7 comments/ 35145 views/ 23 favorites Tasmin and the Djinn By: gypsygrrl Tasmin dug through the bin filled with junk idly, waiting for her boyfriend to finish bargaining for the chest that had caught his eye a week ago. She wished she was still in bed—8 am was obscenely early after closing at the bar the night before. But Jake had been most insistent, and after all the problems they'd been having of late, she'd dragged herself into the shower and dressed. If having her along was going to make him happy, she would go. The sunlight pouring through the dusty windows caught on a tiny bottle at the bottom of the bin, picking out enameled colors that had once been bright but were now faded, and she picked it up to study it with curious eyes. No longer than the length of her palm, it had a narrow neck and a wider bottom. It was surprisingly heavy for its small size, and dirty. But something about it tugged at her, and she wanted it. Glancing up at the sign above the wooden bin, she smiled. 'Everything here $3.' She had three singles in her wallet, and a handful of change. Just enough to cover the price and tax. Closing her fingers around it, she turned to walk to the back of the antique shop and the cash register. Jake's sunny mood had soured—he'd spent far more money on the chest than he wanted—but Tasmin couldn't bring herself to really care. The small shopping bag bumping against her thigh held her treasure, and the weight of it swinging from her hand cheered her immeasurably. Any other time her boyfriend's bad mood would have brought anxiety, and a need to make him feel better—but now she simply didn't care. She couldn't wait to get home and play with her new purchase—a little elbow grease and she just knew she could restore some of its brightness and sparkle. "Babe, are you listening to me?" She started when Jake dragged her to a halt, her smile faltering as she noticed his scowl. "Sorry, I was daydreaming," she admitted. He sighed, shoved his free hand through his hair. "I figured. Look, I'm tired and hungry, and have a thousand things to do later today. Why don't you catch a cab home and I'll call you later?" he said. "Sure, no problem," she answered. For a minute he looked surprised. Any other time she would have pleaded with him to stay out longer, spend the day with her. "I've got a few things to do today too, and I'm still a bit muzzy from last night," she said, and he nodded, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. "Great. I'll call you," he said, and loped off down the sidewalk. She watched him go and shook her head. No he wouldn't. He usually forgot. Normally it irritated her, but she knew they wouldn't last much longer. The past few months had been like this—the mood swings, the distance. She'd been hanging on, but now she wondered if she should just end it now, before it got any worse. Shaking off the thought—she'd think about it later—she stepped to the curb and hailed a cab. Tasmin loved her apartment. Old hardwood floors that she kept polished to a glossy shine, shabby-chic furniture that she'd collected over the years from friends and yard sales. She'd painted the walls a rich cream color to set off the rich colors of the old movie prints she'd had framed. Casablanca and The Maltese Falcon, Breakfast at Tiffany's and Funny Face all hung scattered across her apartment walls, matching the collection of DVDs in her entertainment center. She'd tried getting Jake to watch them with her, but he never would. Despite his passion for antique furniture, his taste in films ran more towards action and adventure. She locked her door behind her and kicked off her shoes in the foyer, padding barefoot through her living room and into the kitchen in search of something to clean her bottle with. The proprietor of the antique shop had told her to use a gentle cleaner and a soft rag so as not to damage the ornament, and she knew there had to be something she could use under the sink. Digging around in the cabinet, she found what she needed, and opened a drawer beneath the microwave for a washcloth. She sat at the battered kitchen table next to the window, pulling her treasure from its plain plastic bag, holding the little bottle up to the light. There was a ring just at the top, and she smiled as she realized she could thread a chain through it and wear the piece as a necklace. Cradling the piece carefully in one hand, she opened the bottle of cleaner one-handed, pouring a little of the thick white cream on the cloth, then bent her head to her work. Kynaston was brought from sleep slowly, his nose wrinkling as a nasty odor drifted to his nostrils. Leaf green eyes snapped open, and he sat up in his bed of silks with a frown. Something had changed. The wall beside him was warm, and that damn smell was becoming rather stifling. He became aware of a soft sound—humming—and his heart leapt. Could it be? Could someone be about to free him from his prison? He pressed a hand against the wall, felt it grow even warmer to the touch, and an exultant grin lit his beautiful face. Any second now—he felt himself begin to dissolve and laughed aloud. One minute she was alone, rubbing at the layers of dirt coating her bottle. The next there was a very large man standing on the other side of the table laughing. Tasmin's mouth dropped open at the sight, and