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 spellto 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.
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 lovemakingand 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 tableclose 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."
"You are most welcome." With her one objection to him obliterated, she would want him in that way. He was sure of it. She confirmed his thoughts by moistening her take-me-now lips with the tip of her tongue.
Unable to stop the action, he drew in a breath. He became trapped in her sorceress-like spell, craving another glimpse of that pink tongue, unable to blink, much less look away. His groin tightened painfully with need, and he fought a wave of confusion. More than six hundred years had passed since he'd experienced an impromptu erectionand now he did because of one glorious little tongue. 'Twas shocking, that.
"Now that we've got everything settled," she said, reaching down and gripping his jewelry box in her hands, "we can go to bed. If you'll follow me " She turned and strolled away, swaying her hips in rhythm to a mating call. A call he had every intention of answering.
CHAPTER FOUR
Your Master Is Never Wrong
With only a backward glance to his talon, Tristan trailed behind Julia. He continued to watch her buttocks as she moved. Very nice. Very nice, indeed. By Elliea, he wanted those hips under him over him beside him.
He was actually excited about bedding a woman. He was still shocked by that fact.
By her next words, she was obviously as excited as he was.
"I am so ready for bed," she muttered.
"So am I, little dragon," he said. "So am I."
They passed through a room crammed with treasures. There were paintings, dolls and books. Jewelry, pots, pans and glassware. Had he not been so eager to lose himself in Julia's body, he would have wanted to explore this haven. But that, he decided, would have to wait until he and Julia found release. Twice.
Abruptly she stopped in the center of the room and turned to face him. "Close your eyes, please."
He did so immediately, without question, and hated himself for it, but over the years he had learned his lessons well. Obey the spell and, in turn, his guan ren, or suffer. He heard the rustle of paper, the scrape of something. What was the woman doing?
"You may open your eyes now," she said.
She was standing before him as if she hadn't moved, yet she was no longer holding the box, and she was blinking up at him as if she expected him to balk. He didn't. How could he? Hiding the box was the action of an intelligent woman. He'd lost count of how many greedy, pleasure-minded women had stolen himmayhap because he no longer cared who he belonged to.
"This way," she said, continuing her journey. She led him into a dark, narrow corridor. There were no trinkets here, only candles lined against the walls. A soft, sweet fragrance, like sugar and spice, overlaid the air. From there, Julia showed him into a tiny bedchamber.
"This is where you'll sleep," she told him.
He glanced around, taking in the furnishing. A redwood dragon cabinet, a mirrored dressing table, ethereal wine-colored drapes and turquoise decorative pillows. "What type of animal is that?" he asked, indicating to the far wall where an alabaster beast sprouted green leaves.
"That's an elephant plant stand."
"And what is that?" Frowning, dreading her answer, he pointed to a small boxlike structure.
"That is the bed," she told him. Just as he'd suspected.
"A child would not fit in such a contraption, much less two people."
"Youyou're sleeping alone," she said. "The bed is big enough for one."
She began chewing on her mouth, an action he was beginning to loathe almost as much as he liked it. Her lips were spectacularlush and soft and pink. They were the kind of lips that made a man willing to battle a thousand armies for a single kiss, and Tristan swore to Elliea the next time she nibbled on those delicate morsels, he was going to soothe them the only way he knew howwith his tongue.
"Nay. I am not sleeping alone. I am sleeping with you."
Her eyes darted around the room like those of a trapped animal searching for escape. "I thought you understood the sleeping arrangements."
"I understand that I do not want to pleasure you in such a small setting. We must find larger accommodations since I plan to bring you to climax over and over again."
"Climax?" She made a strangling sound in the back of her throat, and even folded her hands around her neck. "Over and over again?"
More strangling sounds. Had he frightened her to the point of choking? Concern rushing through him, he pounded her between her shoulder blades.
"I'm fine thank you Stop!" she managed between blows.
He did as instructed, though his palm lingered on her back. "You are unharmed?"
She arched her back, then twisted about at the hips, maneuvering each section of her spine. "Except for a few broken bones," she said dryly, "I'm okay."
Broken bones? Tristan ran his hands up and down her body. And what a body it was, all soft curves and feminine roundness. Her shoulders were small and fragile, her hips soft and voluptuous. Her breasts were full and heavy, and the plump mounds overflowed in his hands. Were her nipples pink or brown or a color in between? He caressed one peaked tip with his fingertip. She sucked in a breath but never once uttered a protest.
Encouraged, he traced his finger over the other tip. "Your bones do not feel broken," he whispered, letting the warmth of his breath fan her ear.
"I was joking," she said, the words barely escaping.
"So you are well?"
