Tasmin and the Djinn

Tasmin had insisted that he come to work with her.

The bar was loud, and the women wore brief little gowns and skin tights pants and skimpy tops. Tasmin herself was wearing a barely-there shirt she called a halter, and a tiny little skirt that he privately thought showed far too much of her sleek legs. She'd painted her face with cosmetics, and he had to fight the urge to wash it all off—he much preferred her face naked of paints. Even though he'd seen the women on the television all wearing the stuff, he hadn't thought the ladies of this time to do so as well. Only whores had used cosmetics the last time he was out of the blasted bottle.

And that was another thing. She was wearing his home on a thin golden chain around her neck, the enameled object nestled between the curve of her breasts, drawing the eye downward to the plump white mounds. He found himself hardening at the sight—and his reaction disturbed him. She was his Mistress, he shouldn't be feeling anything near lust for her. He'd had hundreds of women over the centuries—woman far more beautiful than this little bit of a thing, but the sight of those slim curves were driving him to distraction. The only reason he'd agreed to go to work with her was that trickle of foreboding he'd been feeling ever since she'd made her wish.

Tasmin laughed gaily and flirted madly as she worked the bar. Her fellow bartenders were confused by the change in her—and the change in the patrons' reactions to her.

She had them eating out of her hand, and the joy that filled her kept bubbling forth.

She dispensed drinks and made change and her tip jar was overflowing.

She took napkins with phone numbers scrawled across them in bold handwriting, collected business cards and flirted—but some of her joy was dimmed by the scowl on Kynaston's face. He sat at the end of the bar, watching her, watching her customers—and ignoring the waitresses that tried to catch his eye and the other bartenders trying to flirt. His attention was focused solely on her, and it was beginning to make her uncomfortable.

Finally she took a break, making her way over to his stool, her gaiety completely gone as he turned that dark countenance upon her. She fingered the bottle between her breasts thoughtfully and made up her mind. He was being a killjoy—but she could remedy that easily enough.

"Get in," she said. His eyes widened.

"What?"

"I said 'get in'. You're making me uncomfortable. You can come back out when I call you," she snapped. His expression darkened further, but he had to obey.

She watched as he simply disappeared, and the trinket she wore tingled, Glancing around, she was relieved to see that no one had noticed, hoping they all would figure that he'd merely left. She should have taken him somewhere more private, but she hadn't been thinking. She'd just wanted him to stop glowering at her.

But he'd effectively ruined her good mood. She still flirted half-heartedly with the customers, but she refused invitations for dates. She crumpled up phone numbers and shook her head at business cards. Being irresistible was more exhausting than she'd thought.

By the end of the night she just wanted to go home and go to bed.

She totaled her receipts, counted her tips and said good night to the rest of the employees, leaving the bar by herself like she always did.

Her footsteps echoed oddly in the still night as she made her way down the deserted streets. She'd parked father away from the bar than usual, but Kynaston had been at her side, and the streets had been alive with people.

Now they were empty of life, and somehow frightening. She touched the bottle around her neck, ready to call her djinn back and apologize, but she never got the chance.

There were hands on her, yanking her into a narrow little alley, and cursed when she was slammed against a wall.

A dirty palm slapped across her mouth before she could scream, and the faint moonlight filtering between the two buildings forming the alley caught on the blade of a knife. Her eyes widened in fear at the sight of the weapon.

"Scream and you're dead," a low voice hissed in her ear, and she nodded frantically. There were three of them, dressed in dark clothing that had seen better days, and she could smell the reek of unwashed bodies rising off of them.

The knife lowered, and she choked back a yell as she felt it graze her skin, followed by cool air as the one holding the knife sliced her clothing off.

"A bit skinny, but nice enough," the one holding her left arm said, and the one on her other side chuckled—the one who had told her that they would kill her.

The one holding the knife ran the tip of the blade in a circle around her nipple—pebbled into a hard nub by the coolness of the air caressing her skin—and he laughed softly.

"I think she likes us." His free hand squeezed her other breast hard, and she couldn't stop the whimper that escaped her throat.

"Give her something to shut her up, Luke," the one that had threatened her growled, and she moaned as the knife-wielder's hand shot down to his zipper. Oh god—they were going to rape her!