she almost dropped her treasure. Carefully placing it on the table, she put down the dirty rag and tried not to let her panic show. "Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my apartment?" she snapped, and his laughter abruptly died. She found herself pinned to her seat by a pair of extraordinarily green eyes. "I'm the djinn of the bottle, Mistress," he said, sweeping her a low bow. Inky black hair slid over one shoulder, catching the light and shining with a thousand colors. Her eyebrows lifted. "A what?" "A djinn—a genie if you will. I am called Kynaston," he said. His voice was deep, velvety, and it washed over her like a caress. And then she realized what he had said, and her eyebrows slammed down in a scowl. "There's no such thing!" she growled. His eyebrow lifted. "No? Then what am I doing standing here?" he asked lightly. She blinked up at him. He had appeared out of nowhere. One minute she'd been alone, cleaning her purchase—rubbing it—oh. But really—a genie? "What do you want?" she asked cautiously. Maybe she was dreaming. A quick pinch to her arm—and a flash of pain. Okay, maybe not a dream. "To serve. I can grant you three wishes, Mistress. Anything at all you desire—but I can't bring back the dead, and I can't make anyone fall in love. Oh, and I can't give you unlimited wishes either," he said softly. She blinked up at him again. Either she was losing it, or there was a real genie in her apartment. "A djinn, not a genie," he said. "What?" she asked stupidly. She hadn't said that out loud. "No, you thought it—rather loudly I might add," he murmured, folding his arms across his chest. A rather broad, muscular chest. A very naked chest. "You can read my mind?" she squeaked, shoving back her chair. He shrugged. "Only when you're thinking very loudly. So Mistress, what's your first wish?" he asked. Her eyebrows lifted again and she mirrored his shrug. "I don't know. I've never really thought about it." "Never? Anything in the world—you can have it. Riches, power—anything," he said softly. She wanted to squirm beneath that gaze, but straightened her spine instead. "I have to think about it," she said, her chin lifting, just a little. He frowned, just a little, opening his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand. "You're not in a hurry, are you?" His frown deepened. "I have all the time in the world Mistress. Eons, actually. But you're very much human," he said through gritted teeth, and her head tipped to one side as she studied him. Hmmm—he was irritated. Why? She'd read too many stories and watched too many films where people made foolish wishes and were sorry later. "Are you a good gen—djinn," she corrected herself hastily when his frown turned to a scowl—"or a bad one?" If anything, his scowl deepened, his beautiful face darkening like a thundercloud. "There's no such thing as good and bad djinn. We're slaves—we grant what our Masters ask us to. Nothing more, and nothing less," he snapped. She sighed. "So if ask for a fortune, where does it come from? Do you merely create it out of thin air?" He shook his head. "It's not possible to create something from nothing." She frowned thoughtfully. Yes, she would have to be very careful what she wished for. She'd seen the Wishmaster movies—they were among Jake's favorites. "What if there's nothing that I want?" she asked. "It doesn't work that way. You have to wish—it's the rules," he said. She shook her head. "Then I need some time to think about it. I don't want to make the wrong wish—and have it blow up in my face. Until then—erm, I don't suppose you can go back in there?" she asked, gesturing to the bottle sitting innocently on the table. He sighed. "Do I have to? I've been stuck in there for years." His voice was almost plaintive. "How many years?" He shrugged. "My last Master called me forth somewhere in the 1400's." Her mouth fell open. "But it's 2007! You mean to tell me you've been in there for six hundred years!" she exclaimed, quickly doing the math. He nodded solemnly. "Something like that. And my home smells now." She glanced at the bottle of cleanser somewhat guiltily. "Sorry. I wanted to clean the bottle, and the owner of the store I bought it told me to use something gentle. I didn't mean to make your home smell." He shrugged. "I'll get used to it if I must." She shook her head, making up her mind quickly. "No, no—that won't be necessary. You can bunk down on my couch if you like. Um—do djinn sleep?" Amusement danced in his eyes. "Of course. And you're offer is very generous, Mistress," he said. She frowned again. "Stop with that Mistress stuff. My name is Tasmin," she said. He bowed again. "Yes Mist—Tasmin." She smiled up at him. Damn he was beautiful. She immediately squelched the thought—she didn't want him to know that. But his smile widened fractionally, and she knew that he had. He offered her another bow. "Thank you, Tasmin. And you may call me Kynaston if you like. It's been many centuries since anyone has used my name," he said solemnly, and she felt a pang. It must have been very lonely for him. "Of course—Kynaston. Um, I don't suppose you could cover up, could you?" Though she was no prude, but all that naked skin on display was quite distracting. She tried to remember if Jake had left any clothes in her closet, but a quick perusal