Prince of Forever

by Gena Showalter

  He knew his width stretched her, but he hoped the feeling of completeness far surpassed any discomfort.

  A groan left her when he broke the barrier of her virginity. She stiffened for a moment, even gasped, then melted against him, allowing him to thrust the rest of the way inside her.

  How he did not come spontaneously, he didn’t know.

  For an eternity, he remained unmoving, giving her body time to accept his invasion. “Tell me you are unharmed.”

  Her eyes were closed, her mouth open and soft. “There was pain, but it’s already fading. Wanted this for so long…I am…perfect.”

  He began to move deep, deeper, lifting her up, pulling her down, just as he’d done with his fingers. Little by little, his rhythm quickened. Faster. Faster, still. He took her hungrily, almost brutally, pounding into her the way he’d dreamed these many nights. He could not control his physical reactions to her; he wanted her too desperately. She’d stripped him to his baser self, consuming him.

  A moan escaped him when she rotated her hips, taking him at a different angle.

  “Do that again,” he beseeched.

  “Like that?” She did it again.

  He nipped her bottom lip with his teeth. “Just like that.” He was a part of her now, his body one with hers, and the knowledge was more drugging than the most potent medicine. His imaginings had paled in comparison to reality.

  He reached between them and pressed her clitoris. “Tell me how you feel,” he commanded hoarsely. “Tell me when you like what I do.”

  Julia moaned with pleasure as he slipped in and out of her, increasing in speed, increasing in urgency, even as he continued the onslaught with his fingertips. “I like… I like…”

  She moved her lower body in time to his, rising when he retreated, only to lower again when he surged forward. “Tell me,” he breathed. Faster and faster he increased his rhythm. “Do you like this, as well?”

  She opened her mouth to respond, but a moan tore from her, a third climax hitting. Feeling her inner walls tighten around his swollen shaft sent Tristan propelling over the edge only seconds later. Satisfaction sent a bestial roar ripping from his throat as he spilled inside her.

  Muscles flexed and unflexing, he collapsed into the chair. Julia sagged against him, her heart racing above his.

  When he was able to drag in a mouthful of air, he whispered into the silky strands of her hair, “Well, draga. I think you liked it all.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Once You Have Worshiped Your Mistress’s Body,

  Immediately Do So Again

  THE EVENING SHADOWS streamed through the velvety curtains and sheers, hazy and erotic. The storm had passed, yet its dewy essence still encompassed the room. Only an hour ago, Tristan had carried Julia to bed, where lace draped from an overhead bar, shielding the mattress from the rest of the world. He had ignited the logs in hearth; now they blazed with glowing embers, emitting lulling crackles every so often.

  I will protect what is mine. And Julia is definitely mine. He’d staked a claim, branding her with his essence.

  He would never allow Zirra, or any woman for that matter, to steal his box. Death would come first. Their deaths. No matter what measures had to be taken. He knew it couldn’t be destroyed. He’d tried.

  Zirra had already proved she couldn’t call him back permanently. And her powers had not been strong enough to do any real damage to Julia, only to her belongings. Still…

  Realizing his muscles were tensing and readying for battle, he forced himself to relax. He turned onto his side and curled his arm around Julia’s hip, fitting himself against her warm, sleeping, naked form. He breathed in the lushness of her fragrance, and his eyes closed in surrender. He had kept his draga busy for hours, introducing her to many ways of making love—beside him, astride him, standing—while being careful of any lingering soreness she might have. He had never enjoyed himself more.

  With his other guan rens, he had reached sexual release, aye, but he had remained unsated. Always unsated, as if something were missing inside of him. With Julia, he had reached the pinnacle of contentment. She made him feel free, even…absolved. He had pleasured so many women in his lifetime, but until now he had never before held such potent sensuality in his hands. No woman had ever responded to him so completely, all inhibitions forgotten.

  Before Julia, sex had been a monotonous game he had tired of playing. With her, he found utter contentment.

  He was not worthy of her.

