Gena Showalter - The Pleasure Slave

He could only pray for his freedom.

But he knew it would never come.

In the beginning, he had searched for a woman to cherish, a woman to entrust with his heart. Then he had realized that if he fell in love with a woman and uttered a true declaration, there would be no magic to hold him to whatever planet he found himself on. He would hurtle back to Imperia. Alone. Forced to live his life without his true love.

"Love," he spat. The word was a curse more foul than the one he currently endured. To love a woman was to live without her.

Nay, love was not worth the hardships it brought.

Tristan surveyed the room, taking in details that had been overshadowed by Julia's presence. The small space and low ceiling did not hamper the artistry of her decor. Fresh flowers overflowed from colorful vases. Elegant chairs pushed against a dark, ornately carved table. A finely woven rug lined the polished wood floor. Delicate, all. His large frame simply did not fit within the constrictors of this home.

What kind of place was this Am-erica? Were all the inhabitants as small and fetching as Julia? Thinking of her sent a wave of anticipation through him, and he wondered just what the little dragon had planned for him this night.

He was about to find out.

She returned, rosy color blooming in her cheeks; she refused to meet his eyes. Disappointment struck him when he spotted her new clothing. Long black drocs. Neck to waist covered by a thick black chemise. Save for her face, not an inch of skin remained visible. Pity.

"We need to put you to bed." She kept a wide distance between them, remaining in the doorway, as if she didn't dare get too close.

He might have eased another woman from her embarrassment. Yet glowing such a creamy shade of pink, Julia appeared freshly roused from a vigorous bout of lovemaking—and ready for more. Tristan refused to do anything that might disturb that image. Thus, he said nothing.

"Well?" she said, a hint of exasperation underlying her tone. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"I shall sleep with you."

"No!" With her mouth tightly compressed, she closed her eyes, blocking all trace of her emotions. A moment passed in silence. When she regarded him once more, determination etched every line and hollow of her expression. "Sleeping in the same bed isn't necessary. I have a spare bedroom. You can use that."

"I am your pleasure slave. Sleeping with you is my obligation."

"Your obligation?" She looked insulted. "I don't think so."

Tristan crossed his arms over his chest and leaned one hip against the speckled counter beside him. Seducing women was second nature to him, instinctive and usually boring. Any pleasure he once received out of the game had long since deserted him and now seemed a chore. Most times, he'd rather count grains of sand. Except… he was not bored right now. Excitement pounded through him. He'd forgotten how it felt to take a woman simply because he desired her.

"Why sleep alone when you can partake of my warmth?" His voice dipped low and seductive, something that caused most women's eyes to close at half-mast, their knees to go weak and their resistance to melt. "I am here for your needs, little dragon."

Julia screeched, an all-out, honest-to-Elliea, I've-had-enough-of-you screech. She even stomped her foot. "How many times do I have to say it? I don't want any pleasure."

"Ah… so you enjoy sensual pain?" he asked, purposefully misunderstanding. Never had a wench been so fun to tease.

Her mouth dropped open with a strangled gasp. He gave her a sublimely immoral grin.

"Do you prefer I spank you with my hand or a paddle?"

"We are not having this conversation," she said.

"I have need of clarification." He took two steps forward. "For some, the hand provides enough stimulation. For others, only a paddle will do."

Julia slapped a hand over her eyes.

"This isn't happening to me. I am not standing in my kitchen with a man who has seen my butt and thinks everything I say is a sexual come-on. I'm dreaming again. That's it. This type of torture is too cruel to be real."

"Oh, no, little dragon. Right now, I am not torturing you. But do you say the words, I will give you the sweetest torture your body has ever known."

"Enough!" Scowling, she jabbed a finger in his chest. "You will stop that right now, Mr. I'm So Sexy."

"Nay, I am Tristan."

"And you are completely missing the point. No more talk about sex. In fact, if you utter one more word about dirty, rotten monkey love, I will personally cut out your tongue. No, don't say it." She held up one hand, palm out, when he opened his mouth to reply. "Don't say anything for at least sixty seconds."

He waited the allotted time then said, "This dirty, rotten monkey love sounds interesting. Mayhap you should explain."

Argh!

"Why can't you understand? I'm not interested in you that way."

That gave him pause. "You have no liking for me?"

At his words, she turned her head away, staring anywhere but at him.

"You just aren't the kind of guy I'm drawn to, that's all."

Hmm… Tristan frowned. Had things changed so much in the past eighty-nine seasons? He gave himself a once-over, yet found himself lacking in absolutely no way. His body appeared as strong as ever, and he still possessed all of his hair and teeth. Did the women of her world prefer fat, balding, toothless males? He wanted Julia, and he liked not the fact that she found him unappealing. But oh, the challenge of changing her mind enticed him on every level.

His friend Roake would have laughed right now had he been here. The scarred, battle-hardened warrior had often commented that Tristan needed a refusal or two. Built character, he said.

"Do you find me ugly?"

"Ugly?" Julia stared up at him. How could he possibly think she found him ugly? He was like a nineteenth-century porcelain hand-painted dessert plate topped with chocolate eclairs. "You aren't ugly."

His baffled and slightly wounded expression didn't waver. She knew exactly how it felt to be found unappealing and lacking, and the thought that she had caused someone to feel that way pained her greatly.

"I mean it, Tristan. You aren't ugly, and I'm so sorry I gave you that impression. To be honest, you're one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen."

"I see."

She lifted her lashes and looked up at him imploringly. "I truly am sorry that I upset you and made you feel unattractive. I didn't mean to. Honest."

Tristan tried not to let her ardent apology affect him, but it seeped into his bones like the sweet nectar of gartina petals. As he had never witnessed its like, such genuine concern for his feelings mystified him. "If I am so desirable, explain why you do not like me in that way."

"You're just so… well, you carry a sword."

Finger shaky, she pointed to his talon. Ah, she feared his mighty blade. The double entendre made him smile inwardly. Women of every world had adored his weapon, clinging to the danger and excitement it added to their seduction. For Julia's benefit, he uttered a long-suffering sigh, gripped the talon by its handle and unhooked it from his belt.

"One blade is hardly a thing to fear," he told her. "When I lived in Imperia, I strapped weapons all over my body."

"Good Lord. Why?"

"To execute my enemies, of course."

She blinked. "Please tell me you're kidding."

"Worry not." He smiled reassuringly. "You are not my enemy."

"I'm thankful for that, at least."

"You will soon be thankful for many things," he muttered. The silvery metal glistened as he laid his weapon across the table—close enough that he had only to reach out if he needed it. He arched a brow. "Does this satisfy you?"

Her relief pounded through the room like a palpable force. "Yes, thank you."