The Druid Chronicles: Four Book Collection

by Phillips, Christina

  It was so much more.

  “Are you all right?” He braced his weight on his left arm and his right hand cradled the side of her face. His touch should mean nothing yet she found it oddly endearing. “Did I hurt you?”

  She wasn’t sure if he’d hurt her or not. Shocked was how she felt, but she would never tell him.

  Nothing in her limited experience had prepared her for this. She should be furious he had taken her with so little regard. But instead, a hazy voice whispered in the back of her mind. Wasn’t this what she had wanted? Hadn’t she deliberately pushed him to the edge of his control? The knowledge unnerved her and she tried to glare at him in condemnation but knew she failed. Because she didn’t condemn him. “You might have warned me you were about rut like a barbarian.”

  His fingers gently speared through her tangled hair. He remained motionless inside her, as if aware her body was still adjusting to his forceful penetration.

  She still couldn’t move in the way she was used to, but delicious tremors licked through her pussy and her nipples throbbed in a way she had never imagined possible.

  “I’ve never been accused of rutting before.” He eased out of her a little farther and involuntarily her legs tightened around his thighs. His cock filled her to a degree that hovered on the precipice of discomfort and yet it was a sensation she savored more with every passing beat of her heart.

  There was no need to answer him. And yet she couldn’t help herself. “You can’t help your nature, Roman.” Her voice was breathless and she couldn’t tear her gaze from his. “It’s not your fault if you lack finesse in such matters.”

  He gave a raw laugh, as if her words amused him despite himself. She eased her thighs farther apart, cradled him more comfortably with her legs. And tried not to utterly succumb to the enigmatic beauty of his eyes.

  “If you held your tongue,” his voice was uneven and she could feel the tension radiating from his body as he held himself so tightly in check, “you wouldn’t drive a man to the brink of his control.”

  But she wanted him at the brink of his control. She wanted him to lose his control. Feminine power surged through her, and she tightened her internal muscles around his cock. He hissed in shock and reared back to gaze down at her through lust-glazed eyes.

  “And where is the fun in that, Tacitus?” she gasped, scarcely coherent as her senses focused on the delirious sensation of his cock against her swollen clit.

  “Nimue.” He sounded as if he was in the throes of the harshest of barbaric tortures. “Gods, you’re so tight and hot around me. Be still.” The last was an agonized order, and because she took orders from no Roman, she clenched her muscles again, possessive and demanding around his thick shaft.

  He rammed into her, as hard and fast and brutal as before, but this time she was ready and this time she welcomed his invasion. She wrapped her arm around his back, clung onto him, even though she couldn’t breathe; even though she couldn’t think.

  She could feel. Goddess, how she could feel the length of him inside her, stretching her sensitized flesh. Her wet sheath quivered around him as he began to thrust, faster, harder, and what sanity she retained splintered.

  Hands flat on the mattress bracing his weight, he rose above her. Again he reminded her of a conquering barbarian and the thought fueled her desire. She matched his rhythm, increased the pace and gasped with mindless delirium as he once again took over, once again set the pace; once again hammered her into the mattress as if he intended to impale her for eternity.

  She gripped his shoulder and relished the feel of his muscles flexing beneath her fingers. His gaze bored into her, and his intense focus stoked the feel of him pounding into her slick cleft. His balls slapped against her tender flesh, his harsh breath caused erratic shivers across her damp breasts. For a moment, a thread of panic surfaced. This is too much. But it was impossible to struggle against the rising wave of sensation that claimed her pussy. His eyes mesmerized her and his thighs were hard and unyielding where she gripped him with her legs. The scent of sex and sweat and foreign spices swirled in the air, intoxicating her senses as fiery tendrils of pure desire swirled around her clit.

