The Pleasure Slave i-2

by Gena Showalter

  Grimacing, Julia propped her forehead against the cherry wood with a thump. "That was so unbelievably rude."

  "Was it not rude to interrupt our meal? Now, come." Tristan led her back to the table, a silent reminder that they would not discuss her neighbor.

  She bit back a sigh and settled into her chair. How would she later explain this to Peter? How would she make him understand it was him she wanted? Liar, liar, her mind sang, before all thoughts and questions tapered to silence. Tristan touched her knee again, a deeper, more lingering caress, and whether he did it purposefully or accidentally, she still didn't know. And didn't care. Over and over, one part of his body connected with hers, launching erotic shivers down her spine.

  When his fingertips brushed the underside of her calf, white-hot need crashed through her body like bolts of lightning. Raspy breaths she recognized as her own pounded in her ears. Beads of sweat popped onto her brow. If only he'd forget about the pasta in front of him and feast on her. Lord, when had she become such a sexual being who only considered pleasure? Another tremor raked her, small and deliciously decadent.

  "Little dragon," he said languidly.

  "Yes," she answered breathlessly. Oh, yes, yes, yes.

  "Have you, perchance, found something you desire?"

  "Yes." She forced herself to concentrate, to think of something plausible. "You took my bread stick. I want it back."

  Light reflected off his eyes, making them twinkle with an emotion she couldn't quite name. Laughter? Passion? Mischief? "You have not eaten the one in front of you."

  "Oh." She glanced down, saw her plate piled high with uneaten food. "I'm not that hungry."

  He smiled a slow, sensual smile that held promise and knowledge, wickedness and allure. "Mayhap I can interest you in something else, a more appetizing morsel than a mere piece of bread."

  "I'm not sure you can, but perhaps you should try," she said, dreading—praying—he might say something naughty.

  A lengthy pause left her suspended on the edge of her chair.

  "Mayhap I can interest you in… me."

  Was the room suddenly hotter? Brighter? She tugged at the collar of her shirt and forced herself to remain seated, lest she throw herself at him. "I made dessert," she offered lamely. "Well, I didn't cook it. I just opened the box and set the bonbons on the counter."

  "Bring them to me," he coaxed, his voice like soft, rich velvet.

  Using dessert as a distraction, Julia straightened on unsteady legs, grabbed the tray of ice cream and set it on the table with a thud. More balanced now, she reclaimed her seat. He eyed the chocolate treats with unfettered delight, and she suddenly wished she'd smeared the things over her naked body.

  I'm just a guan ren to him, she reminded herself. A means to an end he must pursue because that is his sole purpose in life. Seduction. To him, she was not special or pretty or even truly desirable. How pathetic she would be if she accepted such indifference and did not demand more for herself—or for him.

  Never once taking his violet gaze from her, he lifted a bonbon and licked the center. "Let me feed you dessert," he said so silkily that she swallowed back a dreamy sigh.

  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 desire." His lids lowered in half-mast perusal, mentally stripping away her clothes and licking every inch of her. "If you cannot accept food from my hand, will you at least accept my kiss?"

  Her heart rate quickened with excitement, and the arousal kindling within her burst into hot flames that licked her all over. Prickles of anticipation worked along her skin. Really, what would one more kiss hurt? Just one simple kiss? Nothing, that's what, her mind eagerly answered.

  "One kiss?" she asked with breathless longing.

  "Just one." He touched her again, this time deliberately, a simple coasting of his knuckles that set off a chain reaction of sensation. How did he do that? How did he make her feel like the most desirable woman he'd ever encountered? Oh, how she wanted him.

  Wait! You want Peter.

  Peter who?

  "There is no room for thought here," Tristan said, as if he feared she would pull away. "We have defeated your propensity for issuing lectures. Now let us conquer your habit of thinking overly much."

  Leaning over, he dipped his index finger into the center of the bonbon, then traced the vanilla cream around the outline of her lips; 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 the sweetness melted and spread over her skin. Her breath caught 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."

  It was his words that finally broke her resistance. He needed her. Her! Without breaking contact, she managed to maneuver around the table's edge and close the remaining space between them. He stayed seated, so she peered down at him. His lips looked soft, and she was proud of herself for noticing because at the moment, his erection was pushing against her leg.

  "Put your arms around me," he said oh so softly.

  Her knees gave out, and she dropped to the cool wood floor, her body positioned between his knees, her face level with his sternum. Both of her hands crept up the taut muscles of his chest, savoring, lingering, then twining around his neck as he'd demanded.

