Slavemaster's Woman, The (13 page)

“Damn, demon’s blood!” What would he do if
she ate just a little of it? Cushla pushed the tantalizing aroma
from her thoughts as well. He was punishing her without even being
in the room! Thinking about that for a moment, she realized it was
because she was afraid of his punishments. They were like no others
she’d received before. Though he didn’t beat her, somehow, Cushla
knew his reprimands would hurt much, much more.

He would attack her vulnerabilities.

Wrenching her hands together she stood and
paced the room. The slavemaster was a worrisome puzzle. “Ach!”
There was nothing Cushla could do about it at the moment.

He’d told her to take a bath and it really
did seem like a good suggestion at the moment. Cushla grimaced. It
really wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order. What did she care? A
bath is something she wanted, so what did it matter if it was also
his command?

Cushla headed toward the bath chamber. She
knelt on the floor next to tub, turned on the faucet, and then
swished her hand back and forth in the hot water testing its
temperature. Her only intent was to take a nice, relaxing soak and
try to forget what the future held for her.

Tarken…the bedamned, gorgeous, sexy and
exasperating hunk of a man, she would deal with later or
sooner.

Probably sooner than she had any desire
to.

And in regard to touching her body again,
there was no way in shooting
starblasters
he was going
to—Cushla yawned and slipped deeper into the tub. Her lids drifted
shut.
Think about it later
…
later…later…

“You shouldn’t sleep in the bath,
Cushla.”

Her eyes snapped open in time to see Tarken
opening the drain in the tub.

“You might slip under and drown.”

“My race can breathe underwater,
slavemaster.”She jerked her head in an attempt to awaken fully.

He stared at her as if curious.

She snickered. “I’m jesting, Tarken.”

His responsive grin was charming. “Then I
say that’s a good thing, mistress. I thought my plan to hold your
head underwater as punishment would be all for naught then.”

“Then I would refuse to die, slavemaster.”
Cushla’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “My intent is to annoy you for
the rest of my life.”

“Because I made you come, mistress?”

Cushla felt her cheeks flush, and she
couldn’t look him in the eye.
Hell!
Her embarrassment about
sex amused him. He was teasing her. That should’ve irritated Cushla
but it didn’t. She wanted to be playful back though she hid it,
instead becoming somber.

“Here, mistress.” Tarken held out his
hand.

She slipped her hand into his, and he helped
her to stand.

He didn’t release her until she stepped out
of the tub. Reaching toward the bench in the chamber, Tarken
snatched the towel folded there, shook it out and began drying
Cushla’s body with it.

As a slave, it was typically Cushla who’d
done most of the drying, being ordered to do so by master of the
moment. This act by the slavemaster was a tender thing to do, and
Cushla wasn’t sure how to react, so she just stood there and
allowed him to do it without comment.

When he was done, Tarken wrapped the towel
around her and tucked the end in so it wouldn’t fall. Without
further word to her he turned away and left the bathing room
leaving Cushla alone and staring at the open doorway.

The slavemaster’s behavior confused her. One
moment he treated her as if she were the most precious woman he’d
ever had in his life. The next…he was either tormenting her or
putting distance between them. “Part of my training, isn’t it,
Tarken?” Cushla murmured sullenly. “You get more bizzles with
sweetness than you do with bitterjuice?”

What in hell stars did she expect, that
he was falling for her?
No, it was just the opposite. Cushla
concluded that he was attempting to get her to fall in love with
him. By doing so, he could manipulate her better, using the, ‘
if
you love me’
ploy to get her to do as he wanted. Tarken
obviously played her for a fool if he thought to use that technique
on her. “I won’t be charmed by you, master. That I promise.”
Stomping from the hygiene chamber, Cushla had every intention of
using belligerence to refuse his intentions--whatever in hell holy
fires that might be.

She was caught up short when she entered the
bed chamber to see Tarken sitting at the table eating. He was
eating
her
rub cherkin
--
he was devouring it as if it
was his last meal. Cushla’s stomach gurgled. She was hungry, but
not hungry enough to stare at the platter longingly. Let him eat
it!

