Was it unreasonable to be glad about that?
Likewise, she was equally arousing him, and his cock was growing painfully stiff. The rolling around on the floor, tasting her body, the kiss that seared through him worked at his libido like the best of aphrodisiacs but he was sure she wasn’t wearing one. There were none as far as he knew that were odorless. Yet, he was totally enchanted by this slave, and her feisty nature didn’t lessen his blatant interest of the naked woman who stood before him.
Never in the past, would he have thought that he could enjoy such bad behavior, but he was. As much as he fought to remain in control, he wanted her with the utmost urgency. Tarken looked forward to sexing her in the dawnings to come. It would be close to a moon’s phase worth at least, before they arrived home to Buranis and handed her over to the king.
The king—that thought bothered him, and he was bewildered by that.
“How did you get these marks, Cushla?” Tarken scrutinized her back. By the appearance of the marks on her skin, he could tell the blows had been painful. He touched one spot gently, still raw and red, and felt a twinge of regret when she winced. He had no desire to hurt her.
“They were a punishment.”
He assumed that. “And were you punished often?”
“As often as my masters or owners deemed necessary,” she stated it simply, as if it were just a fact in her life.
“What were you doing this time?” Tarken was already aware of the reason but asked anyway.
“Running away.”
At least she was honest. “You won’t run from me, Cushla.”
She responded with a snort.
To this he said nothing, but continued his inspection.
He noted a small, birthmark high on the right cheek of her bottom. It was a perfectly shaped silhouette of a Libertas, its wings outspread as if it were about to take flight. Whiter than her flesh, the mark seemed to sparkle with life, the shimmer matching the irises of Cushla's eyes. It was as if the very creature itself nestled on her skin. How befitting she would bear the mark of a free spirit.
“Are you done yet?” Cushla shuffled from foot to foot, appearing very uncomfortable with his scrutiny—embarrassed even.
Tarken didn’t answer her.
She grew quiet, saying nothing for .awhile.
He took leisure at examining her for much longer than he intended until she became impatient with him and her body stiffened.
She huffed out a breath and then snapped. “What in evil dungeons are you looking at!”
“Your birthmark. It’s quite fascinating to say the least.”
“What about it?”Cushla’s voice became indignant.
“Has anyone ever told you what it resembles?”
“I know what it resembles, Tarken.” Moving away from him, Cushla crossed the room, stepping over the broken glass on the floor. She stopped at the cellarette, picking up the bottle of umbret wine and then turned to look at Tarken. “May I?” She indicated the bottle, lifting it up and out toward him.
“Of course, mistress. I’m pleased that you ask for permission. Perhaps there is hope for you after all.” Removing his half-torn shirt, he tossed it atop a nearby chair. “But I thought you believed it to be tainted.”
“If it is, then I welcome the stupor over the memories of any sexual encounter I will have with you.” Cushla stared at him coldly. “Aside from that…I might as well take advantage of your offering, since I rarely have the opportunity to enjoy much in the way of extravagance.”
“Learn this, Cushla,” Tarken returned. “You will not be denied good food or drink, or other comforts by me, as long as you are obedient to orders.”
Cushla poured the drink into a clean glass and took a sip.
He couldn’t help but notice that her gaze had become fixated first on his chest before dropping lower to his stomach and hips.
Her eyes then snapped up to his and she grinned. “Then perhaps I might be willing to oblige.”
Tarken chuckled softly. Was she flirting with him or just trying to be belligerent? The latter seemed more likely.
Cushla set the bottle down and stared at him. “Do you find something amusing, slavemaster?”
“I was just wondering who was slave and who was master here.” He crossed one arm over the other. “Your determination to hang on to your dignity is admirable. I suppose I might be willing to allow you to have it for now. “
“Dignity is deeply rooted within, slavemaster.” Cushla took another sip of her drink and then licked a stray drop of moisture from her lips. “As for your question, the Libertas is the mystic spirit of freedom. It’s also referred to as an angel in some places.”