  As jaded as he was in matters of the flesh, this experience with Julia felt more real than anything he’d ever experienced. He traced silky patterns over her hip, then dipped lower to her bottom. The fact that he was Julia’s first, her only, filled him with a possessive pride he could not explain.

  But I will not love her. He would not allow the pleasure slave spell to break, for he did not want to return to Imperia alone. Quite simply, he refused to lose this woman. A sardonic chuckle escaped him. How ironic that he preferred to face an eternity of enslavement simply to be with this woman awhile longer.

  “Mine,” he muttered, tightening his hold on Julia.

  * * *

  LIKE THE HOWL of a banshee, the doorbell sounded.

  Julia cracked open her eyelids and glanced at her bedside clock. Twelve thirty-four. Lunchtime. She was too warm and content to eat or even move. But the doorbell sounded again and she stretched, hoping to work the kinks from her limbs. Feeling as if she’d just completed a ten-thousand-mile triathlon, she smoothed her hair from her cheeks.

  Tristan stirred at her side, claiming her attention. He slept on, a soft smile curving his lips. A soft smile curved her lips. What did he dream?

  Inky locks of hair lay in disarray, framing his face. The long length of his lashes cast shadows onto his cheeks. A pink silk sheet draped the lower half of his bronzed body, and yet he’d never looked more rugged.

  With a drowsy, contented sigh, she kissed his jaw, so smooth and devoid of stubble. He was so much more than she’d ever expected for herself, but she was finding that nothing less would satisfy her. For the rest of her life, every man she came into contact with would be judged against Tristan. No one could meet his standard.

  I made love to this man. Multiple times! Awed, she drew in his scent—their scent. Tristan and Julia. Trislia? Julitan? Peace fluttered inside her, a feeling she’d thought she possessed before—a sort of satisfaction with her life, an acceptance. But she’d deceived herself the other times, convincing herself that her life was fine the way it was. Now she knew the truth. True satisfaction was only found in Tristan’s arms. With him, she felt alive, whole. Desired.

  And Zirra might attempt to summon him back at any moment.

  Julia wilted. How could she protect him from a woman she couldn’t see? From a woman who resided in another time, another world? She just didn’t know. All she could do was keep his box hidden.

  Another round of bells chimed.

  “If that is Puny Peter,” Tristan said, his voice sleep-rough as he rubbed a hand along his jaw, “I will have to kill him. Slowly and painfully.”

  “Not if I kill him first,” she muttered. Already her breasts were tingling, aching for Tristan’s touch. He’s a drug, and I’m an addict. He’d trained her body well, and now she required his loving at least once a day.

  A pounding of fists accompanied the bell this time.

  “Whoever it is, isn’t going away,” Julia said with a sigh.

  “Is my box secure?”

  “Yes. I haven’t moved it.”

  Tristan eased to a sitting position, tossing the sheet to the floor with a whoosh. “Stay here,” he said, giving her a lingering, wistful once-over. “I will neutralize this enemy.” He shoved to his feet and stalked to the bedroom door.

  “Tristan,” Julia called, still lounging atop the mattress, not caring that she was completely bared to his view. No, she felt powerful and well loved.

  Without hesitation, he spun to give her another thoroug
h inspection. Need swirled inside his eyes, making the lavender glow like two supernatural orbs. “Aye.”

  “Get dressed before you open the door, okay? Let’s save full frontal for me.”

  He gave her a melting grin. “For you, anything.” Turning again, he strode from the room. With every step he took, she watched his tight, bare butt, and her mouth literally watered.

  Smiling softly, Julia hopped up and gathered her clothing, then haphazardly tugged everything on. I am a well-pleasured woman. She wanted to sing and shout with the joy of it. When she was completely covered in wrinkled jeans and a T-shirt, she padded barefoot to the front door. Voices, both male and female, filled her ears before she actually reached them.

  Tristan, she noticed, was clad only in a pair of gray sweats, but at least his most important features were covered. His hands were clasped behind his back and his feet were braced apart. He had assumed a battle position.

  “Let me in,” the woman demanded. “I want to talk about last night.”

  “Nay,” Tristan growled, his tone so sharp it could have cut glass. “That is private information.”

