Stay tough. Stay focused. “I’m not sure that would be wise, Tristan.”
“I care not if such indulgence is wise. I care only about our desire for each other.” His lids lowered in half-mast perusal, mentally stripping away her clothes and licking every inch of her. “I want another kiss.”
Her heart rate quickened with excitement, flames of arousal licking every inch of her. “Are you even attracted to me?” She needed to know. “Am I even close to your type?”
He scowled with his eyes and frowned with his mouth. “Of course I am attracted to you. Every time I glance at you, scent you or near you, I harden.”
He did? Her lungs emptied, catching her breath impossible. What would one more kiss hurt? Just one simple kiss? Practice for Peter…
Peter who?
“One kiss?” she rasped.
“Just one.” He touched her again, a simple coasting of his knuckles that set off a chain reaction of sensation.
Her nipples puckered, and her belly fluttered. Her skin sensitized. How did he do that? How did he make her feel so needy so quickly?
“There is no room for thought here,” Tristan said, as if he feared she would pull away at any moment. “We have defeated your propensity for issuing lectures. Now we will conquer your habit of overthinking.”
Leaning over, he dipped his index finger into the center of the bonbon, then traced the vanilla cream around the outline of her lips. Cold on her skin, fire in her blood. He stroked a path along the curve of her jaw, then dipped to her neck, touching so softly she felt the coolness of the ice cream rather than the actual touch. Julia shivered as he spread the sweetness over her skin. Air hitched in her throat.
“Come to me,” he breathed. His fingertip traveled downward, then around, anchoring at the base of her neck and drawing her forward until she half stood over the table. “I need you so desperately, draga.”
It was his words that finally broke her resistance. He needed her. Her! No other would do. Without breaking contact, she managed to maneuver around the table’s edge and close the remaining space between them. He remained seated, allowing her to peer down at him. His lips looked soft, and she was proud of herself for noticing because his erection currently pushed against her leg, and not focusing on it required immense effort.
“Put your arms around me,” he said oh so softly.
She knelt on the cool wood floor, her body positioned between his legs, her face level with his sternum. Sweeping her hands up the taut muscles of his chest proved irresistible. She savored his strength before finally twining around his neck as he’d demanded.
His knees pressed into her sides, the contact electric. It felt sinful and erotic, and she wanted the moment to last forever. He smelled good, beyond good, like soap and chocolate and vanilla.
He clasped her wrists, locking her in place, but such an action wasn’t necessary. At the moment, there was no other place she would rather be; this overly large, overly real man offered everything she’d ever wanted and then some.
Slowly he leaned over, lowering his mouth to hers but pausing when he was a breath away. “I can feel your body quivering, draga. Are you cold?”
She shook her head. “Burning hot.”
Featherlight, he kissed her cheek, a mere brush of lips to flesh. “Excited?”
“Yes.” How could she deny it when her body felt so alive, so eager?
He licked the outline of her lips. “Do you want my mouth on yours?”
Somehow she managed to nod.
“Say it, then. Say the words.”
“Yes, I—I think I do.”
“Ah-ah-ah. There’s to be no thinking, remember?”
Lost in a world of sensation, where inhibitions and embarrassment didn’t belong, she let herself run free. She ached, yearned for him, and finally confessed, “I need your mouth on mine, your tongue dancing with mine. Kiss me, Tristan. Kiss me hard and deep and do not stop.”
He chuckled softly, a heady rumble that purred with barely suppressed power. “This is one command I will enjoy obeying.” Finally, blessedly, he kissed her lips. His tongue met hers, blending the chocolate with the vanilla, and she jolted with bliss, eagerly welcoming him.
Just as before, it didn’t take long for passion to explode inside her. She moaned and held him tighter, unwilling to let him go. Tristan must have sensed a resurgence of her desperation, because he gripped her from behind and lifted her onto his lap in one swift motion.