The sight of her tongue slipping along her sweet, full lips caused Tarken to groan. How would that feel swirling around the head of his cock? “Yes, it roams the galaxy seeking refuge and offering blessings to those who show kindness, but a bane to those for evil deeds, so I have heard.”
“Many a child has gone obediently to bed for fear it would snatch them away, if they failed to mind their parents,” Cushla added.
She showed signs of being educated and that was a marketable asset if the king should decide to sell her. Tarken might even buy her himself though never before had he considered such a thing. His throbbing cock certainly agreed it was a thought worth considering if Mecor would accede, though Tarken doubted the possibly. He strongly suspected the king had purchased Cushla for a specific, yet to be revealed reason.
“To have the Libertas in your life is a rare gift.” Cushla yawned as she spoke. She glanced at the bed and then eyed at him. “Rare enough not to be taken for granted.” A forlorn expression spread across her face as if she were pining for something she possessed long ago.
Tarken wondered if there was a double meaning behind her words. Stooping, he removed his boots. Then moving close he grasped her upper arm, taking her toward the bed. “Get in.”
Cushla sighed but obeyed, moving toward the middle of the mattress.
He filled the space next to her, stretching alongside her.
She turned her back to him as if blatantly telling him that she had no desire to see his face when he fucked her—her preference, if a she was permitted to have a preference, was to be taken from behind.
Tarken pulled her body close to his. He always enjoyed the feel of a woman, and he oddly wanted more than anything to feel this one close to his flesh.
“You’re no different than any of the others despite your thinking you are,” Cushla remarked. “Take me, but I warn you, I’ll fight.”
The sadness in her voice stabbed at him.
Take her? He could do that. Judging by her response to his touch, he knew he could coax her into submitting. He also knew on the dawning, she would resent him all the more for it. Tarken would not accept her resentment. He didn’t quite comprehend what he did want from her, but hate and basic, numb compliance was not one of them.
The slave would fare better in the king’s court if he could soften her heart. In the same, but contradictory vein, Tarken also knew that he must find a way to keep his heart hardened against her.
She was not his possession. Cushla belonged to the Mecor.
Reaching, Tarken grasped at the covers, throwing them over both of them. “This eve Cushla, we’ll only sleep.”
Chapter Eight
Sleep? Sleep! What was the slavemaster up to?
Cushla sat at the table in the hostel’s eatery, shoveling food into her mouth as if it might be her last meal. It very well could be for all she knew. She was hungry, but the meal was more for comfort than her stomach’s satisfaction.
When she awoke this dawning, Cushla found that she was in ferocious state of arousal. And the slavemaster’s stiff cock wedging in the crack of her ass didn’t help. It didn’t matter that he still had his pants on. In fact, the soft material of his pants against her bare flesh probably made it even worse. Cushla was tempted to turn to him. She wanted him with a fierceness she didn’t comprehend—to
feel him plunging into her hard and fast.
Panicked, she rose from the bed, donned one of his white, linen shirts and left the room, not caring that he would assume she had escaped and activate her slave band immediately. At that moment, she needed to get away from him before she did something she might regret, like having sex with him, incredible, mind-exploding sex, and willingly at that!
To make matters worse, Cushla suspected he knew she was attracted to him. She knew he saw her looking at his body while she was sipping the wine…his virile, too sexy for her own good body.
Oh hades, burn her eyes out! She couldn’t help it!
His shoulders were broad and his chest, lightly dusted with masculine hair, was so broad and muscular. The ripples of muscle at his abdomen….his thighs…even through his trousers she could see they were powerful. The thought of those firm thighs and slim hips planted between her outspread legs had her pussy clenching even as she tried desperately to allay the lusty response to him, but to no avail. With just the thought of him she was growing moist, hungry for something other than the food she was ferociously cramming into her mouth.
Who was this man that he would affect her as such?
