Slavemaster's Woman, The (9 page)

It was loneliness.

Cushla would be fooling herself if she
denied being lonely. It seemed like ages since she’d been close to
anyone. And Tarken—this time, she allowed his name to roll through
her mind. The sound of it warmed her, made her feel like his equal.
She glowered at him. It was exactly what he wanted—another of his
ploys to coerce her compliance. Her thought processes paused.

And then seized.

By automatic learned response both Cushla’s
demeanor and emotions hardened. He was killing her will with
kindness! Every curse she’d ever learned fired in her brain, some
silently aimed directly at the slavemaster but most to chastise
herself for nearly succumbing to surrender.
Stupid
, though
mild in comparison to some of the words she was inaudibly uttering,
being one of them.

Oh hell fucking fires!
Because of her
admission he was now looking at her hungrily, the lust in his eyes
sparking wild. Cushla watched his chest expand with a deep inhale,
making him seem virile and full of masculine life.

He reached, and took her hand.

Desire surged within her at his simple
touch. She fought against it with all of her might and attempted to
tug her hand away.

He turned to gaze his grip tightening. “I
just want to look you over.” Tarken led her to the center of the
room. “I am not in the habit of forcing slaves to submit to my
needs, so ease your worries.”

His voice was calm and soothing, the gentle
tone triggering the tension in her muscles to ease. She couldn’t
help it. Rationally, it made no sense to trust him, yet corporally
her brain and body failed to agree. On a sigh, Cushla stood there
motionless giving him no resistance as he explored her naked
form.

* * * *

Tarken wondered if she felt degraded to be
treated this way. But if she did, Cushla seemed to rail against it,
keeping her head held high. He would need to discover what did
humiliate her in order to be sure he was giving her effective
punishments.

He took a slow walk around her.

Her lips were still swollen from his kisses,
and the glow in her cheeks was still there. Her nipples—ah her
breasts were a perfect handful, her nipples pointed firmly in his
direction. She was disheveled from their rumble, her hair partially
fallen from where it was pinned at the top of her head—sexy as
sin…desirable as the rarest rysali gem.

While he examined her slender feminine form,
admiring her subtle curves and delicate features, possessiveness
besieged him as he realized that he would be the first to give her
pleasure, and he would, Tarken was convinced. Though her actions
made a good attempt to deny it, he was quite sure Cushla was
aroused by him.

Was it unreasonable to be glad about
that?

Likewise, she was equally arousing him, and
his cock was growing painfully stiff. The rolling around on the
floor, tasting her body, the kiss that seared through him worked at
his libido like the best of aphrodisiacs but he was sure she wasn’t
wearing one. There were none as far as he knew that were odorless.
Yet, he was totally enchanted by this slave, and her feisty nature
didn’t lessen his blatant interest of the naked woman who stood
before him.

Never in the past, would he have thought
that he could enjoy such bad behavior, but he was. As much as he
fought to remain in control, he wanted her with the utmost urgency.
Tarken looked forward to sexing her in the dawnings to come. It
would be close to a moon’s phase worth at least, before they
arrived home to Buranis and handed her over to the king.

The king
—that thought bothered him,
and he was bewildered by that.

“How did you get these marks, Cushla?”
Tarken scrutinized her back. By the appearance of the marks on her
skin, he could tell the blows had been painful. He touched one spot
gently, still raw and red, and felt a twinge of regret when she
winced. He had no desire to hurt her.

“They were a punishment.”

He assumed that. “And were you punished
often?”

“As often as my masters or owners deemed
necessary,” she stated it simply, as if it were just a fact in her
life.

“What were you doing this time?” Tarken was
already aware of the reason but asked anyway.

“Running away.”

At least she was honest.
“You won’t
run from me, Cushla.”

She responded with a snort.

To this he said nothing, but continued his
inspection.

