The Pleasure Slave i-2

by Gena Showalter

  Nervous flutters twisted her stomach, and for a moment, her tongue thickened, making any speech, especially erotic, impossible. She gulped. "I'm not sure—"

  He cut her off. "We do this my way, Julia."

  "Your way." She didn't dare explain that his words evoked a primitive desire for the forbidden, to do exactly what he'd said and seduce him. Or that the air around her suddenly seemed sultry and lightly scented with arousal. Or that desire pooled between her thighs, and in her mind she pictured her body sinking down onto his, his eyes a mesmerizing shade of violet and passion as she rode him.

  Tristan sucked in a rough breath. "You will cease that at once," he barked.

  His fierceness surprised her, and she jerked back to reality with a gasp. "What? What did I do?"

  "You had donned another erotic expression. I recall expressly forbidding you to do that in my presence."

  "Sorry," she managed. At the moment, she was acutely aware of her too-tight nipples, of the needy ache causing her veins to throb, and the way her skin felt too constricted for her bones. Suddenly irritated with him—and herself—she stuck her tongue out at him.

  "Careful, little dragon, or I might take you up on your offer and suck that tongue of yours into my mouth."

  Eyes blazing with heat, he tapped a fingertip against his chin.

  "Now then. You wished to seduce me, did you not?"

  Perilous lessons, she lamented, swallowing back a bolt of pure desire.

  "Yeah, I wish to seduce you." He nodded, smiled.

  "Admitting your desire is the first step."

  "And the second?"

  "Thinking of the words that incite sexual hunger. Words such as cock. And breasts. Rapture and bliss."

  Tides of rapture and bliss followed his words, along with images of his hands on her breasts, and her hands on his cock. She had trouble drawing in her next breath.

  "And what do I do with these words?"

  "Use them. That is the third step. You may begin."

  "Wait!"

  "If you succeed, we will work on playful bantering next."

  Smug and all too sure of her failure, he crossed his arms over his chest.

  "If not, we will begin again tomorrow. Are you prepared for this challenge?"

  "I think so," she lied.

  "Then what is the first thing you say to gain my attention?"

  "I—well—I…»

  "Wrong."

  "I want you?"

  "Better." He gave her a bone-melting smile of approval. "What else?"

  "You make me hot?"

  "And?"

  Because he thought her words were pretend, a sense of freedom surfaced, deflating her reservations and eradicating her need for constraint. She stared into his eyes, searching his soul.

  "You drive me wild whenever you enter a room. You make my pulse leap and my body tremble. I would say you're tender and caring and gentle, and I feel safe when I'm with you. I would say… I would say that I want you more than I want to take my next breath."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Always Remember That You Are Nothing More Than Your Master's Property

  Silence laden with an undercurrent of forbidden desires stretched between them. Julia's cheeks reddened. Why wasn't he speaking? Did he suspect she'd spoken the truth?

  Finally he cleared his throat. "That was… interesting."

  Relief coasted through her, as delicious and welcoming as his touch. He didn't know, didn't suspect. She almost sighed. She did grin. "Thank you."

  "Mayhap we should cease the lessons for the day," he said, swiping a hand down his face, wiping away the beads of sweat that had popped onto his brow. The motion also managed to wipe away any hint of his emotion.

  "We can't stop now," she said. "You promised to help me with playful bantering."

  A prolonged pause sparked the air between them.

  "So I did," he allowed. He sucked in a fortifying breath, easing the tension around his lips. "Playful bantering is an exchange of wits, with a sexual undertone only slightly different from seduction with words. How would you begin? And this time," he added, "I refuse to take you step by step. You must do this on your own."

  Resolute, Julia nodded. Closed her eyes. I can do this. I can.

  "Let's do breakfast tomorrow. Should I call you or nudge you?"

  His lips twitched, and he shook his head. "Try again."

  "I'm a really good cook. My specialty is breakfast in bed."

  "Now you are just being ridiculous."

  "Nice pants. Can I talk you out of them?"

  "Julia, please. Are you trying to seduce me or kill me with my own laughter?"

