For answer, he kneed her legs apart, bracing his weight on his hands as he loomed over her. “I would have no difficulty pinning you anywhere, no matter whether you were injured or not.”
The exotic spices that scented his hair and body engulfed her. It was heady, evocative and weaved through her blood and clouded her mind. She wanted to claw his face for his arrogance, and she wanted to fuck him senseless to still the ravening need shredding her sanity.
She wound her hand around his throat, mimicking what he had done to her earlier that day. His pulse thudded beneath her fingers and still he grinned down at her, arrogantly mocking her display of strength.
“Believe that if you wish, Roman.” She loosened her grip around his throat and dug her nails into the hard ridges of his shoulder. “One day we might put that assumption to the test.”
What am I saying? Why couldn’t she hold her tongue when she knew her strategy should be one of subservience? Most of all, why did she find their exchange of words so cursed arousing?
He nudged her thighs farther apart and lowered himself, until the aching tips of her breasts brushed against the dark hair that dusted his chest. It was agonizing, excruciating and she dragged her nails with murderous intent along the rigid contour of his breathtaking biceps.
“I have never,” his voice was strained, as if he clung onto his control by sheer willpower alone, “met a woman who insists on answering back with such frequency.”
She abandoned his arm and clasped his taut arse. Goddess, he felt good. The way he jerked against her as though he couldn’t help himself proved he found her touch equally arousing.
“I wonder you don’t gag me.” It was a breathless taunt and she squeezed his hard flesh, raising her knees and wrapping her ankles around his thighs. Still he didn’t take what she offered. He remained rigid above her, his hot gaze locked with hers.
“Don’t tempt me.”
She scraped her nails along his spine, relishing the way he shuddered, the way he so doggedly refused to relinquish his cursed Roman pride and follow her lead. If she had full use of both arms she wouldn’t be flat on her back, where she could do little but squirm. She’d have him on his back, and by Goddess, she would already be riding him into orgasmic pleasure.
“I do tempt you.” She dug her heels into his buttocks and attempted to raise her hips to encourage penetration but curse the man, he had her pinned securely to the mattress and her ability to control even this was negligible. “Fuck you, Tacitus, what are you doing?”
He bared his teeth, whether in a grin or grimace she could not decipher. His hot breath panted across her face and he lowered himself onto her. His erection slanted over her pussy, so close to where she wanted him and yet not close enough. She groaned, tried to squirm, but only succeeded in rubbing her swollen clit against his cock. It was a torturous pleasure and she squirmed again, the friction causing her juices to spill over his rigid length. He still didn’t answer her unspoken demand, but instead continued to press against her, crushing her breasts against his chest. Pushing her securely into the mattress so she could no longer even move.
Yet even in the midst of her frustration, she was aware he hadn’t come close to touching her injured shoulder.
“That’s not the language I expect to hear from a noblewoman.”
Her clit throbbed for release. Her nipples ached for his mouth. And all he could think about was her language? She hitched in a shallow breath, all she could manage, and glared into his lust-filled eyes.
“I’m not a Roman noblewoman, and I can say as I please.”
“But you are noble-born.”
Where was he going with this? For an instant, the circumstances of her birth haunted her, before her current circumstances once more overwhelmed her.
Goddess, he drove her mad. She could feel how hard he was, how hot and ready, and she could do nothing about it. It wasn’t just because she was injured. Despite her earlier words, she knew that even without her wounded shoulder she would still be at his mercy. The knowledge slammed into her, and a flicker of fear ignited at her vulnerability.
She had never been so securely pinned beneath a man before. She had always maintained a degree of control. But Tacitus had wrenched all control from her. She couldn’t even impale herself on his cock and watch his mocking smile transform into mindless need. Then, she would know what to do. He would be under her command and she could slake her lust while retaining her freedom to move as she pleased. She didn’t want to talk about her heritage. She didn’t want to talk to him at all. All she wanted, all she needed, was for him to take her, for her to come, so once again she could think clearly.
Her frustrated confusion made her reckless. “Why? Are you unable to fuck a peasant, Roman? Aren’t you man enough for me after all?”
Breath hissed between his teeth and he rose from her. His tough, bronzed body radiated tension in every muscle and for a fleeting moment, he looked like a conquering warlord claiming his prize. The image burned into her brain but before she could suck air into her deprived lungs he slammed into her so hard, so fast, for a dizzying moment the world turned black.
“Is that man enough for you, Celt?” Leashed fury whipped through each word but she didn’t have the breath to answer. His cock was inside her, stretching her, invading her, and Goddess help her, but she could feel him all the way up to the entrance of her womb.
She couldn’t speak. She was afraid to breathe, in case she shattered. All she could do was stare up at him and remain utterly still for fear of rupture.
“Nimue?” His growl penetrated her fogged mind. “Nimue?” This time a thread of doubt entered his voice, and he eased off her, enough to relieve the pressure deep inside.
She gasped, clutched at his back and gingerly flexed her internal muscles. She rippled against his rigid length and desire coiled where a moment ago she’d been paralyzed with shock.
He was inside her, and it was nothing like she had fantasized.
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 Twelve
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 prevent 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 i
nexplicably 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.
Enslaved (The Druid Chronicles Book 3) Page 9
