She pressed her body close, her breasts against his chest, her belly cradling his rigid shaft. Her fingers mirrored his, tangling in his hair, the tips of her nails digging into the back of his head.
Her tongue continued to torment him with shallow, fleeting intrusions. Did she want him to burst into flame beneath her teasing touch?
A growl burned his throat and he thrust into her, devouring her shocked gasp as he claimed her delectable mouth. The evocative taste of fresh mint and exotic spices teased his senses and his cock jerked with frustrated need. His hand slid from her face to capture her vulnerable throat.
Her pulse hammered against his fingers, intensifying the pounding in his temples, the thunder of his heart. He wanted her naked, writhing beneath him, and his fingers were inside her gown before he realized his intention.
Panting, he pulled back. Whatever she imagined, he was no barbarian and he wouldn’t rip her gown to shreds no matter how much the image inflamed.
“Strip for me.” It was a command, but it was agony to find the words to tell her what he needed. How much easier it would be if she understood his language. But even though he’d spoken in Latin she gazed at him in seeming confusion. He bared his teeth in a feral snarl. “Now.”
Slowly she began to remove her gown. Her golden hair tumbled around her shoulders, giving her a strangely ethereal air. As her fingers fumbled, he wondered if she’d ever performed such a simple task for herself without the aid of slaves.
He didn’t offer to assist. And with each tortured breath, she revealed another tantalizing glimpse of flesh. Finally her gown slid down her body to pool at her feet and his cock throbbed at the sight of her standing before him, a naked vision of temptation.
A blush highlighted her aristocratic cheeks but she didn’t drop her gaze in feigned modesty. “Now you must strip for me.” Her voice was low and he imagined he detected a tremble, but it was likely another ploy she used to engage the devotion of her lovers.
“Patience, Antonia.” He managed a mocking smile but it almost killed him. He wanted nothing more than to pin her to the nearest available surface and thrust deep inside her wet pussy, but she would learn no woman told him what to do. Even if she told him exactly what his rabid libido wanted him to do.
He raked his gaze over her full breasts, her nipples erect and inviting. Desire clawed through him but he remained rooted to the spot through sheer Druidic pride. Her body was slender, beautiful, with subtle signs that she had borne children. His gaze shifted to between her thighs and his mouth dried.
A narrow band of pale golden curls hugged her pussy lips. The hair was so fine, so delicate, it appeared translucent and her mound enticed him to fall to his knees and worship at her glistening shrine.
His hands fisted and he remained standing although the gods only knew how. “Turn around.” The order was raw, brutal, and for the life of him he couldn’t drag his mesmerized eyes from her dewy folds.
Without a word, she slowly turned and even without looking at her face he could imagine her smile of triumph. He barely cared. Because although she only half turned away from him she looked over her shoulder and her provocative pose caused violent spirals of lust deep in his gut. Her curls tumbled down her back to the dip of her waist, brushing against the swell of her arse. Gods, he’d never seen such a captivating arse. Firm globes of delectable flesh and he ached to taste, to touch. To grip her rounded cheeks while she rode him into a frenzy.
But not yet. He intended to savor this first time with her, and her practiced charms wouldn’t sway him from his purpose.
Even if every frustrated sense he possessed thudded with the urge to take her now and explore her tantalizing body later, at his leisure.
***
Antonia wound a curl around her finger, a nervous reaction to the breathless desire fluttering through her breast. Gawain had barely touched her and yet her body tingled with arousal. Unable to help herself she slowly turned back to face him. Should she demand that he now strip for her? But it didn’t matter what she thought because the dark passion in his eyes held her spellbound.
Without moving toward her, he ripped off his shirt. The breath lodged in her throat. He had the body of a warrior god. Bronzed from the sun, scarred from battle, his muscles firm and molded like the finest sculpture.
She’d never imagined a man’s body could be so beautiful. She ached to reach out and touch, to trace her fingers over his taut flesh and feel his masculine strength. Unlike with Scipio, the thought of exploring Gawain’s body caused exhilarating whirlpools between her thighs and an exquisite sensation of damp heat trembled through her core.