She was forced to her knees, and a hand fisted in her hair, dragging her head forward as a large cock was shoved into her mouth, gagging her with its length and the strong odor of old sweat emanating from his groin.

The one covering her mouth kicked her legs apart, and the one who had originally spoken transferred his grip, yanking both of her arms above her head as his partner knelt behind her. She heard the sounds of zippers 'burring'—one behind her, one at her side—and struggled against their hold. But they were bigger than her, and stronger—and the one behind her thrust hard into her dryness, wrenching a scream of agony from her throat. Nothing emerged but a croak as the one in her mouth thrust deeper, and she felt tears pour down her cheeks—they would kill her after this, surely they would. The one holding her arms imprisoned bent a little, so she could see him stroking himself, and leered down at her.

"Well, well—what's this?"

His dirty fingers touched the bottle, stroking down it. She shook her head frantically—god only knew what they could do with 3 wishes—but he yanked at it, snapping the fragile gold chain with ease.

"Pretty little bauble—should felt a few dollars at the pawn shop," he murmured, rubbing greasy fingers across the bright surface, just as the one fucking her withdrew. She breathed a sigh of relief—only to feel him press against her virgin asshole.

She shrieked at the unbelievable pain as he began to sink inside, choking on the dirty cock in her mouth, weeping at her stupidity. She'd brought this on herself, and now Kynaston would be forced to serve these vile men. He didn't deserve this.

He felt the walls warm around him, and wished he could ignore the summons. She'd forced him back into his prison, like a, a—slave! He'd thought she was different, but she was bad as the others.

His body began to dissolve, and he let the fury fill him—he was going to have a thing or two to say to his Mistress, and she would damn well listen.

One minute there were three men in the alley, the next four.

Tasmin's eyes widened when Kynaston appeared, and hope filled her. The thug that had taken the bottle must have rubbed the trinket in just the right way to free the djinn. But then her heart sank as she realized that Kynaston was likely to be no help—not after she had treated him so badly.

Kynaston opened his mouth to let her have it when he realized that they were not in her apartment—and that she wasn't alone.

There were three men around her, and she was on her knees, naked. Even in the dim light of the moon he could see the tears streaking her face, and the terror and fear in her wide eyes. His rage deepened as he realized what was happening.

"Let her go," he ordered softly. The one gripping her arms above her head looked up with a snarl.

"Mind your own business, mate. We found her first."

Kynaston took a step forward; saw that this dirty man held the bottle. "I said, 'Let. Her. GO.'"

His fury became a tangible thing, filling the air around them, suffocating in its intensity. The one holding her stumbled backwards, dropping the djinn's bottle to the ground, and his two companions let her go as well.

"Leave, before I decide to kill you all," the djinn said, his voice soft and menacing. They fled at the sound of his voice, at the images he put into their heads of just what he would do to them if they didn't obey, and he watched them go with satisfaction.

A soft moan drew his attention back to his Mistress, and he cursed himself as he saw her lying in the filth, her body instinctively curling upon itself.

"Tasmin—gods, Tasmin, I'm sorry," he muttered, falling to his knees beside her.

"S-sorry, so sorry. Was mean to you," she mumbled, coughing weakly.

"Shh—quiet. Let's get you home, okay?" he murmured, scooping her up into his arms, cradling her protectively against his chest.

"Okay. Bottle—did they get you're bottle?" she mumbled, head lolling against his shoulder, and he bent, scooping his prison up.

"No, I have it. Be quiet now," he murmured, and she nodded slowly, closing her eyes.

He willed them both invisible as he left the alley and headed for her car.

He laid her on her bed carefully, scowling when he saw the blood that slicked her inner thighs, her swollen lips where the one raping her mouth had forced the tender flesh against her teeth.

"I wish I was healed," she murmured sleepily. He inhaled sharply. He could have healed her without a wish—now she only had one left.

"Done."

She smiled slowly as torn flesh knitted, the deep stabbing pain inside faded away to nothing.

"I could have fixed you, Tasmin. You wasted a wish," he growled. She pushed herself upright cautiously, her eyes darkening at his tone.