  “Nothing is private with sisters. It’s a law or something.”

  Recognizing the woman’s voice, Julia rolled her eyes. “Faithie,” she said, inserting herself at Tristan’s side. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes, there’s something wrong,” her sister said, her eyes narrowed. “The barbarian here won’t let me in.”

  Tristan flashed Julia a sheepish glance. “I am not finished with you yet, draga, and do not wish an audience.”

  She rolled her eyes again and—though she wanted to sink into his arms—stepped around him to clasp her sister’s hand. “Come inside. I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

  They strolled around a grumpy-faced Tristan and headed for the kitchen. Tristan followed close at their heels. Within minutes, Julia had coffee brewing. A deep, rich cinnamon-mocha aroma floated through the air, making her mouth water.

  “What happened to your house between yesterday and this morning?” Faith asked. “There are holes in the wall.”

  “I’m redecorating.” It was the truth. She didn’t elaborate, because she didn’t want to explain about Tristan’s box and magic. While she trusted Faith completely, she knew the only way to keep a secret was to actually keep a secret. Besides, her sister might want to have her committed if she mentioned magic, curses and aliens.

  Tristan was an alien, wasn’t he? An ET. Or otherworlder. How many inhabited planets were out there, and what did that mean for Earth?

  Ugh! That was too much to worry about right now.

  Claiming the burgundy-topped stool beside her sister, Julia glanced at Tristan, who reclined across from them, his arms crossed over his chest. He stared at her, his irises hot as fire.

  Shaking now, she regarded Faith, who watched them both with twinkling amusement.

  “What?” Julia demanded.

  “Nice hickey,” her sister said with a snicker.

  “Oh. Ohhh.” She fluttered a palm over her neck. Then very primly, very properly, she added, “Thank you. I’m quite fond of it.”

  Faith’s smile stretched from ear to ear. “I swear you’re glowing.” A mischievous sparkle lit her turquoise eyes. “So what have you two been doing? Besides redecorating?”

  “Just what you are thinking, I am sure,” Tristan quipped.

  Julia gave him and his sun-kissed chest a hungry—not that she’d admit it—glare. He bore four scratch marks below each of his nipples and a little hickey of his own next to his navel. “Aren’t you cold without your shirt?” Hint, hint. Those muscles were for her eyes alone.

  “Nay.” Half grinning, he languidly stretched his arms over his head. “I am not. I suddenly feel hot, as if I should remove what little clothing I have on.”

  Me, too, she longingly added, and took a mental step toward him.

  “Lord save me from horny adults,” Faith muttered, her voice heavy with wistfulness.

  Julia was having trouble drawing her attention away from her lover. I’ve got it bad, she thought. Real bad. With regret and much effort, she schooled her features and faced her sister again. “What were we talking about?”

  Faith hooked dark strands of hair behind her ears. “I was about to ask you how the rest of the date progressed, and tell you I had a lot of fun with Peter, but I don’t think any more words are needed, really. So I’ll just be leav…waiting for Julia to finish cooking us lunch,” she said with a grin.

  Tristan gave a mock growl, and Julia laughed.

  “Fine. I’ll cook.” Considering neither of them knew how to boil water, what choice did she have? Julia filled three mugs with steaming coffee, then handed one to her sister, one to Tristan and saved the last for herself. “I know it’s lunchtime, but I’m craving breakfast.” She peeked inside her fridge. “We have eggs and bacon, but no sausage.”

  “I can live with that,” Faith said. “I’m starved.”

  Tristan nodded. “Me, as well.”

  Humming under her breath, she fried the bacon, scrambled a dozen eggs, then browned and jellied several pieces of toast.

  Faith’s stomach rumbled as she eyed the mountain of food. “It’s official. I’m moving in.”

  “Faith may have this first helping,” Tristan said.

  “First helping?” Her sister seemed to choke on her tongue.