Until she’d met Gawain she’d never imagined wanting to see another man naked. Now, she couldn’t wait. Riveted, she watched him unlace his braccae, her heart hammering high in her breast making it difficult to draw breath. With apparent disregard for the lust simmering between them, he slowly tugged them down his powerful legs.
Merciful Juno. Antonia stared, mesmerized, as Gawain straightened and his breathtaking organ filled her vision. Thick and proud, his length caused another rush of heat careering through her blood, pooling low and bathing her sheath. She struggled to remain standing, to keep her hands to herself, not to gasp out loud with foolish awe.
But she couldn’t drag her fascinated gaze away.
He cupped his testicles and the sight of his hand on his body sent molten waves of pure desire from her nipples to her womb. And still he hasn’t touched me. Unfamiliar tugs of need tightened her cleft and this time she couldn’t help but press her thighs together. The pressure only increased the sensation of fullness that surged through her swollen folds.
If he didn’t take her soon she feared she would collapse onto the floor.
“Do you like what you see?” There was a hint of amusement in his husky voice. She couldn’t trust herself to speak so merely nodded. How much longer did he intend to make her wait? “Do you enjoy watching your lovers caress their cocks?” His hand slid up and grasped his root. Her fingers clenched around the curl she held and her mouth dried to an impossible degree.
Did he truly expect her to answer him? How could she answer him, when Scipio was the only man she’d ever known? And he had never bothered with such exquisite foreplay. When he wanted her, he had taken her. She’d been married almost a week before she had even got a good look at his monstrous tool of torture.
“Does this arouse you, Antonia?” He took a step toward her and she tried, desperately, to meet his gaze. And failed. She had never examined Scipio’s loathed instrument. She’d closed her eyes, imagined herself back in Gallia. But Gawain—goddess, his shaft was a thing of untold fascination.
Gawain moved to her side and with his free hand grasped her hair and lifted it over her shoulder, leaving her back bare for his pleasure. With drugged reluctance, Antonia met his burning gaze and her pulses thudded at the raw lust he made no effort to conceal.
He’d take her now. Even though they had done none of the things her former friends had gossiped about, it didn’t matter. Because she was more aroused than she had ever been in her life before, and for the first time she ached to be penetrated and possessed.
“Your eyes bewitch.” He sounded as drugged as she felt, as if the words escaped without his knowledge. “You’ll find me no easy conquest, Antonia.”
She had no idea what he meant. She didn’t care what he meant. Because his large hands curved over her shoulders and her eyes drifted shut as ripples of pleasure cascaded over her naked flesh.
He intended to take her from behind. Would he bend her over one of the benches or push her to her knees? She didn’t care. So long as he did it quickly, before she revealed how much she wanted this and begged.
His thumbs began to massage her tense shoulders and her eyes sprung open in shock. His grip on her was firm, but now his fingers mirrored his thumbs and an involuntary groan of pleasure escaped.
“Relax, my lady.” His smoky whisper brushed her ear as he leaned into her, an
d for a brief, glorious moment his broad chest grazed her back and branded her skin. “I have no intention of rutting with you like a wild beast from the forest. Not until you’re ready for me.”
Ready for him? How much readier could she be?
His hands worshipped her biceps and although she’d been massaged times without number in her life before, never had it felt like this. But then, never before had the masseur been a virile foreign warrior.
Another strangled groan escaped and she pressed her lips together but it made no difference. It was hard to breathe, hard to think. Hard to remain still and upright while Gawain’s magic fingers turned her limbs to water.
“You torture me.” The words sounded hoarse. She flexed her fingers in a futile effort to force her concentration away from the delirium Gawain’s confident touch evoked.
“Good.” His hands slid down her arms and involuntary tremors skittered across her flesh. Never in her wildest fantasies had she imagined her forearms could be so sensitive to a man’s seductive caress. “I intend to torture you until you writhe at my feet for mercy.”
She laughed, the breathless sound shocking her and she only just stopped herself from slapping her hand across her mouth. Sex wasn’t supposed to be funny. Was it?
“I see you doubt my prowess in this matter.” There was no mistaking the hint of laughter in his voice and Antonia risked glancing over her shoulder. His dark gaze enslaved and his fingers threaded through hers, pressing her palms against her taut thighs. “By the time we’ve finished, my lady, you will doubt me no longer.”
