Slavemaster's Woman, The by Angelia Whiting

gently
pinched and rolled the nipple of her breast with his finger as he
kissed her neck, first nuzzling and then skimming his lips along
the line of her jaw then retracing his path to suckle her neck once
again. His hand shifted, attending to her other breast.
    Cushla’s head fell back. Her mouth fell open
and she released a quivering breath. Her eyes were closed.
    “Open your eyes and look at me, mistress,”
he whispered.
    To his surprise and to his pleasure she
complied, her lids fluttering open until she was gazing directly
into his eyes and he could see the haze of arousal in them. Her
crystal gaze was even more stunning up close, captivating him,
almost consuming him to the point that he nearly froze within their
hypnotic radiance. The moment caught him unaware as he realized
that even stronger men than he, might be driven to slay even an
ally to possess this rare beauty by the name of Cushla.
    Tarken exhaled, fighting to regain control
as he wondered if she was aware of the sexual power she possessed.
He thought not, or she would use it to her advantage. Perhaps in
this moment she already was. He continued to kiss her flesh, not
caring if it was for his gratification or her own, or the training
that he was obliged to give her, or the punishment for that matter.
All he could comprehend was that he wanted to taste every inch of
her.
    Lifting his head away from her, Tarken
cupped Cushla’s chin, tilting her face toward him. He took
possession of her mouth again. Her lips were lush and soft beneath
his, heightening his desire, pushing it close to a point of no
return. If she refused him now, it might be the one time in his
life he would go insane for the sake of wanting a woman.
    The hand that was flattened against her
abdomen slid downward seeking to touch her intimately. Tarken
groaned as he skimmed his finger along the length her hairless
labia. Cushla’s hips jerked, encouraging him to continue his
caresses. Sensuously, he ran his fingers along her crease, pinched
softly at the swells protecting her clit and he felt a slight
buckle as Cushla’s legs gave way. He held her up, his finger now
stroking her throbbing bud while his tongue dipped inside of her
mouth.
    Tarken turned her again, bending her back
slightly in his arms. Slowly, he began backing her to the bed, his
lust for her heightening when her hands grasped his hips, and she
pressed into him. He felt her mouth applying equal pressure to his,
kissing him with fervor equal to his own. Tarken’s hands gripped
Cushla’s bottom. He pressed her tighter to his groin, fighting the
mind-blowing urge to throw her on the bed and slam into her. If he
wanted her to fully consent, to release her passion, he needed to
stay in control.
    Tarken pulled his mouth from hers, and
released her, his body shuttering in protest at the separation but
he wanted to move more slowly, had to douse the scorching urgency
to ravage her that was surging inside of him. Never before had any
woman ever caused him to feel so dangerously close to being
sexually out of control! “Lie down on the bed, mistress,” he
commanded, his voice husky with desire.
    Her eyes shifted and fell to the sheets
before returning to his.
    Tarken could see the sudden rise of
nervousness that reared in her expression. He waited patiently,
empowering her to make the decision, though he had to wonder how he
would react if she refused his bidding.
    She was still, her gaze continuing to fixate
on his.
    Tarken felt the muscles in his face relax
and he smiled at her.
    It seemed to soothe her, the tension in her
expression fading as well. She returned his smile and then lowered
to sit on the bed. Without hesitation she pushed herself toward the
middle.
    Tarken shed the shirt from his body and was
over her, anxious to feel her warm, soft flesh against him.
    When he came down on her, Cushla spread her
legs willingly, openly inviting his hips to settle between
them.
    It pleased him that she responded to him and
so