He noted a small, birthmark high on the
right cheek of her bottom. It was a perfectly shaped silhouette of
a
Libertas,
its wings outspread as if it were about to take
flight. Whiter than her flesh, the mark seemed to sparkle with
life, the shimmer matching the irises of Cushla's eyes. It was as
if the very creature itself nestled on her skin. How befitting she
would bear the mark of a free spirit.

“Are you done yet?” Cushla shuffled from
foot to foot, appearing very uncomfortable with his
scrutiny—embarrassed even.

Tarken didn’t answer her.

She grew quiet, saying nothing for
.awhile.

He took leisure at examining her for much
longer than he intended until she became impatient with him and her
body stiffened.

She huffed out a breath and then snapped.
“What in evil dungeons are you looking at!”

“Your birthmark. It’s quite fascinating to
say the least.”

“What about it?”Cushla’s voice became
indignant.

“Has anyone ever told you what it
resembles?”

“I know what it resembles,
Tarken.” Moving away from him, Cushla crossed the room, stepping
over the broken glass on the floor.
She
stopped at the cellarette, picking up the bottle of
umbret
wine and then
turned to look at Tarken. “May I?” She indicated the bottle,
lifting it up and out toward him.

“Of course, mistress. I’m pleased that you
ask for permission. Perhaps there is hope for you after all.”
Removing his half-torn shirt, he tossed it atop a nearby chair.
“But I thought you believed it to be tainted.”

“If it is, then I welcome the stupor over
the memories of any sexual encounter I will have with you.” Cushla
stared at him coldly. “Aside from that…I might as well take
advantage of your offering, since I rarely have the opportunity to
enjoy much in the way of extravagance.”

“Learn this, Cushla,” Tarken returned. “You
will not be denied good food or drink, or other comforts by me, as
long as you are obedient to orders.”

Cushla poured the drink into a clean glass
and took a sip.

He couldn’t help but notice that her gaze
had become fixated first on his chest before dropping lower to his
stomach and hips.

Her eyes then snapped up to his and she
grinned. “Then perhaps I might be willing to oblige.”

Tarken chuckled softly. Was she flirting
with him or just trying to be belligerent? The latter seemed more
likely.

Cushla set the bottle down and stared at
him. “Do you find something amusing, slavemaster?”

“I was just wondering who was slave and who
was master here.” He crossed one arm over the other. “Your
determination to hang on to your dignity is admirable. I suppose I
might be willing to allow you to have it for now. “

“Dignity is deeply rooted within,
slavemaster.” Cushla took another sip of her drink and then licked
a stray drop of moisture from her lips. “As for your question, the
Libertas is the mystic spirit of freedom. It’s also referred to as
an angel in some places.”

The sight of her tongue slipping along her
sweet, full lips caused Tarken to groan. How would that feel
swirling around the head of his cock? “Yes, it roams the galaxy
seeking refuge and offering blessings to those who show kindness,
but a bane to those for evil deeds, so I have heard.”

“Many a child has gone obediently to bed for
fear it would snatch them away, if they failed to mind their
parents,” Cushla added.

She showed signs of being educated and that
was a marketable asset if the king should decide to sell her.
Tarken might even buy her himself though never before had he
considered such a thing. His throbbing cock certainly agreed it was
a thought worth considering if Mecor would accede, though Tarken
doubted the possibly. He strongly suspected the king had purchased
Cushla for a specific, yet to be revealed reason.

“To have the Libertas in your life is a rare
gift.” Cushla yawned as she spoke. She glanced at the bed and then
eyed at him. “Rare enough not to be taken for granted.” A forlorn
expression spread across her face as if she were pining for
something she possessed long ago.

Tarken wondered if there was a double
meaning behind her words. Stooping, he removed his boots. Then
moving close he grasped her upper arm, taking her toward the bed.
“Get in.”

Cushla sighed but obeyed, moving toward the
middle of the mattress.

He filled the space next to her, stretching
alongside her.

She turned her back to him as if blatantly
telling him that she had no desire to see his face when he fucked
her—her preference, if a she was permitted to have a preference,
was to be taken from behind.