She nodded, nibbling on her bottom lip. "Promise."
There she was, chewing on her mouth again. Always a man of his word, Tristan leaned down until his lips were only a rustle away from hers. "This I am glad to hear because now I am going to taste you."
She didn't pull from his grasp, nor did she attempt to push him away. She merely blinked up at him as if he'd spoken a foreign language. Then her eyes widened.
"I'm not sure"
"No lecture." His fingers tangled in her hair, dragging her deeper into his embrace. "Not now."
She gulped and tore her gaze away.
"Look at me, Julia."
Slowly, so slowly, her long, sooty lashes swept upward until she met his stare. He knew what she saw in his eyes. Hunger. Raw, primal hunger. He wanted her, wanted to forget his surroundings, wanted to forget who and what he was, wanted to lose himself if only for a moment and find strength in the familiarity of a woman's arms.
"My tongue burns for the taste of you. My hands itch for the feel of you. And my shaft screams for the core of you. Let me have you."
Lust flared in her eyes, causing the deep, dazzling green irises to darken and the lids to lower halfway. She was desire incarnate just then, and an invisible force seemed to draw her closer, closer still until his hardness nestled her softness. Her exotic scent, like moonlight and stars, wafted to his nostrils.
He moved his hands lower and palmed the soft skin at the back of her neck, guiding her face inches from his. Her small, soft body fit perfectly against him, and he knew instinctively that he would fit even better inside her. Once, twice, his lips brushed hers, lingering, hoping to absorb her sweetness.
His breath caressed her nose, her cheek, as he waited for an invitation to partake of what waited within. When she didn't open, his tongue flicked out and traced the seam of her lips. She moaned, a low, shimmering sound that weakened his knees as it washed over him in slow, erotic waves.
"Open for me," he said.
Surprisingly she did so without hesitation.
His tongue slipped easily inside, and he began a slow dance of touch and retreat. She moved with his mouth gently at first, as if exploring and learning, but soon her dam of restraint collapsed and she increased the pace.
She thrust hard and fast. Her lips meshed against his, and her arms locked around his back, her nails clawing at his flesh. She moaned, trying to sink all the way past his skin. Her taste deepened with passion, a heady combination of savage desire and untapped wildness.
"Delicious," he whispered, forcing himself to disengage from her for a moment to gain perspective. "I want more."
"More. Lots more." She jerked him back to her, holding him tight and keeping him close to her as she rocked her hips forward, sank back and rocked againno longer acting the innocent.
She was feral with the force of her need. His brow furrowed with confusion. He'd never before encountered a woman who erupted so quickly. "Julia?"
"Don't stop," she said. At each point of contact, each time the apex of her thighs brushed his erection, her hands clutched him tighter, a little more desperately. No matter Julia's former protests to the contrary, these were the actions of a woman in need of immediate fulfillment.
She liked him in that way.
Satisfaction swept through him as he imagined fulfilling her in every fashion he knew.
"I can't get enough," she panted, her breathing labored, her eyes still closed. She continued to gyrate against him. "You promised more. I want more."
Her words went straight to his shaft, making him harden and swell to the point of pain. He knew she was wet, so wet he would have no trouble sliding his width inside of her.
"I'll give you everything," he said. His own breaths were coming a little too quickly. "This I swear to you."
This time when he claimed her mouth, he did not have to request that she open for him. Eagerly her tongue swept out to meet him. rolling and sparring with his. Even their teeth clashed with the force of their need. She nipped at his bottom lip as if she wanted to devour him. Her legs entwined with his, and she rubbed more forcefully against his erection. She gripped his buttocks, then reached around and cupped his heavy sac through his drocs.
He sucked in a breath. She was like liquid fire and a wild storm combined. At that moment he wanted to push so deep within her she could only gasp his name. He wanted to feel her inner walls clench as she searched for release, wanted to feel that powerful surge of pleasure while he held her naked and spent himself inside her.
He wanted all of that from one simple kiss and a few caresses. Inconceivable.
A kiss shouldn't be this good, this magical, he thought. A kiss shouldn't consume him, shouldn't make him yearn for impossible things. But it did. Suddenly he yearned. With each press of their tongues, with each brush of their bodies, he yearned for their souls to connect, for their hearts to beat in sync.
He yearned for forever. No, surely not.
He had never felt this pull before. This need for another to be a part of him. Surely this had nothing to do with Julia herself, he rationalized, but everything to do with a man's desire to conquer.
Aye. That was it. Little Julia was proving to be more enticing, more exciting, than he'd first imagined, and his warrior's instinct demanded he conquer her. That was all. She might taste like ambrosia and feel softer than gartina petals, but she meant nothing more to him than the rest of his women.