  Tension coiled, spiraling through her pussy, twisting low in her stomach. The lingering fragments of her restraint shredded, forgotten, as she tumbled over the edge. Her orgasm shuddered through her, rippling with abandonment through every particle of her convulsing body. Beyond the frenzied beat of her heart, the erratic pound of her blood, she heard Tacitus roar his release, and his hot seed pumped deep and flooded her quivering womb.

  Chapter 12

  The world slowly came back into focus. She stared up at Tacitus. He hadn’t instantly collapsed on top of her, as she had expected. Instead, his gaze meshed with hers and their breath mingled, uneven and jagged. A sensuous counterpoint to the erratic thunder of her heart.

  Her hand dropped to the mattress and her legs slid down his thighs. Her ankles hooked over the back of his knees and she couldn’t help giving him an exhausted smile as she once more contracted her pussy around him.

  His grin in response sent a peculiar shaft of pain through her chest. It lingered for a moment, oddly reassuring, before she forcibly smothered it. Not that she had needed to smother it. It had nothing to do with Tacitus or what they had just done. It was likely a strange reaction to the fact she had not eaten for more than a day.

  “Do you never do as you’re told?” He lazily traced one finger along the line of her face. Disbelief quivered at the realization that his touch set off tremors of renewed desire. Her few previous sexual encounters had always been enjoyable and she had invariably reached climax but she had never so utterly lost herself before. And while she’d had every intention of savoring the times she and Tacitus fucked it was, after all, only a means of securing his trust. She wasn’t supposed to have experienced the most mind-blowing orgasm of her life. And she certainly shouldn’t crave to have him again already.

  She couldn’t let him know his touch wielded such power. Allowing him access to her body was her strategy. She needed to remember that, and regain her focus. “Would you prefer I simply lay here like a log?”

  “I don’t believe I ever asked you to behave like a log.” He was still inside her, his fingers were playing with her tangled hair, and he looked completely relaxed as he continued to grin down at her. As if she was the most enchanting thing he had ever encountered.

  She didn’t know what she’d expected in the immediate aftermath of their joining but she certainly hadn’t expected such intimate jesting. Just because she found his bantering disarming was no excuse to encourage him.

  “Do you expect me to ask permission before I make any move?” And now she was responding. But how could she not? There was something deliciously seductive about this Roman that edged through her defenses. Was it truly so wrong to enjoy his company?

  Guilt whispered through her soul and she instantly stiffened. I’m not betraying the heritage of my foremothers. She was a prisoner and she would do whatever she needed to do in order to survive.

  Yet the excuse sounded false to her ears.

  His grin faded into a frown. “Does your shoulder hurt?” He sounded concerned. “I tried to avoid touching it.”

  It would be so much easier to convince herself she was doing this only for survival if Tacitus was not so oddly thoughtful at times.

  He was a Roman. He was not supposed to possess a thoughtful side to his nature. And yet so far his every action belied her long held beliefs about the barbarity of his race.

  Except she knew from personal, bloodied experience of the cruelty of Romans. She’d always believed it inherent in their nature. The fact that Tacitus didn’t appear to share his countrymen’s contempt for one not loyal to his Empire was disconcerting.

  She realized he was still waiting for her answer. “It does hurt,” she conceded. “But not because of anything we just did.”

  Carefully he eased out of her and she clamped her lips together to p
revent a sigh of protest from escaping. He rolled onto his side, her uninjured side, and propped himself up on his forearm, his other hand cradling her waist.

  “Do you need some opium?”

  Take the opium. The thought pulsed into her brain, insistent and demanding and completely unexpected.

  “No.” The word burst from her mouth as unease weaved through her mind. How could she have become so desperate for the drug after just one time? “But tell me where you keep it, in case I need it when you’re not here.”

  Where had that come from? She didn’t want to know. Why would she want to know?

  Yet the insistence persisted. She needed to know.

  His thumb caressed the curve of her waist. “I can’t do that.” He didn’t sound regretful. “You might find a way to poison me in my sleep.”