Chapter Eight
She didn’t doubt his prowess in the slightest. But she had no intention of telling him that. His ego was inflated enough as it was.
“Perhaps it will be you, Gawain, who will end up writhing at my feet.” The image of this tough warrior doing such a thing was so ludicrous that another inappropriate giggle bubbled in her breast.
Once again, he leaned into her, but this time the entire length of his body molded hers. His erection burned her lower back so hard and hot, he seared her flesh. Her desire to laugh evaporated, along with her breath, and she gasped as his jaw scraped against her throat.
“I will have you where I want you, Antonia. Make no mistake.” His raw whisper grazed her earlobe, an erotic promise. Or was it a threat? She didn’t even care. “And you’ll revel in it.”
Yes, she would. She reveled already, and he had to know. She turned her face toward him and his barbaric earring pressed against her cheek. Another sensuous ripple cascaded across her face and along her throat and her fingers clenched, despite how they were captured between Gawain’s.
“We will have each other.” Her heart hammered so wildly in her breast, constricting her breath, she scarcely knew how she managed to respond at all. But something compelled her. Something that had been beaten down during the years of her marriage, but that had refused to wither and die beneath the desert of derision and disregard. “I look forward to our mutual writhing.”
Goddess, had she said that aloud? The way Gawain’s body shook with silent laugher assured her that yes, she most certainly had. And he enjoyed her remarks. How shockingly easy it was to fall back into the patterns of her girlhood, when she had spoken before she thought. When she had believed, so naively, that all men would be as indulgent of her irreverent tongue as her father.
He untangled his fingers from hers and trailed an excruciating path up her thighs toward her hips.
“So do I.” His growl vibrated across her sensitized skin, and she closed her eyes as his lips claimed the angle of her jaw with nibbling kisses that stoked the embers to unbearable heights.
Threads of fire weaved across her flesh as he scraped the tips of his fingers over the swell of her hips and dip of her waist. She shifted against him, his erection growing even harder, and molten heat rolled deep in her slick sheath.
It was no good. He wanted her to beg. “I believe I am ready.” The words were uneven, her breath erratic, but surely coherent enough for him to understand. She wanted him now, before these exquisite sensations causing untold havoc between her thighs vanished.
His lips teased her earlobe, his warm breath dusting her skin like an elusive summer breeze. “I don’t believe you are.”
Her eyes widened. “I don’t believe you know what you’re talking about.”
Again an irresistible laugh vibrated through his body. “Do you always talk so much during intimate moments?”
“No.” Her confession was out before she could prevent it. In truth, she had never uttered a word after the night of her marriage, when it became clear the only words Scipio wanted to hear from her while he claimed his rights were ones she would never voice. He may have owned her body, but he had never owned her mind.
Gawain trailed a fiery path across her belly and cradled her breasts. His hands were firm, roughened, and she hitched in an uneven breath and instinctively curled her hands around his forearms before she tumbled onto the floor.
“Then why am I different?” There was an edge of mockery in his voice but it didn’t disguise the throb of desire. His thumbs flicked across her erect nipples and a strangled moan escaped. How much more of this sweet torture could she take?
She moistened her lips and tried to gather her cascading thoughts. What did he ask me? “Why do you assume you’re different?”
He nibbled a seductive trail of kisses across her shoulder, his lips and teeth creating a maelstrom of sensation that weaved over her breasts and circled her aching nipples. Her head fell back against his neck, thrusting her breasts forward, and his grasp became possessive.
“Because I’m the first barbarian to enjoy your charms?” As he panted the words against her heated skin, he pressed her breasts together, creating a deep cleavage. She knew he was looking at her and the knowledge caused another wave of heat to flood her quivering channel. It took more effort than she knew she possessed, but somehow she forced her head upright so she could witness the expression on his face.
As she had guessed, he was mesmerized by her creamy mounds and the dark crevice he had created between them. Entranced, she reached up and cradled his face, but he appeared unable to drag his gaze from her entrapped flesh.
“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 wa
s 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.
Tainted (The Druid Chronicles Book 4) Page 7
