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“You’ve haunted my thoughts since the first moment I saw you.” His voice was oddly hushed, and his thumb gently caressed her cheek. “I’ve wanted this. But I don’t want you to be afraid of me, lady.”
She swallowed, so hard when her mouth was as dry as the leaves in autumn. Perhaps every drop of moisture in her body had gathered between her thighs.
Instinctively she pressed her knees together, but that only increased pressure on her clit, and she gave another involuntary shudder.
“I’m not afraid of you, Maximus.” Her voice didn’t sound like her own. So breathless. So aroused. She pressed her face against his hand, to show him how much she craved his touch, and was rewarded when he once again resumed gently stroking her heated skin.
“And yet you tremble like a virgin on her wedding night.” His fingers stilled, as if a thought had just occurred to him. “You’re not a virgin, are you, my lady?”
How could he think such of her? Despite her nakedness she drew herself up proudly. “I am not.” His insult stung, but perhaps he didn’t realize what his question implied.
She took a deep breath, noticed how his attention slipped to watch her breasts. “Maximus.”
When he didn’t immediately return his focus to her face, she cupped his jaw, until he once again looked at her.
“I’m a Celtic woman,” she told him. “I worship the goddess and all her gifts she bestows upon us.”
Just because she hadn’t enjoyed those gifts while Aeron grunted over her didn’t mean she had ignored the goddess. Even if the goddess ignored
her.
At least whenever she pleasured herself she never experienced discomfort or dull dissatisfaction. But Maximus didn’t need to know that.
“The goddess?” Confusion briefly clouded his features, as if he didn’t know to whom or what she referred. She reminded herself he was Roman. His ways were different from hers.
“I offered my virginity to the goddess six years ago,” she said, just to clarify that she was a woman and not a girl. He may not have intended to slight her; her knowledgeable tutor had explained how Roman men idealized girls ignorant of the goddess’s delights, but the slight rankled nevertheless. “I tremble with need for you, not from fear of you.”
The tense expression hardening his features relaxed and a smile of pure masculine pride curved his lips. Carys smiled back, relieved he had believed her. For as much as she wanted to take everything this Roman had to offer her, a part of her did fear.
Feared that, even with him, she might be unable to attain the heights of pleasure for which she so longed.
With great economy, Maximus shed his cloak and tunic. “Touch me,” he commanded, but his hand was gentle as he trailed his fingers along the line of her jaw.
Touch him? She wanted to feast upon him. Greedily she devoured his well-defined muscles, the tawny gleam of his skin that the lanterns enhanced to a mystical glow, and traced her finger over one of his many battle scars.
He made an odd sound in the back of his throat, and she glanced up at him, frowning. “Did I hurt?” She couldn’t decipher whether he had groaned from pain or—but surely not—stifled a laugh.
His lips twitched and he appeared on the verge of saying something. But then he shook his head.
She flattened her palm against his warm skin, thrilling to the masculine texture of flesh and hair. “I don’t wish to hurt you,” she said, knowing she wasn’t, knowing she could never hurt this Roman even if she wanted such a thing. But it felt strangely erotic to turn his words back on him.
“Nothing you do could possibly hurt me.” His body was tense beneath her hand, as if he held his base male instincts under iron control. “You may well kill me, but you won’t hurt me.”
Carys glided both hands over his chest, delighting in the way his hair tickled her palms. The sensations shimmered along her fingers, along her arm, and tightened her erect nipples still further.
“I won’t kill you.” She reached up, caressed his shoulders, then skimmed her hands along his firm biceps. “You have a beautiful body.” Even she could hear the awe in her voice, but she couldn’t help it. He had a body made for worship. And she was willing to pay homage.
He gripped her arms and pulled her roughly to him. “My body is ready for yours.” Raw lust sprang from every syllable. “Play with me later, my lady. Allow us to slake our desire first.”
Her breasts crushed against his chest. She gave an experimental wriggle, and her nipples chafed against his rough hair. “Yes.” She whispered the word against his shoulder and then looked up. “Yes.”
