“You’re not a barbarian,” she whispered. He was a foreign warrior of a barbarous land, but that didn’t make him a barbarian.
His gaze caught hers. His eyes were so dark his amber flecks had all but vanished. “Is that what you think?” His voice was raw with need but she caught an underlying hint of something else. If it were not so insane, she might imagine her whisper had unexpectedly touched him.
“No,” she breathed. “I know.”
He didn’t answer, but the feral smile that tugged his lips caused tingling flutters deep in her cleft. Without warning, he pulled her around so that she faced him, his hands spanning her waist. She stroked the angle of his jaw, delighting in the rough texture of his stubble, and then traced the exotic symbols engraved in his silver torque.
Everything about him radiated a savage, untamed power and yet she didn’t fear him. As his hands sculpted the curve of her waist and swell of her buttocks, he lowered his head. Her breath caught and she dug her nails into his shoulder as he languidly trailed his tongue around her sensitive areola.
Her free hand tangled in his hair, the sensation of silken threads winding around her knuckles as evocative as the feel of his mouth and tongue and teeth on her breast. She stared at him, transfixed by the sight of him suckling her, as erotic tugs spiraled from the tip of her nipple to her wet core.
His warm breath grazed her breast and then he sucked her hard nub into his mouth. A shocking, brutal gesture that sent darts of primitive pleasure arrowing through her body.
“Gawain.” Was that really her voice? “Please.” Take me now.
With one last lingering lick across her erect peak, he looked up at her. A pagan god, with his tousled hair, heathen jewelry and magnificent, irresistible body. “Soon.”
It was a smoky promise she clung onto with the remnants of her sanity as, instead of claiming her, he trailed burning, provocative kisses over her aching breasts.
The grip on her buttocks increased as he parted her cheeks and she gasped, tightening her hold on his hair and shoulder. The grin he shot her was feral as he began to circle her exposed crack, each swirl of his finger bringing him closer to penetrating her vulnerable backside.
“Part your thighs.” He accompanied his ragged command by thrusting his leg between hers and without conscious thought she obeyed, opening herself entirely to his determined exploration. Instinctively she tensed, but he didn’t force his finger inside her tight heat. He continued to circle and dip, a mind-blowing torture of dark eroticism she had never dreamed could exist.
Slowly he edged down her body, his mouth worshipping her belly as he relinquished his possessive grip on her bottom. His hand clasped her thigh and despite the erratic pounding of her blood and the shocking stabs of desire his finger engendered, awe shivered through her as she watched him drop to his knees before her.
His thumb caressed her folds, a gentle touch, back and forth. Paralyzed she watched as he leaned in and swept his tongue along her slick cleft. Liquid fire ignited and consumed her quivering core and a primal moan echoed in her ears.
She’d always wondered what it would feel like, to have a man’s mouth at her pussy, to feel his tongue penetrate her silken folds. But nothing had prepared her for the reality. Not her former friends’ gossip or her fevered imagination.
The scorching vibrations spiraling through her went beyond words. Beyond thought. She clutched at his hair, her anchor to the world, as the room faded around her. All she could see was Gawain on his knees, his face between her thighs, his bronzed, naked body worshipping hers.
He pulled back, just enough so that his jaw rubbed against her sensitized pussy. An inarticulate mewl of protest escaped at his abandonment. She dug her fingers into his scalp and felt as much as saw his savage smile.
“Let it go, Antonia.” His demand was raw with lust. “I want you to come for me. Give me everything you have.”
His words thundered in her mind, as potent as his heated touch on her body. But before she could even hitch in a jagged breath, he lubricated her taut behind with her juices and his finger once again stroked her virgin flesh.
“What?” she whispered, trying to form a coherent thought between the pounding of her heart and the white-hot desire that blazed through her veins. What should I do? she wanted to ask him but the words lodged in her throat. It was impossible to speak, impossible to think. All she could do was feel. But if I don’t do something, Gawain will think me frigid.