of Kynaston's muscular form quickly made her discard that idea. He was built a lot bigger than her boyfriend, whose figure was leaner—bony almost. She shoved the thought away as uncharitable. She shouldn't be comparing Jake to the djinn—Jake was, after all, still her boyfriend. "Of course." He passed a hand across his body, and clothing materialized. She nearly swallowed her tongue. Tights hugged long muscular legs, and an open-necked shirt clung to his chest. "Um, a little out of date. We'll need to work on it, I think," she managed to say. Wow, he was gorgeous—and still distracting. She thought immediately of introducing him to television—"Kynaston, if I show you some modern men's clothes, can you make them for yourself?" He nodded. She rose from her chair, trying to avoid looking at him, and left the room. This was almost going to be fun. "Come on, I have something to show you," she said, and heard him follow. His new Mistress was very strange. She sat him down on what she called a couch—yet was unlike any furnishing he had ever seen—and pointed a slim device at a dark box. He'd nearly leapt out of skin when the box lit up—and had sat for hours looking at the pictures flashing on the front. She'd called it a TV—television—and he'd listened to her explanation in awe. That humans could put such lifelike pictures in such a small object—and make them move and talk! It fascinated him. This world was very different from the 15th century. He was wearing a pair of trousers like hers—imagine a woman showing her figure when all the ones he had ever seen had been covered from neck to knees—made of a fabric she called denim. His shirt was something she called a tee shirt, and made of the softest fabric imaginable. He touched it now as he stared down at the footwear she called boots—they were nothing like the boots he'd worn over the centuries, but were comfortable for all that. She'd called them Doc Martens—apparently now they names boots after doctors. Tasmin had spent hours explaining things to him—the world, modern marvels he saw on the TV, fashion—and he soaked it up like a sponge. And his Mistress herself—she was quite unlike any woman he had ever met—and quite unlike the moving pictures on the TV as well. Standing beside him, the top of her head barely reached his chin—which wasn't so different from the ladies he used to know, but she had mentioned that she was considered short for this time period. She wasn't beautiful—but her features were pleasing to his eye. Long, dark red hair she wore loose down her narrow back, big blue-gray eyes fringed with thick black eyelashes. Her features were gamine—like the picture on the wall of a woman called 'Audrey Hepburn', her mouth wide with a pouting lower lip, high cheekbones and a dusting of freckles across her nose. The pants he wore—called 'jeans'—skimmed her long legs, hinting at shape of her, and she wore a loose tee shirt like his own. He found himself entranced by the sight of her elegant little toes with their polished blue toenails, the narrowness of her feet. And her scent—he found himself inhaling deeply as she sat beside him on the couch, drawing that rich, spicy aroma deep into his lungs. Tasmin was different all right—and he found himself approving of her intelligent decision concerning her wishes. Too many Master and Mistresses had wished blindly, with very little thought at all. And they almost always wound up very unhappy in the end. The small woman beside him was smarter than the rest—and he admired her for it. And as long as she thought about what she wanted, the longer he would be hers. He found the prospect surprisingly cheery. Tasmin was very glad that she had the night off. Kynaston soaked up information at a rapid rate, and she found herself enjoying his wonder and his intelligent questions. And he looked very at home on her couch, almost like he belonged in her apartment. She drew up short at that thought. He wasn't a permanent addition to her life. She knew he would be gone as soon as she made her last wish—he'd told her that both he and his bottle would disappear. And though she thought about never making a wish and keeping him around, he'd also told her that one day he would be free. He would serve a certain number of Masters—the exact number was uncertain—and the bottle would simply disappear, and he would be his own master. She couldn't be selfish and keep him, no matter how much he fascinated her. The phone rang around 9 o'clock, and she smiled when Kynaston jumped, looking around a bit wildly. "Relax—it's just the phone. I'll be right back," she said, rising from her seat. The right side of her body was warm from his closeness. Padding across the room, she grabbed the portable phone off the table set against far wall, clicking it on. "Hello?" "Tas—we need to talk, babe." Jake. The sound of his voice brought a surge of guilt—she'd been enjoying her djinn's company so much she'd forgotten all about her boyfriend. A quick glance back at Kynaston showed him engrossed with the reality show playing on TV, and she went into her bedroom, closing the door almost all the way behind her. "What's up, Jake?" she asked, sprawling across the bed. She was surprised he'd called. "Tas, things haven't been going well for awhile now—you know that and I know that," he said, and she sat up