  The contact was electric. It felt sinful and erotic and she wanted the moment to last forever. He smelled so good, like soap and chocolate and vanilla. His arms descended to her waist, locking her in place, but such an action wasn't necessary. At the moment, there was no other place she would rather be, and this overly large, overly real man in her arms had long since replaced thoughts of Peter.

  Slowly he lowered his mouth to hers, a breath away. "I can feel your body quivering, little dragon. Are you cold?"

  She shook her head.

  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. Say the words."

  "Yes, I think I do."

  "Ah-ah-ah. 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, your lips and your tongue. Kiss me, Tristan. Kiss me."

  He chuckled softly, a heady rumble that purred with barely suppressed power. "This is one command I will enjoy obeying." His tongue met hers, blending the chocolate with the vanilla. He thrust into her mouth, all sweetness and warmth, and Julia eagerly welcomed him.

  Just as before, the moment he began to work her tongue, passion exploded within her. She moaned. Held him tighter. Tristan must have sensed her desperation because he gripped her from behind and lifted her onto his lap with one swift motion. They were chest to chest. Hardness to softness. Instinctively, she spread her legs, wrapping them under the chair's arms and 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, suck him from base to tip then down again.

  I shouldn't be doing this, she thought. Not with him. I'll stop him in just… one… minute…

  Oddly enough, she felt sexy and desirable and purely feminine, a heady mixture of power, and as these sensations combined, her head swam with confidence. Her fingers sank into his thick hair just as his palm eased under the bottom of her shirt, sliding up to brush the curve of her breast. His big hand cupped its weight and gently squeezed. He rolled the nipple between his fingers.

  Then he moved. A simple sway of his hips.
>
  The half crescents of her nails dug into his scalp. Intense, consuming pleasure shot from one corner of her body to the other. That, combined with years of deprivation, pushed her beyond control. She became famished for a touch, his touch, and clasped him wildly with her thighs, craving contact. Sweet contact.

  As if he, too, were at his limit, Tristan continued to work his open mouth against hers, his tongue aggressive, his taste hot and masculine. He licked, nibbled, sucked, alternating between the three and devouring her one tasty bite at a time.

  The kiss was wild and savage and made up for every school dance she'd never attended, every party she'd never been invited to and every night she'd cried because no one desired 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. Savoring, perhaps? "Had I known how eagerly you would respond," he said, his tone hard, "I would have begun lesson two yestereve."

  "Lesson?" she muttered, trying to recapture his lips with her own.

  "Hmm, anticipation." The hot wetness of his tongue left a path of liquid fire along her collarbone before he claimed her lips again.

  But bit by bit, small measures of sanity returned, clearing her passion-fogged senses. Old self-doubts and insecurities teased the periphery of her mind. Unsure, she loosened her hold on Tristan, forcing herself to concentrate on his words, and not his touch.

  Everything came together at once. He'd kissed her as if her mouth held the oxygen he needed for life support because of a lesson. A stupid, stupid lesson. He didn't desire her, Julia Anderson. Not really. He'd simply been acting as her tutor. She'd realized that in the beginning, but easily let herself be convinced otherwise. Yet hearing the actual words from his mouth cut painfully.

  A jumble of need and mortification, she shot from his lap, conscious now of the sticky chocolate sweetness on her skin. With swift, jerky movements, she shoved her hair from her face and glared down at him. "I changed my mind," she said, trying to sound confident and unaffected, yet not quite managing the feat. All of her residual doubts about why she should resist this man grew in intensity.

  Reaching out, he attempted to gather her back into his embrace. She quickly sidestepped his arms.

  "Come here," he said. "Your lesson is unfinished."

  "I've learned all I need to know about anticipation," she said. Please, God, 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, now softening his tone, using each sexy timbre to the fullest.

  "I'm not interested."

  "That is an untruth, Julia. You are interested."

  "You're wrong." She tried to stifle the hurt burning in her eyes. 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, and she hated herself for her stupidity, hated the ache in her chest. "Very wrong."

  "You are the one who is wrong, Julia," he said through clenched teeth. He propped his elbows on the armrests and folded his hands together. "You lie to yourself, and I would know why."

  "I've merely had enough pleasure for one day, that's all."

  He made a tsking sound with his tongue. "Never has a woman needed more, sweet. Twice now you have come apart because of a kiss. And never once did my fingers or my shaft enter your body. You want the pleasure I can give you. Admit it." —

  Julia whirled, fleeing as fast as her feet could carry her. Where she headed, she didn't know. She only knew that if she didn't leave now, she might cave completely, give Tristan everything he wanted and forget everything she needed. How could he be so passionate one moment, and so frosty the next, as if he were two separate people?