  If she had the contents of her medicine bag, she could certainly find any number of ways to poison him. But it hadn’t even occurred to her that she could use the opium.

  “Then I shall suffer in silence.”

  “I can’t imagine you doing anything in silence.”

  She laughed. She hadn’t meant to. But she couldn’t help herself. “Even a gag would fail to silence me.”

  “I confess, I doubt I’d ever use a gag.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “I enjoyed hearing your gasps of impending climax too much.”

  His words shouldn’t affect her so. But no other man had ever said such things to her. And never in her wildest dreams had she imagined hearing such evocative confessions from a Roman officer.

  Everyone knew Romans were barbarous heathens who took what they wanted without a thought of the devastation they left behind. They were murderers, rapists and mutilators of all who opposed their filthy Empire.

  But when Tacitus looked at her with mingled desire and amusement, it was hard to recall his heritage. Hard to recall why she could never risk him discovering her true calling.

  Harder than she had imagined to view him purely as her enemy she needed to disarm. Just because he’d inexplicably chosen to pay for her healing, and treated her better than she had ever imagined a Roman capable of treating a woman, he would still crucify her if he discovered she was a Druid.

  Into the silence that followed his remark her stomach gave a loud, intrusive gurgle. Mortified, she clamped her hand over her stomach and her face flamed. But it didn’t help. Her stomach growled again, horribly demanding.

  “Gods.” Tacitus sounded on the verge of laughing again. “You must be starving, Nimue. I intended to feed you, not fuck you.”

  “Of course you did,” she said between gritted teeth. He didn’t take offense at her tone, merely flashed her a grin that did something entirely illicit to the pit of her stomach, before pushing himself from the bed and strolling to the casket.

  Unwillingly, she focused on his tight, perfectly formed arse. She had come. She had been more than adequately satisfied. So why did she still fantasize about having him? Even now, when she was still recovering from his primitive rutting technique, she was more interested in exploring his cock than filling her stomach.

  It was only because they had not taken the time to discover each other’s bodies. Next time, they would. And then she would be rid of this unwelcome fever that raged through her blood and caused her to lose all sense of focus.

  Then she could use him at nights to sate their mutual need, and forget about him during the days when she could regain her strength and strategize.

  * * *

  Tacitus carried the basket of fruit and bread back to Nimue and smothered another grin at the haughty expression on her face. She was obviously mortified by the way her stomach had rumbled and yet she lay exactly as he’d left her on the bed, utterly unconcerned by her nakedness.

  His cock stirred, more than willing to fill her tight, luscious body once again. But next time he wouldn’t be distracted from his purpose by her provocative taunts. Next time he would explore her body with intimate dedication.

  Unfortunately, that time was not now. They would scarcely have time to eat before they needed to leave.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and watched her wriggle upright, her breasts jiggling with every move she made. She didn’t attempt to cover herself with his cloak. She obviously didn’t mind in the least that he found it all but impossible not to stare at her naked breasts and ripe, rosy nipples.

  Hunger gripped low in his gut, and it wasn’t hunger for the food he offered her.

  Abruptly he stood and marched back to his casket. If he didn’t cover temptation he would likely succumb once again, and that was intolerable. Every moment that passed increased the possibility of interruption from another tribune.

  “I don’t recognize half of what’s in this basket,” Nimue said, sounding put upon. “Do you have nothing that is not imported from your precious Rome?”

  He glanced over his shoulder and couldn’t help himself. “Yes. I have you.” His humor was short-lived when he trod on something sharp. Bending, he picked up one of Nimue’s earrings. “Besides, it’s not all imported. Just eat, unless you wish your stomach to continue to complain for the rest of the day.”

  When she didn’t respond to his taunt, satisfaction curled through him. Now she accepted that she belonged to him, now that he truly possessed her, her sharp tongue had mellowed. Certainly, he didn’t want her to agree with his every word—he doubted she would ever do such a thing. But finally she would realize acceptable boundaries.

