“One day, you will never leave my side, Antonia.” Gawain cupped her bottom, his strong hands warm and firm and quivers of need claimed her pussy. She could not leave without loving him one more time.
“One day, perhaps.” Every day in her dreams. She forced a smile to her lips so he could not guess her thoughts. “But alas, that day is not today.”
“No.” His eyes darkened. “Not today.” He made it sound as though the fact she would one day remain by his side was a foregone conclusion. Or was she so blinded by her own love and need for him that she was seeing more in his every word and gesture?
In the end, it didn’t matter, except to her heart. The outcome would be the same, however he felt about her.
She slid her hands beneath his braccae, her fingers clinging to the taut curve of his backside. Still clasping her bottom he tugged her against him and his erection dug into her belly. The proof of his arousal sent swirls of need pulsing between her thighs, a desperate need that after today would never again be satisfied.
She sank against him and felt his cock thicken farther. His grip on her arse became predatory, unyielding, and her pussy throbbed for his possession. She rose onto her toes, deliberately sliding her body against his rigid shaft, and his groan of frustration echoed through the room.
“I’m going to make love to you.” Her promise whispered against his lips and he grinned in clear appreciation. Their affair had begun through pure desire and the need to experience something other than her former husband’s selfish touch. It was only sex, the joining of a man and woman for mutual satisfaction. How little she had truly known. Had she really imagined she could walk away at the end of this liaison with nothing but enhanced sexual knowledge to show for it?
When she left Gawain today, he would despise her. But in time, when he recalled their last encounter, she wanted him to remember it with fire in his blood and passion in his heart. Even if the fire was nothing more than lust and the passion stoked with fury, she wanted, more than anything, for him to never forget her.
No matter how selfish that desire was.
“You read my mind.” His hands molded her waist, his heat scorching through her gown and branding her flesh. How easy it would be to let him make love to her, to savor every touch and cherish every demanding kiss.
She still intended to savor and cherish but for once, he would not be in control.
“No.” She tugged his braccae over his thighs, her breasts crushed against his broad chest. “You are going to be under my command, Gawain. All you have to do is suffer my touch.”
He laughed, and with a swift movement ripped his braccae down his legs and tossed them across the floor. She smiled and shook her head in mock displeasure at his instant response to take over.
“Then make me suffer, my lady. My body is in your hands.” Amusement threaded through every word and to underscore his surrender he took a step back from her.
Her gaze traveled over his beloved face. Beneath the torn and bruised flesh, his proud, aristocratic bearing was plainly visible. His dark blond hair hung loose to his shoulders and the enchanting amber flecks in his irises were all but obliterated as desire darkened his eyes.
His muscled shoulders were worthy of the greatest warrior, but she knew only too well how comforting it could be to lay her head against them. His chiseled chest, scored with old scars and discolored by his recent abuse, would strike fear into any enemy. Yet how tenderly he had often held her against him, when the thud of his heart soothed her wounded soul.
“And what a beautiful body you have.” Hunger gnawed the pit of her stomach as she devoured the hard planes of his abdomen. A hunger she knew would torment her for the rest of her life.
“My body isn’t beautiful, Antonia.” He sounded on the verge of laughing again, but did not attempt to pull her into his arms. “Now your body, that is a different matter. And you’re not playing fair. Why are you still dressed when I’m naked for your blatant delight?”
For a moment, she caught his gaze. His eyes were warm, not only with lust. He had taught her that sex could be fun and even if she hadn’t been foolish enough to fall in love with him, for that reason alone he would always hold a special place in her heart.
“Who said I intended to play fair?” And because she knew how much he enjoyed touching her hair, she slid one finger into a ringlet that fell over her shoulder. He watched, mesmerized, as she gently tugged on her curl with her thumb while her finger rotated inside the silken threads.
“I see you plan to torture me before I’m subjected to your touch.”
