“No more than any other woman.”
“Other Roman women.” He covered her hand, pressed his lips against her open palm. Her gaze locked with his and he watched, bewitched, as desire darkened her ice-blue eyes.
“Are we so different from Celtic women?” Her question was barely above a whisper and he caught an odd vulnerability in her voice.
“Yes.” His hungry gaze roved over her aristocratic face, her intricately styled hair, the foreign gown she wore. But even if he dressed her as a Celtic noble, it wasn’t the way she looked that divided them. “We live in two different worlds, Antonia. You would not last a Roman month in mine.”
A small smile curved her lips. “I did not imagine you were so close-minded, Gawain. How easily you could fit into the world of Roman politics.”
Her words were unexpected. Once again, she appeared less than dazzled with her cursed empire and her attitude intrigued him. He slid his fingers through hers and tugged her forward. “Did you just insult me, my lady?”
“Do you have ambitions to infiltrate the Senate?”
She was laughing at him, but that wasn’t all. She was laughing at her own culture and he found it enchanting. “Do you think I would succeed if I attempted such a feat?”
She tilted her head in a deliberately provocative manner. “I should like to witness such a thing. But I fear patricians are very fond of nepotism when it comes to matters of state.”
“How fortunate I harbor no such ambitions, then.” He slid the neckline of her gown off her shoulder and the savage mark of possession he’d given her the previous day riveted his attention.
“Is your way so different?” Her voice was breathless as she leaned toward him. “Before the conquest would your chieftains welcome outsiders into their inner sanctum?”
His gut clenched at the word conquest but then an ice cold realization speared through him.
Before the Romans had invaded, it was the Druids who had held the power. Kings and chieftains had sought their wisdom and knowledge and deferred to them in all matters concerning the gods and portents.
It was the reason her emperor so feared and hated Druids. The reason he wanted to eliminate every last one in his cursed empire.
Druids did not, had never, open their sacred ranks to outsiders. The blood of the gods flowed through their veins and their magic passed down from one generation to the next. Occasionally an acolyte was accepted from the nobility or, rarely, the peasant class if they showed exceptional potential, but since the dawn of creation, Druids had enjoyed an elevated, privileged status.
That did not mean they were in any way similar to Roman patricians. The thought was abhorrent.
He frowned down at Antonia. She had only gently mocked his ways the same as she had mocked her own. And she had no idea that he was a Druid, and therefore her bitterest enemy. But the unintentional parallel her words had drawn between their two cultures rankled nevertheless.
“No, they wouldn’t.” It might irk to admit it, but in some things, all peoples were united. “The ties of blood and links to ancestors are paramount.”
“When our blood ties do not suffice,” Antonia trailed her finger over the front of his shirt, a featherlight distraction that managed to shred his concentration. “We find adoption an appropriate solution.”
He had the urge to laugh again, and all things considered, he wasn’t sure why. How did Antonia manage to twist a conversation that had struck at the heart of his existence into something that tickled his sense of humor?
“Romans,” he said, “are a swamp of contradictions.”
She rose onto her toes and brushed her lips over his. So soft. So irresistibly seductive. “Yes. I have always thought so.”
He slid the tip of his tongue across the seam of her lips and wound his free arm about her waist, tugging her against his body so he could feel every delicious curve. “You also are contradictory.”
“Good.” She breathed the word into his mouth, and the familiar hint of fresh mint teased his senses. “How I would hate you to find me predictable.”
This time he did laugh, and he tightened his grip on her hand and waist. Her erratic breath feathered his jaw and her breasts pressed against his chest in a delightful torture.
Predictable was the last thing he found her.
“Why are you still standing?” He untangled his fingers from hers and palmed the firm globes of her arse. “I want you on your knees.”
The vision of her on her knees before him, sucking him into her wet mouth, caused his balls to tighten with need. He would plunge his fingers through her artfully arranged curls, come inside her delectable mouth, and watch her swallow his hot seed. A strangled groan razed his throat at the potent image.
Antonia flattened her hands against his broad chest and the strong beat of his heart thudded against her palm. She loved the way he held her so forcefully, and the thought of him taking her from behind, while she knelt on the dirty floor, was intoxicating.
“First,” she whispered, “I want you naked, Gawain. I want to explore every hard ridge of your body with my mouth.” Except his rod. She thrust that notion aside with a shudder of distaste.
“On one condition.” But already he tore his shirt over his head as if he could not wait for her to begin. Mesmerized she drank in his magnificent corded muscles and bronzed flesh and involuntarily the tip of her tongue moistened her lips.
“What condition?” Her voice was husky and her eyes locked between his thighs as he now slowly, maddeningly, tugged his braccae over his hips.
“That you also are naked.” He kicked his clothes aside and a breathless sigh escaped as she admired his proud weapon. She might not have any intention of using her mouth on that part of his body, but she could not wait to touch and stroke and feel its alluring texture.