Suddenly they were chest to chest. Hardness to softness. Instinctively, she worked her legs under the chair’s arms, then wrapped them around his waist. Even through the cotton fibers of his towel, the heat of his erection scorched her. He was thick and hard, and some wanton part of her wanted to take his entire length in her mouth, sucking him from base to tip then down again.
This went beyond practice for another man.
I shouldn’t be doing this. Not with him. I’ll stop him in just…one…minute…
Never had she felt so sexy, desirable and purely feminine, inundated by a heady mixture of power, and she didn’t want it to end. As these sensations combined, her head swam with confidence. She sank her fingers into his thick mass of hair just as he eased his palm under her shirt to brush the curve of her breast. His big hand cupped the mound and gently squeezed. He lightly pinched her nipple.
Then he moved. A simple sway of his hips.
The half crescents of her nails dug into his scalp as she raked the tips over his hair. Intense, consuming pleasure shot from one side of her body to the other. That, combined with years of deprivation, pushed her beyond the limits of her control. She was famished for a touch, his touch, and clasped him wildly with her thighs, craving contact and pressure.
As if he, too, had reached his limit, Tristan tongued her more aggressively, his taste hot and masculine. He licked, nibbled, sucked, then alternated between the three, devouring her one tasty bite at a time.
The kiss was wild and savage, and it made up for every school dance she’d never attended because she hadn’t had a date, every party she’d never been invited to and every night she’d cried because no one had wanted to spend time with her. Right here, this moment, she was Aphrodite, pagan goddess of love and beauty, and men worshiped at her feet. Life and vitality beat through her veins.
“Tristan,” she rasped. “I need more.”
He tore his mouth away, panting, “Then more you shall have.” He paused a moment, then, and gazed at her, just gazed at her as if savoring the sight of her. “Had I known how eagerly you would respond,” he said, his tone hardening, “I would have begun the third lesson yestereve.”
“Too much talking,” she muttered, trying to recapture his lips with her own.
“Hmm, anticipation.” He licked her collarbone, the hot wetness of his tongue leaving a path of liquid fire. Finally, he claimed her lips again. But bit by bit, a small measure of sanity returned, clearing her passion-fogged senses.
As old self-doubts and insecurities teased the periphery of her mind, she loosened her hold on Tristan and forced her mind to dissect his words, not his touch. The truth hit her with the force of a baseball bat. He’d kissed her as if her mouth held the oxygen he needed for life support because of a lesson. A stupid, stupid lesson. She’d known that. Known it was practice. She just hadn’t expected him to wax poetic about being attracted to her first, as if he actually, truly wanted her. Which meant he’d given her a lesson all right. He’d taught her how douchey men could be.
A jumble of need and mortification, she shot from his lap, overly conscious of the sticky chocolate that still marred her skin. She didn’t move away but stood before him. With swift, jerky movements, she shoved her hair from her face and snapped, “I changed my mind.” She tried to sound confident and unaffected, yet didn’t quite manage the feat.
Reaching out, he attempted to gather her back into his embrace. She quickly sidestepped him, remaining free.
“Come here,” he said, crooking his finger at her. “Your
lesson is unfinished.”
“Wrong. I’ve learned all I need to know about anticipation.” Please, Lord, do not let my voice sound as shaky and desperate to Tristan as it does to me.
“There is so much more I can teach you,” he uttered with a softer tone, a sexier timbre that set butterflies alight in her stomach.
“I’m not interested.” Not a lie, not exactly. She didn’t want to be interested.
“You are interested, draga.”
“Maybe, but it doesn’t matter.” She tried to tamp down the hurt burning inside her. She wasn’t angry with Tristan. No, she couldn’t be angry with him. He’d only been doing what she’d asked him to do: teach her to seduce a man. Yet she’d let herself forget that fact for a moment, and she hated herself for her stupidity, hated the ache in her chest. “It’s a temporary insanity, that’s all.”
“To want me, a woman must be insane?” he said, shoving the words through clenched teeth. He propped his elbows on the armrests and folded his hands together.
