Heat hit her, sucking the breath from her body as those long, masculine fingers moved over and around her breasts, until each sensitive mound was fully imprisoned in a strong hand. That tiny flame that had been fanned earlier now ignited, sending a brushfire of sensation over receptive nerves. Her head fell back onto a hard shoulder, and the pleasurable sound that escaped her throat couldn’t have been stopped had she known it was coming.

The sound did penetrate her mind, however, bringing with it the knowledge that the barbarian was doing it again, casually, unfairly, and no doubt deliberately making her body sing, when he had no intention of playing a duet with her. Her reflex was to stop him and she even made an effort, only to recall her bound wrists. She couldn’t even get her own hands under her covering, much less remove his.

Defenseless. The feeling was so alien, it brought out her fighting instincts. But all he’d left her to fight with was words, and she was afraid that was going to be the norm from now on, rather than the unusual.

“Did I miss something in the translation, warrior? I could have sworn my service was exclusive to place, with no hanky-panky allowed in any other location. Now, I don’t see anything around here that comes even close to resembling a bedchamber. And the last time I looked, this hataar wasn’t a bed. So either cut it out, fella, or you’re in breach of contract.”

“Cleverness is admired in a woman, kerima. ”

“Thank you-I think.”

“But your cleverness is wasted on me. Again I must remind you of the words ‘where I sleep.’ ”

“If that’s your subtle way of telling me you sleep on this riding animal, try again,” she said dryly.

“When time is critical and the distance to travel far, a warrior will indeed sleep on his hataar. This I have done more than once, else would your punishment be delayed.”

Tedra stiffened and tried to pull away from him, but his hands held her firmly in place. This was to be her punishment? Now she knew why he’d been so amused when he told her earlier that she was deserving of punishment for her disrespect, and promised to see to it shortly. The man was diabolical. Who but a barbarian would think to punish a woman by making her want him?

She couldn’t let him get away with it. One or two beatings she could likely handle, but this? Desire was too new to her, and she was finding her reactions to it all involuntary. Such loss of control was unacceptable to a Sec, who must always be on top of any given situation. She wasn’t here as a Sec, but for a woman of pride, the consequences could be just as bad, if not worse.

Gathering every ounce of will she possessed, Tedra concentrated on ignoring the hands that were now gently kneading her breasts. She could feel the warm breeze on her face, the abrasive, shaggy coat of the hataar she straddled on her inner thighs, even the soft fur of her covering wherever it touched her skin, but not the barbarian’s hands. Her powers of concentration worked, and continued to work-until one of those clever hands discovered the wide-open junction of her legs, and then every sensation she had been ignoring slammed into her at once, and the new ones…

It was like melting, dissolving in hot flames. The finger that slipped inside her was the torch. Stars above, she’d never known such feeling! It stole he breath, took her out-of-mind. She now pressed back against the barbarian, giving him total access to her willing him not to stop. The pleasure was incredible deep inside her, spreading, humming for release. But release wasn’t in the scenario. What began as pleasure slowly but surely became an agony of frustration, of nerve-frazzling turbulence that gave not a moment’s respite. She trembled, she groaned, she squirmed all over that hataar and against her tormentor. Soon she’d be literally crying-and begging.

“Noooo!”

“What think you of Sha-Ka’an discipline, woman of Kystran?” the warrior asked her.

The voice had been calmness itself, grating along already raw nerves. “It… stinks!”

“Yet is it effective.”

This wasn’t a question, but a statement. Tedra didn’t care. It took enormous concentration just to hear him through the tumult in her mind. Commenting was even harder.

“Enough, Challen. I-I apologize.”

“That is good, but for what do you apologize?”

“For anything… everything… whatever you want.”

“You must be specific, woman; thus will you remember what earned you punishment.”

She wasn’t likely to ever forget this, but aloud she said, “I can’t think. I can’t take any more either. Challen, please-”

She cut herself short with a gasp. She still wasn’t ready to beg him to take her, but right about now she could cheerfully kill him-almost. She’d give anything to be able to at least fight him, and there were a number of things she could still do, bound wrists or not. But her honor stayed her hand, forcing her to endure his will even if it killed her. It just might.

The sob came when he brought his thumbs into play, one flicking at the hard kernel her nipple had become, the other against the equally hard nub of oversensitized skin between her legs. But the moment she began crying, the torment stopped. The agony of wanting him persisted, however, her body still screaming with need. Her crying persisted, too, because she knew only time would relieve the state of desire the barbarian had brought her to. He certainly wouldn’t.

He did wrap his thick arms around her, however, as if he meant to offer comfort. Tedra was barely aware of it, enough to wonder what he was up to now. Surely he didn’t regret what he’d just done.

“What is this hanky-panky you spoke of?”

If he was trying to distract her from her tears, he succeeded. “It’s an old Kystran Ancient’s word. It means fooling around, as in hands-on practice, but mutual practice, and mutual satisfaction derived from it. What you did was not that.”

“Nor was it meant to be,” he said simply, then sighed. “You do not take punishment well, kerima. ”

“You wanted me to beg, didn’t you?” she demanded bitterly.

“The sound of it would have been sweet.”

“I hate you,” she said, and then spoiled it by hiccuping.

He laughed. “Can a warrior not tease his woman?”

Was he serious? “I’m not your woman, just yours to order about for one month. And I give you warning, warrior. The very second that month is up, I’m probably going to kill you.”

“Now those are indeed the words of a woman sorely chastised. Truly, you are progressing, to reveal such womanly traits.”

She had to see the man who could spout such idiocy and turned to glance back at him. “I threaten to kill you and you call that womanly?”

He grinned at her, and took the opportunity while she was turned to very tenderly wipe the tears from her cheeks. “It is common for a woman to say such when she is feeling abused and has no other recourse. They are merely words, kerima, and not to be taken seriously.”

“Fine. You just continue thinking like that, babe. When you’re dead, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He gave her a look that said he heard what she’d called him, but was going to ignore it this once. Her second threat he didn’t even acknowledge.

“Punishment has a purpose. Do you learn from it, then your mistakes will not be repeated. It is not meant to hurt you, but I think you feel this is not so; thus I must regret the manner chosen to correct you. Had I known how quickly you could be brought to arousal, I would have refrained from touching you in such a sensitive place.”

He was apologizing? But she didn’t see him offering to make amends by giving her the relief she still needed, so a fat lot of good it did her. He was merely saying it hadn’t been his intention to arouse her to the point of tears, just to the point of regret. Big deal. Arousal was arousal as far as she was concerned. And that he’d forced it on her, without feeling the slightest bit himself… He really was made of stone. How the farden hell did he do it?