“That does not seem unreasonable.” With clumsy fingers, she unclasped the fibula at her shoulder, unable to tear her fascinated gaze from between Gawain’s thighs. Already her core was damp and tender and she fought the urge to squirm as she tugged free of her stola and pulled feverishly at her under-tunic. She stepped from the pool of linen at her feet and cupped his strong jaw. “Now I have you at my mercy.”
He cradled her hips, his hands hard and possessive and a delicious tremor claimed her sensitive folds.
“Not yet.” He sounded on the verge of laughter again. She loved how easily she could amuse him. How different he was in reality from the first impression she’d gained when he had appeared beside her father’s carpentum.
She rose onto her toes, and her erect nipples brushed against his chest. His fingers bit into her and he jerked her forward, his shaft burning her stomach.
“You are not supposed to be touching me.” Not that she wanted him to let go. But she also dearly wanted to explore his body and how could she do that if he drove her mindless with desire with barely a touch?
“That wasn’t part of the bargain.” His hands curved over her bottom, igniting a thousand dancing flames deep within her cleft. “You have a delectable arse, my lady. Did you know that?”
She laughed, shocked and thrilled in equal scandalous measure by his unexpected observation. “I have never been told such a thing before.” And then she couldn’t help herself. “Have I really?”
His grin was the wickedest thing she had ever seen. “One day soon,” he said, and his gaze was so intense she could not have looked away if the world was ending, “your tempting arse will be mine, Antonia.”
Her mouth dried. Her former friends had whispered of such delights but it was something Scipio had never demanded from her. The thought of having Gawain take her there caused liquid heat to bloom low between her thighs and pump with erratic disarray through her blood.
She knew her face was flushed, knew her desire showed plainly in her eyes. But she did not care. She stared up at him and the reflected lust that darkened his features aroused her as much as his erotic promise.
“You haven’t answered, my lady.” His finger c
aressed the outer edges of her crevice, an exquisite torture. “Does this thought excite you?”
“Yes.” Her voice was low, hoarse, did not sound like her at all. “Not today?” It was a question and her breath stalled in her throat in dark anticipation.
His fingers trailed up the length of her spine, while his other hand continued to hold her arse with predatory intention. Wet heat licked along her sheath and she shifted against him, her nipples aching with need.
“No.” His voice throbbed with passion and her hands fell from his jaw to cling onto his shoulders. He lowered his head and his hot breath tantalized her ear. “I will give you time to think on it, to imagine how it will feel when my cock claims your virginity.”
Chapter Twelve
Her nails dug into his rigid flesh and her legs threatened to collapse. If not for how he held her so securely, she knew she would fall at his feet.
Writhe at his feet. The image inflamed her overheated imagination.
“I trust you will not keep me waiting too long.” The words were erratic, hard to articulate around the wild beat of her heart.
She felt his teeth graze her ear and could imagine his sinful smile. “I’ll keep you waiting until you are ready for me. Until you beg me for it.”
His words smoldered through her veins and she struggled against the urge to beg him for it now. If he could show restraint, then so could she. But it was hard to think of anything else but his breathtaking promise of hedonistic pleasure.
“Perhaps,” she whispered, “you will be the one begging me for it.”
His rumble of laughter vibrated through her, sending sparks of arousal across her sensitized skin. “There’s a first time for everything.”
She could not imagine Gawain begging for anything. But the seductive image of him begging for her favors entranced her, nevertheless.
Her fingers slid across his shoulders and along his powerful biceps, sculpting the muscled flesh. He relinquished his grip on her exposed bottom and stood before her, and when she glanced up at him, he had a half-smile on his lips, as though her tentative attempt at seduction amused him.
A wisp of unease wove through her mind. She might enjoy making him laugh, but there was a time and a place. And now, as she practiced her unsophisticated skills, was neither. He should not be smiling at her. He should be battling the need to pin her to the bed.
“Is something wrong?” She heard the edge to her voice, but could not help it. The thought of Gawain mocking her, the way Scipio had mocked her, caused her stomach to clench with distress.
“What could possibly be wrong?” His grin evolved, reminding her, obscurely, of a wolf eyeing its prey. “I’m about to be seduced by a beautiful woman. Every red-blooded man’s fantasy.”
His words stoked the embers glowing between her thighs and soothed the unease plaguing her mind. He wasn’t laughing at her. He simply found sex an amusing pastime, and hadn’t she discovered it could also be fun, the last time she had been with him?
She had to answer him. Just because his idle comment had smothered her flare of panic, she knew full well that he had meant nothing deep or personal by it. “Your practiced flattery will get you far.”
For a moment, the muscles of his face tightened, as if she had insulted his honor. But it was gone in a flash and once again his eyes crinkled in apparent humor. “Then my mission is accomplished.”
It was a perfectly reasonable response and she knew she should laugh. But something felt wrong, although she could not put her finger on it. Why did it matter that he was merely flattering her with his words? She had always known that, right from the moment he had set out to seduce her in Carys’ atrium.
Hadn’t she just virtually forced him to admit his ulterior motives? So why did the illogical wish weave through her breast that he had never said such pretty words to another woman—that he had not said them to her simply because he felt he should?
