At Her Pleasure. Cindi Myers

begin retrieving the spoils from the hold and adding them to our stores.

      “How many today?” I asked. It had been a large ship, but the battle had been fierce. The sharks would have feasted well last night.

      “Seven. One is only a boy, but the others…” Determinata smiled. “There are some very fine specimens here.”

      “Then I must see them.”

      I followed her down the stone staircase and out into the plaza in front of the tower. It was a fine day, hot and clear. The men stood bare-chested, hands bound behind their backs.

      One caught my eye. He was lean and tall, with the dark hair and fair skin of a continental. I stopped before him and he looked me in the eye, defiant. He was well muscled, with a fine dusting of black hair across his chest, narrow hips and strong legs. “What is your name?” I asked.

      I could read in his eyes that he thought of not answering. But I kept my gaze on him, unflinching, and at last he said, “William.”

      His accent was British and upper class. Perhaps the son of the ship owner, or a nobleman or tradesman who had purchased passage. Looking into his eyes, at the spirit there, I felt the heat build inside me. “William, you will come with me,” I said, and turned to walk back to my tower.

      “Why should I come with you?” he asked, his tone haughty.

      I didn’t turn around. I liked the question, but there was no hesitation in my answer. “Because if you don’t, one of my lieutenants will shoot you, and that would be a waste of good flesh.”

      I anticipated he might need more persuading, but after a moment’s hesitation, he fell into step behind me. I kept my back to him, hoping he wouldn’t be foolish enough to try to overpower me or to run away. My guards would be watching him and they would shoot to kill.

      But he made no such attempt and soon we were alone in my tower room. I bade him sit, and had one of my other servants, Marcus, bring him water and bread. William eyed the man with distaste. “Is this what you intend for me?” he asked. “To make me your slave?”

      “The choice is yours,” I said, but explained no further. He would choose his own role here—slave or courtesan. I wanted him for my bed, but if he was unwilling, I would not force him. Men overpower reluctant women with rape. I preferred to use my sexual prowess to teach men the advantages of accepting my superiority and command.

      While he ate, I made myself comfortable, divesting myself of my outer garments, revealing the sheer silk undersheath. I unbanded and combed out my long hair, all the while acting as if he was no longer in the room. I loosened the straps of my gown and rubbed scented lotion into my shoulders and across the top of my breasts, caressing myself, watching in the mirror as he watched me.

      And he was indeed watching me, the remainder of his meal forgotten. One glance showed me the tightness at the front of his trousers. Yes, this one would make a good courtesan.

      “Do you like what you see?” I asked him.

      The question startled him. He snapped his gaze away. “Who would like being a prisoner?”

      “In the world beyond this island, every woman is a prisoner—of her father or her husband or of the rules society has laid out for her. Most have learned to live with it.”

      “But you did not,” he said.

      “I did not. I have made my own kingdom, with my own rules.”

      “And now the men are prisoners,” he said, frowning.

      I nodded. “But it is not such an unpleasant existence for them, I tell you.”

      He made a noise like a growl. I ignored him and sat on a high stool across from him. The light from the window was at my back, making my gown almost transparent. I wanted him to know what awaited him if he was willing.

      I could feel his eyes burning into me, and imagined that same heat coursing through his body, into mine. “Are you trying to seduce me?” he asked after a moment.

      I laughed. “Of course.” I leaned toward him, my breasts straining against the front of my gown. “Do you want to be seduced?”

      He looked at my breasts, then back into my eyes. “What happens if I say yes?”

      “That is part of the excitement, isn’t it?” I leaned closer still, and lowered my voice to just above a whisper. “But I promise, I have had no complaints yet.”

      His eyes locked to mine, and tension radiated from him, vibrating the air. “What do I have to do?” he asked, his voice roughened by desire.

      I smiled, and straightened to my full height, looking down on him. “That is the best part,” I said. “You will do whatever I tell you.”

      3

      NICOLE CLOSED THE BOOK and took a deep breath. Whew! Her skin felt too tight for her body, and there was a persistent throbbing between her legs. What Passionata had done was amazing. So empowering. And erotic.

      Looking back, Nicole could see that in every relationship in her life, she had allowed the man to take charge. Even in these liberated times, it was how society was designed to operate. The man asked for a date. The man made the first move sexually, and in Nicole’s case, almost every move afterward.

      How much different would it have been if she had taken charge, if she had approached each sexual encounter with the focus on satisfying her own desires instead of placating her partner? Certainly such an approach would have left her with fewer regrets about Kenneth…and maybe a few more orgasms.

      Okay, she definitely needed to cool down a little. She decided to go for a walk to clear her head and found herself heading toward Ian’s camp on the opposite side of the island. Maybe without Adam’s bristling presence, she could get to know their fellow islander better, and issue that invitation to dinner.

      She fought her way through the jungle, and hurried across the clearing, past the tower and its raucous avian residents. A little out of breath, she stopped in the trees looking out onto Ian’s camp, reluctant to barge in on him in case he was naked again. Not that she hadn’t enjoyed seeing him in the altogether, but she didn’t want to embarrass him further.

      The shelter appeared empty except for the shirts and pants that hung from the line there, doing a desultory dance in the erratic breeze. She turned her attention to the rest of the camp: the neat fire ring encircled by log seats, boxes and barrels providing further seating around the area, dive equipment waiting in a neat pile beside a table and bench built of scrap lumber. But no sign of Ian.

      Disappointed, she started to turn away, then a movement in the shade of a coconut palm on the edge of the camp caught her attention. As she peered closer, she recognized a hammock. Someone was in it, and she slipped around through the trees until she could get a better view.

      Ian looked as good lying down as he had standing, legs outstretched, sun dappled over his lean chest and torso. The towel that had been wrapped around him had fallen to the side and the hammock was swaying gently back and forth, driven by the rhythm of the hand which stroked his erect penis.

      Her breath caught as the reality of what he was doing registered. She stared, fascinated, at the strong brown fingers wrapped around his thick erection. His chin was on his chest, his mouth slightly open, his eyes closed, his expression one of intense concentration.

      She heard his breathing, harsh and rapid, and found herself panting in response. Her nipples were hard buds pressed against the cups of her bikini top and she squeezed her thighs against the throbbing tension between her legs.

      He groaned, and his hand moved faster. Light glinted on a drop of moisture at the tip of his penis. Nicole covered her breasts with her hands and bit her lip to keep from moaning. As he continued to pump his hand, she began to massage her aching breasts, squeezing the nipples, twirling them between her thumb and forefinger, the tension and wetness building between her legs.

      She kept her eyes open,