  Her voice dropped low and husky, her next words emerging of their own free will.

  "I don't want to tease you with words, Tristan. I want to tease you with my mouth. Licking and nibbling your skin. Tasting and savoring your essence."

  He quit laughing. Tristan used his body, a slight shifting of his weight and a subtle proving of his dominance, to force her back to arch. The carnal scent of his fragrance enveloped her, filled her. Consumed her. He glared down at her, pressing her even farther back.

  "Where did you learn to say such a thing?" he demanded.

  Far from intimidated, she clapped her hands with an almost giddy pride. "I don't know. So they worked? I actually bantered with you? Oh, this is fun. Teach me more."

  "Mayhap you are ready for a more advanced training session." Pure, molten heat, hypnotic in its intensity, stole over his expression. "What think you of that?" Slowly her joy ebbed, and libidinous hunger claimed her.

  "I think—I think I'm ready."

  "We're going to have a very erotic conversation, Julia. No teasing. No innuendos. Your goal is to lure me into your bed using everything I have taught you so far. Everything. Think you can succeed?"

  God, she hoped so, but…

  "No." She shook her head. "I don't know where to begin. Will you give me a demonstration?"

  "Aye." Moving with tantalizing slowness, luring her with a deceptive sense of protection, he closed the remaining distance between them, his breath only a heartbeat way. He stood in between her open legs, caught her wrist with his hand and pressed a soft kiss upon her pulse.

  She shivered, struck by the majesty of him, the rawness of his attentions.

  His other palm traced up, up, up her thigh until the pads of his fingers brushed the lacy red trim of her panties. "You are honey and cream, Julia." His lashes slowly swept downward, then lifted at an even slower pace. "Do you know why?"

  Caught by his mesmerizing voice and the sear of his fingers, she barely managed to say, "No. No, I don't know."

  "Your skin reminds me of cream. Smooth and delicious, made for licking. The more I taste, the more I must have. And your hair—" He released her wrist and tugged her long tresses from the rubber band. Every strand cascaded down her shoulders and back. "Your hair is the color of honey. Soft, sweet honey that will caress my chest as you ride me. Your lips, too, are like honey. Succulent honey I long to savor over and over again."

  His heat seeped past her clothes, into her skin, but his words, oh, his words enveloped her in a cocoon of sensual euphoria. His eyes beckoned with knowing intent. She found herself leaning deeper into his arms, craving more, needing more.

  "Now it is your turn," he whispered, and dropped his hands to his sides.

  "You're beautiful, Tristan. The most beautiful man I've ever seen." Yet her description lacked a sense of accuracy; wasn't nearly enough to describe the man that she knew he was.

  "Beauty is subjective and easily claimed." Using the tip of his finger, he traced a path along her jaw. "Tell me what you see when you look at the man I truly am."

  Lure him with words. Her eyes closed halfway, seeing him more with her mind than actual sight. "When I look at you, I see pale violet eyes that sometimes hold a hint of sadness, but always kindness. I see a gentle, compassionate warrior who is able to give more with one simple kiss than most give in a lifetime. I see an
innate sense of duty that few possess. And a capacity for love that is staggering, if only you would tap into it."

  Tristan cleared his throat. "Julia—"

  "I'm not finished." In that moment, she forgot her decision to deny her attraction to Tristan. She forgot about Peter, forgot everything except the truth. "Sometimes, when I look at you, my hands ache to move up your chest, to feel your heart beating beneath my palms so that I can assure myself you aren't a dream, that you are real. The ache is so powerful I shake with it."

  "I imagine your hands on me, as well," he said, his voice cracking. "Except, you move lower, to the heat of me. You stroke me until I can take no more while I do the same to you. You writhe beneath my hands, screaming your pleasure. Only then do I part your legs and slide into your wet softness, binding our bodies as one." His half-mast gaze watched her, gauging. "What think you of that, little dragon?"

  "I think—" Lord, what did she think? "You've taught me more than I ever hoped to learn."

  He didn't respond. The pull between them right then was too strong. She couldn't tear her gaze away, couldn't move. Couldn't form a rational thought. Time seemed suspended, and the world around her nonexistent. She heard the drum of his heart, and each beat spurred her own. What's happening? she wondered faintly.

