Morwyn lifted one leg from the tub and rested her foot on the edge. She would give him something worth watching, and save the best till last when he could no longer contain himself. A smile of anticipation tugged at the corner of her lips as she washed away the dirt from battle and travel. She flexed her muscles, allowed him to view the shapely form of calf and glimpse of thigh. And then she administered the same dedication to her injured leg, slow, sensuous, and the heated essence of springtime and undercurrent of blistering desire thudded in the air around them.
Beneath the water she slid her hand over her mound, across her sensitized pussy. Without conscious thought her fingers eased her swollen lips apart, felt wetness intrude, imagined it was the Gaul exploring her sheath, tantalizing her pulsing clit.
Breath gusted; her head fell back. And then she caught sight of him staring at her, eyes blazing, body taut. And recalled it wasn’t the Gaul touching her. She was touching herself, arousing herself, and if she continued, she would come over her fingers, come in this bath, come before her watching enemy.
Lust pounded through her mind, flooded through her veins. Shivers danced through her at the pleasure she’d take in watching his face as she brought herself to climax. But that was a fantasy she could never indulge. Because by doing so, she would please the Morrigan. And she would never again willingly please that goddess.
But still her fingers teased and pressure thundered, overwhelming, demanding to be sated. She pressed down on her swollen flesh, imagined it was the Gaul’s cock causing such exquisite friction, and a moan of frustration escaped before she clamped her teeth together and dragged her reluctant hand across her belly.
She hadn’t denied the goddess satisfaction for so many torturous moons only to surrender now, when victory was so close. Only a few more moments and she would no longer need to fight her body’s primal urges. Would no longer need the mild sedatives she’d began taking at night to calm the molten desire for completion that raged in her blood.
The sedatives that kept the dreams at bay.
Dreams so visceral she’d feared them visions. Feared what the visions tried to foretell. And so she’d convinced herself they were merely bad dreams from her memory and not glimpses of a terrifying future from a vindictive goddess.
Shivers skittered over her arms and she pushed the thoughts aside. Tonight, even without recourse to her magic potions, she need have no fear of either simmering desire of spine-chilling dreams keeping her awake.
She cupped her aching breasts, skin slippery with lotion, and brushed her thumbs over erect nipples. She had to stop. But need coiled deep within, a ravenous beast she’d denied for too long, need that corroded her senses and screamed through her blood for blessed release.
Through the scented haze that steamed from the water she watched the Gaul leave the bed and come toward her. He knelt by the side of the tub, and in the exotic glow of the lamps his mesmeric green eyes ensnared.
Slowly he dipped his hands into the water, his intense gaze never leaving hers. Despite her best intentions her fingers slipped upward to allow better access to her sensitized nipples. She squeezed hard, relishing the stab of painful pleasure that ricocheted straight to her womb, despite the echo of warning that pounded in her burning mind.He was the one who had to pleasure her. But still she couldn’t drag her hands from her body. Because the way he looked at her as she touched herself aroused her more than she had imagined possible.
Finally he finished cleansing and the tips of his battle-scarred fingers trailed up her rib cage. Ribbons of fire ignited countless tiny flames under her flesh, inside her veins, and she relinquished her breasts, arching her back, inviting his touch.
But he didn’t immediately cradle her breasts in his hands or lower his head and suckle her willing nipples. Instead he began to loosen the tangles teasing her hair, infinitely gentle, astonishingly patient. She curled her fingers over the sides of the tub to keep her balance, to keep herself from rubbing her engorged clit, but most of all to keep herself from winding her arms around his shoulders and melding her naked body against his.
“Your hair is beautiful.” His husky voice invaded her blood, stoking the flames licking through her veins. “Like silk from the East.”
“I know nothing of silk from the East.” It wasn’t quite true. She had heard the exotic East produced breath-stealing luxuries, but hadn’t seen any herself. Until this moment such foreign decadence had never interested her. But now, obscurely, she wanted to know more. “What’s it like?”
It had nothing to do with wanting to hear the Gaul speak again in that bone-tingling smoky whisper.
His fingers tugged through an obstinate tangle and she sighed as corresponding tugs shivered over her skull and along her neck and spiraled through her painfully erect nipples. She was his enemy, his captive, and yet he took the time to arouse her as if they were besotted new lovers.
Her eyelashes fluttered. Despite his tender touch she must never forget he had abducted her by force. That his compatriots had murdered her fellow Druids. That this Gaul deserved nothing more than to feel the thrust of her blade through his corrupt heart.
Yet the thoughts were distant in her mind, as physical sensation drenched her weary senses.
“Soft.” His fingers had reached her scalp. Jagged darts of pleasure tumbled through her brain and she tightened her grip on the edges of the tub before her bones melted and she slipped beneath the water in mindless delight. “Imagine strands of water sliding over your flesh without splintering into droplets.”
A disbelieving smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Who would have thought this tough Gallic bastard could evoke such a tangible notion? “Beware your men never hear you utter such poetic beauty.”
He gave a grunt that sounded like a suppressed laugh and raked her tangle-free hair back from her face, then twisted it into a single wet rope to snake over the edge of the tub. The tips of his fingers trailed from the nape of her neck across her naked shoulders, leaving chills of fire in his wake.
“What else do you want to know?”
She wanted to know when he was going to take her. When she could finally give in to the urge to hold him in her arms, explore his warrior-hard body, feel his cock thrust inside so she could come. So she could throw the final insult in the Morrigan’s face.
Recalling the Morrigan, recalling the real reason Morwyn was allowing herself to enjoy this captivity, caused an icy chill to permeate her heated thoughts. For a moment she held her breath as confused fragments of desire and need and revenge tumbled through her mind.
Fucking the Gaul made sense. But wanting to prolong this conversation, wanting to hear the husky note in his voice as he caressed her wet skin, didn’t make sense. They didn’t need to talk. Talking wouldn’t enrage her goddess.
And yet she couldn’t find the strength to twist around. To shatter this strange, ethereal sensation of intimacy.
It was an illusion. She knew that. but it was peaceful to enjoy this fleeting moment out of time, to push to the back of her mind the death and devastation she’d witnessed since the cursed Roman Legions had invaded her land.
What else did she want to know?
“Have you served in the East?”
His fingers momentarily stilled, as if he hadn’t expected her to ask such a thing. She had no need to ask such a thing. Yet she wanted to know. Even if knowing made no difference to how this fragile alliance would end.