"I would have thought that would make you happy, Kynaston. Only one more to go and you'll be rid of me. I was stupid—I was hurt and angry with Jake, and made a foolish wish because of it. Thank you for rescuing me, and I'm sorry I forced you back into your bottle. Does it smell terribly?" she asked tentatively.

He sighed, shoving his hands through his long hair, casting his gaze up to the ceiling.

"It's bearable—just. What were you thinking—walking by yourself to your car?" he snapped. She shrugged.

"I wasn't. I was going to call you back when they grabbed me. I guess being irresistible isn't all that it's cracked up to be."

"You needn't have wished for it. You're irresistible enough as it is," he sighed, looking at her face. If he concentrated, he could avoid looking at all that sleek pale skin. He hardened further, and was glad he still wore his jeans. Those hose he'd first conjured would show his erection clearly—as would his usual naked state. Her head tilted to one side as she gazed up at him, her hair sliding over her shoulders—and he fought back his groan. His fingers fairly itched to sink into that rich silk. Gods he wanted her—but she was his Mistress, and after being raped, he couldn't touch her. One of the ladies of his previous Master's household had been raped, and she'd been skittish around men for years afterwards, finally taking her own life. He couldn't do that to Tasmin.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, confusion writ across her delicate features. He looked away, gritting his teeth as the urge to touch her became nearly overwhelming. In such a short time she'd wormed her way past his defenses. He was djinn, and as hot-blooded as the rest of his race. And her sweetness and laughter entranced him. She had one wish left—and he would be gone once she made it. It could be centuries until he was free, and she would probably be long gone by then. She could wish for immortality, and he would come to her when he could. But he wasn't allowed to suggest wishes.

"Kynaston?"

He heard the bedclothes rustle and looked at her, only to find that she had knelt up, her body tantalizingly close—and he was lost.

His mouth came down on hers, his hands sliding into the richness of her hair, tugging her head back for better access to her lips. His tongue traced her lower lip, slipped inside her mouth when they parted on a gasp, and he lost himself in the taste of her. Any minute the panic would come, and she would shove him away, and he wanted to taste her as deeply as he could before that happened.

Tasmin went still when he kissed her, her mind stuttering to a halt in astonishment.

But the fire that raced through her wouldn't allow it. She moaned against his lips, her arms sliding over his shoulders and hands fisting in his hair as she kissed him back.

The desire that swept through her was new and strange and he was the cause for it.

His mouth gentled on hers, slowing the kiss, and she tugged him backwards, falling beneath him among the mussed covers.

"Tasmin—," he lifted his mouth long enough to groan her name, and she came back to herself abruptly. The wish she had made the night before. Of course—he didn't really want her. She tried scrambling out from beneath him, but he caught her gently, his eyes hot and dark green on her face. The ivory skin over his razor sharp cheekbones was flushed, and his full mouth was damp and reddened. That long hair cascaded over his shoulders around his face, curtaining them off from the world.

"I'm sorry Kynaston. I forgot about my wish," she said breathlessly. Something flashed in his eyes before his face wiped clean of expression.

"You know your third wish?" he asked in a neutral voice, but she shook her head.

"My first wish. You only want me because of my first wish." It hurt to say it, but there was no other reason a beautiful man—a beautiful, powerful djinn—could possibly want her. She was pretty, but no beauty. And frigid in the bargain.

He burst out laughing, his expression changing as he gazed down at her tenderly, shaking his head slowly.

"Tasmin, love, the wish doesn't affect me. It's my magic that grants it, so I'm immune to its effects," he said, and his gaze heated when it dropped back to her mouth.

"It doesn't?" she asked. He shook his head.

"No."

"But why are you kissing me?" she asked. His expression grew hotter, his smile widening.

"Because I want you. I told you that you needn't have wished to be irresistible—you already are to me. I've wanted you from the minute I appeared in your kitchen, and it will break my heart to lose you," he said, lowering his head once more.

His mouth grazed hers, teeth nipping at her lower lip before he took her mouth deeply once more.

She kissed him back, the joy that had died earlier returning her. He wanted her—found her irresistible!

Her legs slid up the outside of his, and his mouth left hers to trail a fiery path down her chin to her neck, an encouraging moan escaping his throat as she wound her body around his, legs wrapping loosely around his hips.