“Such a cruel thought had never crossed my mind.” She pulled her ringlet to the limit of its endurance before letting it spring back into place. Gawain’s gaze remained riveted on her hair, and she took the opportunity to admire the perfect musculature of his flat stomach.
And his thick, glorious cock that jutted proudly upward across his belly. Pleasurable cramps rippled between her thighs, and heat bathed her sensitive pussy. She wanted to press herself against him, rub her tender lips along his swollen rod and gain a measure of instant satisfaction.
But if she did that, he would wrap her in his arms. Sweep her onto his bed and worship her body in the way only Gawain knew how. And she would let him and forever curse her lack of resolve.
Instead, she stepped toward him and slowly speared her fingers through his hair, tugging at his temples, letting the soft strands caress her palms. Once again she rolled onto her toes and this time brushed her lips over his.
He cupped her hips but didn’t tug her forward. He seemed content, at the moment, to endure whatever form of torture she devised.
She nibbled his bottom lip and felt him smile, but he didn’t open his mouth for her. Her fingers tightened in his hair, holding him still, although he had shown no indication of moving.
She slid the tip of her tongue along the seam of his mouth, sculpting his shape, probing for entry. Finally he opened for her and a breathy sigh escaped as she delved inside.
Their tongues touched. His fingers trailed up from her hips, molding the dip of her waist. Knife sharp prickles of sensation shivered over her skin, even though she was not even naked. Her nipples pebbled and she struggled against the primal urge to flatten herself against Gawain’s hard body for momentary relief.
His tongue invaded her willing mouth, intent on possession. She wound his hair around her fingers, loving his length, the silken strands; the way he growled in her mouth as she tugged on him.
She loved the feel of him inside her, the tip of his tongue exploring. Gently she sucked on him, and a feral need awakened deep within her aching cleft.
She wanted more.
Panting she pulled back and stared into his dark eyes. His breathing was ragged and his hands curled around her rib cage, his thumbs grazing the undersides of her breasts. She dragged her fingers through his hair and cradled his face, the roughness of his unshaved jaw prickling her palms.
She stretched up and brushed a butterfly kiss across his torn flesh. With tender dedication, she kissed his bruised and battered skin, as though by doing so she could somehow help him heal.
“Do you intend to kiss every injury with such devotion?” His voice was husky as he angled his head so she could gain easier access to his throat.
“Yes.” She breathed the word against his pulse, inhaling his evocative scent and this time detecting the underlying hint of astringent that had been used to clean his wounds. She screwed her eyes shut for a moment, forced the shadowy fears away. Gawain was safe. He would remain safe. She had the praetor’s word.
“Do you wish me to show you my most severe injuries?” His cock jerked against her belly as he spoke and she gave a soft laugh at his unvoiced hope.
“No. I can manage by myself, thank you.” She chanced another look into his eyes and the potent combination of amusement and desire caused liquid heat to trickle between her thighs. She stirred restlessly then stilled as Gawain rubbed his thumbs over her throbbing nipples. “Do you wish me to stop?
”
He groaned in mock defeat and abandoned her nipples to cradle her bottom. She wasn’t sure that helped. His hands on her body were a delightful distraction no matter where he put them.
“I’m at your mercy, my lady. Do with me what you will.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Antonia slid her hands to his throat and then sculpted the rock-hard contours of his shoulders. Gently she pressed her lips against his bruised chest and Gawain shifted beneath her touch.
“Am I—?” She didn’t have the chance to finish her question as his fingers dug into her bottom and jerked her roughly against his erection.
“No.” His voice was as rough as his actions. “You’re not hurting me. But I wish to the gods that you would.”
“Oh.” She offered him a wicked smile and before he could react to that she dipped her head and sucked his nipple. Hard.
“Enchantress.” It sounded like a curse.
He tasted of the forest, wild, fresh, with intriguing salty undertones. She tantalized him with her teeth and scraped her nails along his rigid biceps. She knew he wanted her to bite harder, to gouge his flesh. And although she also knew that no matter what she did it was unlikely she could ever hurt him, she simply couldn’t do it.
