muttered softly, all traces of ire melting from him as swiftly as ice cubes in a desert. His lashes swept low over his eyes and his lips parted. "There is never a good reason to deny ourselves pleasure."

  "I told you, I'm not interested in you sexually." She sounded strong and self-assured, like a woman who knew what she wanted and what she didn't. So why didn't she feel that way?

  "I have already proven your words for the untruth they are. You became liquid fire when I touched you. Your legs wrapped around mine, locking me against you, your lips to mine, your body to mine. Were I to touch between your thighs now, you would be wet for me. So do not tell me you want nothing to do with me sexually."

  Because her tongue was now glued to the roof of her mouth, Julia opted for the coward's way out. She didn't offer a reply; she simply turned and ran to her room, shutting the door firmly behind her. Closing her eyes, she sank onto the bed. What had she gotten herself into? Trouble, her mind immediately answered. You've gotten yourself into a whole lot of trouble.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  You Have Only Two Words To Offer Any Conversation: Yes And Master

  Tristan paced the small hallway for a long while. And with every step, he cursed women everywhere for their fickleness. He cursed himself, as well. He hadn't remained detached. He wanted Julia, had tried to force her to see his way. A small sin, really, when compared to hers. She had made his body burn for completion, and then turned him away.

  This would not have happened on Imperia, where women flocked to his side.

  Imperia. Just thinking the name caused a wave of loneliness and loss to crash through him, cutting so deeply it nearly cleaved him in two. Never again would he see his home, the billowing white grass, the multi-hued sky. The soaring dragons. Never would he watch the four suns rise separately and the moons rise together. Never would he know if his friend Roake had taken a wife, if he had children.

  Never would he know the life—and death—his dearest friends and family experienced. Or rather, had experienced. They were dead to him now, for they'd lived over a thousand years ago in his other life. The people and places that had been so important to him were now like mist in his mind—sometimes thick and tangible, and at others so sheer he would not know they were there if not for a lingering, ever-present fragrance.

  Still he ached at their loss. Ached because he would never again know true friendship or have a home of his own, but would know only the whims and ever-chang
ing desires of his guan rens.

  Bitterness roared to life, an emotion he rarely allowed but could do nothing to stop now, wrapping him in despair so absolute he almost moaned in physical pain. With a virulent expression, he gazed at the empty area surrounding him—an emptiness he found mirrored within himself but usually managed to hide. He'd lost his future. His loved ones.

  Mayhap even his soul.

  What did he have now except an eternity of slavery? Hopelessness joined ranks with his bitterness, waging a desperate war against his resolve, each emotion clawing inside him, leaving him raw and wounded. Only his pride kept him from capitulation, kept him defiant and prevented him from crying out to the heavens and begging Zirra to free him. Not that she would hear him, but the desire sometimes remained. Aye, only pride stopped him, a thing that had earned him so much despair… yet the only thing that had kept him sane.

  As he continued to pace, his steps became agitated, clipped. His very bones burned with the torment of emotions he felt. He had to distract himself, had to lose himself in a woman's—in Julia's—body. Sex wiped the acrid knowledge of his past, and his future, from his mind, if only for a moment, for he controlled the pleasure, therefore he controlled the woman.

  But Julia didn't want him.

  His hands curled at his sides. Well, he would just have to use every sensual weapon at his disposal to seduce her. All the while keeping his emotions untouchable.

  Scowling, he stalked to her door and paused. Without her permission, he could not enter her room. That thought irritated him even further. By Elliea, he loathed being told what to do. He always had. He had been a soldier, leader of the Elite, and all of these years of enslavement had not destroyed his warrior instincts.

  A warrior gave orders, he did not take them.

  Body tight with frustration, he tested the handle and found the silver metal turned easily. "May I enter, Julia?" The words left his mouth quickly, for he despised the taste of them.