She was not special.
Determined now to prove to himself that he could take her and remain emotionless, he trailed kisses down her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, all the while keeping his mind detached. She is nothing, he told himself, merely a guan ren.
"I'm going to remove your clothing now, nixa."
"Yes, I" Julia paused. Something wasn't right, she realized. Something was different now. He sounded cold and callous, completely uncaring.
She shoved her way out of the sensual fire raging inside her mind and slowly regained her common sense. Details danced within her grasp, then solidified. Tristan wasn't breathing hard, wasn't even winded, while she labored for every breath. He appeared perfectly skilled, dispassionate and restrained while she arched and writhed for more.
His expression was impassive, his eyes devoid of emotion, his lips firm, hard. He did not look like a passionate lover. He looked removed. Like a slave doing his master's bidding. He didn't really want her, she realized. He merely played a part. Nausea and embarrassment churned in her stomach.
With calm, sure movements, he began to work her shirt over her head.
"No." Julia jerked backward, away from Tristan and the magnetic force of his body.
I'm an idiot. Why hadn't she pushed him away the first moment he touched her? But she already knew the answer. When his hands had moved over her body checking for injuries, she'd found herself confronting every fantasy her mind had ever conjured. Pure sensation, raw maleness. Total desire.
How she'd cravedhow she still cravedmore of his caresses, more of his taste. Lord, he had stroked his tongue across her lips while his hands kneaded her. Tingles and need had shot straight through her like the lightning bolt she'd wanted God to strike her with. Desire had pooled deep in her belly, between her legs, and her nipples had pearled tightly. She'd simply reacted.
For the first time, she'd known true, consuming desire. Every cell in her body had gone on alert, ready for sensations she didn't quite understand but wanted to. Desperately. His flavor well, chocolate didn't compare. He'd moved his tongue, body and hands so expertly, bringing optimum pleasure. As she remembered, a dreamy sound of promise and passion slipped past her lips. She craved another kiss, another taste. Would do almost anything to experience one more. Just one more kiss
Julia blinked, realizing she was once again losing herself in Tristan, and this time he hadn't even touched her! How could one man affect her so strongly? And how in God's name could Tristan remain so unaffected?
Was she that undesirable?
I am, she thought, battling a sudden torrent of self-pity and sadness. I truly am. If she'd had more experience, she might have bolstered her confidence with memories of all the men she'd left in satisfied comas of sexual bliss. But she didn't. And she couldn't. Tristan probably had more experience than most porn stars, while she kissed like a ninety-year-old grandmother suffering from heart disease.
At that thought, what little confidence Julia had left shattered. Self-consciousness snaked stronger coils around her spine, quickly tightening its grip. This was exactly why she couldn't ever kiss Tristan again, no matter how much pleasure his slightest touch gave her. With him, she would always worry that she wasn't doing things right, wasn't satisfying him. Wasn't woman enough.
Except, oddly enough, when his lips first met hers, she hadn't thought about anything except the hot press of his body and all the wicked things they could do to each other.
No. She shook her head. A fluke. Had to be. Were this detached lover to kiss her again, she'd worry, worry, worry that her breath smelled bad, or that he didn't like her body, or that she'd bore him to death.
What if she'd done that this time?
Oh, God, he wasn't even kissing her right now and she was beginning to worry. He found her lacking in the sexual arena. She just knew it. That's why he'd become so unresponsive, and he was probably laughing at her pitiful attempt. Julia studied his face, searching for amusement. She saw confusion and desire?
No, he didn't desire her. She only saw what she wanted to see, instead of what was really there.
"Let us go to bed," he said, his honey-rich voice breaking the stretch of silence. He clasped her arm.
She wrenched away, using anger as a shield. Anything to prevent herself from flying back into his embrace. "You'll be sleepingor whatever else you want to doalone."
His teeth flashed in a scowl. "Alone? I think not. You do not kiss a man with such passion unless you want him in your bed."
"Really? Passion?" Delight shimmered through her. "You're not just saying that?"
He worked his jaw left and right, and didn't stop until the bone popped from exertion. "You would be happy with such an occurrence?"
Not a denial, but not an agreement, either.
"Forget it," she grumbled. "Just go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."
"Must we go over our sleeping arrangements yet again?"
"We'll go over it until you get it right." Her chin tilted stubbornly to the side. "This" she motioned in a circle with her hand "is your room. That" she pointed down the hall" is mine."
"I removed my weapon. Now you will spend the night with me."
Jeez, for a man who catered to the desires of women, he sure needed constant instruction. Her exasperation must have given her strength, because she managed to say quite forcefully, "We're not sleeping together."