And so her fingernails teased him and her teeth tormented him with a restrained passion. The constraints she imposed fueled her own desire and she pressed her thighs together and squirmed helplessly.
“Remove this gown.” Gawain’s voice was hoarse as he began to tug her gown up around her hips. She wriggled and slapped his hand, then gripped his wrist in warning.
“Stop distracting me.”
“I want to distract you. You’re concentrating far too hard. I won’t bleed.” He paused for a fleeting moment as she attempted to sling him a sizzling look of displeasure. And failed. “Even if I do bleed, I assure you, I’ll greatly enjoy it.”
He had already bled because of her. His face would be scarred because of her. She knew, in her head, this was completely different and yet her heart flinched at inflicting more pain on him. Even if this pain would give him nothing but pleasure.
“It’s not your place to instruct your torturer on how to proceed.”
“I’m having second thoughts about being your willing victim.”
“Trust me.” She traced the sensual outline of his lips with her finger and managed to avoid his attempt to suck her inside his mouth. “I will make it worth your while.”
He dropped her gown with a flourish. “Just remember, everything you inflict upon me I intend to repay with interest.”
Her throat closed and she couldn’t answer. What could she say? Blatantly lie to him that she looked forward to his sexual retribution when she knew it was nothing but an impossible dream?
She avoided eye contact by once again lavishing attention on his injuries. She kissed and licked every graze, every discolored bloom of flesh, while her fingernails raked a featherlight touch across his biceps and forearms. His hair tickled her fingers and as she moved down his body, his dusting of chest hair caressed her cheek and lips.
The head of his cock, slick with desire, rammed against her chin and she froze. Gawain growled; a primal sound that vibrated the length of his hard body. But he didn’t grip her head, didn’t try to force her to do what he so very clearly wanted her to do.
She swallowed, felt his shaft move against her throat. Slowly she rose, and inched her way around Gawain until she faced his back. The indentation of a chain lash striped across his magnificent shoulders and her stomach clenched in shame.
Her fault.
“Do you wish me to pose for your pleasure?” There was a strained note in his voice, although the glance he slung over his shoulder showed dark amusement. Without waiting for an answer, he flexed his biceps, showing the breathtaking contours of his perfect musculature across his shoulders and torso.
Instinctively she stepped back, so she could more easily admire the play of muscles across his lower back and tight arse. Her mouth dried and fingers clutched her gown at the hypnotic show. He moved as if intent on capturing her interest, the way a pleasure slave might.
The thought slapped across her mind, a frigid, unwelcome thought. She gripped his arms, momentarily pressing her body against his back to still his provocative display.
“Enough.” Her voice was husky with need. She wanted him to hold her, to tell her everything was going to be all right. If she showed the slightest vulnerability, he would do just that. And she would despise herself for always, even more than she did right now. “You distract me to the edge of my reason.”
“And I, Antonia, am barely clinging to the edge of my reason.”
Despite her fatalistic thoughts, she smiled. He could always make her smile. She pressed a kiss over his shoulder blade and he flexed it one more time in arrogant disregard of her command.
She worked her way down his back until she kneeled on the floor, eye level with his buttocks. She had only seen one other male backside before Gawain’s, and there was no comparison. Holding her erratic breath, she ran her finger along his spine and dipped into the crevice between his taut arse cheeks.
He jerked, obviously not expecting such a touch and widened his stance. “Better?” His voice was deliciously raw with frustrated need.
Her heart thundered in her breast and her breath escaped in a ragged gasp. Speech was beyond her. She traced the curve of his firm arse to the inside of his thigh and then repeated the maneuver on his other taut cheek.
His fists clenched against his thighs, the muscles on his forearms and biceps bulging with reined in tension. The knowledge that he was holding back so she could explore and learn his body caused a bittersweet pain to engulf her heart.