The tip of his tongue swirled around her clitoris and she jerked in shock, clutching at his head, needing something to anchor her as indescribable streaks of pleasure consumed her sensitive bud. He teased and probed, his tongue an instrument of unimaginable delight. Her breath stuttered, the sound jarring into the sex-scented air with uncaring inelegance. Deep within her pussy a strange pressure bloomed, bore down, then Gawain sucked on her clitoris and in the same instant, his finger penetrated her tight rosette.
She gasped and reared against his mouth. The sensation of fullness, of invasion, was beyond anything she had imagined. He rotated his finger, stretching her taut flesh and she hovered between pain and ecstasy.
Yet she didn’t want him to stop. The feel of him inside her, where she had never been touched before, was worth any fleeting moment of discomfort. Her clit inside Gawain’s mouth, the feel of his tongue and lips sucking her, caused her pussy to contract. She couldn’t stop the ripples that claimed her cleft and swollen folds. Didn’t want to. It was thrilling, shocking like nothing she had ever dreamed.
The world shattered into a thousand rainbow shards as her body convulsed with mindless delirium. Nothing existed but the wild spasms that vibrated her bud and licked through her trembling pussy.
Nothing but the man she clung onto with primitive need.
* * *
Gawain kept his tongue pressed against Antonia’s quivering clit as she came inside his mouth. She tasted so sweet, of honey and spices and arousal so intense he smoldered with repressed lust. He tightened his grip around her waist to keep her upright as she trembled in the throes of her climax and he eased his finger from her deliciously tight arse. Gods, had she never been taken there? The thought of being the first hammered through his mind.
Another time.
He was on the edge and didn’t have the self-control required to initiate her into such dark pleasures. He needed to fuck her, and he needed her now. Without waiting for her shudders to subside, he lifted her in his arms, her naked body a torturous delight. With a feral growl, he snatched up a Roman towel, flung it onto the nearest stone table and then sat her upon it.
Brutally he pushed her knees apart and for one eternal moment stared, transfixed, at her glistering pussy. Her pink clit was swollen from his tongue and her orgasm, and her slit tantalized with wet promise.
“Now,” he said, as he lifted her chin and her dazed eyes locked with his. “You’re ready for me.”
She appeared incapable of answer, but he didn’t need her to say anything. He gripped her hips, satisfied that she maintained eye contact, and pulled her to the edge of the table. Her arms slid around his shoulders and he grasped his cock and rubbed his sensitive head over her slick pussy.
Her seductive little gasps and the way her breasts rose and fell with every erratic breath pushed him over the edge. With a primal growl, he rammed into her and silken fire engulfed his shaft and scorched his reason.
He shoved his hands under her arse, her smooth cheeks filling his palms and squeezed her delectable flesh. She squirmed at his rough touch, and the friction burned his cock as he buried himself farther inside her welcoming sheath.
No hint of ice remained in her eyes as she focused on him as though he were all that existed in her world. It shouldn’t have meant anything and it didn’t. Yet the thought caused the blood to hammer through his veins in primitive possession.
She wound her legs around him and his balls slammed against her tender flesh with every frenzied thrust. Exquisite quivers radiated along her tight cre
ase, torturing his cock. He buried his face in the scented haven where her throat met shoulder and sucked her delicious skin into his mouth.
Mine. The word pounded through his head, illogical and unwanted. But the overwhelming need to mark her as his, to brand her for all the world to see, thundered through his smoldering senses.
Her choked gasp of protest—of desire—filled his mind with primitive satisfaction. She is mine. He grasped her arse, felt her legs tighten around him, felt her slick core convulse as another violent orgasm rocked through her.
His hips bucked and he hammered into her, flesh slapping, breath panting. Lightning clawed through his balls, his cock. A torrid maelstrom of primal need and base desire and with a guttural roar, he filled her with his hot release.