"You have too many clothes on," she whispered, and his breath exploded against her skin on a soft chuckle. Denim and cotton disappeared, and he lay fully naked against her—his skin warm and sleek over rippling muscle.

His body slid down hers, his mouth and hands trailing over her flesh, igniting the desire to a white-hot pitch, teasing and taking his time about it. And she opened herself to him fully.

Frigid!

Hah!

Tasmin was far from frigid. She responded to him beautifully, her body undulating beneath his hands and mouth and the sweetest moans and whimpers of pleasure tearing from her throat as he moved lower and lower until he was between her legs, his broad shoulders holding her open.

Her sex was a tender pink, and she was hot and wet for him—pearls of moisture visible on the nether lips, tempting him to taste.

He held her carefully open, licked up into her slowly—and she nearly came up off the bed in response, his name a startled cry on her lips.

Her hands fisted in his hair, and he looked up at her to see the astonishment clear on her face—and he cursed her ex-lover even as he felt a surge of gratitude towards the man for being an ass. If he hadn't broken things off with her, Kynaston wouldn't be in her bed, giving her pleasure—and he knew that he would be the one to give her her first climax. The thought made him downright possessive.

He lowered his mouth to her again, tasting her deeply, and had to slide his arms under her, his hands on her waist to hold her to him.

She tasted so good that he didn't want to stop, and her wordless cries grew in volume as he drive her to edge—then over.

She convulsed in his arms, crying out his name, and he gentled his attack on her until she eased, only moving back up her body when she lie still beneath him.

She stared up at him in astonishment—she'd had no idea that it could be like this. And something in chest squeezed as she looked up into his face. Her feeling for Jake had been pale in comparison.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly, and she nodded dumbly as she realized that she was in love with him. It was fast, and probably too soon, but it felt right.

"Good."

His hands closed around her thighs, urging them back around his hips, and she wrapped her legs around him as anticipation built inside her.

HE positioned himself against her, rolled his hips and began to sink into her head—groaning through clenched teeth as she closed around him like a snug velvet glove. She was hot, and unbelievably tight, and right at that moment all his.

He watched her eyes go wide as he filled her, glaze as her internal muscles gripped him like a vise—and groaned again as he sank all the way in to the hilt. He had to hold himself perfectly still lest he spill himself right then and there.

She wriggled her hips experimentally—god, he was big, and he fitted her perfectly.

He groaned at the movement, wrapped his arms around her to hold her close as he began to thrust—slowly so as not to hurt her.

He moved inside her, gliding in and out, and she whimpered softly, straining upwards to catch his mouth, sighing as their lips met.

He kissed her deeply, his thrusts speeding up, and he gripped her shoulders as he felt her tighten.

And another climax exploded over her, and she held onto him as the world shattered, crying his name into his mouth, arms and legs tightening around his big body.

He felt his orgasm build, boiling up his shaft, exploding deep within her as he cried out her name, his fingers tightening with bruising force on her shoulders as her tight sheathe pulsed around him. It went on for what seemed minutes—an eternity—and he filled collapsed on top of her, his face against the cure of her elegant neck.

It broke her heart, but she knew she had to let him go.

"Kynaston," she whispered, and after a minute he rolled to his back, bringing her with him so she was sprawled bonelessly across his chest.

"Mmm?" he murmured, and she raised her head to see him lying beneath her with closed eyes, a blissful smile on his face.

"If you were free, what would happen? Would you be human? Lose your powers?" she asked. His mouth drew into a frown, and his eyes slid partway open.

"What? No, I'm a djinn."

She steeled herself, sat up. He was still inside her, and the throb of pleasure made her weaken. But she forced herself to continue.

"I know my third wish."

His mouth drew into a scowl, and she didn't miss the hurt that flashed in his eyes before his expression smoothed.

"As you wish, Mistress." His voice was cool, and she swallowed hard. If you loved someone, you let them go—wasn't that the old expression?

"For my third wish, Kynaston of the Djinn—," she paused, swallowed away the tears. "I wish you free."

For a moment he stared up at her, his expression blank. And then her words sank in.

"Free?" he asked carefully, not sure if he'd heard her right. She nodded, trying to smile, but there was pain in those big blue-gray eyes.