“…Tarken.” Cushla’s heart thudded as she said his name aloud. The reaction—the attraction she felt toward him was seriously starting to piss her off. The way he looked at her, those damn, dark eyes with those sparkling, mesmerizing flecks. The intensity in them seemed to pierce her to the core. She’d never felt so timid and exposed as when he gave her the once over.
Now that was confusing. Feeling embarrassed while men looked at her naked body was something she hadn’t felt for a long, long time. She didn’t like how this slavemaster was making her feel. Not one iota…and how it irritated! What in hade’s fires compelled her to openly reveal to him that she’d never had an orgasm?
The cock brain was sure as hell going to try and give her one now!
“Is this compulsion to eat, stemming from a recent starvation?”
She suddenly froze upon hearing the slavemasters’ voice, her tines mid-way to her mouth. She dropped the utensil to her plate with a clatter.
“There is enough food here to feed a herd of famished froogats. How will all of that fit inside of your small stomach?”
Cushla looked up but said nothing.
“You have extravagant tastes, mistress.” Tarken scanned the platters on the table. “Tell me, what are your favorites?”
“Rub cherkin brewed in seeg sauce.”
“That’s quite an expensive meat.” Once again, Tarken inspected the feast. “I see you haven’t ordered any.”
“Yes, I did. They haven’t brought it yet.” Picking up the fork, Cushla started to eat again.
Tarken grabbed her wrist before she could put anymore food in her mouth. “How did you pay for this?”
“I put it on your credit account,” she finally said, not feeling the least bit chagrined, “I hope you don’t mind.”
“I’ll have to have a word with the Zurkan, and yes, Cushla I do mind.” Leaning down, Tarken placed one hand on the table, his other hand skimming up the inside of her leg. He stopped short of touching her between the thighs. Without moving his hand, he looked up at her. “I have yet to implement your sex punishment and here you are already inviting yet another reprimand.”
“Your rub cherkin.” A server stood at the table, holding a platter of a very generous helping of the tender meat.
“Wrap it and send it to my room,” Tarken ordered.
At first, the server appeared confused. His attention shifted from Tarken to Cushla and back to Tarken again. He directed his attention to the slave band Cushla wore, then he nodded once, turned around and headed back toward the kitchens.
“A snack for later?” Cushla’s heart thumped. She clenched her teeth, willing away the arousal he stoked within her. His hand was so close, so very close to her clitoris. It was taking a momentous effort to keep from focusing on it, to divert her thoughts away from the desire to have Tarken’s fingers playing with her there, pushing inside of her.
He put his face very close to hers. His breath was hot against her cheek.
Cushla could think of nothing else except how good he smelled, and how good he looked and how very, very appealing he was.
“Why do you do this, Cushla, when you know you will be disciplined for it?”
Suddenly, Cushla didn’t feel very hungry any more. In fact, she felt slightly nauseous, as her brain registered that she’d eaten too much. Her stomach wasn’t used to so much food. Added to that was the anxiety of wondering what punishment Tarken might conjure up next. He was different than others that possessed her before, unpredictable and unnerving, not to mention he was way too sexy for her state of what little well-being, even the little she did have of that.
“Move from the bench and sit here.” Tarken pointed to the floor.
* * * *
He didn’t wait until she complied. It was against all odds she would anyway. As expected, Cushla attempted to scoot away, her bottom crossing along the full length of the bench in the opposite direction, but he grabbed her upper arm stopping her from going any farther. Dragging her toward him and instead of stopping when her bottom reached the benches end, he continued to pull on her until she dropped to the floor.
She never made a sound.
Tarken let go of Cushla’s arm, stepped over her and sat down. He didn’t look at her. Instead, he picked up the fork and examined the food before him. His mouth twisted. He already knew she’d lifted his chip from the pocket of his trousers. How he managed to sleep while she rooted through his belongings behooved him. He was typically a light sleeper, particularly with an untrustworthy slave in the room.