  He retrieved his key ring that had fallen to the ground along with his tunic, and began to unlock the casket. It was already unlocked. Frowning, he stared at it. Surely he hadn’t forgotten to lock it last night, after he’d put the embroidered Celtic bag inside?

  He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d taken the bag after Marcellus had appropriated the contents. He didn’t have any use for it. It certainly wasn’t because of the insidious sliver of doubt that the bag belonged to Nimue.

  There was no possible connection between Nimue and the bag. Because if the bag was hers then she had been traveling with Caratacus’ queen. That would point to her being connected to the royal family and possibly having information on the Briton king’s whereabouts. If she was suspected of being the healer who had tended to the princess’ injury, Nimue would be interrogated. The fact she was his slave wouldn’t save her from that.

  He had vowed to protect her from his fellow countrymen. Just because Nimue had healer knowledge didn’t make her the owner of that bag.

  But still he had hidden it, to prevent any further investigation into who might have once possessed it.

  Another glance over his shoulder confirmed Nimue was eating, even though she had a pained expression on her face. He turned back to the casket and lifted the lid. Under the top layer of linen the bag remained. It didn’t look as if anything had been disturbed. Surely if Nimue had taken advantage of discovering an unlocked casket, she would have rummaged through it? And if that bag had belonged to her, wouldn’t she have taken it?

  Still frowning, he found what he was searching for and locked the casket before sliding the key ring back onto his finger and dropping her earring on the lid.

  “Here.” He laid the plain white tunic over her feet. “You can wear that until I find you something more suitable.”

  She barely gave it a glance. “I won’t wear it. I’ll wear my own gown.”

  He paused in the process of helping himself to some bread. “Your gown is ruined. There’s nothing else available until we return to the garrison.” There were many markets in the settlement that had sprung up around the garrison. He’d easily be able to find her something more suitable.

  “I don’t care.” She appeared supremely unimpressed that he was offering her one of his own short tunics to wear. “I’d rather wear a tattered rag that is my own than something of Roman origin.”

  Irritation prickled through him. Why did she have to disagree with everything?

  “It’s covered in blood and filth and needs repair. If you wish, yo
u may keep it, but you’re not wearing it until it’s been cleaned.”

  Finally she looked at him, her resentment clear on her face. “Of course I wish to keep it. It’s all the clothing I possess.” She waved her arm at him. “What about my bracelets? Do you have some obnoxious Roman jewelry you wish to exchange them for?”

  Anyone would think, by her attitude, that he’d just told her she would remain naked for the rest of the journey. Then, he could understand her anger. But he’d offered her a clean tunic. One of his own clean tunics, a gesture that would draw unwelcome attention from his fellow officers who would be as likely to offer a slave their own tunic as they would offer their horse.

  “Nimue.” It was a warning to be silent. Once again she was pushing too far.

  “Tacitus.” She mimicked his tone and maintained eye contact. By the gods, did she speak to all men in this manner? Or was it just him?

  “If you prefer, I’ll have your gown burned. Then the question will no longer arise.”

  Her fingers clenched around the bread she was holding. He wanted to maintain his rigid sense of injustice at her ingratitude, but it was hard when she was naked and her tangled hair tumbled over her tempting breasts. And when her bound shoulder was a constant reminder of how she had been injured.

  None of which improved his mood.

  “So you wish me to dress as one of your Roman noblewomen.” The derision in her voice was unmistakable. “It will take more than a gown to make me a Roman.”

  “I have no wish to transform you into a Roman noblewoman. I doubt Juno herself could manage such a miracle.” He snatched his discarded tunic from the ground and pulled it on. “And why you imagine I have women’s gowns in my casket I fail to comprehend. You’ll wear my tunic until such time as I decree otherwise.”

  Gods. He sounded like his father. The thought caused a hard knot to form in his chest.

  She glowered at him for a moment longer and then transferred her glare to the cursed tunic.