She slid her arms around his thighs and pressed her cheek against the firm swell of his backside. He curled his hands around her arms, just above her wrists. It was a light touch, one of tenderness. To convey he wanted to touch her, not command her. No matter how much he might wish to.
The tips of her fingers stroked his shaft. He was hot, hard and the sensation was enhanced because she could not see his impressive organ.
Her breath was uneven as she cupped his heavy sac. His light grip on her arms tightened and his arse tensed. Daringly, she nipped his succulent flesh and squeezed his vulnerable balls. His Celtic curse ricocheted around the room and his fingers bit into her arms.
“Be still,” she panted, her gaze riveted on the mark of possession she had inflicted on him. “I didn’t draw blood.”
His hoarse laugh sounded pained. “I can’t promise to remain still. Your methods of torture slay me.”
She smiled and couldn’t resist giving his backside another leisurely nibble. His cock jerked in her hand and her grip around him tightened. His shaft was so thick her finger and thumb could not meet around him. The memories of all the times he had filled her hammered through her mind and her pussy quivered with need.
“I haven’t finished yet.” Her whisper was jagged and in response, he flexed his arse in a deliberately provocative manner. She slid her hand along his rigid length and then brushed her thumb over his wet slit. His moan of appreciation rumbled through his chest.
Slowly she pulled back and curled her hands over his hips. He didn’t move a muscle, simply waited for her next move.
Nerves and anticipation fluttered in her stomach. She wanted to do this. She could do this. Because he was Gawain, and he expected nothing from her that she was not willing to give.
“Turn around.” Her voice didn’t sound like her own. She sounded like a sultry siren from ancient myths.
He turned, and she stared in silent worship at his glorious cock. She had often looked at it, touched it, and the truth was that this part of his body fascinated her. But she had never put her mouth to him. He had never asked her to, after that first humiliating time when she had made a fool of herself.
“You look like a goddess kneeling at my feet.” There was a note of awe in his voice as if he coul
d not quite believe his eyes. “A goddess should not kneel before a mortal man.”
His words tore through the web of nerves that threatened to overcome her. She looked up at him and caught the reverential expression on his face. One of them might well have the blood of the immortals in their veins, and it wasn’t her.
“You make me feel like a goddess, Gawain.” She deliberately allowed her breath to drift across his erection and he swallowed, clearly struggling to cling onto his control. “But more than that, you make me feel like a woman should.”
“Antonia.” His voice was deep, threaded with desire, and need coiled tighter in her breast and between her thighs. In her peripheral vision, she saw him clench his fists, clearly fighting the imperative to grip her head and force his cock into her mouth.
But Gawain would never do that. It was the reason why she wanted to give him this parting gift. Something he would, she prayed, remember with pleasure when his anger had finally cooled.
She took a deep breath. The indefinable scent of fresh male sweat combined with the heady odor of arousal caused damp heat to slick her pussy. She wrapped one hand around his shaft and felt him throb against her palm.
“Sit back on the bed.” Her voice was uneven and she pushed ineffectively against the top of his thigh with her free hand. It was like trying to shift a mountain.
“No. If I move I may break this spell.”
“You won’t.” She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the swollen head of his erection. Pre-come coated his slit. She had the sudden, savage urge to discover his taste. “I promise you won’t.”
He plunged his fingers into her hair and held her head as he stepped back. She shuffled forward, uncaring of the dirt floor that was surely staining her gown. The bed was lower than she was used to, and when Gawain sat with a pained grunt, he stretched out his legs and trapped her between his granite-hard thighs.
Now she was level with his face. Her thumb caressed his sensitive glans, his slick arousal sliding across her skin like ambrosia from the gods.
Slowly she bent her head. His fingers were still buried in her hair. She licked her lips, her mouth dry with nerves. But the butterflies in her stomach and the erratic pound of her heart were nothing like the blind panic she’d always experienced before when in a similar position.
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