“No! Nothing like that.” She’d hurt his feelings again. Would she ever get this right? “I just…I’ve had enough pleasure for one day.”
He made a tsking sound. “Never has a woman needed more pleasure than you, sweet. Twice now you have come apart because of a kiss. You crave the pleasure I can give you. Admit it.”
That tone… even sexier than before. At this rate, she would cave within the hour, happily parting with her virginity, giving Tristan everything he wanted and forgetting everything she needed.
Julia whirled, fleeing as fast as her feet could carry her. Where she headed, she didn’t know.
“Julia,” he called, racing after her. He gripped her shoulders and spun her around, his expression dark with remorse. “I did not mean to upset you.”
“I’m fine.” Forcing a half smile, she looked past him, past the living room window. “Really.”
His strong, callused hands cupped her jaw, urging her to look at him. “Every warrior knows when his woman says ‘I’m fine,’ it is a death sentence. Tell me what I did wrong, and I will apologize.”
“You did nothing wrong.” Not purposefully, at least. “Just tell me when you begin a lesson next time. And don’t say sweet, meaningless things to me. I thought you really—” She closed her mouth with a snap. No way did she want him to know she’d thought he’d kissed her because he liked her, not because he actually found her attractive.
His brows knit together, his confusion palpable. “What does knowing about a lesson beforehand matter?”
“I have a right to know, that’s all.”
He tightened his grip on her, his gaze slitting dangerously. “This is not about the lessons, is it? This is about Puny Peter.”
“Yes.” In a way.
Fury replaced his confusion. “Did you think of him while we kissed? Did you wish he was the one touching you?”
“So what if I did?” she said, eyeing him with bravado.
“As your instructor, I forbid you to think about Puny Peter.”
“You are not the master of my thoughts.”
“Is that so?” he asked, his tone dripping with a calm as false as her bravery.
“Yeah.” At her full five-foot-three-inch height, she could only glare up at him. “That’s so.”
“Then let’s find out whether or not I can direct your thoughts.” He prowled a step closer. “I liked the way your nipples hardened against my palms. The way you pressed your body deeper into mine. I liked when you wrapped your legs around me, placing your clitoris firmly against my cock. I liked those things, Julia. Not Peter.”
Tremors rocked her on her feet. And yes. Yes, his words had directed her thoughts like a puppeteer wielding a string. “I liked them, too,” she admitted before she could halt the words. “I liked that you were the one doing them to me.”
Everything about him softened. “Then why did you run from me?”
“I just—I thought you really wanted me, okay?” she whispered. “I thought the lessons had nothing to do with our kiss.” Staring down at her fingers, she gave a humorless laugh. “I guess it was stupid of me to hope you could give of yourself and not cater to the whims of a master, huh?”
“What is this?” The words exploded from his mouth. “You think I see your body as an obligation? Curse you, woman. Thoughts of you have fueled my dreams and kept me hard all night long. I crave you, and have not stopped craving you since my first appearance.” He jerked her into the hard circle of his arms. “Just as you crave me.”
“No, no. Not anymore.” Deny him. If she didn’t, she would end up giving herself to him completely. He desired her, but she wasn’t sure it was enough. How long would his desire last? How long until she found a way to set him free?
Forever? You won’t find what you never search for.
Could she let herself forget her own dreams and neglect Peter for a temporary relationship? “No,” she repeated, more for her benefit than his.
“Peter is not here,” Tristan growled. “He is not the one who can satisfy you. I am.”
He wasn’t wrong. But he wasn’t necessarily right, either. Or was he? Oh, she just didn’t know anymore! She only knew she wanted this man, bad. Why deny the inevitable?
No, no. She had to deny it for the sake of her future. And she needed to get away while she could. “Why don’t you believe in love, Tristan?” she found herself asking instead of fleeing.
If he fell in love with her, she wouldn’t have to worry about losing him.
Tristan, a pleasure slave who’d probably been with the most beautiful women in the world, fall for a tongue-tied virgin who could be classified as cute on her best days?
