Tainted (12 page)

The disgust surged through him once again, but this time
melded with impotent fury.

“You were forced to do this?” He enjoyed—more than enjoyed—a
woman sucking his cock deep into her mouth. But the pleasure was mutual. The
unsavory image of Antonia on her knees, being forced to accommodate a bastard
Roman’s lust hammered through his mind. “Who forced you?”

Not that it made any difference. He would never be able to
exact retribution. But the need to know clawed through his gut.

She looked at him, an odd expression on her face as though
she found his reaction completely incomprehensible. “My former husband.”

The savage urge to hunt down her former husband, hack off
his raping cock and shove it down his throat pounded through Gawain’s head. He
fought against the rabid rage thundering through his veins yet could not rid
himself of the insidious feeling that Antonia, a child of the empire, was as
much a spoil of war as any of his enslaved countrymen.

And, as such, both deserved and demanded his protection.

He stared into her beautiful eyes and recalled the haunting
shadows he’d glimpsed the first day they had met. Had he discovered the reason
for her fleeting moments of melancholy?

“And you have never tried to purge the memory of his actions
with one of your lovers?”

Inexplicably, she blushed. And while the sight entranced
him, it still confused him. But at least she was no longer shaking in fear or
trying to push him away.

“No.” Her voice was so hushed he could scarcely hear her. “I
may have misled you in this matter, Gawain.” She broke eye contact and stared
at his chest. “You are the first lover I have ever taken.”

Her words punched through him, a physical jolt. He was her
first
?
Her
only
? Why hadn’t he realized?

But there had been many clues. He had chosen to disregard
them. The way she had acted the first day they met. Her enchanting moments of
innocence that he had imagined were simply part of her practiced seduction.

The only man beside himself that Antonia had known was her
husband. An inconsiderate Roman bastard who had made her perform an act she
hated. And he, Gawain,
her first lover
, had just attempted to make her
do the very same thing.

He wasn’t often speechless but he could not think of a thing
to say. Silence stretched between them and finally Antonia looked up at him, and
the wary expression on her face speared through his chest.

He might not have a clue what to say to her, but he needed
to say something. “I am honored.”

Her fingers twitched around his wrists, as though she wasn’t
sure whether he mocked her or not. He clawed through his paralyzed brain to
find something that would reassure her. And could think of only one question.

“Why did you choose me?”

“Oh.” Her hands slid from his wrists but before she could do
anything else, he captured them and pressed them against his chest. She frowned
as if she didn’t understand his action but that was no surprise. He didn’t
understand this overwhelming need to comfort her either. He just knew that if
he did not, he risked losing her.

Losing her?
She was only a Roman noblewoman. He was
only fucking her because she was willing and available. Except the thoughts
were hollow and instead of reassuring him of the fleeting duration of this
liaison, it left him feeling somehow… uneasy.

“Oh?” Gently he shook her captive hands. “Why, Antonia?”

She shifted on her knees and then sighed. “I wanted to
experience sex with a man of my choosing. Until I met you, I had never found
one who,” she hesitated for a moment, “appealed to me.”

Once again words failed him. Antonia knelt before him, naked
and at his mercy in a squalid tavern room, her hair tumbling from its jeweled
restraints around her shoulders. She was
only a Roman noblewoman
but in
this moment, he knew her heritage meant nothing to him.

All that mattered was that Antonia was a woman and she had
chosen him to be her first illicit lover.

He stood, tugging her to her feet. “Do I still appeal to
you, my lady?” He injected a faint note of mockery, but only to disguise just
how much her answer meant to him. He wasn’t ready to end their liaison yet.
Somehow he would show Antonia she had no need to fear that he would ever force
her to do anything she wasn’t more than willing to experience.

The actions of her fucking former husband would not dictate
when or how this affair ended.

A smile illuminated her face, as though his question had,
inexplicably, eased her mind. “You more than appeal to me, Gawain.” Her voice
was breathless, and the knowledge that she had not said those words to countless
other men in the past heightened the seductive web her whisper spun around him.
“Do I still appeal to you?”

He pulled her against his body so that she could feel how
much she still appealed to him. “What do you think?” He wound his arm around
her waist, and her chilled flesh caused him to silently curse. “You’re cold.”