Large hands roamed over her back, exploring every dip of her waist and swell of her buttocks. “I’ll fuck you as no man has ever fucked you before.”
His hot promise sent darts of desire streaking through her swollen clit. She believed him. More truly than he would ever know.
“And I’ll—” Her response tripped in her throat, and she stared at him mutely. How could she promise him something she had no way of knowing she could deliver?
A smile of pure evil tipped his lips. “What will you do, little Celt? Tell me.” It was a demand. “Tell me now.” And then an entreaty.
His softened tone was her undoing. “I’ll fuck you as no woman has ever fucked you before.” Her nails dug into his flesh as she whispered her promise, her desire mingled with rippled threads of trepidation at the thought of failure.
Against her belly his rigid shaft grew even thicker, although she could not believe such a thing possible. And trepidation of another kind shimmered.
“I know you will.” His hand covered her rounded cheek and squeezed her flesh possessively. “And by the time I’ve finished with you, you won’t even recall the names of your previous lovers, let alone how well their cocks satisfied you.”
He spoke in Latin, as if he didn’t want her to know of his wish. But she heard and understood, and secretly thrilled at his pledge.
“I want you now.” Once more in Celtic. He stroked her hair from her face, stared intently into her eyes. “Beautiful wood nymph.” Again he slipped into his mother tongue. “I wanted to savor every moment with you this first time. But I fear for my sanity if we wait much longer.”
Every word he uttered sent new tremors of delight along her nerve endings. She slid her hand along his arm, threaded her fingers through his and attempted to tug him.
He resisted her efforts to lead him to the blankets she’d arranged on the ground.
“You’re not going anywhere.” His fingers tightened around hers; his body remained rooted to the spot. “And you still haven’t touched me, my lady.”
She traced the outline of his lips and deliberately caressed her body against his. Not touched him? He was clearly addled by lust. “I made a bed for us,” she said, and used her finger to point in the general direction.
His eyes narrowed slightly, as if her foresight astounded him. “A bed?” he echoed. “Out here, in the wilds?”
“Yes. Come.” Again she attempted to tug him, and this time he acquiesced.
“A bed.” He sounded on the verge of laughter, although she couldn’t imagine why. And then she did. Of course, it was all very well for men. They could fuck anywhere in comfort. But if she was on her back, she would rather not have sticks and stones digging into her.
“It’s softer.” She didn’t like the defensive note in her voice and tried to extricate her hand from his.
He tugged her to his side and speared his fingers through her hair, gripped her skull and prevented her from moving.
“Thank you.” He still sounded as if he wanted to laugh out loud. “My aching bones will appreciate the comfort you’ve provided.”
He
was
laughing at her, inside his head, and she didn’t know why. Where had he expected they would have sex? “I would rather not copulate in a tree,” she said, because there was no comparison between pleasuring herself and having a huge Roman plow into her while clinging onto a branch.
And then he did laugh out loud, but before she could be offended he wrapped her in his arms, in a hug of such bone-crushing intensity the air in her lungs evaporated.
“It hadn’t occurred to me to copulate
in
a tree,” he said, his voice muffled as he buried his face against her hair. And then his lips were by her ear. “But perhaps one day we might try that. What do you say, my funny little wood nymph?”
Carys wasn’t sure if she liked him calling her that. Was he mocking her?
“I don’t know. I might fall off.” Her arms were pinned along the front of her body. All she could feel with her fingers were his massive thighs.
She wriggled her fingers against his flesh. His muscles flexed with appreciation.
“You wouldn’t fall.” His voice was rough. “I’d catch you, my lady. I will always catch you.”
His words soothed her wounded pride and she softened against him. She loved when he said such things to her.
“Take me to your bed.” He loosened his hold on her, but still kept his arms around her. And when she brought him to her makeshift bed, he knelt on the blankets, taking her with him.
“You see?” Her voice was breathless as she wound her arms around his broad shoulders. “Much softer than the hard ground.”