  Tristan was the first to break the spell. He blinked, shook his head. He even moved two steps back and leveled her with a fierce frown. "I am sure Peter will be pleased." Who cared about Peter? Kiss me, she pleaded with her eyes. Never had a moment felt more right for loving. Nothing else mattered. Not the reasons for Tristan's desire. Not the lessons.

  But being the prideful warrior that he was, he would not kiss her if he suspected she imagined him as Peter. She read the knowledge in the sudden stiffness of his shoulders, in the flair of his nostrils. "Mayhap we should end this lesson here and now," he said, the words a soft growl, yet strangely distant.

  "And begin anew at tomorrow's dawning."

  "Is that what you want? To stop?"

  "Of course. A good teacher does not force his student to overstudy."

  Disappointment raked her, and she found herself glaring up at him.

  "Perhaps I'll practice on Peter when we go on our first date."

  "He will never satisfy you."

  "Maybe not, but I'd—I'd like you to release me from the first parameter."

  There. She'd said it. It was for the best; this would help end her constant craving for him and his kisses. Kisses he no longer seemed inclined to give her. Silence. Silence so thick it cast an oppressive fog throughout the room. Finally he said, "That is truly what you desire?"

  No. "Yes."

  "Very well." His jaw muscle clenched and unclenched. "From this moment forward, you are free to do whatever you wish with Puny Peter."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Your Place Is On Your Knees Before Your Master

  The rest of the day passed in a blur for Julia. She closed the shop at lunchtime, hoping to spend some time with Tristan and soften his dark mood. She escorted him to the Kreager Flea Market, now open to the public as well as dealers. They meandered through the stalls, and Julia noticed the man who had sold her Tristan's box was nowhere to be seen. Tristan remained stiff and unyielding and even scared several sellers with his glare, leaving them shaking and pale.

  When she approached a table crammed with weapons of every shape, size and color, Tristan finally melted. "These are magnificent," he said. He reverently fingered each item, gauging its weight and durability.

  "I'll give you the Glock for four-fifty," the vender said. She had short hair, cut like a boy's, and wide angular features that assessed Tristan and knew she'd found a ready buyer. "You can't beat that deal, I'm telling you."

  Tristan opened his mouth to reply, but Julia laid a hand on his forearm. He paused, glanced at her. She gave him an almost imperceptible nod, then focused on the seller. "The gun isn't worth half that," she said, "and to be honest, we aren't interested in it." A knife she could allow Tristan to have, but a gun? She shuddered. "You might be able to interest us in the jeweled dagger, though. If the price is right."

  The woman eyed Julia, considering just how much she could pry from her wallet. When she realized Julia couldn't be budged, she once again sent her attention to Tristan, hoping perhaps that he might bring Julia around. However, his features no longer boasted of fascination. No, he looked as cold and hard as granite, not a flicker of emotion betraying him. Julia almost smiled as she mentally applauded him. She made a conscious effort to keep her own features so impressively impassive.

  Julia uttered a forced, breezy sigh. "Oh, never mind. I saw a similar blade the next stall over." She gently squeezed Tristan's arm, ignoring the warm tingles that prickled her skin, and moved two steps away from the booth. "I'm sure we'll find a better bargain over there."

  "Wait, wait," the woman said.

  Triumphant, Julia slowly turned and faced her. "Yes?"

  "Two hundred for the dagger and sheath."

  "Good day," Julia said, and made to turn again.

  "One fifty," the woman pressed. "You're robbing me here. You know that, don't you?"

  "One hundred for the knife, sheath and cleaning kit, and you've got a deal."

  "Done." A smile spread over the woman's features.

  Julia paid and handed the bag of items to Tristan. His eyes were wide and admiring as he closed his palm around the plastic. "You are more fierce than the Shakari of the Imperian market."

  "Is that a good thing?"

  "Aye." He nodded, glorious heat and something else, something tender in his eyes. "Aye."