“Sit, Cushla.” Tarken indicated the seat
across from him at the table.

“You’re letting me sit eye level to you,
slavemaster?” Cushla stalked across the room, sat in the chair
opposite him and glared at him.

His expression was vague and unreadable.
“You’re dinner, mistress.” Tarken reached for the pitcher atop the
table and angled it over a glass to fill it with water. He picked
up the glass and then set in front of her before stabbing his fork
into the next chunk of rub cherkin he’d forbidden her to eat.

Cushla refused to watch him put the tender
delicacy into his mouth. Instead, she took a sip of her water and
pretended to be unaffected by the slavemaster’s punishment. “Does
it taste as good as it smells, my master?” She stared at him
blankly.

“I’ll bet you taste as good as you smell,
mistress.” Tarken stopped eating. He picked up the platter and
returned it to the ion bag that would keep it fresh and warm. He
patted the area of the tabletop in front of him while giving Cushla
a licentious look. “Come put your ass up here. I’m in the mood for
dessert.”

A shudder rippled through Cushla and her
flesh heated. Squirming in her chair, she imagined what it would be
like to have his mouth sucking on her down there.

“Cushla.”

Her musings were interrupted by the sound of
Tarken’s deep, commanding voice. She lifted her gaze to him.

He was grinning at her, and his eyes
shimmered with what could only be described as lust.

Her breathing was uneven, Cushla realized,
and for once words evaded her.

Lifting his hand, Tarken crooked a finger,
beckoning her to come to him.

Without hesitation, Cushla stood and made
her way to the other side of the table.

Tarken snatched the edge of the towel she
wore and yanked it from her body, tossing it aside. He stood while
lifting her and then seated her on the table. Leaning forward, he
pressed his lips to her mons, causing Cushla to quake, but he went
no further.

Instead, he leaned away from her and
loosened his trousers, releasing his already rigid cock. Tarken
then took her hand and pulled it to his member.

She leaned downward her other hand coming
up, her palm flattening against his chest to brace herself from
slipping from the table. Wrapping her fingers around his shaft,
Cushla, began to stroke it. This was nothing foreign to her, having
done the act so many times before she’d lost count. She was
indifferent to it most times, though she was having some trouble
ignoring how much she enjoyed his hands, which were now roaming all
over her body.

It didn’t surprise her that Tarken, as all
others before him, would likely care only for his pleasure. It
would be as such from now on. She resigned herself to believing the
orgasm she had with him would be single event. Bringing her to
climax had been a challenge for the slavemaster, and she was sure
he was quite smug that he’d succeeded. Cushla scoffed inwardly.
So what, I didn’t want to have one anyway.

Now that he’d given her one, perhaps he
would just fuck her quickly from here on in and then go away. The
thought depressed Cushla. It was difficult to deny that she
actually enjoyed coming with him, and that truth be told she wanted
to come again…and again.

“Enough.” Tarken stilled her hand.

She gaped at him with bewilderment. “But you
haven’t—?”

“Your skill is sufficient. It’s all I needed
to know.” Removing her hand from his erection, Tarken stuffed it
back into his trousers and sat down. “Though it would be more
pleasurable if you showed a bit more enthusiasm.”

Cushla’s brows lifted, her head tilted and
her eyeballs rolled upward. The slavemaster was obviously snorting
cosmic dust. Nevertheless, her sarcastic nature reacted and she
angled her head, looking Tarken squarely in the face. Drawing air
into her lungs she allowed her chest to slowly rise, the motion
causing her breast to jut forward with every intake of air. She
repeated the action a couple of more times, before moaning out an
exaggerated
O-o-h-h.
“Yes my master. You are so hard…”
O-o-h-h.
She moaned seductively again, this time leaning
seductively toward Tarken, planting her palms one on each of his
shoulders, knowing her breasts were dangling just in front of his
face. She then panted a couple of times as if she were aroused.

Tarken chuckled. Saying nothing, he
continued to watch her demonstration.

“I’m so horny, master.” Cushla flashed a
seductive smile. “And you’re so big. However will it fit inside of
me? I’m so frightened, master. Please, oh please don’t hurt
me.”