Chapter 9
After endless moments, Gawain realized his face was still buried in Antonia’s shoulder, his shaft was still embedded in her trembling slit and his fingers claimed her buttocks in a punishing grip. The knowledge drifted through his mind, languid and strangely comforting, yet an insubstantial whisper of unease edged the haze of euphoria.
Only when her legs slid over his hips in clear exhaustion did he finally raise his head to look at her. She peered back at him, her eyes dark with passion, her parted lips pink and deliciously swollen, her aristocratic cheeks flushed with the remnants of desire.
Her hair tumbled around her face in glorious disarray. His aloof Roman noblewoman looked thoroughly disheveled and thoroughly fucked. His gaze roved over her ravished flesh and savage satisfaction flashed through him at the sight of his mark marring her flawless shoulder. She wouldn’t forget him easily when she left him this day.
He freed his hands and she puffed out an enchanting little gasp as if her arse were sore. Slowly she slid her hands along his biceps and then clung onto his forearms as though she needed the additional support.
There was no reason for him to remain inside her body. No reason for him to clasp her waist. But somehow, he didn’t have the strength to pull away.
Instead, he continued to stare at her perfect patrician features and waited for the mild contempt to weave through his mind. It happened without fail in the moments after he’d fucked a Roman, no matter how beautiful or desirable she was.
He had taken her. He had conquered her. She was nothing more, now, than another Roman noblewoman who’d risked her reputation in order to taste the barbaric charms of a rough native.
Except Antonia had told him she didn’t think he was a barbarian.
He shoved the thought aside with the derision it deserved. She hadn’t meant it. Except a stubborn shred deep inside his chest knew she meant every word.
And still the contempt failed to materialize.
“That was…illuminating.” Antonia’s breathless voice jarred him back to the present. To the reality that he was still joined with her, when by now he should be retrieving his clothes.
“Illuminating?” What did she mean by that? “In what way, my lady?” He attempted to inject a touch of contempt into his final words but the ability eluded him. And still he held her, her warm flesh an addictive drug.
She gave a breathless laugh and leaned toward him, a bewitching smile now curving her edible lips. He gazed at her, transfixed, unable to put the physical distance between them that he knew he should. That he knew he should want. Yet did not.
“In all ways.” Her ice-blue eyes sparkled with what he could only determine was mischievous glee. “You surpassed all my expectations, Gawain. Thank you.”
Women, both Celtic and Roman, had said all manner of things to him in the moments after copulation but Antonia’s whispered confession rendered him speechless.
Logically he knew she was only spinning him a practiced line she had mouthed who knew how many times in the past. But she seemed so genuine. The knowledge that she could so easily manipulate his good sense with a few enigmatic words irked him.
“It was my pleasure.” This time he managed a thread of mockery, although Antonia didn’t appear to register it. With a reluctance that disgusted him, he finally pulled free of her welcoming clasp. “I’m gratified I exceeded the efforts of your Roman lovers, Antonia.” Except he wasn’t gratified. He was irritated by the comparison and couldn’t fathom why.
She didn’t answer him but a small smile lit up her face, as though she were recalling the performance of all her lovers and still found him exceptional. Again, he couldn’t imagine why such a thing should touch him. He didn’t normally care if the Roman women he fucked reminisced on how different he was from their usual illicit distractions.
And then it hit him. It was because she had thanked him, as though he’d merely provided her with an entertaining service.
His illogical mood blackened further. Why did it matter if that’s what she thought? It was, after all, mutual.
“Oh,” she said, the word breathy and seductive and to his disbelief his cock stirred in primal response. “Yes.”
Yes? He trawled through his mind until he recalled his last remark. “Perhaps in the future, my lady, you can teach them the pleasurable tricks you learned from your Cambrian lover.” He used the Roman word for his land deliberately, loading it with disdain.
It had to be a trick of the sunlight streaming through the windows, but it appeared her smile lost some of its radiance and a haunted expression clouded her eyes. She crossed her ankles and a shiver chased over her body, and in that blink of an eye, her air of sensual seductress transformed into reserved vulnerability.
