Gena Showalter: The Pleasure Slave

"You are most welcome." With her one objection to him obliterated, she would want him in that way. He was sure of it. She confirmed his thoughts by moistening her take-me-now lips with the tip of her tongue.

Unable to stop the action, he drew in a breath. He became trapped in her sorceress-like spell, craving another glimpse of that pink tongue, unable to blink, much less look away. His groin tightened painfully with need, and he fought a wave of confusion. More than six hundred years had passed since he'd experienced an impromptu erection—and now he did because of one glorious little tongue. 'Twas shocking, that.

"Now that we've got everything settled," she said, reaching down and gripping his jewelry box in her hands, "we can go to bed. If you'll follow me… " She turned and strolled away, swaying her hips in rhythm to a mating call. A call he had every intention of answering.

Your Master Is Never Wrong

With only a backward glance to his talon, Tristan trailed behind Julia. He continued to watch her buttocks as she moved. Very nice. Very nice, indeed. By Elliea, he wanted those hips under him… over him… beside him.

He was actually excited about bedding a woman. He was still shocked by that fact.

By her next words, she was obviously as excited as he was.

"I am so ready for bed," she muttered.

"So am I, little dragon," he said. "So am I."

They passed through a room crammed with treasures. There were paintings, dolls and books. Jewelry, pots, pans and glassware. Had he not been so eager to lose himself in Julia's body, he would have wanted to explore this haven. But that, he decided, would have to wait until he and Julia found release. Twice.

Abruptly she stopped in the center of the room and turned to face him. "Close your eyes, please."

He did so immediately, without question, and hated himself for it, but over the years he had learned his lessons well. Obey the spell and, in turn, his guan ren , or suffer. He heard the rustle of paper, the scrape of… something. What was the woman doing?

"You may open your eyes now," she said.

She was standing before him as if she hadn't moved, yet she was no longer holding the box, and she was blinking up at him as if she expected him to balk. He didn't. How could he? Hiding the box was the action of an intelligent woman. He'd lost count of how many greedy, pleasure-minded women had stolen him—mayhap because he no longer cared who he belonged to.

"This way," she said, continuing her journey. She led him into a dark, narrow corridor. There were no trinkets here, only candles lined against the walls. A soft, sweet fragrance, like sugar and spice, overlaid the air. From there, Julia showed him into a tiny bedchamber.

"This is where you'll sleep," she told him.

He glanced around, taking in the furnishing. A redwood dragon cabinet, a mirrored dressing table, ethereal wine-colored drapes and turquoise decorative pillows. "What type of animal is that?" he asked, indicating to the far wall where an alabaster beast sprouted green leaves.

"That's an elephant plant stand."

"And what is that?" Frowning, dreading her answer, he pointed to a small boxlike structure.

"That is the bed," she told him. Just as he'd suspected.

"A child would not fit in such a contraption, much less two people."

"You—you're sleeping alone," she said. "The bed is big enough for one."

She began chewing on her mouth, an action he was beginning to loathe almost as much as he liked it. Her lips were spectacular—lush and soft and pink. They were the kind of lips that made a man willing to battle a thousand armies for a single kiss, and Tristan swore to Elliea the next time she nibbled on those delicate morsels, he was going to soothe them the only way he knew how—with his tongue.

"Nay. I am not sleeping alone. I am sleeping with you."

Her eyes darted around the room like those of a trapped animal searching for escape. "I thought you understood the sleeping arrangements."

"I understand that I do not want to pleasure you in such a small setting. We must find larger accommodations since I plan to bring you to climax over and over again."

"Climax?" She made a strangling sound in the back of her throat, and even folded her hands around her neck. "Over and over again?"

More strangling sounds. Had he frightened her to the point of choking? Concern rushing through him, he pounded her between her shoulder blades.

"I'm… fine… thank… you… Stop!" she managed between blows.

He did as instructed, though his palm lingered on her back. "You are unharmed?"

She arched her back, then twisted about at the hips, maneuvering each section of her spine. "Except for a few broken bones," she said dryly, "I'm okay."

Broken bones? Tristan ran his hands up and down her body. And what a body it was, all soft curves and feminine roundness. Her shoulders were small and fragile, her hips soft and voluptuous. Her breasts were full and heavy, and the plump mounds overflowed in his hands. Were her nipples pink or brown or a color in between? He caressed one peaked tip with his fingertip. She sucked in a breath but never once uttered a protest.

Encouraged, he traced his finger over the other tip. "Your bones do not feel broken," he whispered, letting the warmth of his breath fan her ear.

"I was joking," she said, the words barely escaping.

"So you are well?"

She nodded, nibbling on her bottom lip. "Promise."

There she was, chewing on her mouth again. Always a man of his word, Tristan leaned down until his lips were only a rustle away from hers. "This I am glad to hear… because now I am going to taste you."

She didn't pull from his grasp, nor did she attempt to push him away. She merely blinked up at him as if he'd spoken a foreign language. Then her eyes widened.

"I'm not sure—"

"No lecture." His fingers tangled in her hair, dragging her deeper into his embrace. "Not now."

She gulped and tore her gaze away.

"Look at me, Julia."

Slowly, so slowly, her long, sooty lashes swept upward until she met his stare. He knew what she saw in his eyes. Hunger. Raw, primal hunger. He wanted her, wanted to forget his surroundings, wanted to forget who and what he was, wanted to lose himself if only for a moment and find strength in the familiarity of a woman's arms.

"My tongue burns for the taste of you. My hands itch for the feel of you. And my shaft screams for the core of you. Let me have you."

Lust flared in her eyes, causing the deep, dazzling green irises to darken and the lids to lower halfway. She was desire incarnate just then, and an invisible force seemed to draw her closer, closer still until his hardness nestled her softness. Her exotic scent, like moonlight and stars, wafted to his nostrils.

He moved his hands lower and palmed the soft skin at the back of her neck, guiding her face inches from his. Her small, soft body fit perfectly against him, and he knew instinctively that he would fit even better inside her. Once, twice, his lips brushed hers, lingering, hoping to absorb her sweetness.

His breath caressed her nose, her cheek, as he waited for an invitation to partake of what waited within. When she didn't open, his tongue flicked out and traced the seam of her lips. She moaned, a low, shimmering sound that weakened his knees as it washed over him in slow, erotic waves.

"Open for me," he said.

Surprisingly she did so without hesitation.

His tongue slipped easily inside, and he began a slow dance of touch and retreat. She moved with his mouth gently at first, as if exploring and learning, but soon her dam of restraint collapsed and she increased the pace.

She thrust hard and fast. Her lips meshed against his, and her arms locked around his back, her nails clawing at his flesh. She moaned, trying to sink all the way past his skin. Her taste deepened with passion, a heady combination of savage desire and untapped wildness.