Chapter 15 #3
She reached down to the leather belt holding his trousers in place and unbuckled it with fumbling fingers.
Did she mean to humiliate him by using his body as though he was a slave? As his father had done to Adler’s mother? At this point, did he care? He wanted her so badly.
She slid from his body and tugged his trousers over his hips. Her nimble fingers unwrapped his loincloth. His cock sprang free and erect as the material fell away. He closed his eyes. He still wanted her, no matter whether she dominated him or not.
She urged his arms above his head, then pushed his tunic up to his armpits.
Her mouth followed the path of the material, licking and kissing his heated skin from his abdomen to his chest. The sensation of her lush mouth on his body tensed every muscle and set him on fire.
She circled her tongue around one nipple then the other, turning them into aching nubs.
His cock was as tight as a drum. He wanted to feel her breasts heavy in his hands while he sucked her nipples. He held out his bound hands. “Carissime, release me.” Dearest, please, so I may show you my love, touch you the way I need to.
Sorcha pulled her dagger free from her waist and cut the rawhide ties. She tossed the weapon into the darkness and renewed her ravishment of his body.
He ran his hands ran over her body, touching everywhere he could reach. Then he bracketed her face with his hands and drew her ever closer to his mouth until he kissed her.
She kissed him back. There was feverishness in her actions.
She tore off her cloak, pulled up her long tunic and climbed on top of him.
He savored the feel of his cock against her warm entrance, and was anxious for more.
“Venus meus, my Venus,” he murmured as he urged her to fulfil his urgent desire.
Sorcha fumbled a little as she guided herself onto his cock. She gasped and clung to him.
She was tight, so tight. But so wet for him. That was good.
She made a tentative move, paused, then began an erratic rhythm on his cock.
He smiled against her lips. She had some experience... but not much. With her betrothed? He’d heard Britons differed from Romans in their ideas about acceptable behavior for a couple prior to marriage. To his surprise, it didn’t bother him.
He stroked his hands up her arms, then caressed her breasts through the material of her tunic.
Sorcha arched her back, pushing herself more fully into his palms. He found her nipples through the fabric and circled them with the tips of his fingers, enticing a moan from her.
She tightened around him. He concentrated on not coming in response to the exquisite feeling of her around him.
Her breathing ratcheted faster. He wished he could see her face clearly. She must be close to her release. He thrust upward. “No!” came her strangled command. He stopped and clenched his jaw, fighting against his own orgasm.
Then she was gasping her release, gripping his shoulders like she desperately needed to hold onto something. “By the goddess Anu!” Her astonished joy made him chuckle. She slumped onto his chest with a satisfied sigh.
“My turn,” he murmured. He claimed her lips, clasped her to him, and rolled her onto her back.
She made a mew of surprise, but deepened their kiss.
Lucius thrust once, then twice. Sorcha slid her legs up his until they clung to his thighs.
He found his rhythm, each thrust bringing a soft moan of pleasure from Sorcha.
By the gods, she made him feel like the most skilled lover ever to walk the earth.
His release travelled up his spine like a ballista bolt and landed in his brain in an explosion of ecstasy.
He lowered his forehead to hers. “Amica mea.” Lucius eased himself from Sorcha to lie beside her. His hand sought hers, and he entwined their fingers. Their ragged breathing sounded loud in the quiet of the evening.
This woman… this fiery barbarian princess who led her people fearlessly… who called to him like a siren… made love with wild intensity… and blew his mind. His heart still pounded—too large in his chest, from all the emotions he felt.
A clap of acclamation sounded from the distance, Lucius presumed from the chieftain’s house where the Durotriges usually gathered.
Beside him, Sorcha’s body stiffened.
Another roar burst through the night.
Sorcha gasped. “My brothers’ farewell. I’m missing the ceremony.” She clambered to her feet, tugging her clothes into place and fixing her cloak around her shoulders.
“Sorcha, speak to me,” Lucius pleaded. He didn’t want her to rush off before they spoke about what they felt for each other. He wanted to tell her of the momentous decision he had just made.
“I don’t have time.” Anguish sounded in her voice again. She disappeared into the night.
Disappointment clawed at his chest. Nothing had been resolved between them. His head began to pound again. A gathering feeling of impending doom threatened to engulf him as he lay half-naked on a bed of bracken under the night sky, far from Rome and all that was familiar.
And he was still in chains.