Submissive (26 page)

G
illian's eyes opened to a scene of lavish pagan delights, of nymphs running through a lush, flowery field, the sun gilding their streaming hair and voluptuous bare limbs.

For a moment she thought she'd returned to Nemi and her heart lightened. But then she realized it was only a frescoed ceiling above her head, and that she lay on a bed draped with a red satin spread. The pretty slippers they'd put on her feet were gone, and her hair loosened. She looked above her, seeing an astonishing headboard, a great arch of yellowish marble that touched one golden frame of the ceiling. Four pillars of the same stone cornered the great bed.

As hesitant and suspicious as Gillian was, the tantalizing aroma of food tempted her to sit up.

It was with great disappointment that she realized she was simply in another cavern room in the Dhjinn E'nochs' abode. The walls were glimmering russet stone and the floor was covered by an ornate rug. The light emanated from a framed square globe of thick glass situated high in the wall to her right.

But the sleeping place was an antechamber, divided off from what appeared to be a private sitting room by two tall screens of latticed woodwork. Peering between them, Gillian flinched to see the Dhjinn E'noch in the sitting room. He reposed on a heavy sofa upholstered in black damask, his face turned away from her.

Desperately she thought of what to do next…when suddenly the Dhjinn E'noch's eyes lit upon her. His seductive mouth turned up in a lean smile.

“You're awake.” His smooth voice seemed to penetrate her skin and make her shiver. “Come here, Gillian. I have had some food brought in.”

She was still dressed in the scanty garments she'd been given, and for a moment she was determined not to comply. But her stomach betrayed her with sharp hunger pangs. With a sigh she crept off the bed and walked through the screens into the sitting room. There were two more of the framed light fixtures on the wall here, too, flanking a wardrobe of carved ebony. As she stepped around the couch she found a low table, also of smooth ebony. On it a golden platter had been laid out with small, open-faced sandwiches and candied figs. The Dhjinn E'noch offered her a stemmed glass filled with what looked like dark wine.

“Thirsty?”

Gillian shook her head. Though she avoided looking at him, she felt his gaze, and instinctively she folded her hands over her pubis.

He laughed softly. “So you will garb yourself in modesty?”

Her face warmed angrily.

“It is a natural reaction to the unexpected, and so I will overlook it. From now on, however, you will not try to hide your charms.” His authoritative attitude agitated her, and yet, his languid voice made her feel drowsy and weak. Her arms fell awkwardly to her sides.

“Good,” he said. “Sit down now. I know you are hungry.”

She complied again, almost grateful to be able to keep her legs together and hide herself a little bit. He set the glass on the table and slid the platter toward her. Despite her hunger she eyed the figs and sandwiches suspiciously.

“What is it?”

“Beef and cheese on bread. Figs, too. Common victuals among your people. But no, nothing has not been drugged, as you fear,” he said. “And Gillian—you will speak to me respectfully at all times. Address me as ‘my lord.'”

She was almost painfully hungry now, and looking away from him, tried one of the little sandwiches. She couldn't help thinking she had no idea what poison was supposed to smell or taste like. She sipped the wine as well, and detected nothing amiss in the bouquet or flavor.

From the corner of her eye she saw him grimace.

Without meaning to she wondered how he'd changed his appearance from the demonic image he'd presented on Nemi.

Probably a natural talent among his kind.

And then she realized he'd read her mind concerning her suspicion of poison. It hadn't been the first time, either: he'd done the same in the Temple of Purity. Gillian's mouth felt parched as she ate. She wanted to avoid thinking about it and feigned indifference as she looked around at the furnishings.

On the wall to their left hung a large pyramidal mirror. Beneath this stood a cabinet about two feet high. Fashioned from a creamy beige wood, it resembled a doll's wardrobe, and Gillian presumed it was a liquor cabinet, given the lock hanging on a chain between the little doors.