She wriggled, and her erect nipples teased his chest as she
slid her arms around him and held him tight. “I am not cold where it matters.”

He laughed and stepped back to the bed. “I would not have
you cold at all.”

“Then you had best warm me up, my Cambrian warrior.”

Her
what
? Her Cambrian warrior? He grinned down at
her, even though she had called him by the hated Roman name.

“I’m your warrior, am I?” He lay on the bed and pulled her
down on him. He would not have her silken skin touch a common tavern bed.

“Yes.” She flattened her hands against his shoulders as she
straddled his hips and smiled down at him in triumph. “And I am about to
conquer you.”

He molded her firm thighs and sculpted the curve of her arse
and dip of her waist. Her eyes were dark with lust, her pink lips parted and
her hair, half contained, half tumbling in disarray, gave her an air of
irresistible ravishment. He battled the primitive urge to impale her and make
her his. “Then conquer me, enchantress.”

Antonia gazed down at her wild Cambrian warrior. He had a
half-smile on his face and his hands captured her waist in a touch so light it
would take no effort to pull from his embrace. Yet his touch warmed her, not
simply her chilled skin but sank into her blood, the very marrow of her bones.

She had no wish to pull from his embrace. As the tips of his
fingers caressed the sensitive curve of hip and waist, a strange pain spiraled
through the center of her breast. His reaction to her refusal to accommodate
his desires, his obvious disgust with her former husband when she had gathered
the nerve to confess, staggered her.

Her personal experience was limited but she knew, from
feminine confidences, how dearly men enjoyed such practices. That Gawain had
not insisted she continue or, almost as horrifying, ridiculed her, caused the
odd constriction consuming her chest to weave deep into her heart.

Slowly she leaned toward him and brushed her lips across his.
He trailed a seductive path along her back, across her shoulders and down her
biceps. Tiny rivers of fire ignited beneath his touch, causing heated tremors
across her sensitized skin.

With a breathy sigh, she speared her fingers through his
hair, and combed the dark blond length across the rough bed cover. His bronzed
skin, foreign looks and the untamed air that radiated from him all combined to
give the impression of a savage barbarian of a conquered land. She had told him
once he was no barbarian, but she had not fully realized the truth of her
words.

Rome prided herself on being superior to all her provinces,
the cultural center of all nations. But it had taken Gawain, a native of this
far-flung corner of the empire, to show her the kind of respect she had never
received from her own husband, a patrician who could trace his lineage back to
the founding of that great city.

She wound his hair around her fingers, grazed her cheek
against his jaw and flicked the tip of her tongue over his pierced earlobe. He
tasted as divine as a mighty god of Olympus and the absurd thought made her
smile.

“What amuses you, my lady?” His deep voice sent desire
rippling through her breast to her core. She nibbled kisses across his shoulder
and his arms wound around her, imprisoning her.

“You amuse me.” She shifted in his embrace, her nipples hard
against his chest, her breasts aching for his touch. “You enthrall me.”

His body shook with silent laughter and she abandoned his
shoulder to watch his face. He caught her glance and she thought she might
drown in the dark depths of his amber-flecked eyes.

“Your honeyed words,” he said, as his hands stroked along
her back, creating magical responses she had never dreamed might exist, “will
get you far.”

Enchanted by the way he had twisted her own words back at
her, she untangled her fingers from his hair and flattened her hands either
side of his head on the prickly mattress.

“How far?” She breathed the sultry question against his lips
as she provocatively glided her tender folds over his engorged shaft.

He gave an agonized groan and finally cupped her breasts,
lifting them, pressing them together, rubbing his thumbs over their tortured
peaks. She arched her back, filling his palms, delighting in the possessive way
he held and stroked her body.

“As far as you desire.” The way he growled the words at her
she wasn’t sure whether it was a threat or a promise. And when he pinched her
nipples, sending sharp arrows of fire from her breasts to her pussy, she knew
she did not care. Either way would be an unforgettable, ecstatic adventure.

She lifted her hips and eased onto him. Her wet sheath
stretched as she slowly sank down his thick organ. She could feel every inch of
him filling her, possessing her and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his
hypnotic gaze.

For seeming eternity, they remained utterly still, joined in
the most primal of ways. Yet somehow, the connection was deeper, elemental.
Foolish
whispered across her passion soaked mind but she ignored the voice of
reason. Now, here, Gawain was hers and he encompassed her world. She would not
ruin the moment with logical reality.

