The Wicked Lady
Page 12
Jaden sprang from the bed and grabbed her, reacting far too swiftly for her to even attempt to resist him as he pulled her back against his muscular chest. Yet she was certain he’d no intention of harming her as one of his hands reached for her breasts, while the other slid across her stomach. He eased her closer. Her bottom pressed against his groin, and the rigid line of his cock dug seductively into her buttocks.
“Relax,” he whispered in a low, hypnotic voice as his warm breath brushed her earlobe. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to give you pleasure.”
He kissed her neck, then tipped her forward a little so he could unfasten the back laces of her gown. Pulling them apart, he eased the neck open wider and slid the garment from her shoulders and down her arms. The silky fabric crumpled around her waist, and Nerya shivered as one of his large hands clasped her left breast. He kneaded the firm mound until she gave a soft, pleading moan. Then his fingers brushed against her nipples. Arching her back, she ground her buttocks against his cock as Jaden rolled the tiny teats between fingers and thumbs, pulling on them until they stiffened and elongated into hard cones.
“Jaden.” She gasped as he twisted her around and eased the white silk from her hips. The dress slithered downwards, landing in a crumpled pool at her feet.
He towered over her, and she was faced with a broad, muscular chest still hidden beneath the linen tunic. She lifted her hands, caressed his dusky skin and threaded her fingers through his black, silky locks. Jaden’s mouth covered hers, and he kissed her long and deeply, sensually exploring her mouth with his tongue. Her fingers reached for the ties that held his tunic together at the shoulders. She wanted him naked—she needed to feel his warm flesh pressed close to hers. Nerya’s fingers, normally so agile, fumbled with the knots. Her insides twisted with desire and her limbs felt weak, while his kiss made her breathless with lust.
“Let me.” He pulled at the ties, ripping them away. The tunic fell to the floor. Jaden kicked it aside, scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
Before Nerya knew what was happening, she lay on the mattress and Jaden crouched astride her legs. As he leaned over her, the ends of his hair brushed erotically against the skin of her stomach, and she shivered with pleasure. He caressed the firm curves of her breasts, then kissed the soft flesh. Taking one aching nipple between his lips, he sucked on it until a starburst of pleasurable sensations surged through her body, flooding her veins with desire. Pulling the nipple deeper into his mouth, Jaden grazed it with his teeth as one of his large hands slid down over her midriff. His sword-roughened fingers explored her body, his hand molding itself to the swell of her hips, moving seductively over the flat plain of her stomach.
Trembling, she lay there, too weak to do anything as he splayed his fingers over her lower belly then threaded them through the springy curls covering her pubis. Her heart leapt as his hand crept between her thighs. Never had she dreamed she could feel need like this.
Nerya shuddered as his long fingers eased their way between her sex lips, sliding deeper into the soft folds. They moved with tantalizing slowness along the narrow pink valley until they reached her clitoris. At once the pleasure grew and expanded, unfurling like the petals of an early blossoming rose. Nerya gave a keening gasp as he circled the sensitive spot, rubbing it with his fingertips. Moaning with bliss, she allowed her thighs to roll fully open as he slipped his fingers inside her. Moisture flowed, making his movements more fluid as he began to thrust into her with a seductive rhythm, while the pad of his thumb teased her pleasure nub. This was like no sexual encounter she’d experienced in the past. Nerya closed her eyes and gave herself up to the erotic delight.
Love sometimes comes late and, perhaps, at too great a price.
Damon’s Price
© 2010 Ali Katz
Widowhood agrees with thirty-eight-year-old Claudia Sabina. Her husband and father left her wealthy, but her most prized possession is their gift of independence. She enjoys a freedom few women in male-dominated Roman Society will ever know.
One of her most valuable assets is Damon, a young Greek slave bequeathed to her by her father. Intelligent, resourceful and educated beyond the norm for even a freeborn Roman citizen, Damon is a man of many talents. It doesn’t hurt that he is also a pleasure to look at.
For months, Damon hides the fact he’s fallen in love with his new mistress. He convinces himself he can be satisfied with her nearness—until the night he walks in on her bath, and his rigid control deserts him. Consequences fail to matter as he offers her full use of talents that, until now, he’s never revealed.
In a moment of weakness, Claudia crosses the line laid down by Roman law and custom, immersing herself in an illegal and dangerous love affair. A choice that threatens both their futures.
Warning: Imagine what you might do with a naked, Greek god whose sole purpose is to satisfy your every whim, then keep on imagining. This title contains an abundance of hot, hot, hot M/F loving.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Damon’s Price:
Damon crossed the room to deposit the tablets and take his place beside the desk.
“I knocked,” he said.
“The right thing would have been to leave quietly and come back later,” she warned him coldly. She slid into the chair without looking in his direction.
“I didn’t want you to worry about who had tried the door.”
“Kind of you.” She should tell him to leave. He could wait elsewhere for the correspondence.
Instead, Claudia tried to focus on the first letter. Damon’s meticulous transcription decayed to a blur on the tablet. She needed all her concentration to control the trembling in her hands.
She heard a sharp intake of breath and glanced up to catch him staring at her breasts.
Her body’s instant reaction stunned her. Her nipples grew taut against the slick fabric of the robe. A warm, liquid rush dampened her sex.
The evidence of his arousal swelled behind the fabric of his tunic. She turned in the chair to face him. The robe didn’t turn with her. It slipped open, exposing her chest and all of one leg. She made no attempt to correct the problem.
With one hand gripping the back of her chair, she returned his scrutiny. The boy was certainly a pleasure to look at. She’d admired his form often enough, but always with the appreciation one might give to an especially fine marble likeness—almost always.