Looking around, she saw a niche hewn into one part of the room. It could have made an excellent closet, but it was bare. And a beam on the ceiling supported something odd: a large metal hook with metallic loops hanging from it by short chains. At first she wasn't sure what purpose this hook served, and then she saw the long metal canister bolted to the niche wall. A suede-sheathed crop was propped inside this. A twinge of alarm compelled Gillian to turn her attention back to the food. She nibbled on a fig, and hoped the Dhjinn E'noch did not sense her disquiet.

He watched silently as she finished the sandwich. She suspected that he was trying to penetrate into her thoughts, and tried to keep her conscious mind separated from her intention to find a way of escaping his abode and making her way back to Nemi.

“You are certain that I have kidnapped you,” he said at last, “made you an unwilling hostage.”

The statement was true, though certainly not a solid thought in her mind during the last little while. She refused to willingly look at him, and took some vindication in the exasperated sigh he gave.

“That interpretation is subjective, of course. You are mine because I took possession of you—but I would not have been so infatuated had you not been so desiring of possession.”

Gillian's anger flared, but she remained poised. He came nearer, and it seemed his very breath was a dangerous entity shadowing over her.

“Ah, you try to ignore me in an effort to insult. This is the testimony to the shallow training that Nemi gives to its Disciples.”

The insinuation roused Gillian more deeply than she would have thought. She cast him another quick glance, unable to keep her brows from knitting.

He smiled softly and the blue in his eyes was warm. “And you would defend Nemi and the Ur'theriems even now. A human woman of perfect readiness and inclination to enjoy all fleshly delights. You believe they satisfied your true penchants and awakened your real self. But it is not so, Gillian. They merely used those desires you denied yourself too long. I, on the other hand, will appreciate them. I will refine and polish them. Soon, you will be a brilliant, faceted gem, instead of a mere chip among many on the jewel-cutter's wheel.”

The determination in his voice troubled Gillian. She was racked with dread of what exactly transpired when he'd kidnapped her. Had he besieged Nemi in other ways, and most importantly—had he harmed Bruce?

And then she sensed the Dhjinn E'noch's calmness drain away. His cheeks flushed slightly and anger imbued his close aura. She heard his knuckles pop as one hand clenched tightly.

“The fragile mortal man is unharmed,” he said in low tones. “And for the present, I have no intention to lay siege to the Nemian stronghold.”

Gillian looked boldly at him, careless of the angry amber lights dancing in his eyes. “I have no proof you speak true, kidnapper!”

His voice thickened so that the air shook with his suppressed rage. “Unlike mortals, my race does not fabricate, woman.”

He snatched her wrist suddenly. His skin was so hot it almost burned. She attempted to twist out of his grasp, but it was impossible. Grabbing the length of her hair, he pulled it back so that she was forced to look at him. The horrible thought of the otherworldly beast snapping her head off her neck made her tremble.

But his voice resonated with what sounded like an effort toward patience. “I only wish you to not worry for your acquaintances on Nemi. And I assure you, my dear, that while I may punish you, never will I damage what is mine.”

“But I am not yours and you had no right to take me!” she cried. “I belong on Nemi, where I chose to serve as a Disciple of Pleasure! I never asked for you!”

He bowed over her so that her upturned face was shadowed under his glowering regard.

“It is enough I chose you! You should feel honored. Grateful! I have delved into your thoughts and all the desires of your heart, Gillian. I know the secret of your soul. You sought a Master inflexible, reliable, and desirous of your devotion. The Nemians only offered the outward satisfaction of your desires, and only for their benefit. I am the real thing, the Master you have longed for all your life.”

“Not so. They gave me love and security, and for that I am grateful,” Gillian seethed. “As for a Master, I have already chosen one!”

His eyes flashed and his lips flooded crimson. Then his eyes closed a moment. He drew a long breath, and when he exhaled his features were again composed. He released her hair and drew his fingers down the length of her spine.

“You were already a Disciple of Pleasure,” he murmured, as if speaking aloud his thoughts. And looking at her again, his eyes shone tranquil blue again. The half-smile on his lips was assured and firm.