Girls like us don’t win the fairy-tale prince, honey. We’ve got to settle for his servant.
He blinked and stumbled back, as if pushed, releasing her. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I am not an unbeliever, not any longer, but the emotion isn’t one I can allow myself to experience.”
Silence permeated the room, their gazes locked. The air seemed to thicken, both of them breathing a lot harder. Awareness crackled in her every cell. Why did he have to exude such potent sexuality?
Finally she could take it no longer and glanced away. Debating the finer points of anything, especially love, would be the equivalent of a political debate on Facebook. No one would walk away a winner.
“I’ve got to balance my accounts,” she said, “so I’ll be in my office. I don’t know what time I’ll finish.” She forced herself to walk away.
“What time you finish doesn’t matter,” he called, his tone steely. “I’ll put my anticipation to good use.”
A tingle of alarm raced through her and she froze, her back to him. “Nothing else is going to happen between us, Tristan.”
“That isn’t technically true. You agreed that I would be sleeping in your bed—with you, not alone, in case that wasn’t clear. Tonight, we’ll start your third lesson. Cuddling.”
Cuddling? Her knees almost buckled. How was she supposed to resist his allure when she lay in his arms?
Drawing on every ounce of strength she possessed, Julia whipped her head around to stare over her shoulder. “For your information, I didn’t say exactly where you are to sleep, just that it’s in my room. I’ll make you a pallet on the floor.”
His eyes narrowed to slits but he nodded. “You have me there, sweet. Next time I’ll not leave any room for interpretation.”
* * *
AS TRISTAN TOSSED and turned on Julia’s bedchamber floor, he stared up at the ceiling. He hated that their kiss had ended so abruptly. And as much as he hated not being in the bed with her, cuddling, he loved how easily she’d outwitted him. Wily female.
Perhaps this was all for the best. Earlier, he’d almost lost control. He’d touched her, tasted her, and had wanted to give her everything. Julia was quickly destroying the defenses he’d build over the seasons.
Defenses he needed if he were going to survive his fate.
A cold sweat brok
e out all over his body.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
You Must Thank Your Mistress Immediately
And Frequently For Any Boon Or Punishment
THE NEXT MORNING, JULIA’S resolve to keep Tristan away from Julia’s Treasures crumbled.
She didn’t want to send him back inside his box. Too cruel. But she didn’t want to leave him at home alone, either. He would have vehemently protested such an occurrence, anyway. Being the hopelessly infatuated, desperately aroused woman that she was—still!—she wanted to make him happy. Besides, she probably owed him. She’d had a comfortable bed, and he’d had the hard floor. All night she’d had to listen to his breathing, enveloped by his arousing scent.
So, of course, Julia dragged him to work with her. How did he thank her? By ignoring her as she worked. Oh, and hacking up another landline.
“Why in the world did you destroy this phone?” she demanded the moment her last customer departed.
From his stool behind the cash register, Tristan regarded her with a why-aren’t-you-on-your-knees-thanking-me glance. “I would rather walk across a stream of jagged talons than listen to that shrill, banshee-like screech again.”
Her nose wrinkled in vexation. “You destroyed my phone because it rang?”
Unfazed, he lifted his shoulders in a shrug.
“That’s the second one you’ve murdered.”
“If you wish me to do the same to a third, you have only to ask.”
“I most definitely am not asking you to do it again. In fact, I’ll teach you to play games on my cell, so you can technology can make friends.” Frowning, she began tidying a shelf of colorful glass vases. “This is a business, after all, and my customers need a way to contact me.”
“A cause for celebration, surely.”
“Phones aren’t cheap, you know,” she grumbled. Okay, so they weren’t that expensive. “I’m taking this out of your salary.”
“Since I refuse to take your money,” he said, his tone as sour as her mood, “the situation works to my advantage. And while I am now in the mood to talk, explain to me why you are wearing drocs instead of a new gown. As your tutor, I believe I instructed you otherwise.”
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