He was not worthy of Julia.
As jaded as he was in matters of the flesh, this experience with Julia felt more real, fresher, than even his first time all those centuries ago. His fingertips 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 added darkly. He would not allow his pleasure slave spell to be broken, for he did not want to return to Imperia alone. Quite simply, he refused to lose this woman he held. He uttered a sardonic chuckle. How ironic that he preferred to face an eternity of enslavement simply to be with this woman awhile longer, a small flash of time.
"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 content to eat. Or even move, for that matter. But the doorbell sounded again and she stretched, hoping to work the kinks from her naked limbs. Wincing at her soreness, she pushed out a breath and smoothed her hair from her cheeks.
At her side, Tristan stirred, instantly claiming her attention. A soft smile softened her lips. Inky locks of hair lay in disarray, framing his face. The length of his lashes cast shadows onto his cheeks, and a pink silk sheet draped the lower half of his bronzed body. And yet, he'd never looked more masculine.
With a drowsy, contented sigh, she kissed his jaw, always 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, she thought, awed, drawing in his scent that still clung to her skin. Several times. Peace fluttered inside her, a feeling she'd thought she possessed before—a sort of satisfaction with her life, an acceptance. She'd deceived herself, convinced 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's smile faded. 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 and hold on to him as tightly as she could.
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 as she considered all the ways she could "hold on to him." He'd trained her body well, and now she was addicted to his loving, in every position, gentle or rough.
A pounding of fists accompanied the bell this time.
"Whoever it is, isn't going away," Julia said morosely.
"Is my box still secure?"
"Yes. I haven't moved it."
Tristan eased to a sitting position and tossed 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 her body was completely bared to his view. No, she felt powerful and well loved.
Without hesitation, he spun around. He gave her another thorough inspection, and need swirled inside his eyes, making the lavender glow like two supernatural orbs.
"Aye."
"Get dressed before you open the door, okay?" 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 ass. Her mouth watered. Smiling softly, Julia hopped up and gathered her clothing, then haphazardly tugged them 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.
"Nay," Tristan growled, his tone so sharp it could have cut glass. 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, little dragon, and do not wish an audience."
She rolled her eyes again—though she wanted to sink into his arms—and 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 the coffee brewing and a deep, rich cinnamon-mocha aroma floated through the air.
"What happened to your house?" Faith asked. "There are holes in the wall."
"I'm redecorating." She didn't elaborate. Claiming the burgundy-topped stool beside her sister, Julia glanced at Tristan, who reclined at the table and had his arms crossed over his chest. He was watching her with heat in his eyes. She turned and regarded Faith, who was watching them both with twinkling amusement.
"What?" Julia demanded of her.
"Nice hickey," her sister said.
"Oh. Oh," she said, fingering 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," she said, a mischievous sparkle in 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. All those muscles and that glorious skin were for her eyes only, and it didn't help. that he bore four scratch marks below each of his nipples and a little hickey of his own beside his navel.
"Aren't you cold without your shirt?"
"Nay." Half-grinning, he languidly stretched his arms over his head. "I am not. I suddenly feel hot."
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. "I forgot to ask why you're here."
Faith hooked dark strands of hair behind her ears. "I came over to see how the rest of the date went, but no more words are needed, really."
Speaking of the date…
"Did you finish all your lab work?" Julia asked, her brows bowed.
"Of course." Knowing she was caught, Faith studied her cuticles and gave a pouty little yawn. "Only finished up a few hours ago. Worked all through the night."
Tristan sighed. "If you are going to stay, Faith," he said, breaking into their conversation, "the least you can do is cook us some food."
"No way," Faith said.
"I'll cook." Julia filled three mugs with steaming coffee, then handed one to her sister, one to Tristan and saved the last for herself. Eyes closing in surrender, she took a tentative sip, found the temperature perfect, then drained the rest. "I know it's lunchtime, but I'm craving breakfast."
"Sounds wonderful," Faith and Tristan said in unison. She peeked inside her fridge.
"We have eggs and bacon, but no
sausage."
