“Noble Roman.” There was a hint of mockery but her fingers slid between his, and he wondered if she was even aware of her action. “Who will protect me from you?”
His finger slid up her delicately defined biceps, and he knuckled his cloak aside. Her slender neck, unmarred shoulder and arm and delectable breast tempted his reason and it was a struggle to recall that, beneath the left side of his cloak, she had been shot.
“Do you need protecting from me?” He trailed his fingers across her collarbone. Her breath whispered from between her parted lips but she didn’t attempt to push him away. “Do you fear I will harm you, Nimue?”
“I don’t fear you.” She said the words as if she didn’t even have to think about them. As if the notion he might hurt her had never seriously crossed her mind. The knowledge that she trusted him to that degree, even if it was a trust she hadn’t acknowledged to herself, caused an odd glow to ignite deep inside his chest.
His fingers traced across the creamy swell of her breast and she hitched in an uneven breath. Heart thudding, he circled her erect nipple and imagined sucking the tempting bud until she gasped with mindless need.
“I want to see your naked body, Nimue.” He tried to repress the raw need hammering through his blood but only partially succeeded. He knew she was injured. He would be mindful. But gods, he needed relief.
“You can already see it, Roman.” Was that a hint of amusement in her tone? She hadn’t blushed at his words, nor had she affected outrage. He tightened his grip on her hand, and rolled her exquisite nipple between his finger and thumb. Her lips parted and the tip of her tongue peeked out. As if in deliberate provocation.
“Not well enough.” He loosened his grip on her hand and bracketed her wrist, slowly sliding his palm up her arm, over her firm biceps, across her shoulder and down the smooth contour of her back. “I want to suck on your nipples until you writhe in delight, tease your clitoris with my tongue and thrust my cock so deep inside you that you scream for mercy.”
* * *
Nimue fought against the seductive images Tacitus’ promises evoked. But his fingers, teasing her sensitive nipple, caused ripples of lust from the tip of her breast to the core of her being. And between her thighs she was tender, wet and Goddess help her, starving for his touch.
Had he been any other man, she wouldn’t be fighting this savage attraction that was unlike anything she’d experienced before. But he was a Roman. He would always be a Roman and if she succumbed to the dark desire pounding through her blood how could she live with herself afterward?
“I would never scream for mercy.” Her voice was raw, her words breathless. She could deny she wanted him but he would need to be dead not to see she lied. “No matter what torture you inflict upon me.”
And the worst torture of all was that he would cease touching her treacherous flesh. That was the truth. The secret shame she would die before ever revealing. The knowledge that she enjoyed his touch, craved his touch, and wanted him more than she had ever wanted a man before.
“Is this torture?” His breath drifted across her lips. When had he leaned so close to her? “I would inflict nothing but pleasure upon your body. Do you doubt me?”
No, she did not doubt him at all. His hand cradled the curve of her buttock, as if he had every right to hold her so intimately. And instead of outrage at his possessive manner she wanted more.
Unable to help herself she flattened her hand against his chest. He wasn’t wearing armor, only a tunic with a wide purple stripe and she could feel the strong thud of his heart vibrating through her fingers.
She wanted him naked too. The thought crippled her, but it made no difference. He was polluting her senses as surely as his healer’s heathen drug had.
Her fingers fisted, crushing his linen, and the unyielding expanse of muscle beneath her hand caused ripples of delight to chase across her exposed skin. This morn, she had been mesmerized by the tantalizing glimpse of his naked body. Had been unable to tear her fascinated gaze from his magnificent cock.
All that masculine perfection was now within her grasp. She could have him. Sate her need. Rid this fever from her blood.
And then she could devote her entire concentration on…
Her mission. The Briton queen.
Relief washed through her. She could live with that decision. It was a strategic decision, one that would clear her mind, calm her body and, simultaneously, lower both Tacitus’ suspicion and obsessive desire for her.
There was one thing she needed to know.
“Afterward, will you let me go?”
His eyes darkened and his hands tightened over her bottom and breast. She dragged in a constricted breath and struggled to concentrate. Goddess, the sooner they both achieved orgasm the better. Only then would she be able to endure his touch without constantly fantasizing how it would feel to have him inside her.
“Let you go?” He was so close to her his lips brushed hers. A tantalizing whisper of a touch that promised so much. “No, Nimue. I have no intention of letting you go yet.”
Chapter 11
Nimue attempted to dredge up disappointment that Tacitus had no intention of releasing her the moment after she’d had him, but failed.
Besides, she didn’t want him to discard her instantly. If she was ejected from his camp, how much harder would it be to find the queen? Especially with her injured shoulder. She needed a few more days with this Roman, just to regain her former strength.
His plans for her suited her. She could enjoy his body without guilt that she was betraying her people.
Because she was doing this for her people. But still a sliver of guilt ate through her heart. Should she really feel such lust and anticipation at having her enemy? Shouldn’t her mind and body recoil at what she intended to do?
With an uneasy feeling that she was attempting to make excuses for the way her body responded to Tacitus’ touch, she pushed the thought aside. She couldn’t afford to become distracted from her purpose. She struggled to recall his last remark. He has no intention of letting me go.