This was insane. She had only limited time before she needed to leave him. Why was she wasting it by analyzing their conversation? Their conversation was not the reason she risked coming to see him.
Even if a part of her craved their conversation as passionately as she craved his body.
She pushed the errant thought aside. It had no place here, had no place in her life. Instead she closed her eyes, pressed her lips against his chest and inhaled his intoxicating scent of primal danger and dark, unknowable forests.
Once again, she curved her hands around his biceps and his hard muscles and unforgiving strength sent delicious tremors cascading through her blood. She teased the tip of her tongue along the rough length of an old wound and felt him shudder beneath her touch.
Her fierce Cambrian warrior. The thought pounded through her mind, as potent as any exotic aphrodisiac.
Slowly her palms slid down his powerful arms, over his wrists, and flattened against his hands. How small her fingers were, compared to his. How easily he could bend her to his will, force her to do anything he desired. Except there was nothing she could imagine he would demand that she would not eagerly give.
Erotic shivers feathered over her body and she circled her tongue around his erect nipple. His rock-hard shaft scorched her belly and his hands fisted, but he did not grab her hips or spear his fingers through her hair. A thrill spun through her as she realized he was deliberately not touching her. Because she had told him he shouldn’t.
A growl rumbled through his chest and she abandoned his hands so she could explore the hard ridges of his body. Mouth still fastened over his irresistible flesh she pulled back so she was no longer crushed against him. The tips of her fingers caressed his abdomen, felt his taut muscles contract farther and it took all her willpower not to fall against him once again. How could she explore every delicious inch of him if his magnificent rod burning her flesh constantly distracted her?
“Bite me.” His feral command thudded through her head and she relinquished his nipple and looked up at him. He was staring at her, eyes glazed with lust, and he was no longer smiling. He looked in pain.
As she continued to gaze at him, mesmerized by the sight of her warrior lover poised on the edge of civility, he bared his teeth.
“Stop laughing and use your teeth on me, woman. Or I shall be forced to once again touch you.”
She realized she was smiling. She also realized she couldn’t stop. It might be an ephemeral illusion, but the feminine power that surged through her at both the look on his face and the agony in his words was exhilarating.
With slow deliberation, she returned her attention to his magnificent chest. She’d had no idea a man’s nipples could become aroused in such a way, or that they might be as sensitive to touch as a woman’s. Experimentally she lightly captured him between her teeth and his strangled groan thundered through her mind.
Encouraged, she sucked him between her lips and her nails dug into him as his heady essence of raw masculinity flooded her senses. His uneven breath dusted the top of her head and the erratic rise and fall of his chest enhanced the sensation of him inside her mouth.
She nibbled kisses across his chest, his light dusting of hair tickling her nose and lips and jaw. She flicked her tongue across his other nipple and then, daringly, sucked hard on his flesh.
Through the pounding of blood at her temples, she heard his seductive growl. The vibration sank into her veins and teased her pussy. Her hands gripped his hips as she slid sensuously down his body, no longer able to keep any distance between them, her sensitive nipples scoring a fiery trail along his rigid flesh.
Her nails scored across his taut buttocks—his arse—and with a breathless gasp she sank onto her knees. His mesmerizing erection filled her vision and her fingers tightened involuntarily as she gripped his behind.
“Antonia.” The word was tortured. She knew he wanted her attention but she could not drag her fascinated gaze away.
“Yes?” It was a throaty whisper, and clinging onto his arse with one hand her other glided over his hip.
/> “You are an enchantress.” He made it sound like an accusation but still she couldn’t look up at him.
“Yes,” she breathed, because if he wanted her to be an enchantress, then she had no objection. Her finger trembled as she finally touched his rigid shaft, and the heat radiating from him scalded her enslaved senses.
“I have imagined you on your knees at my feet.” His words were ragged. She held her breath and trailed her finger to his root. Merciful Juno. She gazed at his testicles in mute, reverential awe. Gawain’s finger strayed across her face, as though he could not help himself. “The reality surpasses any of my fantasies.”
She wanted to tell him that her fantasies also were surpassed, but it was impossible to speak. All she could do was admire the vision of masculine perfection displayed before her.
Her jagged breath sounded loud in her ears as she tentatively cradled his heavy balls. His fingers jerked against her face and then he twisted stray curls around his knuckles, sending darts of pleasure across her scalp.
“How long do you intend to torture me, enchantress?”
She licked her lips and breathed in his evocative, masculine essence. A heady, addictive scent of reined-in desire and impending sex. Ripples of need teased her damp cleft and without conscious thought, her fingers tightened around his taut sac. If he expected a coherent answer, he was going to be disappointed.
Finally she released her death grip on his arse and dragged her fingernails across his hips, thrilled by the way her touch caused him to shudder with repressed desire. With infinite care, she curled her fingers around him, her breath hitching, heart hammering at her daring. He was so hard and hot and thick. She could feel his blood thundering beneath her palm, the sensation so arousing and astonishing she forgot how to breathe.
“Gods, Antonia.” His hoarse voice penetrated her swirling senses but not enough for her to respond. “Take me now.”
Tainted Page 10
