“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 she did not do something, Gawain would think her 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 could not 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 did not 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 are 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 crease, 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 was his. 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 Nine
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 would not 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 did not 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 had 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 did not appear to register it. With a reluctance that disgusted him, he finally pulled free of her welcoming clasp. “I’m gratified I exceeded th
e efforts of your Roman lovers, Antonia.” Except he wasn’t gratified. He was irritated by the comparison and couldn’t fathom why.
She did not 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 did not 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 had 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 had 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, Gawain.”
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 did not care. “That can be arranged.”
Her mouth curved into a smile of what looked relief. Except of course, she’d known he would agree. Why would he not? He anticipated many days of frenzied fucking with Antonia before he tired of her.
“I will 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 had not only initiated their second meeting she was now dictating where it should take place.
Not that he had any objection. He’d enjoy the edge of danger her request would entail. He had 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, Gawain.”
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 had 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.
But within days, he’d discovered Carys now lived here, and even if he had been able to raise an army of bloodthirsty warriors from these apathetic Britons, he refused to put Carys and her small family in such danger. She was a link to his past and if he could believe her idealistic vision, she and the many children she intended to have were the hope for the future.
As far as he knew, it was only the far north, beyond the traitorous Brigantes whose queen who had sold Caratacus to the Romans, that remained free of the empire. Perhaps it was there, among the fierce Pict tribes and their advantageous mountainous land, that he would find a way to scrub the bloodstained guilt from his soul.
He entered the villa and caught sight of Carys. She was standing by a barely opened door that led into the atrium. When she saw him, she put a finger to her lips and jerked her head.
His warrior instinct alert, he went to her side, his hand instinctively going to his dagger. She was dressed as a Druid princess and when he heard the murmur of male voices from the atrium, he guessed why she was hiding.
It would not do for anyone of importance to see the tribune’s wife as she truly was.
“Hoping to make the acquaintance of your wife.”
“Carys will be sorry to have missed your visit, Praetor.” Maximus sounded sincere, but Gawain was certain the Roman knew exactly where his wife was hiding and that she was not in the least sorry to have missed the official’s visit. “Unfortunately, she is indisposed.”
Carys scowled and Gawain bit back a laugh. Feminine indisposition was a favorite excuse when a Roman woman did not wish to face a situation but it was never something a Celtic woman would resort to.
“My sympathies,” the other Roman said. Gawain leaned against a marble column. Obviously Carys felt the need to stay and eavesdrop and what’s more, she wanted him to, as well. “My late wife suffered greatly from the same malady.”
Gawain grimaced, but Carys ignored him. He had no moral problems listening into private conversations when there might be information he could use to his advantage. But he had no interest whatsoever in this tedious exchange.
The strangled response from Maximus
, though, almost made it worthwhile.
“So, Maximus,” the praetor said, his tone turning brisk. “You’ve been stationed in this colonia for how long?”
“A little over a year.” The tribune sounded restrained and Gawain stifled a yawn and wondered if Antonia ever suffered from feminine indispositions.
“Long enough to have cultivated a good sense of the mood of the local natives.”
Gawain folded his arms. Was the praetor concerned an uprising was imminent? If so, he need not worry. While the peasants might resent the Roman presence, their masters were content to bask in the condescending benevolence of the empire.
“The benefits of being under the protection of the Eagle are something they’re coming to appreciate.”
Gawain was sure Maximus believed that. It was hard not to draw the same conclusion at times. He was also sure Carys was going to make him pay dearly for saying such a thing within her hearing.
The praetor grunted in apparent approval. Gawain forcibly relaxed his fist, which he had no recollection flexing.
“Do you believe they would knowingly harbor fugitive Druids?”
Ice slid through Gawain’s veins and he caught Carys’ steady gaze. This was why she had wanted him by her side. Because she had known the praetor’s visit directly impacted their survival.
“No.” Maximus’ voice was firm.
“No?” The praetor sounded taken aback, as if he hadn’t expected such an uncompromising response. “Perhaps your view is clouded by your personal circumstances.”
Gawain saw Carys stiffen and knew it wasn’t her own safety that worried her. It was her husband’s.
“The emperor is assured of my loyalty.” There was no inherent threat in Maximus’ mild tone but the threat was there, nevertheless. Gawain pulled Carys back against his chest and leaned forward so he could catch a glimpse of the praetor through the narrow gap.
Tainted Page 8