“And I have no say in this matter?” She trailed her hand over his shoulder and dragged her fingers along the proud line of his jaw. He was rough against her skin and vague recollections of having done this once before plagued the outer reaches of her mind.
“No.” His voice was husky. “You’ll stay with me until I decide otherwise.”
She speared her fingers through his short hair and marveled at her lack of indignation at his arrogance. But then, what did it matter what he said? When she was ready to leave, she would. After all, she wasn’t staying with him because he commanded it.
Or because I want to. Yet that thought lacked conviction and her fingers tightened involuntarily in his hair. Of course she didn’t want to stay with him. She was simply using the circumstances to her best advantage.
“Is this the way of your world, Roman? To give your women no choice?” Not that she was really interested in his world. She had no intention of ever living in it so his customs were of no interest. It was only a ploy to show token resistance to his authority. She didn’t want him to suspect her real motive for succumbing to the lust between them.
Except, unaccountably, she wanted to hear his answer.
With infinite care, he lifted his cloak from her, leaving her entirely naked beneath his intense gaze. Her nipples tightened and shivers raced over her skin as she saw his jaw clench and heard his sharp intake of breath. Never before had merely a look from a man caused her body to respond this way and instinctively she arched her back so her breasts thrust enticingly toward him.
“What choice do you need?” His full attention was focused on her breasts. “You’re with me. You’re mine.”
She was wet with need, lust curled deep in her womb and yet his casual words of possession pounded through her blood. He said them as if they were the natural order. As though he was merely repeating something she should already be aware of.
Her senses urged
her to ignore him. He could say what he wished and none of it touched her. All that mattered was that they fucked so Tacitus would lower his guard around her. And yet she couldn’t remain silent.
“I’m with you, but I’ll never be yours.”
Finally he dragged his attention from her breasts and looked at her. There was a smile of masculine satisfaction on his face. Did he think her words meaningless?
“Nimue.” The way he said her name in his exotic Roman accent caused quivers of desire deep in her pussy. He trailed his fingers up her body and cradled her jaw between his hands. His fingers branded her flesh, blatantly possessive, and instead of outrage flooding her at the thought, she didn’t want him to stop. Her chest tightened, lungs contracted, making it almost impossible to draw breath. “Why must you question this? You want me as much as I want you.” His lips grazed hers, a kiss as insubstantial as mist in the morn yet fire scorched low in her belly and curled with seductive promise around her clit.
She knew she should keep her thoughts to herself and not question his every word. That wasn’t the way to gain his trust. She should agree with him so he imagined her malleable and not a threat.
“I know.” Their lips brushed as she spoke and sharp desire spiked between her thighs, splintering all thought of stoking his male Roman pride. Did he intend to drive her insane before taking her? Her hand slid from his head and feverishly she fisted his linen and pulled, wanting him naked and on the bed with her. “Remove your tunic.”
For a moment, he looked startled. Had a woman ever commanded such a thing from him before? But then, with an irresistible smile, he obeyed without further question. And once again she feasted on the magnificent sight of his broad shoulders, his muscular chest and taut abdomen.
He looked like a foreign bronzed god, and although the notion should have repulsed, it served only to heighten the need thundering through her veins and incinerating her reason.
“Come here.” Her voice was hoarse and she reached out to drag him from the ground. Pain lanced through her shoulder and she gasped, her arm dropping uselessly onto her lap. How had she forgotten about her injury? This insane lust fogged all her senses. A deadly condition for a warrior.
Before she had time to mask her unthinking reaction he was on the bed beside her, looming over her like a predator guarding its prey. But despite the lust that glowed in his eyes, she detected concern too.
“Be careful.” He brushed her hair back from her face in an oddly tender gesture. “You don’t want to reopen the wound.”
Of course she didn’t, but she didn’t appreciate him telling her that as if she was ignorant. Yet even as the thought flared through her mind, uncertainty hovered. Why was he so concerned for her comfort?
“I have no intention of reopening my wound.” Her voice was breathless and the lingering pain in her shoulder faded as desire thudded through her veins. He was so close that his uneven breath dusted across her face. She wanted to crush her aching breasts against his chest, slide her wet pussy along his rigid cock and relieve the exquisite pressure spiraling through her clit.
A stifled moan of frustration razed her throat. If she wasn’t hampered by her injury she would do all that and more to him.
“You tempt me beyond reason.” He wound his arm around her waist, his hand supporting her between her shoulder blades. His other arm slid under her knees and before she quite realized his intention she was flat on her back. She glared up at him, torn between indignation at his maneuver and a delicious sense of helplessness. Since when have I ever enjoyed the sensation of helplessness? Tacitus’ grin at her submissive position was worthy of any of the trickster gods of her people. “Now you are fully within my power.”
His words should infuriate her. But against all reason they didn’t. Perhaps it was his smile that took the threat from his words. “If my arm wasn’t useless,” she was compelled to inform him. “You wouldn’t find it so easy to pin me to the mattress.”