He released one of her breasts and trailed downwards, across
her belly. One finger slid between their bodies and caressed her sensitive
clit. She gasped as shocking waves of pleasure vibrated through her cleft.

“Ride me, Antonia.” His smoky command wrapped around her
senses like temple incense, exotic and irresistible. “Make me come inside your
tight slit.”

A shudder ricocheted from the tip of her captive nipple to her
swollen clitoris. Instinctively she tightened her internal muscles. He
abandoned her breast and cupped her bottom, his hold both tender and
possessive, and without conscious thought, her hips began to move.

“Gawain.” His name slipped from her lips, a heated caress.
Her nails dug into the mattress as his finger continued to tease her silken
peak. She quickened her pace, riding his length as he had commanded. She looked
down at him, her captive warrior. His hair tangled around his face, his eyes
were locked with hers. The rhythmic friction against her aroused clit and his
rigid cock inside her pussy sent fiery sparks cascading through her blood.

His grip on her rear became harsh. The intensity of his
expression held her spellbound. He bared his teeth, a primal growl echoing
around the room and savagely slammed into her.

Her balance tilted and she fell forward, but still he rammed
into her, pinning her in place with one heavy hand on her arse. He was beneath
her, but still he mastered her, his hand and his shaft molding her to his will.
His finger circled her throbbing clit, an addictive torture, and she squirmed
helplessly. Beyond the frenzied pounding of her heart, she heard his guttural
roar and felt his hot release flood her channel.

Raw feminine power thundered through her veins. Mesmerized
by the glazed lust in his eyes, captivated by his all-encompassing penetration,
her sheath contracted around him. Her orgasm shattered through her, entrapping
him, enslaving him and milking him of every last drop of his essence.

She collapsed onto him, mind reeling, body quivering. He
pulled his arm from between their slick bodies and held her close, a strangely
comforting gesture. Slowly her erratic breath evened, and the world swirled
back into focus.

Gawain still held her impaled on his shaft. She had no
desire or energy to move. Instead, she shifted into a more comfortable position
and smiled as he stirred within her wet cleft.

“And still I amuse you.” He sounded sated, satisfied and
infinitely seductive. “How easy you are to please, Antonia.”

She trailed her fingers across his shoulder, her head
against his chest. “So you delight in telling me.”

His body shook in a silent laugh. She smiled again and idly
traced her finger over his engraved torque. Then, for no discernible reason she
could fathom, he suddenly stiffened and swore softly. She might not be fluent
in the Cambrian language, but it was not so different in essence to the local
dialect in Gallia that she had learned as a child.

She raised her head and looked at him. A forbidding frown
darkened his brow but she could not believe it was aimed at her. “What is it?”

“It didn’t occur to me before, but now—knowing I am your
first lover—” He hesitated and his frown grew even more ominous. She frowned
back, bemused.

“What didn’t occur to you?”

His big hand cradled her face. “I did nothing to prevent the
possibility of impregnating you.”

Juno
. She stared at him in horror, and could feel her
face flaming in shame. This was not a topic of conversation a woman had with a
man. She attempted to respond, but words failed her.

Gawain’s arm tightened around her waist as if he imagined
she were about to flee. Perhaps she might have, if she weren’t paralyzed with
mortification.

“Antonia, the first time we came together I assumed you had
taken the necessary precautions. But just now—there was no excuse. I should
have taken more care.”

She wanted to curl up and hide. But she couldn’t move
because he held her so securely. There was no help for it. She would have to
admit that she was protected.

Except Gawain was not her husband. He had no rights over her
body in the way Scipio had. There was no possibility that he would dispense
harsh punishment for daring to do such a thing without his express permission.
Yet the thought did not ease her mind, not when she had to explain such
intimacies aloud.

“Gawain.” Her voice sounded choked, and he appeared to find
her response painful if the look on his face was anything to go by. Before she
could squeeze another agonizing word from her throat he gave a heavy sigh.

“Do not distress yourself, Antonia. I will speak to Carys.
She’s a renowned healer and will know exactly what to give you.”