“Perhaps.” There was no trace of the teasing note she’d used earlier, or the dreamy quality that had so riled him a moment ago. She sounded as cool and remote as she had the day they had conversed in Carys’ courtyard.
With a muttered curse in his own language, he snatched up another Roman towel and draped it around her shoulders. He had no idea why. It wasn’t as if she were incapable of wrapping herself in a towel if she was cold. And he certainly wasn’t her slave to anticipate her every demand.
She glanced up at him, clearly startled, and instead of stepping back as had been his intention he remained rooted to the spot, gripping the edges of the towel across her breasts.
“Thank you.” She sounded uncertain, and an odd pain spiked through his chest. He didn’t want her chilly patrician façade. He wanted the Antonia who teased and flirted. If that meant she wanted to maintain her incomprehensible illusion of innocence she projected so flawlessly, he would play along. It was a small concession for the pleasure they’d just shared.
A pleasure he had every intention of enjoying again. Soon.
He shoved the lingering remnants of his dark mood into the back of his mind. His reaction still made no sense, but he wasn’t going to waste time mulling over it.
“I don’t want you catching a chill and being confined to your father’s townhouse for the next week.”
She pulled the towel across her thighs and then looked up at him. “It would take more than a chill to keep me confined.”
His lips twitched. It was so much better when she met him on equal ground without that unsettling whisper of elusive innocence she sometimes favored.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
The tip of her tongue moistened the seam of her lips. Her seductive timing was breathtaking. “This liaison must be brief for many reasons, Gawain, but I would like to meet with you again tomorrow.”
He realized he was still staring at her mouth. He also realized that he didn’t care. “That can be arranged.”
Her mouth curved into a smile of what looked relief. Except of course, she’d known he’d agree. Why would he not? He anticipated many days of frenzied fucking with Antonia before he tired of her.
“I’ll meet you at the public baths at the ninth hour. Will you be able to find us somewhere—suitable?” Her words were once again breathless and he could almost believe she wasn’t used to making such illicit assignations. Except she’d not only initiated their second meeting she was now dictating where it should take pl
ace.
Not that he had any objection. He’d enjoy the edge of danger her request would entail. He’d assumed Antonia would wish only to meet him here, at Carys’, where they were assured of uninterrupted privacy but it appeared her sense of adventure was greater than he’d given her credit for.
“As long as your delicate sensibilities can tolerate a primitive tavern room then yes, I can easily find us somewhere.”
She smiled up at him, as though his gentle dig at her patrician heritage didn’t disturb her in the slightest. Only then did it occur to him that he still hadn’t retreated. That he still held her towel together at her breasts.
“My delicate sensibilities can withstand more than you might imagine.” Her hand covered his in an oddly intimate gesture. “I’m not made of spun glass.”
He laughed. Spun glass. Such a Roman term to use. He’d seen fragile glass creations and Antonia was wrong. Compared to Druid women she was, indeed, made of spun glass.
It was only when they finally pulled apart and Elpis returned to help her mistress look presentable that an odd realization hit.
He had compared Antonia, a Roman noblewoman, with his Celtic compatriots. And had not found her obvious deficiencies a source of disdain.
* * *
After Antonia left, Gawain bathed in the river that bordered the estate. He’d used public baths in the past, but only in order to glean information from arrogant Romans who discussed their affairs without a thought that a native might understand their words, let alone act on them. He’d never used a Roman bath for pleasure and had no intention of ever doing so, no matter how Carys mocked him for his fastidiousness.
As he made his way back to the villa, he took stock of his situation. Staying in Camulodunon indefinitely had never been an option. When he’d first entered the Roman city, it had been with the burning desire to avenge the rape of Cymru, the betrayal of Caratacus and, obscurely, the devastating loss of direction he was experiencing from Lugus’ continued absence.
The Druid Chronicles: Four Book Collection Page 95