The Pleasure Slave

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Always Remember That You Are Nothing More Than Your Master's Property

Silence laden with an undercurrent of forbidden desires stretched between them. Julia's cheeks reddened. Why wasn't he speaking? Did he suspect she'd spoken the truth?

Finally he cleared his throat. "That was… interesting."

Relief coasted through her, as delicious and welcoming as his touch. He didn't know, didn't suspect. She almost sighed. She did grin. "Thank you."

"Mayhap we should cease the lessons for the day," he said, swiping a hand down his face, wiping away the beads of sweat that had popped onto his brow. The motion also managed to wipe away any hint of his emotion.

"We can't stop now," she said. "You promised to help me with playful bantering."

A prolonged pause sparked the air between them.

"So I did," he allowed. He sucked in a fortifying breath, easing the tension around his lips. "Playful bantering is an exchange of wits, with a sexual undertone only slightly different from seduction with words. How would you begin? And this time," he added, "I refuse to take you step by step. You must do this on your own."

Resolute, Julia nodded. Closed her eyes. I can do this. I can.

"Let's do breakfast tomorrow. Should I call you or nudge you?"

His lips twitched, and he shook his head. "Try again."

"I'm a really good cook. My specialty is breakfast in bed."

"Now you are just being ridiculous."

"Nice pants. Can I talk you out of them?"

"Julia, please. Are you trying to seduce me or kill me with my own laughter?"

Her voice dropped low and husky, her next words emerging of their own free will.

"I don't want to tease you with words, Tristan. I want to tease you with my mouth. Licking and nibbling your skin. Tasting and savoring your essence."

He quit laughing. Tristan used his body, a slight shifting of his weight and a subtle proving of his dominance, to force her back to arch. The carnal scent of his fragrance enveloped her, filled her. Consumed her. He glared down at her, pressing her even farther back.

"Where did you learn to say such a thing?" he demanded.

Far from intimidated, she clapped her hands with an almost giddy pride. "I don't know. So they worked? I actually bantered with you? Oh, this is fun. Teach me more."

"Mayhap you are ready for a more advanced training session." Pure, molten heat, hypnotic in its intensity, stole over his expression. "What think you of that?" Slowly her joy ebbed, and libidinous hunger claimed her.

"I think—I think I'm ready."

"We're going to have a very erotic conversation, Julia. No teasing. No innuendos. Your goal is to lure me into your bed using everything I have taught you so far. Everything. Think you can succeed?"

God, she hoped so, but…

"No." She shook her head. "I don't know where to begin. Will you give me a demonstration?"

"Aye." Moving with tantalizing slowness, luring her with a deceptive sense of protection, he closed the remaining distance between them, his breath only a heartbeat way. He stood in between her open legs, caught her wrist with his hand and pressed a soft kiss upon her pulse.

She shivered, struck by the majesty of him, the rawness of his attentions.

His other palm traced up, up, up her thigh until the pads of his fingers brushed the lacy red trim of her panties. "You are honey and cream, Julia." His lashes slowly swept downward, then lifted at an even slower pace. "Do you know why?"

Caught by his mesmerizing voice and the sear of his fingers, she barely managed to say, "No. No, I don't know."

"Your skin reminds me of cream. Smooth and delicious, made for licking. The more I taste, the more I must have. And your hair—" He released her wrist and tugged her long tresses from the rubber band. Every strand cascaded down her shoulders and back. "Your hair is the color of honey. Soft, sweet honey that will caress my chest as you ride me. Your lips, too, are like honey. Succulent honey I long to savor over and over again."

His heat seeped past her clothes, into her skin, but his words, oh, his words enveloped her in a cocoon of sensual euphoria. His eyes beckoned with knowing intent. She found herself leaning deeper into his arms, craving more, needing more.

"Now it is your turn," he whispered, and dropped his hands to his sides.

"You're beautiful, Tristan. The most beautiful man I've ever seen." Yet her description lacked a sense of accuracy; wasn't nearly enough to describe the man that she knew he was.

"Beauty is subjective and easily claimed." Using the tip of his finger, he traced a path along her jaw. "Tell me what you see when you look at the man I truly am."

Lure him with words. Her eyes closed halfway, seeing him more with her mind than actual sight. "When I look at you, I see pale violet eyes that sometimes hold a hint of sadness, but always kindness. I see a gentle, compassionate warrior who is able to give more with one simple kiss than most give in a lifetime. I see an innate sense of duty that few possess. And a capacity for love that is staggering, if only you would tap into it."

Tristan cleared his throat. "Julia—"

"I'm not finished." In that moment, she forgot her decision to deny her attraction to Tristan. She forgot about Peter, forgot everything except the truth. "Sometimes, when I look at you, my hands ache to move up your chest, to feel your heart beating beneath my palms so that I can assure myself you aren't a dream, that you are real. The ache is so powerful I shake with it."

"I imagine your hands on me, as well," he said, his voice cracking. "Except, you move lower, to the heat of me. You stroke me until I can take no more while I do the same to you. You writhe beneath my hands, screaming your pleasure. Only then do I part your legs and slide into your wet softness, binding our bodies as one." His half-mast gaze watched her, gauging. "What think you of that, little dragon?"

"I think—" Lord, what did she think? "You've taught me more than I ever hoped to learn."

He didn't respond. The pull between them right then was too strong. She couldn't tear her gaze away, couldn't move. Couldn't form a rational thought. Time seemed suspended, and the world around her nonexistent. She heard the drum of his heart, and each beat spurred her own. What's happening? she wondered faintly.

Tristan was the first to break the spell. He blinked, shook his head. He even moved two steps back and leveled her with a fierce frown. "I am sure Peter will be pleased." Who cared about Peter? Kiss me, she pleaded with her eyes. Never had a moment felt more right for loving. Nothing else mattered. Not the reasons for Tristan's desire. Not the lessons.

But being the prideful warrior that he was, he would not kiss her if he suspected she imagined him as Peter. She read the knowledge in the sudden stiffness of his shoulders, in the flair of his nostrils. "Mayhap we should end this lesson here and now," he said, the words a soft growl, yet strangely distant.

"And begin anew at tomorrow's dawning."

"Is that what you want? To stop?"

"Of course. A good teacher does not force his student to overstudy."

Disappointment raked her, and she found herself glaring up at him.

"Perhaps I'll practice on Peter when we go on our first date."

"He will never satisfy you."

"Maybe not, but I'd—I'd like you to release me from the first parameter."

There. She'd said it. It was for the best; this would help end her constant craving for him and his kisses. Kisses he no longer seemed inclined to give her. Silence. Silence so thick it cast an oppressive fog throughout the room. Finally he said, "That is truly what you desire?"

No. "Yes."

"Very well." His jaw muscle clenched and unclenched. "From this moment forward, you are free to do whatever you wish with Puny Peter."