"I can live with that," Faith said. "I'm starved."
"Me, as well."
Yet neither of them offered to help cook, she noticed. And that was probably a good thing. Faith didn't know how to boil water, and if Tristan's food was anything like his coffee… She shuddered. Humming under her breath, she quickly fried the bacon, scrambled a dozen eggs, then browned and jellied several pieces of toast.
"That smells so good," Faith said, eyeing the mountain of food as her stomach rumbled.
"Yours is coming up next." Julia handed Tristan the plate. "If I don't serve Tristan first, he's likely 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. His fingers brushed hers, sending stark awareness through every inch of her, and for a silent moment, they stared at each other, plate suspended midair.
When she was near, Tristan thought, he could only think of bed play. Right now, even though he had already loved her body thoroughly—several times—he wanted to fist her clothes in his hands and rip them away from her rosy curves.
"Later," she whispered as if she heard his thoughts.
"Not later. Now." He pinched the eggs between his fingers and brought them to his lips. As he chewed, he watched her. She watched him. And they both knew what the other was thinking. He gave her a wink, a sensuous sweep of his lashes and said, "You were right. I want to eat you, for I know these would taste so much better on you."
Her heart slammed erratically in her chest. Oh, I'm a wanton woman.
"Sorry, Faithie," Julia said without sparing her sister a glance. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
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 way again," she murmured with a satisfied grin.
"Nor I." He smiled. Every moment with this woman offered a new experience. "For each meal I now consume will be compared to our buffet of carnality."
"We should probably take a shower." She swirled her fingertip in his belly button. "You've got jam everywhere."
"First…" Suddenly serious, he rolled her onto her back and pinned her beneath him, her hands imprisoned above her head. 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."
"What are your feelings toward me?"
Bit by bit, the heat cooled in her expression. She stilled. Looked away.
"I care about you." Her words were hesitant and heavily measured. "You know that."
"Aye. I know." But he'd wanted more from her. He could not give her a declaration of his own love, but he wanted one willingly from her lips. Mayhap 'twas selfish on his part. However, he had no control over his need for her love. He licked her collarbone. "I, too, care about you."
"I—thank you."
"Do you love me?"
"Do you love me?" she countered, refocusing on him.
He wanted to answer, but he decided to show her how he felt about her with his body instead. His fingers moved between her legs, circling the dew he found there.
"You are perfection."
"So are you," she breathed.
He kissed her everywhere, leaving no hollow 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 body. 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." Tenderness shining in her eyes, she caressed his cheek. "We've helped each other, Tristan."
"Aye, but I do not think you will ever know just what you have given me. A piece of my soul. My pride. My honor."
"You've given me confidence and adventure. You've shaken up my boring life and added vitality."
He paused.
"But we cannot give each other marriage or children, can we?"
"No," she replied sadly. "But having you is enough."
Her words touched him all the way to his soul, and he captured her lips for a soft kiss.
"Once, when I was a boy, I dreamed of such things. Of my wife holding me in her arms each night as she grew bigger with our child. Of my son learning the skills of a talon by my patient hand. Of my daughter smiling up at me, allowing me to kiss her hurts away."
"I wanted the same," she admitted. "A family, a place to belong."
"I wish I could give you those things, little dragon."
Julia closed her eyes against the joy and pain of his admission. Combined, the emotions cut deeper than any knife, yet lifted away the sting.
"And I wish I could give them to you."
"What a pair we make, eh?" he said with a sigh.
Change the subject, change the subject, her mind chanted. Before she broke down and cried.
"Tell me about the women on your planet. What are they like?"
He nuzzled her neck before he answered.
"And if I refuse to tell you?"
"I'll give you a karate chop you'll never forget."
"Then I will tell you—" he slid his hands away, and she moaned from the loss " — after you give me a demonstration of this karate. My curiosity must be appeased."
"Very well, then."
She crawled from the bed and pushed to her feet. When she bent to grab her clothing, he tsked.
"Ah-ah-ah, Julia. I am sure this karate is best demonstrated with no clothing to hinder the movements."