At the moment, there was no comparing him to any image carved from stone. His living heat radiated between them. She drank in his rugged charms—sweetly disheveled hair, black as night, worn longer than was fashionable, black brow, midnight eyes. The shadow of a beard darkened his face. He was slim but well fed and well muscled, and he was the most intelligent man she’d ever known.
Yes, man, she reminded herself.
“How old are you, Damon?” she asked.
“Twenty-six, Era.”
Titus, her son, would soon be twenty-three.
“Why would you suggest such a thing? What do you expect in return?”
The question clearly insulted him. He cast his gaze aside, but not fast enough to hide a spark of anger.
“To watch your pleasure,” he said.
As simple as that? Not likely. She read no dissemblance in his face, however.
Against her better judgment, Claudia continued her examination of his beautiful body. She was playing with fire, but the fire in her loins and in his eyes compelled her. Without diverting her interest from the breadth of his shoulders beneath the loose fitting tunic, she amazed herself by asking, “If I said yes, what would you do?”
A sudden gasp stopped the rise and fall of his chest. The quick glance with which she’d intended to judge his reaction became a prolonged gaze into his eyes when she recognized in them something she had not seen in a very long time. This beautiful young man lusted for her—for her, a woman twelve years his senior.
“What would you do?” she whispered.
His full lips parted for a sigh
. “First, I would take down your hair.” His hand twitched. “Do you know how beautiful your hair is? How it shines in the sun? Why do you hide it in a knot behind your head?”
“This is how matrons wear their hair.”
“You’re no matron.”
“I am a matron with two grown children, Damon. I’ve outlived a husband and a son.” Her words did not have the sobering effect she’d expected—on either of them. “Tell me, what do you want?”
His gaze traveled over her exposed throat and chest. A little groan escaped him.
“I want to feel your flesh quiver under my touch.” Again, his lips parted. His tongue slipped between to wet them. “I want the weight of your breasts in my palms. I want to drown in the sounds of your pleasure.”
Every hair on her body stood on end. She shivered, as much at the sound of his voice as at the words he spoke. It was madness to encourage him. Death came to mind. Rome did not look lightly on her women having sex with slaves.
“What you’re suggesting might be quite costly for either of us. Both, more likely.” Yet everyone knew the practice was as common as a man taking a mistress.
“I have a mouth for your pleasure,” Damon said. “No one will know. I’ve longed to taste you from the first moment I saw you.”
His breathy baritone purred over her skin, raising goose flesh. Once the possibility took root, it would not be wrenched free.
Too far, she thought. I’ve let this go too far. She had invited him to seduce her and had willingly succumbed.
“Show me,” she breathed.
Before the words passed her lips, Damon moved in to straddle her knees. He swept the band from her hair, letting the steam-dampened curls shiver down her back. His long, slender fingers combed through the curls, tugging slightly, smoothing them.
Claudia’s eyes drifted closed. Fingertips grazed the length of her neck and nudged the robe past her shoulders. The soft fabric whispered to her waist.
He knew just where to touch, how hard, how fast. His hands fluttered over her back and shoulders. Her flesh quivered beneath their callused surface. These were not a scribe’s hands, but the hands of a man used to sharing in the planting, pruning, harvesting, hauling—hard labor their business required. Labor he was not obligated to do.
Those wonderful hands trailed fire wherever they fell. The rough pads of his thumbs brushed her aching nipples. Claudia bit her lip, willing herself to silence. Though her rooms had their own wing, she couldn’t take the chance any of the servants might hear. Her breath came in silent gasps.
One knee insinuated itself between her legs. Without volition, they opened to him and he knelt on the floor in front of her, tugging at the knot of her robe until the fabric fell away and the reality of what they were doing sank in.
Her breath seized in her throat. She shouldn’t allow this. She didn’t know this man, not like this. He was loyal, but to whom? She’d moved in on him, usurping his position when she took over her inheritance. Until four months ago, he was in charge and she’d never considered he might resent her. Yet, here she was, considering it. Common sense warned her. This shouldn’t happen. He could ruin her. She needed to stop.
But when his whispered endearments reached her ears, “…beautiful…Era mea…”, and she felt his hot breath bathe her flesh, she knew there was no stopping. The tenderness in his voice drew her eyes. Even in the dim light, she could see the heat in his half-lidded gaze. He appraised her with something akin to worship. Right or wrong, she trusted him. No one could look at her like that and mean her harm.
But how would she forget that look in the morning?
Without warning, Damon dug his fingers into her sides and yanked her toward him. The coarse shadow of his beard rasped over her skin as he covered her breast with his mouth and sucked.
Claudia stifled a moan and leaned into him, encouraging him. The smooth surface of his tongue stroked the sensitive nipple. Her sex throbbed to his rhythm, seizing now and then, hinting of things to come.
Damon shuddered. His kisses moved north, alternately nipping and kissing in a line to her shoulder and neck, nuzzling his way to her ear. His lips brushed her cheek and over her lips, just a breath.
Fire surged through her. All thought of consequence melted in the heat. Like an infant seeking sustenance, she turned into the caress, chasing the gentle kiss. She needed that kiss, a real kiss. But his lips didn’t part for her when she captured his mouth, though his breath quickened and his heart pounded beneath her palm which had somehow found its way to his chest. A desperate, painful longing burst inside her. She drew away.
He removed her hand. “Best you don’t touch me,” he whispered, his voice full of gravel. He stood, lifting her from the chair, his hands cradling her ass as he carried her to the bed and laid her atop the woolen covers.
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