The Pleasure Slave (15 page)

She wanted him, was, in fact, just about to leap over the table and rip the towel from his body when the doorbell rang. Saved, she mentally clapped, dropping her fork and jumping to her feet.

“I’ll be right back,” she said. “We’ve got a visitor.”

Her heart drumming erratically inside her chest, she tugged open the door. The frantic beat slowed, and she dragged in a much needed breath. Peter smiled when he spotted her.

“Hi, Julia,” he said, his tone shy and hesitant, yet a panicked light flittered into his hazel eyes. “Your brother’s not here, is he?”

“He’s in the kitchen. Completely absorbed in his food,” she added when Peter backed three hasty steps away.

His shoulders relaxed. He slipped his hands into his pants pockets and jingled change. “I noticed your car in the driveway and wondered if you’d like to—”

Tristan, who suddenly stood right behind her, barked, “We are busy.” And shut the door in Peter’s stunned, horrified face with more force than necessary.

Grimacing, Julia propped her forehead against the cherry wood with a thump. “That was so unbelievably rude.”

“Was it not rude to interrupt our meal? Now, come.” Tristan led her back to the table, a silent reminder that they would not discuss her neighbor.

She bit back a sigh and settled into her chair. How would she later explain this to Peter? How would she make him understand it was
him
she wanted?
Liar, liar,
her mind sang, before all thoughts and questions tapered to silence. Tristan touched her knee again, a deeper, more lingering caress, and whether he did it purposefully or accidentally, she still didn’t know. And didn’t care. Over and over, one part of his body connected with hers, launching erotic shivers down her spine.

When his fingertips brushed the underside of her calf, white-hot need crashed through her body like bolts of lightning. Raspy breaths she recognized as her own pounded in her ears. Beads of sweat popped onto her brow. If only he’d forget about the pasta in front of him and feast on
her.
Lord, when had she become such a sexual being who only considered pleasure? Another tremor raked her, small and deliciously decadent.

“Little dragon,” he said languidly.

“Yes,” she answered breathlessly. Oh, yes, yes, yes.

“Have you, perchance, found something you desire?”

“Yes.” She forced herself to concentrate, to think of something plausible. “You took my bread stick. I want it back.”

Light reflected off his eyes, making them twinkle
with an emotion she couldn’t quite name. Laughter? Passion? Mischief? “You have not eaten the one in front of you.”

“Oh.” She glanced down, saw her plate piled high with uneaten food. “I’m not that hungry.”

He smiled a slow, sensual smile that held promise and knowledge, wickedness and allure. “Mayhap I can interest you in something else, a more appetizing morsel than a mere piece of bread.”

“I’m not sure you can, but perhaps you should try,” she said, dreading—praying—he might say something naughty.

A lengthy pause left her suspended on the edge of her chair.

“Mayhap I can interest you in…me.”

Was the room suddenly hotter? Brighter? She tugged at the collar of her shirt and forced herself to remain seated, lest she throw herself at him. “I made dessert,” she offered lamely. “Well, I didn’t cook it. I just opened the box and set the bonbons on the counter.”

“Bring them to me,” he coaxed, his voice like soft, rich velvet.

Using dessert as a distraction, Julia straightened on unsteady legs, grabbed the tray of ice cream and set it on the table with a thud. More balanced now, she reclaimed her seat. He eyed the chocolate treats with unfettered delight, and she suddenly wished she’d smeared the things over her naked body.

I’m just a
guan ren
to him,
she reminded herself. A means to an end he must pursue because that is his sole
purpose in life. Seduction. To him, she was not special or pretty or even truly desirable. How pathetic she would be if she accepted such indifference and did not demand more for herself—or for him.

Never once taking his violet gaze from her, he lifted a bonbon and licked the center. “Let me feed you dessert,” he said so silkily that she swallowed back a dreamy sigh.

Stay tough. Stay focused. “I’m not sure that would be wise, Tristan.”

“I care not if such indulgence is wise. I care only about desire.” His lids lowered in half-mast perusal, mentally stripping away her clothes and licking every inch of her. “If you cannot accept food from my hand, will you at least accept my kiss?”

Her heart rate quickened with excitement, and the arousal kindling within her burst into hot flames that licked her all over. Prickles of anticipation worked along her skin. Really, what would one more kiss hurt? Just one simple kiss? Nothing, that’s what, her mind eagerly answered.

“One kiss?” she asked with breathless longing.

“Just one.” He touched her again, this time deliberately, a simple coasting of his knuckles that set off a chain reaction of sensation. How did he do that? How did he make her feel like the most desirable woman he’d ever encountered? Oh, how she wanted him.

Wait! You want Peter.

Peter who?

“There is no room for thought here,” Tristan said, as
if he feared she would pull away. “We have defeated your propensity for issuing lectures. Now let us conquer your habit of thinking overly much.”

Leaning over, he dipped his index finger into the center of the bonbon, then traced the vanilla cream around the outline of her lips; he stroked a path along the curve of her jaw, then dipped to her neck, touching so softly she felt the coolness of the ice cream rather than the actual touch. Julia shivered as the sweetness melted and spread over her skin. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Come to me,” he breathed. His fingertip traveled downward, then around, anchoring at the base of her neck and drawing her forward until she half stood over the table. “I need you so desperately.”

It was his words that finally broke her resistance. He needed her. Her! Without breaking contact, she managed to maneuver around the table’s edge and close the remaining space between them. He stayed seated, so she peered down at him. His lips looked soft, and she was proud of herself for noticing because at the moment, his erection was pushing against her leg.

“Put your arms around me,” he said oh so softly.

