Christina Phillips - [Forbidden 01] (7 page)

He snaked his arm around her waist, and the edge of his helmet dug against her buttock before tumbling to the ground. His lips brushed against hers, hot breath mingling, and the tip of his tongue slid sensuously along the seam of her lips.

“I want to thrust my cock into your luscious mouth,” he said, and sudden, shocking heat speared Carys low in her womb, painful in its erotic intensity. “I want to see you take me in, watch you suck on me. Feel your tongue stroke my length, until I pump my hot seed down your slender, tempting throat.”

Vivid images flooded her mind of her on her knees before him in this sacred glade. Of her taking his rigid shaft in her hand, and guiding him into her open mouth.

She had never tried such a thing before. Had never wanted to contemplate such an activity with Aeron, despite his constant demands, and yet with this Roman—whose name she still didn’t know—the notion captivated her.

His tongue teased, and she opened her mouth and sucked him inside. And imagined something hotter, thicker. Longer. She stroked him with her tongue, dug her nails into the back of his neck and clasped her fingers around his forearm.

But it wasn’t enough. His armor was an impenetrable barrier. She needed naked flesh. Satisfaction.
Orgasm
.

He dragged his mouth free, panted against her swollen lips. “You can’t survive out here alone, my lady. Without a man to protect you, you have no chance.” He kissed her again, a deep, plundering kiss that turned her lungs inside out. Sweet agony.

Again he pulled free. “You’re coming with me.”

Of course she was coming with him. They would come together. She had heard of such delights. It was a magical experience, a supreme gift from the goddess, and one she desperately wished to share with this hard, tough centurion.

His hand slipped from her nape, as if reluctant to relinquish his possession. But soon he would possess her in a far more intimate manner. And she would possess him. And then they would come. Her swollen clit throbbed with anticipation and liquid heat dampened her pussy at the realization that soon—very soon—this Roman would be hers.

The tip of his finger trailed over her parted lips. “So tempting,” he ground out, still speaking in his native Latin as if her language somehow eluded him. “But it’s better we wait. Later I’ll have all the time I need to explore every beautiful curve of your perfect body.”

She licked the tip of his finger. Salty. She caught him with her teeth and drew him into her mouth. She didn’t want later. She wanted now.

He gave a ragged laugh and stroked her head, clasped her plait and let her braid slide along his palm. “That’s right, my little Celtic lady. Gods, you’ll milk me dry.” He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, as if she caused him pain. “We need to go. Now.” He spoke in Celtic and focused on her, eyes almost black with desire. And through the hot, swirling fog of arousal that clouded her reason, Carys suddenly understood.

She jerked back, panting, and stared at him. He sighed heavily as if he had expected her to pull away.

“You’re not my captive,” he said. “I want to offer you my protection. With me you’ll have everything you wish.”

He was wrong. She wouldn’t have her freedom, no matter how much the Roman believed otherwise. “You want to offer me protection in exchange for”—she hesitated for a heartbeat, because saying the words out loud tarnished everything—“use of my body.”

A pained frown crawled across his brow, as if he didn’t much care for her analysis. “I hope you might use my body also.”

She wasn’t in the mood to play word games. “But I don’t require your protection, Roman. I offer you myself because I want to. Not because I need something from you in return.”

“I didn’t mean to cause offense, my lady.” Still frowning, he reached out and brushed stray strands of hair from her heated cheek. “But if you’re going to be mine, then I want you where I can look after you.”

Something deep inside her melted at his words. What would it be like to have a man such as this truly care for her? Look after her, in the way he so clearly meant?

But she wasn’t a Roman woman who, rumor said, was incapable of making any decision for herself. Carys was not only a Celt. She was a Druid, and to willingly relinquish any of her power to another—let alone a man from the enemy—was unthinkable.

She threaded her fingers through his as he gently cradled her face. His hand was large beneath hers, yet his touch was light as thistledown.

“I can look after myself.”

Something shifted in those mesmerizing blue eyes. “The scouts combed this entire area. They discovered no trace of habitation.” His fingers tightened, but not enough to cause discomfort. “Where are you living?” It was no idle question. It was a demand.

Carys bowed only to the demands of her goddess.

“You know I can’t tell you. I have my kin to protect against your wrath.” And how great his wrath would be, should he ever discover her truth. Even crucifixion was considered too easy a death for a Druid. Aeron had seen the Roman invaders decimate her people in visions, visions that had ultimately saved all their lives.

The suspicion in his eyes faded, and his hand gentled once more. “Your kin is safe with me, lady. None of your blood could raise my wrath.” He paused for a heartbeat. “But they must surrender to the might of Rome. You know this.”

She stretched up and once again stroked his short black hair. Back and forth. As if he was a harmless puppy. Entranced by the sensations skittering over her fingertips, and the mesmeric quality of his intense gaze, she offered him a wondering smile.

“You know I can never surrender, Roman.”

His calloused thumb caressed her cheek. “You, my lady, need only surrender to me.”

Flame licked through her womb, caused the muscles in her damp channel to contract with need. She wanted to surrender to this exotic warrior. But she could never betray her people by accompanying him to his fortification.

She caressed the curve of his ear. So strange for a man to have not even one piercing in his lobe. “And yet I remain here.”

He cupped her nape once again and the warmth from his hand branded her. “You would defy me?” The words were threatening, and yet she didn’t feel threatened. She felt exhilarated.

“Yes.”

“I don’t need your permission to take you, lady. How would you prevent me from carrying out my desire?” His grip became possessive and tension radiated from him, as if it were a living entity, coiled, ready to spring.