“You thought of everything.” His hands cradled her face, strong fingers holding her firm. “How many others have you captivated this way, lady?” He spoke in Latin, not expecting an answer, and yet she longed to give him one. Instead she slid her fingers over his nape, and up into his short, spiky hair.
“But no more.” His rough words in Latin stoked fires within her soul. “Do you understand me?” His Celtic was suddenly heavily accented, as if his control had slipped. “No other men for you, lady. I’m the only one you will share your bed with, here or anywhere else.”
“I understand.” She hoped he felt the same way afterward. But for now, she could savor his demand because it made her feel cherished and wanted and infinitely desirable.
He muttered a curse in his own language before capturing her lips in a crushing kiss, plundering her open mouth in an invasion at once sweet and savage and overwhelmingly possessive.
One strong hand held her still for his mouth and teeth and lips to explore, his tongue tangling with hers, sliding against the roof of her mouth and sending shock-filled tremors dancing through her heated blood.
His other hand trailed down the side of her body, molding the shape of her ribs and her hips and sparks of raw desire ignited along every inch of sensitized flesh he touched.
Fingers splayed between their melded bodies, hard fingers that demanded access to her most intimate secrets. She sighed into his mouth, twisting restlessly against his probing finger, and then gasped as he found her throbbing nub.
“So wet.” He growled the words into her mouth. “Hot and wet, ready for my thrusting cock.”
She angled herself against him, and moaned when he rewarded her by circling her engorged clit with his searching finger.
“Tell me what you like.” His hot words scorched her lips, ignited her brain.
“I like this,” she panted, gripping his hair and his skull with such force her muscles protested. “I like how you touch me. I like how you make me feel.”
Even her own fingers couldn’t give her such sweet pleasure as her Roman was.
His laugh was ragged. “Good. Now tell me what you like.”
She moved her hips, and he responded by gently holding her sensitive clit between thumb and finger. Goddess, she would die of delight.
“You.” It was all she could manage, all she could think beyond the thudding pleasure enslaving her body.
He released her from the precipice of sweet agony and trailed his fingers over her wet pussy, back and forth, dipping into her hot channel before sliding out and over her pussy yet again.
She whimpered against his mouth, felt his lips curve into a smile. His hand slipped from her face to hold her nape.
“Lie down.” His command left no room for protest, but she didn’t want to protest. If she didn’t lie down soon, she feared she might fall. “I want to look at you.”
He helped her lie upon the blankets, hands still firm around her nape and cupping her sex. She clung to his head, but he didn’t have enough hair to wind around her hands and drag him to her.
Her hands slithered over his neck and onto his shoulders. His smile was predatory. Possessive.
“I’m not going anywhere, little nymph.” He claimed her parted mouth, stroked his tongue along the inside of her lips and then broke free.
He towered over her, bracing his weight on his hands, his dark head and white teeth filling her entire world. She dug her nails into his shoulders, in an attempt to make him cover her, claim her, make her his.
Instead he resisted her efforts with another of his disarming smiles.
And then, without warning, he lowered his head and sucked her nipple into his mouth, and she reared in shocked reaction, gasping her pleasure, raking her nails along his rigid biceps.
Teeth grazed her, spiking her pleasure to unknowable heights, pleasure and pain, so intermingled, and yet she felt no fear, only a clawing demand to shatter this spiraling need that careered through her body like a living entity.
His mouth abandoned her breast, and chills skittered across her wet peak, but he moved lower, jaw scraping over her belly as he looked up at her.
She shifted restlessly. “Maximus.” She wanted him to take her now, while she felt so wet and ready. If he fucked her now, she knew she would come. How could she not?
She needed to come, or die from want. And she wanted to come with Maximus inside her, not with the poor substitute of her own finger.
“I’m here.” His rough growl caused her womb to clench. Goddess, couldn’t he tell how much she needed him?
His tongue dipped into the hollow of her navel, then moved downward.
Her fingers fluttered over his retreating head. “Maximus,” she said again, unable to keep the trepidation from her voice. She didn’t want him eating her pussy. Aeron had spent endless moments doing such things, and even now the memory distressed her.

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