  Tristan sat in Julia's car, warm air trickling through the vents and soft music humming from an unidentified source. After their trip to the market, they had returned to her shop, where she had worked several more hours before closing for the day. Now they were headed home.

  Home… did he truly have one?

  He fingered his new weapon. 'Twas the second gift she had given him. Why? Why, when she so vehemently pushed him away? Her actions continued to confuse and surprise him. While she refused to accept his affections, she so easily cultivated them. Once, he might have convinced himself that he cared nothing for her and her actions. Once, he might have believed that he welcomed all other men into his guan ren's life.

  But he wasn't that man anymore. Julia had changed him. He could not deny the tenderness he felt for her, could not deny he wanted a place in her life, not as her tutor but as her lover.

  "Are you hungry?" she asked, giving him a quick glance, completely oblivious to the turmoil inside him.

  "Aye." He was hungry for her, for her naked body beneath his, writhing, seeking. "Aye, I am hungry." He might always hunger this way, for he saw no relief for himself anywhere in the future.

  "I hope you like hamburgers."

  He merely grunted.

  She eased into the parking lot of a small red-and-yellow building, then drove around to the side and spoke into a square mouthpiece. Three minutes later, they were speeding down the road again. Her house soon came into view, and she pulled into her driveway.

  A red car, tinier and sleeker than Julia's, was parked at the curb. He scanned the property and found a woman sitting on the porch, looking as fresh and pretty as a bouquet of spring flowers. She possessed dark brown hair that hung down her back in silky waves. He couldn't make out the color of her eyes, yet her facial features vaguely resembled Julia. Same cheekbones. Same elegantly sloped nose.

  The second her car ceased moving, Julia vaulted out and raced toward the porch with open arms. "Faith!"

  Tristan eased out of the vehicle, taking in the scene before him. Julia exuberantly embraced the tall, slim woman. The newcomer wore the same type of blue slacks that he himself wore, and a button-down chemise. The two women were laughing, talking and hugging, sometimes doing a combination of all three.

  "I've tried to reach you for days," this Faith said to Julia. "I thought you'd been abducted by aliens or something."
r />   "Close." Julia shot him a wry glance.

  "I also called your store, but couldn't get through there, either." Concern darkened the woman's features, and she gripped Julia's hands. "What's going on?"

  "Oh, nothing major." She cut him another glance. "My phones are out."

  "Then get a new one, already. I never want to worry like that again. You're a very consistent person. If you're not at home, you're at work. And when you're not at work, you're… " She tilted her chin, thinking. "Well, you're always at work. When I couldn't—" Her eyes connected with Tristan's. "Oh, my," she breathed.

  If he hadn't been so aware of Julia, he would have missed the slight tensing of her body. What was this? A moment of jealousy? He studied her, watching intently. A tide of delight hit him. Oh, aye. The little temptress was indeed jealous. She fairly seethed with it. For the first time since she had announced her intention to practice her wiles on Puny Peter, he entertained a flicker of satisfaction. He even managed a smile.

  Faith batted her lashes at him.

  "Stop that, Faithie," he heard Julia say.

  The woman's gaze never strayed from him. "Stop what?"

  "Picturing him naked. He's not available."

  "I wasn't picturing him naked." She smiled sheepishly. "Not now, at least."

  Tristan choked back a laugh. Julia's lips thinned.

  "Faith, I'd like you to meet Tristan. Tristan, this is my sister, Faith Anderson."

  The woman extended her hand, and he brought her delicate palm to his lips, just as he'd seen a man do on Julia's talking box. "A pleasure."

  "I assure you, the pleasure is mine."

  Faith's large eyes, a mix of green and blue, softened around the edges, giving her face a pixie quality.

  "Jules didn't mention you the last time we spoke."

  "Tristan and I have only been together a short time," Julia answered for him.

  "Oh? How did you meet?"

  "Long story, and it doesn't matter. We're just friends."

  At that, Tristan tensed. He was tired of Julia calling him her «friend» and her "brother." She would call him «lover» or nothing at all. Scowling, he threw a possessive arm around her shoulders and tugged her close. He didn't speak, letting Faith draw her own conclusion instead.