Tarken burst out laughing. “Cushla, you’re a
gem.”

“Is that compliant enough for you my
master?” She slid from the table and stood fully upright, no longer
caring she was still completely naked. It was then that she
realized something for the first time. Being naked in front of a
trainer or owner was something she’d grown used to, but it
did
bother her when she was naked in front of total
strangers…like the server who came to the door earlier. It pissed
her off that Tarken seemed to know that. With an inward groan,
Cushla realized it was another thing he could use against her.

“Go look on the bed.”

She gazed at Tarken curiously for a moment,
but then did what he asked her to do, walking toward the bed. A
beautiful flowing dress with matching slippers was spread across
the mattress. Cushla fingered the material. It was a formal dress,
cerulean blue with fine silver threads laced through it. The color
would match well with her crystal clear eyes and her lustrous,
white hair.

“Do you like it?” Tarken came up behind her
and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“It is very beautiful,” she answered before
asking, “Who’s it for?”

“It is for you to wear.”

Turning to face him, Cushla gave him a
puzzled look.

“I couldn’t very well parade you around the
galaxy wearing the garment you came in, could I?” He smiled. “The
king prefers his concubine wearing finery.”

“It’s such an extravagance for a slave when
something much less attractive would suffice.” Cushla suppressed a
grin. “I could wear your shirt.”

“You would have difficulty wearing my shirt
all dawning, Cushla.” Tarken skimmed his palms down the sides of
her arms. “Whether attractive or not, my scent on it would put you
in a constant state of frenzied arousal.”

“You’re arrogant, slavemaster,” Cushla
retorted. “To think a single incident would be an ongoing
conclusion.”

“Considering you’ll be confined to the ship
for leaving this room…” His grin widened. “I suppose I’ll have
plenty of time to find out.”

Chapter Eleven

“What is she doing here?” Tarken eyed Ayia
and she eyed him back. He glanced at Cushla who was tugging and
shifting the gown she was wearing, obviously uncomfortable with
being so fully clothed. “Stop fidgeting, Cushla.”

“Ayia has quit her services here and needs
passage to the Wind Drift Point,” Scoac answered as he swiveled in
his chair, putting his back to the ship’s controls. “We’re just
giving her a little lift.”

“A little lift with your cock,” Tarken
mumbled. “Do you invite trouble, royal?”

Scoac snorted “How can one, skinny pleasure
servant cause trouble?”

“We’re traveling in a royal vessel that has
the king’s crest clearly plastered to the sides of this ship. And
if that isn’t bad enough the two of you seem to think it’s
acceptable to flaunt your presence all over the place.” Crossing
one arm over the other, Tarken glared. “If she decides to earn
commodities by selling her own female wares, we have no guarantee
she’ll keep her yap shut about traveling with royals, further
risking our safety.”

“Rest assured, m’lord, I am very
trustworthy.” Ayia flashed a sultry expression and took a couple
steps toward him but halted when Cushla blocked her way. Their eyes
met in a competitive lock.

This reaction peaked Tarken’s amusement. He
was sure that Cushla didn’t even realize what she’d done.

“We’re paying her for her services,
slavemaster,” Rube added. “She’ll do as we say, when we say
it.”

“No need to explain ourselves, Rube,” Scoac
asserted. “We have the authority here.”

“You’re blatant demonstration of authority
is going to draw the attention of thieves and other criminals
likewise.” Tarken scowled. “Are the two of you so high and mighty
that you want all and sundry to bow at your presence?”

“What we do is none of your concern,” Scoac
returned condescendence in the tone of his voice. “Put yourself
into the place you belong in…underling.”

The urge to ring the royal’s skinny, pompous
neck besieged Tarken, but he reined his irritation. Regardless of
station or sense of self-worth, Scoac was correct. He wasn’t a
royal. He was nothing more than a paid servant, and had no say in
how Scoac or Rube decided to behave. “Then whatever it is you
intend to do, so be it. But understand I will protect the king’s
possession at all costs. It will be on your heads to explain,
should we deliver his purchase in less than perfect condition.”