straight, frowning. She opened her mouth to reply, but he went on. "I think it's safe to say we're over. We like different things, and to tell the truth, you're not quite what I want anymore." Her heart plummeted. "What? What do you mean?" she asked softly, feeling tears prick the insides of her eyelids. "You smother me—and you just don't do it for me anymore. Honestly, you never really did in the first place." She frowned. "What the hell does that mean?" she snapped. He sighed. "I mean you bore me in bed, Tas. You're not exciting, and all I feel is dread when we're together. You're frigid," he said. She swallowed hard, feeling as she'd been slapped. It was true that he didn't make her climax—but she'd read that lots of women were like that. "I'm sorry Tas, but I've met someone else. I hope we can still be friends," he said, and the cheery tone of his voice made her feel sick. "I don't think that's a good idea Jake. Good bye," she said quietly, then hung up. The phone fell from numb fingers, and she curled on her side, hugging her knees to her chest as the tears came. Something was wrong. Kynaston could feel it—and the wrongness came from his Mistress's bedroom. He stood, uncertain whether he should check on her or not—and a terrible sense of grief overwhelmed him, deciding him. He rushed to the bedroom, door, shoving the door open and racing inside—only to be drawn up short by the sight of Tasmin curled on her side on the bed, her sobs quiet but still audible. He fell to his knees beside her, reaching out to push her hair out of her face, and she jerked away. "Go away!" she wailed. "Mistress, Tasmin, what's wrong? Are you injured?" he asked. Her face was streaked with tears, her nose bright red, and her eyes swollen. She shook her head. "He broke up with me!" she cried. He saw the phone lying beside her on the brightly colored counterpane, and understanding dawned. She'd explained that people could talk to each other on these little devices, even across oceans—and he realized that she must have gotten some bad news. "Who? What?" "My boyfriend—he just called and told me it was over—and he called me fr-frigid!" she stuttered the last part, and his expression darkened. He didn't know the word 'boyfriend', but he did understand frigid. A boyfriend must be a lover—and hers had just ended their relationship, rather badly as well. He'd had plenty of Masters and Mistresses over the centuries, but Tasmin was by far the nicest—even if she was frigid, she was still a sweet person. She'd been so patient with him, explaining her world, teasing him gently, her face wreathed in laughter that he found entirely enchanting—and he'd forgotten for awhile that she was indeed his Mistress. She sat up, swiping at her face angrily. "I know what my first wish will be, Kynaston," she said grimly, and his heart sank. And so it would begin. She would seek revenge, and his illusion of her would be ripped away. He felt something inside him wither and die. "As you wish, Mistress," he said tonelessly. She took a deep breath, drawing herself up. "I wish I was irresistible to men." His mouth dropped open. Not quite what he expected, and a trickle of dread slid icy fingers down his spine. She'd phrased it correctly, so he had no choice but to grant it. Power filled him, burst free to surround her. "Done," he said in a dull voice. She wiped her face again, and smiled. But he couldn't smile back. He knew they would both regret this wish. Tasmin didn't understand why the djinn looked so grim. After she'd wished last night, she thought he would be happy. Two more and he would be that much closer to freedom. It was nearly 8 o'clock the following night, and she was dressing carefully for work. Tonight she would see a change—men would flock to her at the bar like they did the other bartenders. She would be the center of attention at last. No more ignoring her while they flirted with her prettier co-workers. No more pitying looks when Cassie and Gwen and Frieda talked about their conquests. Tonight was her night to shine. 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. Tasmin and the Djinn "Free. So your life is your own." Joy filled him. "Done!" he shouted, sitting up, and he felt the weight of invisible chains disappear even as his arms went around her. She sniffled, and he raised her face to his. "Will you share your life with me Tasmin? I'm immortal—I can grant you eternity at my side," he murmured, cupping her beloved little face in his hands. "Eternity's a long time, Kynaston," she said softly, and he stilled. Maybe she didn't want him? "Why did you free me, Tasmin?" he asked quietly. She shrugged, though her eyes filled with tears. " 'If you love someone, you let them go'. So I let you go. I couldn't bear the thought of you being a slave," she said quietly. A broad smile curved his mouth. "You love me?" She nodded. "Say it. Please?" he asked. "I love you Kynaston." He laughed out loud with sheer joy, then caught her mouth with his, kissing her deeply. "I love you too, Tasmin. Now about eternity?" he asked, once he'd let her up for air. She was smiling now too, and framed his face between her hands. "Yes. I would love to spend eternity by your side," she said, and he caught her close, flipping her onto her back once more as power filled the air and twined around them.