  Julia laughed. “Let Faith take what she wants, and you can eat the rest while I make more,” she told Tristan. “Before hunger gets the better of you and you try to eat me.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she froze. Gulped. Remembered. “Uh—I mean…”

  “No need to correct yourself, Julia,” he said huskily. “Truth is truth.” His fingers brushed hers, sending stark awareness through every inch of her, and for a silent moment, they peered at each other, the plate suspended midair.

  When she neared him, she could only think of bed play. Right now, even though he had already loved her body thoroughly—several times—she wanted to rip their clothes away.

  “Later,” she whispered.

  He gave her a wink, a sensuous sweep of his lashes and said, “Later.”

  Or now? Her heart slammed erratically in her chest. Oh, I’m a wanton woman. “Sorry, Faithie.” Julia didn’t spare her sister a glance. “You’re gonna have to take your food to go.”

  * * *

  SEVERAL GLORIOUS HOURS LATER, Tristan nestled Julia against his side, their skin sticky with strawberry jelly. “I’ll never view breakfast foods quite the same,” she murmured with a satisfied grin.

  “Nor I.” He smiled. Every moment with this woman offered a new pleasure. “Every meal I consume after this will be compared to our buffet of carnality and found lacking.”

  “We should probably take a shower.” She swirled her fingertip around his belly button. “You’ve got jam everywhere.”

  “A shower, aye. But first…” Suddenly serious, he rolled her onto her back, pinning her beneath him, her hands imprisoned above her head. They were palm to palm, breasts to muscle. “I wish to ask you a question.”

  The change in position placed his growing erection right where he liked it most. Obviously, she felt the same. Heat flared in her eyes, and she uttered a sexy purr. “Ask me whatever you want.”

  He did. “What are your feelings toward me?”

  Bit by bit, the heat cooled in her expression. She stilled. Looked away. “Um, I care about you.” Her words were hesitant and heavily measured. What had caused this change in her? “You know that.”

  “Aye. I know.” Disappointment flooded him. He wanted more from her. While he could not give her a declaration of his own love, he wanted one from her. Mayhap ’twas selfish of him—it was absolutely selfish of him. He licked her collarbone. “I, too, care about you.”

  “I—thank you,” she said, and it sounded like she had to push the words past a lump in her throat.

  He bit his tongue, tasting blood. Don’t do it. Don’t say— “Do you love me?”
That. Don’t say that.

  “Do you love me?” she countered.

  He wanted to answer, but couldn’t. Instead, he decided to show her how he felt. He moved his fingers between her legs, circling the dew he found there. His mouth quickly followed.

  He kissed her everywhere, leaving no part of her unexplored. He had her writhing, screaming, and when he finally entered her, they both moaned at the rightness of it. He took his time loving her, thrusting slow and deep. Only after she peaked twice did he allow himself his own release.

  When his shudders subsided, he fell to his back and stared up at the ceiling, keeping her at his side. “I—I want to thank you for all you have done for me, draga.”

  Tenderness softened her eyes as she caressed his cheek. “We’ve helped each other, Tristan.”

  “Aye, but I do not think you will ever know just what you have done for me.” How could he put this into words? “You’ve given me back a piece of my soul. My pride. My honor.”

  Still caressing… “You’ve given me confidence and adventure,” she responded. “You’ve shaken up my boring life and added vitality.”

  He paused, an undeniable and hated truth rising to the forefront of his mind. “But no matter how I feel about you, I cannot wed you or give you children.”

  “I know,” she rasped. “But having you here and now is enough.”

  Her words touched him, and he captured her lips with his own, bestowing upon her a swift, soft kiss. “Once when I was a boy, I dreamed of such things. Of holding my wife each night as she grew bigger with our child. Of teaching my son the skills of a talon. Of my daughter smiling up at me as if there’s no finer male.”

  “I want the same,” she admitted. “A family. A place to belong.”

  “I know, and I wish I could give you those things, draga. I do. With every fiber of my being.”

  * * *

  JULIA CLOSED HER eyes, hoping to ward off the joy and pain of his admission. The pain cut deeper than any knife, yet the joy dulled the sting. “I wish I could give them to you, too,” she admitted.

  “What a pair we make, eh?” he said with a sigh.