“If all you want is a slave, then there’s nothing I can do to prevent it.” Sweet Cerridwen, she didn’t want to prevent him from carrying out his desire. Only his arrogant wish to enchain her. Her pulse throbbed erratically against his imprisoning hold, stirring her blood and heating her brain.

Time suspended in a shimmering haze as she returned his unwavering gaze. No breeze stirred in the sacred glade, no call of bird, nor rustle of woodland creature.

Her Roman was the only man in the world, and her future rested on his response.

His hand slid around her throat, across her collarbone, and deliberately grazed the naked swells of her breasts. She gasped involuntarily, arching toward him, begging for more. But his hand dropped from her.

“A slave?” His voice was deceptively calm, yet she could feel the hum of anger in his tone, as if her accusation offended his honor. “Is that the only way you would come with me, Celt?”

She dragged in a lungful of air, tried to rein in her cantering lust. But her mind wanted release just as much as her body. “You could come to me.”

Silence, so deep, so profound, it echoed in her bones and shattered through the stars. His eyes narrowed and brow creased, as if such a notion were astonishing, unbelievable.

As if the thought of a centurion bowing to the wishes of a Celt were beyond comprehension.

Eternity whispered with each frantic beat of her heart. And then he retreated one step. “You would meet with me illicitly?”

Her breath tangled, constricting her throat. “Yes.” It was the only word she could manage. She hoped it would be enough. Already she had said too much, given him too much, and yet she couldn’t help herself.

Surely she wasn’t a traitor if she never divulged who she truly was? Where her people hid?

This was purely for her. To satisfy her dreams and fulfill her frustrated desires. Nothing more. There could never be anything more. The Roman would satisfy her craving for mutual orgasmic knowledge, and when they had both slated their lust she could quietly vanish within the sacred spiral.

“Why?” His voice was hard, unyielding.

“Because that is what I wish.”

Incredulity washed over his features. Had he never been crossed before? “And I should acquiesce to this, simply because it’s what you wish?”

Carys resisted the overwhelming urge thundering through her blood to reach out and touch his arm, or run her fingers through his irresistible hair once again. He had stepped back from her. It was up to him to make the first move forward.

“Yes.” There was no other answer she could give.

Another silence vibrated through the glade, scraping along every nerve she possessed. Once again his inscrutable warrior mask shielded his true emotions as he contemplated her, as if assessing her worth as a mere spoil of war.

In his mind perhaps that was all she was.

But deep in the fundamental essence of her being, Carys knew that wasn’t so. If it were, he would have taken her with him two days ago.

“What would your family do to you, if they ever discovered you’d willingly fraternized with the enemy?”

Startled by his question, she blinked at him in momentary confusion. Why would he care?

And yet he had asked the question, the one question she’d avoided thinking herself. Because she knew how violently her kin would react to such betrayal.

“They’ll never discover it.” She wouldn’t ask Cerridwen to make this Roman hers, but she would ask her goddess to help conceal the illicit liaison. Because that wasn’t being selfish. It was putting her people’s safety first.

Scorn whispered through her mind, but she turned from it. Her logic was sound. Her goddess would understand.

The Roman’s blue eyes incinerated her, scorching the breath from her lungs. “But what,” he said in a deceptively calm way, “if they do?”

Carys tried to block his question from her mind, but in a cascading flood, the images poured through.

Cold terror gripped her, ice shivering through her veins, as she recalled the fate of a Druid who had been caught spying for one of the savage Briton kings.

Nine years ago, the eleven-year-old Carys had only recently entered the sacred fold, but that didn’t prevent her from bearing witness to the traitor’s doom.

Spiritual isolation from the immortals would have been punishment enough for any Druid, but an example had to be made. As the sun sank behind the hills at the end of that blood-soaked day, the severed head of the ritualistically mutilated Druid was sent to her worthless lover.

But Carys wasn’t a spy
. Such a fate could never be hers. And yet the fear of being denied communion with her beloved Cerridwen twisted her soul.

“Answer me.” His command was low. When had he stepped toward her? Carys struggled to keep her emotions contained, the terror of that long-ago day and the turmoil she always felt whenever the Roman was near.

She dragged in a deep breath, but instead of clearing her head with the fresh scents of the sacred glade, her lungs filled with the masculine essence of raw sexuality.

“What they might do to me is nothing to what they would do if they believed I was your captive.” It was true. A captive Druid was inconceivable. If rescue failed, the Druids would go to war and blood would drench the valleys. And her blood would be first.

“Do you think I fear a few barbarous Celts?” His tone was faintly mocking, but the hint of a smile touched his lips.

“No.” Carys wondered if her Roman feared anything. “
I
fear.”

His smile faded. A wood warbler’s haunting song shivered on the warm breeze. She saw his jaw tighten, his eyes narrow. “It would never be my intention to harm your kin, lady.”

She understood what he was telling her. “I know.” If attacked, he would protect himself. She couldn’t blame him for that.

But he didn’t know her kin were the spiritual core of this land and its people, the ones who had eluded his soldiers since their invasion of Cymru. If he knew that, his intention would be far more deadly toward her.

The roughened pad of his forefinger grazed across the top of her breast, halting her thoughts, stalling her breath. His finger delved into her cleavage, and all the while his eyes remained locked with hers.

“I accept your terms, my lady.” His finger slowly slid from her warm embrace, leaving her strangely chilled and bereft. And then his words settled in her mind, illuminating the darkness, eradicating the lingering tendrils of terror.