Antonia stared at him, dumbstruck. She couldn’t fathom
whether she was more shocked that Gawain was so concerned for her welfare, or
the fact that he so casually knew—and had no problem with—Carys’ knowledge of
such forbidden feminine things.

“Antonia.” There was an edge in his voice now. “Everything
will be all right. Trust me on this.”

“There is no need.” The words tumbled from her lips and she
studiously avoided eye contact. “Elpis is well versed in such matters. There is
no danger that your seed will plant within me.”

His silence unnerved her further and she risked glancing up.
She wasn’t sure what she expected, but it certainly hadn’t been the satisfied
smile that he bestowed her way.

“You were that sure of having me then, my lady?”

He was jesting with her? After the conversation they had
just exchanged? She was quite sure Scipio would have beaten her senseless had
he ever discovered she had taken precautions against conceiving another of his
children.

Gawain was not Scipio.
She knew this, of course. But
the differences between them continued to astonish her. She attempted to gather
her scattered thoughts.

“I simply wanted to be prepared for any possibility.”

“Your foresight is admirable.”

Amusement weaved through his words and he played with her
hair, winding curls around his fingers. The lingering strands of embarrassment
drifted into oblivion and she smiled back at him, warmth encasing her heart. “I
am glad you think so.”

She should rise, call for Elpis, prepare to leave. Instead,
she once again cuddled into him, relishing the way he held her tight as though
he had no immediate thoughts of leaving either.

Idly she resumed tracing her finger over the elaborate
engravings on his silver torque. Did the images mean something or were they—

Shock stabbed through her as she finally recognized what she
was looking at. Tiny wings and twin serpents intertwined around a rod. Before
she could think better of it the words tumbled from her lips.

“Why do you have the images of Mercury on your torque,
Gawain?”

He raised his head and gave her a pained look. “He is not
Mercury, Antonia. He is Lugus, an ancient Celtic god. Why would I place your
heathen god around my throat?”

The same iconography—the wings and serpents—were repeated in
his intricate earring. They were not indecipherable at all. The images, so
similar to Mercury’s and yet, now that she studied them closely, possessed a wilder,
more barbaric design, enhanced the danger of this illicit affair and renewed
desire stirred between her thighs. Gawain was still inside her. Goddess, she
loved having him inside her.

She leaned closer and nibbled his jaw, tasting his flesh and
grazing her lips against his light stubble.

“Do not be offended.” She didn’t think he was, but also did
not want him to think she made light of his own beliefs. “My father has a
special affinity with Mercury, so I’m very familiar with his images.”

He grunted. “Perhaps it is Lugus your father worships.”

Antonia laughed at him. Gawain resisted the urge to grin
back at her. The god Lugus, finder of paths, a teacher and historian, had
chosen him as acolyte while Gawain was a child. He could still recall his sense
of pride and awe when his father had passed down the treasured torque when
Gawain had celebrated his thirteenth winter. The heirloom had been passed from
father to son for generations and Gawain had always believed that one day he
would continue the unbroken chain.

But that was before the Romans had invaded. Before the woman
he had once believed was destined to be his wife had turned her back on him.

Before Lugus had retreated into impenetrable shadows and his
faith in his gods had faltered.

Yet he kept the torque around his throat. A reminder,
perhaps, of when he had imagined his life’s path was preordained. A link back
in time to his ancestors. To his father.

“No.” Antonia folded her arms across his chest to prop
herself up. “My father is a wonderful man but he does not easily embrace the
gods of other cultures.”

“Rome does not embrace.” He wasn’t sure why this
conversation irritated him. It was not as if he felt especially predisposed to
defend his own abandoned gods with Antonia. “Rome swallows and consumes.”

“Oh.” Antonia blinked and an enchanting blush highlighted
her cheeks. He knew he was staring, but could not help himself. “Rome does not
always
swallow, Gawain.”

For a moment, he didn’t comprehend her meaning, but her
blush deepened, giving her an irresistible air of seductive innocence. A snort
of laughter escaped his throat and banished the hovering black mood as he
finally understood.

“I would not protest if you changed your mind, Antonia.” He
trailed his finger along her heated face and an odd notion stabbed through his
brain. He knew Antonia had deliberately twisted his words into a personal,
sexual implication but he hadn’t intended to offend
her
with his barbed
remark. “You do know I don’t blame you for any of your countrymen’s actions,
don’t you?”