Free Slavemaster's Woman, The by Angelia Whiting Page B

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