For answer, he kneed her legs apart, bracing his weight on his hands as he loomed over her. “I would have no difficulty pinning you anywhere, no matter whether you were injured or not.”
The exotic spices that scented his hair and body engulfed her. It was heady, evocative and weaved through her blood and clouded her mind. She wanted to claw his face for his arrogance, and she wanted to fuck him senseless to still the ravening need shredding her sanity.
She wound her hand around his throat, mimicking what he had done to her earlier that day. His pulse thudded beneath her fingers and still he grinned down at her, arrogantly mocking her display of strength.
“Believe that if you wish, Roman.” She loosened her grip around his throat and dug her nails into the hard ridges of his shoulder. “One day we might put that assumption to the test.”
What am I saying? Why couldn’t she hold her tongue when she knew her strategy should be one of subservience? Most of all, why did she find their exchange of words so cursed arousing?
He nudged her thighs farther apart and lowered himself, until the aching tips of her breasts brushed against the dark hair that dusted his chest. It was agonizing, excruciating and she dragged her nails with murderous intent along the rigid contour of his breathtaking biceps.
“I have never,” his voice was strained, as if he clung onto his control by sheer willpower alone, “met a woman who insists on answering back with such frequency.”
She abandoned his arm and clasped his taut arse. Goddess, he felt good. The way he jerked against her as though he couldn’t help himself proved he found her touch equally arousing.
“I wonder you don’t gag me.” It was a breathless taunt and she squeezed his hard flesh, raising her knees and wrapping her ankles around his thighs. Still he didn’t take what she offered. He remained rigid above her, his hot gaze locked with hers.
“Don’t tempt me.”
She scraped her nails along his spine, relishing the way he shuddered, the way he so doggedly refused to relinquish his cursed Roman pride and follow her lead. If she had full use of both arms she wouldn’t be flat on her back, where she could do little but squirm. She’d have him on his back, and by Goddess, she would already be riding him into orgasmic pleasure.
“I do tempt you.” She dug her heels into his buttocks and attempted to raise her hips to encourage penetration but curse the man, he had her pinned securely to the mattress and her ability to control even this was negligible. “Fuck you, Tacitus, what are you doing?”
He bared his teeth, whether in a grin or grimace she could not decipher. His hot breath panted across her face and he lowered himself onto her. His erection slanted over her pussy, so close to where she wanted him and yet not close enough. She groaned, tried to squirm, but only succeeded in rubbing her swollen clit against his cock. It was a torturous pleasure and she squirmed again, the friction causing her juices to spill over his rigid length. He still didn’t answer her unspoken demand, but instead continued to press against her, crushing her breasts against his chest. Pushing her securely into the mattress so she could no longer even move.
Yet even in the midst of her frustration, she was aware he hadn’t come close to touching her injured shoulder.
“That’s not the language I expect to hear from a noblewoman.”
Her clit throbbed for release. Her nipples ached for his mouth. And all he could think about was her language? She hitched in a shallow breath, all she could manage, and glared into his lust-filled eyes.
“I’m not a Roman noblewoman, and I can say as I please.”
“But you are noble-born.”
Where was he going with this? For an instant, the circumstances of her birth haunted her, before her current circumstances once more overwhelmed her.
Goddess, he drove her mad. She could feel how hard he was, how hot and ready, and she could do nothing about it. It wasn’t just because she was injured. Despite her earlier words, she knew that even without her wounded shoulder she would still be at his mercy. The knowledge slammed into her,
and a flicker of fear ignited at her vulnerability.
She had never been so securely pinned beneath a man before. She had always maintained a degree of control. But Tacitus had wrenched all control from her. She couldn’t even impale herself on his cock and watch his mocking smile transform into mindless need. Then, she would know what to do. He would be under her command and she could slake her lust while retaining her freedom to move as she pleased. She didn’t want to talk about her heritage. She didn’t want to talk to him at all. All she wanted, all she needed, was for him to take her, for her to come, so once again she could think clearly.
Her frustrated confusion made her reckless. “Why? Are you unable to fuck a peasant, Roman? Aren’t you man enough for me after all?”
Breath hissed between his teeth and he rose from her. His tough, bronzed body radiated tension in every muscle and for a fleeting moment, he looked like a conquering warlord claiming his prize. The image burned into her brain but before she could suck air into her deprived lungs he slammed into her so hard, so fast, for a dizzying moment the world turned black.
“Is that man enough for you, Celt?” Leashed fury whipped through each word but she didn’t have the breath to answer. His cock was inside her, stretching her, invading her, and Goddess help her, but she could feel him all the way up to the entrance of her womb.
She couldn’t speak. She was afraid to breathe, in case she shattered. All she could do was stare up at him and remain utterly still for fear of rupture.
“Nimue?” His growl penetrated her fogged mind. “Nimue?” This time a thread of doubt entered his voice, and he eased off her, enough to relieve the pressure deep inside.
She gasped, clutched at his back and gingerly flexed her internal muscles. She rippled against his rigid length and desire coiled where a moment ago she’d been paralyzed with shock.
He was inside her, and it was nothing like she had fantasized.
The Druid Chronicles: Four Book Collection Page 68