Gena Showalter - The Pleasure Slave

Oh, my holy Lord most high. "I'm sure you do, but I swear to God I don't need a demonstration."

"Oh, I think you do." And with that, he approached, striding around the table and straight toward her.

Always Gain Permission Before Touching Your Master

With a speed Superman would have envied, Julia's guilt fled, replaced by confusion, panic and just a dash of eagerness. "What are you doing?" she demanded as Tristan continued his wicked-minded approach.

He stopped, only a whisper away, and positioned his hands on both sides of her chair. His hard body ignited a fiery heat deep inside her, a heat that, once kindled, might never be doused.

"I am giving you a demonstration," he said huskily, "of the pleasure I can give."

Omigod, omigod, omigod. Her heart pounded sporadically in her chest, a pitter-patter of conflicting emotions. Did he plan to kiss her? Or… more?

Before her tongue could turn to mush, she blurted out, "There will be no pleasuring me in this house!" The prospect of bodily delight both frightened and intrigued her. He was a stranger, after all, but dear God, he was handsome.

He uttered another sexy, rumbling chuckle. "As I am yours to command, I will simply have to see to your displeasure ."

"Wait! That's not what I meant."

When he leaned down, his lips softening for a kiss, she hastened to add, "I meant to say you will pleasure me right now."

"That is all I desire, little dragon. That is all I desire."

Irritated with him—and herself—she wrapped her arms across her chest. Why did this always happen to her? Why did her brain refuse to work properly in the presence of a romance-minded man?

"You will please me," she said carefully, "by staying on your side of the kitchen."

One of his dark brows arched. "You are sure?"

"No. Yes. Yes, I am sure. You stay on your side, and I'll stay on mine."

"Such is your command, and such will I do."

Tristan moved two small paces back. His very presence flustered little Julia, and he would be lying if he claimed he did not like her reaction to him. The slight trembling of her body, the parting of her lips. The deep color in her cheeks. Oh, he liked. He liked very much indeed.

The knowledge made him curse inwardly and he struggled to fortify himself against her appeal. Over the years, he had served many women of many different worlds. Except for a rare few, all of his guan rens — his female masters—had been selfish and vapid, expecting him to give total and complete obedience while they gave only commands and empty promises. Those demands always began immediately. Some hadn't wanted him sexually, but they certainly took full advantage of their ownership.

Clean this, slave. Massage me, slave. Caress me until I scream with pleasure, slave . He'd heard every demand imaginable.

Nay, he shouldn't like this woman, not any part of her.

Still… little Julia had yet to request anything except his absence. And his friendship.

Mayhap he had lived inside the box too long, and that was why she seemed so alluring. Or mayhap she simply reminded him of his homeland with her flashing dragon eyes—green, lush and intense.

For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine that things would be different with this woman, that she truly wanted nothing more from him than his company. However, cynicism soon overrode his optimism. How many times had he dared hope for a measure of compassion only to find indifference?

Countless.

Give this one time, he thought, and she will demand submission just like the others. At least bedding her would be no hardship.

Right now, the little dragon wore only a pair of panties and a thin white chemise held in place by tiny scraps of material, leaving most of her creamy skin visible for his perusal. She possessed a curvy waist and full, luscious breasts, as mouthwatering and sensual as her exotic feminine fragrance. Her hair hung down her back in a symphony of colors. From glossy dark brown, to gold, to the pale locks that framed her face.

Her cheekbones were high, and she had a small nose. At first glance, and maybe at second, her prettiness wasn't readily apparent. The more he had studied her, however, the more he liked what he saw. She was an intriguing blend of courage and timidity, prudishness and sensuality.

It was the prudishness that drew him most. That stay-away, do-not-please-me demeanor of hers challenged him in a way nothing had in centuries. Every time he hinted at carnal indulgence, she became agitated.

He considered that. He had been forced to pursue women before. Some simply liked to be chased. Was this a game Julia liked to play, then? After all, bed sport began long before the first piece of clothing was actually removed.

Nay. No game, certainly. The woman radiated fear. She was like a newborn dragon unable to fly away from approaching danger. Was she simply surprised by his intent? Or, if he approached once again, would she retreat? Finding out… hmm, the prospect intrigued him.

Grinning, Tristan closed the distance between them for the second time. Before she could order him away, he leaned down and sniffed. "I see you have taken care of the smell." Stroking his chin, he studied her from top to bottom. "It does not seem as if you are in pain, and the hair is gone."

Her face scrunched up adorably in confusion, and she dropped those fringed lashes in shy perusal. "What are you talking about?"

"Earlier you mentioned needing a bath, having your woman's time and manlike legs." He stared down the length of her. "I must say, they appear perfect to me. Slender. Smooth. The kind that lock a man in place until he gives you full pleasure. I am most thankful you are no longer wearing drocs."

Her gaze collided with his, her eyes alight with aroused wonder. "Drocs?" she asked, breathless.

He smiled, drawing out his next words and finding more excitement in this one act than anything he could last recall. "Drocs are leg coverings, little dragon. Leg coverings."

"Leg…" Slowly realization set in. Red-hot color licked a path from her forehead to collarbone. "I'm in my pajamas," she said. "I'm in my freaking pajamas." Wide-eyed, she rose from her seat and raced out of the kitchen, both delicately shaped hands over her buttocks to shield his view.

Tristan chuckled.

But slowly, with the release of a breath, his humor abandoned him. This guan ren might be entertaining, but being owned, being chained to another, was far, far from humorous.

Once Percen, High Priest of the Druinn, had learned of Zirra's curse, the High Priest had cast a spell of his own, hurtling Tristan's box away from Zirra, where he traveled from world to world, by fair means or foul. From one cruelty to another.

Tristan knew why Percen had cast such a spell—to prevent the mortal Great-Lord from discovering that Zirra had broken the Alliance, already a fragile treaty at best, yet one that had at last ceased the war between their people. If word escaped that the Alliance had been broken, war would have once again raged.

While Tristan loathed the High Priest's reasoning, he understood his actions.

Mortal rebels wanted control of the Druinn, and in turn, Druinn rebels wanted control of the mortals. In their attempts to dominate each other, they killed innocent people and destroyed a once-prosperous land. Before his curse, Tristan had looked forward to quashing them both, for he enjoyed the peace and harmony the Alliance promised.

Peace… ah, would he ever know its sweetness again? During the centuries of his enslavement, he had endured such anguish, such humiliation, the memories still made him shudder. He was forced to wonder, always wonder, how many more women he would serve in his infinite lifetime. One thousand? Two? He scowled. After so many guan rens , he should have been used to his bondage, should have shrugged at the thought of one more woman. He could not.