Tarken pulled her body close to his. He
always enjoyed the feel of a woman, and he oddly wanted more than
anything to feel this one close to his flesh.

“You’re no different than any of the others
despite your thinking you are,” Cushla remarked. “Take me, but I
warn you, I’ll fight.”

The sadness in her voice stabbed at him.

Take her?
He could do that. Judging by her response to his
touch, he knew he could coax her into submitting. He also knew on
the dawning, she would resent him all the more for it. Tarken would
not accept her resentment. He didn’t quite comprehend what he did
want from her, but hate and basic, numb compliance was not one of
them.

The slave would fare better in the king’s
court if he could soften her heart. In the same, but contradictory
vein, Tarken also knew that he must find a way to keep his heart
hardened against her.

She was not his possession. Cushla belonged
to the Mecor.

Reaching, Tarken grasped at the covers,
throwing them over both of them. “This eve Cushla, we’ll only
sleep.”

Chapter Eight

Sleep? Sleep! What was the slavemaster up
to?

Cushla sat at the table in the hostel’s
eatery, shoveling food into her mouth as if it might be her last
meal. It very well could be for all she knew. She was hungry, but
the meal was more for comfort than her stomach’s satisfaction.

When she awoke this dawning, Cushla found
that she was in ferocious state of arousal. And the slavemaster’s
stiff cock wedging in the crack of her ass didn’t help. It didn’t
matter that he still had his pants on. In fact, the soft material
of his pants against her bare flesh probably made it even worse.
Cushla was tempted to turn to him. She wanted him with a fierceness
she didn’t comprehend—to feel him plunging into her hard and
fast.

Panicked, she rose from the bed, donned one
of his white, linen shirts and left the room, not caring that he
would assume she had escaped and activate her slave band
immediately. At that moment, she needed to get away from him before
she did something she might regret, like having sex with him,
incredible, mind-exploding sex, and willingly at that!

To make matters worse, Cushla suspected he
knew she was attracted to him. She knew he saw her looking at his
body while she was sipping the wine
…
his
virile, too sexy for her own good body.

Oh hades, burn her eyes out! She couldn’t
help it!

His shoulders were broad and his chest,
lightly dusted with masculine hair, was so broad and muscular. The
ripples of muscle at his abdomen….his thighs…even through his
trousers she could see they were powerful. The thought of those
firm thighs and slim hips planted between her outspread legs had
her pussy clenching even as she tried desperately to allay the
lusty response to him, but to no avail. With just the thought of
him she was growing moist, hungry for something other than the food
she was ferociously cramming into her mouth.

Who was this man that he would affect her as
such?

“…Tarken.”
Cushla’s
heart thudded as she said his name aloud. The
reaction—the attraction she felt toward him was seriously starting
to piss her off. The way he looked at her, those damn, dark eyes
with those sparkling, mesmerizing flecks. The intensity in them
seemed to pierce her to the core. She’d never felt so timid and
exposed as when he gave her the once over.

Now that was confusing. Feeling embarrassed
while men looked at her naked body was something she hadn’t felt
for a long, long time. She didn’t like how this slavemaster was
making her feel. Not one iota…and how it irritated! What in hade’s
fires compelled her to openly reveal to him that she’d never had an
orgasm?

The cock brain was sure as hell going to try
and give her one now!

“Is this compulsion to eat, stemming from a
recent starvation?”

She suddenly froze upon hearing the
slavemasters’ voice, her tines mid-way to her mouth. She dropped
the utensil to her plate with a clatter.

“There is enough food here to feed a herd of
famished
froogats
. How will all of that fit inside of your
small stomach?”

Cushla looked up but said nothing.

“You have extravagant tastes, mistress.”
Tarken scanned the platters on the table. “Tell me, what are your
favorites?”

“Rub cherkin brewed in seeg sauce.”

“That’s quite an expensive meat.” Once
again, Tarken inspected the feast. “I see you haven’t ordered
any.”

“Yes, I did. They haven’t brought it yet.”
Picking up the fork, Cushla started to eat again.