  "Julia," he called, racing after her. When he reached her, he gripped her shoulders and spun her to face him. His expression darkened with remorse, and he was once again the tender, fervent warrior she'd kissed. "I did not mean to hurt you."

  Forcing a half smile, she looked past him, past the living-room window. "I'm fine. Really."

  His strong, callused hands cupped her jaw, forcing her to look at him. "Every warrior knows the words 'I'm fine' from his woman are a death sentence. Tell me what I did wrong, and I will apologize."

  "You did nothing wrong." Not purposefully, at least.

  He was sorry he had hurt her, but he truly had no idea that he'd just ruined the best experience of her life. "Just tell me when you begin a lesson next time," she said softly. "I thought you really—" Her mouth closed with a snap. She absolutely did not want him to know she'd thought he had kissed her because he wanted to, because he found her attractive.

  His brows knit together and his confusion intensified. "What does knowing about a lesson beforehand matter?"

  "I have a right to know, that's all."

  The fingers on her shoulders tensed, and his gaze slitted dangerously. "This is not about the lessons, is it? This is about Puny Peter. Did you think of him while I kissed you? Did you wish it was Peter touching you? Did you picture him in your mind, and when his image faded, you pulled away from me?"

  "So what if I did?" she said, eyeing him with false bravado.

  "As your instructor, I forbid you to think about Puny Peter."

  "You are not the master of my thoughts. I govern who and what I think about."

  "Is that so?" he asked, his tone dripping with deceptive calm.

  "Yeah." Standing to her full five-foot-three height, she glared up at him. "That's so."

  "Then what think you of this? I liked the way your nipples hardened against my palms. I liked the way you pressed your body deeper into mine. I liked the way you wrapped your legs around me, placing yourself firmly against my cock. I liked those things, Julia. I. Not Peter."

  "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 tell me why you ran from the pleasure I gave you."

  "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 I first appeared." He jerked her into the hard circle of his arms. "Just as you crave me."

  "No, no. Not anymore." Deny him, whispered through her mind. If she didn't, she would once again give herself to him completely. He desired her, she conceded that much now. But was that really enough? She would forget her own dreams and neglect Peter. Already her resistance was waning. "No," she said again, more for her benefit than his.

  "Peter is not here," Tristan growled. "He is not the one who can give you fulfillment. I am. Your body knows this and will always betray you."

  The truth of those words danced through her, and for a moment, only a moment, she thought, why deny the inevitable? But self-preservation won. Get away while you still can. "Why don't you believe in love, Tristan?" she found herself asking instead.

  He blinked. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and his hands withdrew from her. "The emotion is simply not one I can allow myself to experience." Silence permeated the room. Their gazes remained locked. Finally she sighed and glanced away. Staying here with him and debating the finer points of love would not change his mind. He appeared too distant right now, too disgusted. "I've got to balance my accounts," she said, "so I'll be in my office. I don't know what time I'm going to bed, but you can stay up as late as you want." She forced herself to slip f
rom his touch and walk away.

  "When you go to your bedchamber," he called, his tone steely, "keep your door unlocked."

  A tingle of alarm raced through her and she froze, her back to him.

  "Why?"

  "You agreed that I will sleep with you." Drawing on every ounce of inner strength she possessed, Julia whipped around and pinned him with her stare.

  "The operative word here is sleep. And 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. "You have me there, sweet. Next time I'll not leave any room for interpretation."

  As Tristan lay on Julia's bedchamber floor, he stared up at the ceiling. He hated that their kiss had ended so abruptly. Yet mayhap that was for the best, he now realized. He'd almost lost control. He'd touched her, tasted her, and had wanted to give her everything he had to give. Julia was quickly destroying that innermost part of him, the part he kept buried.

  The part of him that kept him sane.

  A cold sweat broke out all over his body.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  You Must Thank Your Master Immediately And Frequently For Any Boon Or Punishment

  Her resolve to keep Tristan away from Julia's Treasures crumbled.

  She didn't want to send him back inside his box, didn't want to leave him at home alone. He would have vehemently protested such an occurrence, anyway, and being the hopelessly infatuated, desperately aroused woman that she was—she'd had to listen to his breathing all night as the raw maleness of his scent wrapped around her—she wanted to make him happy.

  So the very next day Julia dragged him to work with her.

  How did he thank her? By ignoring her all morning and hacking up another phone.

  "Why in the world did you destroy yet another 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, bansheelike screech again."