"You're sure, are you?"
"Aye."
Expression mischievous, he propped himself up on the pillows. "Upon my honor."
"Well, since your honor is at stake."
Gathering her courage, she stepped in front of the bed. He watched her as if he couldn't tear his eyes away, as if he didn't mind that she was, well, a tiny bit plump.
I am beautiful, she thought, recalling the mantra he'd taught her. Even naked and covered with strawberry jelly. Perhaps stick-thin women were considered malnourished and pathetic on his planet. She grinned at the thought.
"Are you ready for this?" she asked him.
"I have been ready since I first appeared to you." He crossed his hands behind his head. "You may begin now."
Lord, help me. Before she lost her nerve, she performed several moves she'd seen on TV. A high kick. A slash of her arms. She even pretended to chop a block of wood in half. He didn't laugh. No, when she finished, he growled, "Come do that to me."
And she did.
Later she found herself once again snuggled into his side. "I do believe you owe me a big, fat description of the women on your planet."
His deep, rich chuckle filled the room, but his merriment soon faded. An intrinsic sadness overtook him, a sadness for all he'd lost, perhaps, or for all he would never have. "Best you explain exactly what you wish to know, so I do not bore you with minute details."
"Are all the women as beautiful as Zirra?"
"Zirra is not beautiful. She is ugly. Evil. But nay, most of the women do not resemble her. They come in all different shapes and sizes, colors and temperaments."
"What about Imperia itself? You've spoken of the magic found there, but not about the way you're governed."
"There is a Great-Lord who reigns over the mortals, and a High Priest who reigns over the Druinn. Their word is absolute over their people. Then there are the Elite, the soldiers and the serving class. I served my Great-Lord gladly, for he was a wise and just man."
"So you were a soldier?"
"I was an Elite soldier."
"And did you, my Elite soldier, fight many battles?"
"Aye. You see, at one time the mortals and the Druinn continually warred. Then the tw
o rulers forged a bond of peace, the mortals vowing never to destroy the source of the Druinn powers, the Kyi-en-Tra Crystal, and the Druinn vowing never to hurt the mortals with their magic. Many of the people, both mortal and sorcerer, were against such an alliance, however. Each wanted his own race to rule the other. When I left, a rebellion was brewing."
"I wonder if it ever erupted and if so, who won," she said. "The rebels or the kings."
"The Druinn have many mystical powers, and the mortals outnumber them ten to one. Together, they could conquer anything, yet they were having trouble quashing this resistance."
"Did the rebels have some sort of magic weapon?"
"Nay, they were simply more determined than most. And the world was quickly losing its vitality. The continual war between races caused cities to wither and many people to die." Tristan shifted her more comfortably in his arms. "That which once thrived was quickly losing its resilience, weakening the classes and strengthening the rebels."
"I'm sorry." He gently squeezed her hip. "Before my curse, I had been called by my Great-Lord to fight the Druinn rebels."
"So you were consorting with your enemy, weren't you, when you were with Zirra?"
"We were not enemies at the time. Remember, our kings had just become allies. And besides that, I had always considered a woman a woman."
"And therefore unable to hurt or overpower you, whatever her origins," Julia finished for him. He nodded. "Do you want to know what happened to Imperia once you left?"
"Aye. I do. Imperia is still my home."
Silence ensued. Julia waited a moment, letting Tristan gather his thoughts, before she spoke again.
"One day you might be given a chance to go back, without Zirra's help, and finish what your king called you to do."
"Nay," was all he said.
"Maybe we can find a way," she persisted, longing to visit Imperia again, on her own terms, to walk through the billowing white grass, to feel the scented breeze. To see Tristan in his natural environment and allow him to finish out his life's purpose. "Maybe if we found a way, I could go with you."
"Nay." Expression dark, muscles clenched, he shook his head. "I will never go back, Julia, for such is my curse. I will speak no more on this subject."
"Could you go back if the curse were broken?"
The Pleasure Slave i-2 Page 22