When he found her in the eatery, he was stunned at the amount of food she’d ordered and how quickly she was devouring it. The feast was fit for a king, and he wondered how much this extravaganza would cost him. Tarken pressed his lips together while contemplating her behavior. It took nerve to do this, leaving the room without permission, requesting food she had no right to order, and yet all he could think about was how star blasted sexy she looked in his stolen shirt.
After taking several bites, he turned his attention to Cushla. She sat quietly on the floor, her interest drawn to the activity in the eatery. He couldn’t tell if the position he put her in humiliated her. Tarken had to think not. She seemed too relaxed. “Tell me, what foods you don’t like, mistress?”
Tipping her face toward him, Cushla’s expression appeared confused.
Tarken assumed it was because she didn’t comprehend why he would care, but he had his reasons.
“Durgin tea and cadia,” she answered. “It’s all that was ever offered to drink and eat when I was in servitude to a master on the planet Rekaw.”
“Both are nutritious. The drink and root were commonly fed to slaves because they were cheap and easy to obtain.
“Both are bitter and smelly.”
Tarken nodded in agreement. “That is very true, but a healthy sustenance nonetheless.”
“And cheap,” Cushla commented. She then went silent, turning her head away.
Even in profile, Tarken still had a glimpse of nuances that crossed her face, everything from pensiveness to worry to sorrow. Leaning forward slightly, he could see her gaze fixated on the people across the room, two masters sitting at a table and several slaves that either stood or sat on the floor in apathetic obedience.
Their faces were somber, listless even. It was a demeanor in slaves that Tarken was familiar with…complacent existence. Cushla was far from being like them. She was made of sterner stuff, and he liked that quality in her. “Do you like to be beaten, mistress?” Tarken took another bite of his food before casting his gaze downward to where she sat. He crooked an eyebrow and waited for her to answer. “I’ve known slaves to instigate a scene just to get that very thing, a beating because they enjoyed it, a fetish of sorts.”
Cushla’s head snapped toward his. There was
molten rage in her eyes. “No, I do not like being beaten.”
“Then why do you put yourself in situations like this?”
She shrugged at his question.
Tarken studied her face, but whatever emotion she was experiencing was quickly erased. Still his groin stirred. She was unlike any other female slave he’d trained. The woman intrigued him and she was most certainly inciting his sexual desire. “You left the room without permission.” He waved his hand over the platters on the table. “You charged goods to my account without permission.” His gaze fell to her body. “You wear my clothes without permission.”
Hell holy star implosions! He wanted to stroke his finger slowly inside of her until she came all over his hand. “I’ve known you but a fraction of a dawning and already you’ve compiled enough offenses to warrant severe disciplinary measures to be taken.”
Cushla stiffened as he chastised her with the list of violations. “Do what you must do.”
Tarken snorted. She was attempting to top him, trying to take control by giving him permission to punish her? The woman goaded him for her own gain, and Tarken was relatively sure he understood what she was up to. “I could do any number of things to you, Cushla, and be justified.”
“Justified!” The words fell from her mouth before she could harness them. “Is it justified to own another human being? Is it justified to beat them into unconsciousness? Is it justified to rape them or kill them or mutilate their bodies? Is that what you call justice? Kill me, Tarken! That is what would be the most benevolent to me.”
Tarken was taken aback by her outburst. Not because she dared to show anger but because the woman was exquisitely beautiful when she was outraged. His rod stiffened. Where there was fire there was passion and he craved to explore every bit of the passion locked inside of her. He could punish Cushla for this display of anger but let the matter drop. It was a subject he would touch upon later. For now, he had other plans for this annoyingly sensual woman.
Specifically…taking her body.
“When we return to the room I am having sex with you. And you won’t be beaten to delirium, and you won’t be drugged. You’ll be completely alert to everything I do to you, of every single touch.”
Slavemaster's Woman, The Page 7