Still holding her wrist, he stood and pulled her up to her feet on the floor. Under his full height and lofty gaze Gillian's heart raced. She felt like a small child looking up at him, her arm a doll's limb in his hand. He touched her cheek and the pads of his fingers singed her flesh. Catching her chin, he bent and kissed her mouth. Her nostrils detected a blazing virility that swept away the traces of sulfur. When she squirmed and tried to wriggle away, he pulled her captive arm to her back and hugged her against his hard body. Her entire body quivered; her pussy swelled and moistened against her will.

He uses my training against me!

His mouth drew back, and to her shock her lips felt almost bereft.

“Perhaps I do use it against you,” he replied. “But it will serve to help to teach you the difference between what you were in Nemi and what you will come to be very soon—a true passion slave, and
my
disciple.”

He seemed bent on possessing Gillian's will, determined to crush entirely her every last objection. Aghast, she shrieked, and kicked his shin with all her might. He grunted, but only that, and suddenly he lifted her up and threw her over his shoulder just as Abraham had done earlier. His shoulder pressed into her pubis, and he patted her buttocks firmly. A tremor of heat filled her pelvis even as she pounded his back with her fists.

“Let me go!” she screamed.

He carried her into the adjoining chamber and sat down on the bed. At once she fought to crawl off him, and even made it to the mattress, but he captured her ankles and pulled her back over his lap. Gillian twisted and kicked, but his strength was incontestable. Snatching her wrists, he pressed them against the small of her back. She writhed fiercely and tried to wriggle away, to which he answered by giving her backside a single, smart spank.

“You cannot escape me, Gillian. My fortitude exceeds that of mortal men, and even if you were to free yourself, my men are outside the door.”

She grunted and kicked again, which brought a harder spank. Again, it was only one stroke, but Gillian sensed the warning behind it and tried to keep silent as his chastening hand moved to her pubic hair, which he brushed slowly with his great fingers. Her thighs were clenched, but a moment later, with only the slightest of efforts, the Dhjinn E'noch separated them. He patted her exposed nether folds and opened them gently. With a finger he traced her fount, and then her clit. Against her will she grew slick, and as he drove a finger slowly into her fount, her whole sex swelled with sensation.

He worked her more rapidly. Gillian's breasts heaved helplessly over his lap, and her pussy grew wetter, hotter with need. The nipple clamps pinched into her swollen nipples. To her deeper chagrin the little coins chimed daintily.

“Please,” she whimpered, struggling yet to free her wrists. How humbling it was to know he watched her bare buttocks undulate and enjoyed the slippery heat of her pussy! But under his devilishly sensual torment, her mind and senses seemed to drift back to Nemi. She imagined it was Sir Bruce's lap she was over. An anxious moan escaped her and her back arched wantonly for something more…

She heard a masculine grunt, and the exploring hand drew away. The Dhjinn E'noch lifted her and set her upon her belly onto the mattress.

Before she could think, she was turned over onto her back. The Dhjinn E'noch was hovering over her now and his smoldering eyes had turned into two deep amber pools. He was physically flawless, and her entire body tingled as he unbuttoned his breeches. Splendidly endowed he was and she reproached herself for even acknowledging it. She closed her eyes and welcomed memories of Bruce.

I can bear anything because you're the one I love…

“Look at me,” the Dhjinn E'noch ordered, “or I will chain you to that fixture in the niche.”

She complied, but it was not his glowering, lusty regard she saw, but Bruce's sensuous face.

He draped over her, clasping her wrists down to the bed above her head. He suckled her right breast roughly, then the other, chafing each manacled nipple with his feasting lips. His knee parted her legs and the crown of his swollen cock bulged against her fount. It rubbed against her this way several seconds, and then he penetrated her. She felt engorged by his great cock. With slow, careful strokes he moved in and out of her, creating a decadently delightful sensation that spiraled through the pulsing depths of her orifice. It filled her with remorse, even doubt of her love for Bruce, and even as her hips rose to meet his plunging loins, she wept.