The Pleasure Slave by Gena Showalter

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 whoand 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 again—no 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