Her knees gave out, and she dropped to the cool wood floor, her body positioned between his knees, her face level with his sternum. Both of her hands crept up the taut muscles of his chest, savoring, lingering, then twining around his neck as he’d demanded.

The contact was electric. It felt sinful and erotic and she wanted the moment to last forever. He smelled so
good, like soap and chocolate and vanilla. His arms descended to her waist, locking her in place, but such an action wasn’t necessary. At the moment, there was no other place she would rather be, and this overly large, overly real man in her arms had long since replaced thoughts of Peter.

Slowly he lowered his mouth to hers, a breath away. “I can feel your body quivering, little dragon. Are you cold?”

She shook her head.

Featherlight, he kissed her cheek, a mere brush of lips to flesh. “Excited?”

“Yes.” How could she deny it when her body felt so alive, so eager?

He licked the outline of her lips. “Do you want my mouth on yours?”

Somehow she managed to nod.

“Say it. Say the words.”

“Yes, I think I do.”

“Ah-ah-ah. No thinking, remember?”

Lost in a world of sensation, where inhibitions and embarrassment didn’t belong, she let herself run free. She ached, yearned for him, and finally confessed. “I need your mouth, your lips and your tongue. Kiss me, Tristan. Kiss me.”

He chuckled softly, a heady rumble that purred with barely suppressed power. “This is one command I will enjoy obeying.” His tongue met hers, blending the chocolate with the vanilla. He thrust into her mouth, all sweetness and warmth, and Julia eagerly welcomed him.

Just as before, the moment he began to work her tongue, passion exploded within her. She moaned. Held him tighter. Tristan must have sensed her desperation because he gripped her from behind and lifted her onto his lap with one swift motion. They were chest to chest. Hardness to softness. Instinctively, she spread her legs, wrapping them under the chair’s arms and around his waist. Even through the cotton fibers of his towel, the heat of his erection scorched her. He was thick and hard, and some wanton part of her wanted to take his entire length in her mouth, suck him from base to tip then down again.

I shouldn’t be doing this,
she thought.
Not with him. I’ll stop him in just…one…minute…

Oddly enough, she felt sexy and desirable and purely feminine, a heady mixture of power, and as these sensations combined, her head swam with confidence. Her fingers sank into his thick hair just as his palm eased under the bottom of her shirt, sliding up to brush the curve of her breast. His big hand cupped its weight and gently squeezed. He rolled the nipple between his fingers.

Then he moved. A simple sway of his hips.

The half crescents of her nails dug into his scalp. Intense, consuming pleasure shot from one corner of her body to the other. That, combined with years of deprivation, pushed her beyond control. She became famished for a touch,
his
touch, and clasped him wildly with her thighs, craving contact. Sweet contact.

As if he, too, were at his limit, Tristan continued to work his open mouth against hers, his tongue aggres
sive, his taste hot and masculine. He licked, nibbled, sucked, alternating between the three and devouring her one tasty bite at a time.

The kiss was wild and savage and made up for every school dance she’d never attended, every party she’d never been invited to and every night she’d cried because no one desired her. Right here, this moment, she was Aphrodite, pagan goddess of love and beauty, and men worshiped at her feet. Life and vitality beat through her veins.

“Tristan,” she rasped. “I need more.”

He tore his mouth away, panting, “Then more you shall have.” He paused a moment, then, and gazed at her, just gazed at her. Savoring, perhaps? “Had I known how eagerly you would respond,” he said, his tone hard, “I would have begun lesson two yestereve.”

“Lesson?” she muttered, trying to recapture his lips with her own.

“Hmm, anticipation.” The hot wetness of his tongue left a path of liquid fire along her collarbone before he claimed her lips again.

But bit by bit, small measures of sanity returned, clearing her passion-fogged senses. Old self-doubts and insecurities teased the periphery of her mind. Unsure, she loosened her hold on Tristan, forcing herself to concentrate on his words, and not his touch.

Everything came together at once. He’d kissed her as if her mouth held the oxygen he needed for life support because of a lesson. A stupid, stupid lesson. He didn’t desire
her,
Julia Anderson. Not really. He’d sim
ply been acting as her tutor. She’d realized that in the beginning, but easily let herself be convinced otherwise. Yet hearing the actual words from his mouth cut painfully.

A jumble of need and mortification, she shot from his lap, conscious now of the sticky chocolate sweetness on her skin. With swift, jerky movements, she shoved her hair from her face and glared down at him. “I changed my mind,” she said, trying to sound confident and unaffected, yet not quite managing the feat. All of her residual doubts about why she should resist this man grew in intensity.

Reaching out, he attempted to gather her back into his embrace. She quickly sidestepped his arms.

“Come here,” he said. “Your lesson is unfinished.”

“I’ve learned all I need to know about anticipation,” she said.
Please, God, do not let my voice sound as shaky and desperate to Tristan as it does to me.

“There is so much more I can teach you,” he uttered, now softening his tone, using each sexy timbre to the fullest.

“I’m not interested.”

“That is an untruth, Julia. You
are
interested.”

“You’re wrong.” She tried to stifle the hurt burning in her eyes. She wasn’t angry with Tristan. No, she couldn’t be angry with him. He’d only been doing what she’d asked him to do: teach her to seduce a man. Yet she’d let herself forget that fact, and she hated herself for her stupidity, hated the ache in her chest. “Very wrong.”

“
You
are the one who is wrong, Julia,” he said through clenched teeth. He propped his elbows on the armrests and folded his hands together. “You lie to yourself, and I would know why.”

“I’ve merely had enough pleasure for one day, that’s all.”

He made a tsking sound with his tongue. “Never has a woman needed more, sweet. Twice now you have come apart because of a kiss. And never once did my fingers or my shaft enter your body. You want the pleasure I can give you. Admit it.”