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Still, he did not see himself ready to let go. Not yet. If ever.
He sat by his desk and made a gigantic effort to concentrate on work.
* * *
“They told me you were about a kind of ritual down here.”
His deep, grave voice made her pivot to him, while her insides turned to jelly.
She chose the farthest cell of the dungeon where little light came from the narrow barred window on the top opposite bare stone wall. More than a dozen candles scattered in the cubicle for light and warmth in what should be called a chilly spring night. Their flames danced shadows casting flashes on the old cracked table on one corner and the iron chains that ended in cuffs, hammered high to a column nearby. Trays of food displayed on the sturdy table.
Their gazes found each other in the warm light, full of meaning. And promises.
Then his irises inspected her lacy peignoir, under which he could detect her equally lacy nightgown, darkening. Lightning coursed through her body and she strained to keep her cool head. She would need it. Her riotous midnight ringlets fell around her shoulders and caught the light in bluish streaks.
At the entrance, in his open collar black shirt, black trousers, tall, framed by the ancient door, he had to be the most magnificent man in humanity. The candles shone on his sleek hair falling along the sides of his bristle jaw
“Come in.” She invited in an ambiguous tone.
He prowled in, his moves tightening the shirt on bunches of muscles as tempting as the nether parts she always coveted.
Inhibition did not play a role tonight. She sailed to him, gluing her length to his, and laced her hands on the strong nape to gauge his immediate response hardening against her belly. The kiss she initiated burned the two of them, as her tongue played in his wine tasting mouth. They had dinner not long ago.
“Of all the places to do it.” He rumbled hoarse on her lips.
Well, they had been creative about the… locations where their encounters happened. That day in the prairie soared her to such febrile greed, she blushed just with the memory of it. The inclination propelled him so deep, her explosion had been sharp and consuming.
By then, she managed to guide the muscled body, backing it against the column. Rubbing herself shamelessly on him, made it impossible not to feel him falling prey to her seduction. Under her laces, she filled with want. The mysterious atmosphere of the cell spread involving intimacy.
As she took his thick arms, she pinned them on the column over his head and kissed him with even more eroticism. They moaned and she was fast slipping into a world of hazy sensuality. When their mouths finally separated, she had nailed the cuffs around manly wrists, that chinked as he moved them.
His hands held the chains as they hung, the shirt sleeves falling to those bunched biceps.
“Now I have you at my mercy.” She tempted, liquid eyes regaling that stretched tall, broad frame, a fine dish for her eager coveting.
A half-smile crossed thin carnal lips. “What an imaginative hellion.” The rasp of that deep voice readied her.
“We have not taken dessert.” She reminded him, gyrating and nearing the table.
There were an array of compotes, cakes, honey and jam jars she had demurely asked cook. A pear compote caught her fancy, she took one, not caring it dripped in her hand.
An unhurried stroll to the column, she offered it to him. He bit at the sweet succulent delicacy and she did it too, their mouths eating at it and hungering for one another. The juices trickled down their chins as she licked it from his rough jaw in the same time he turned his head and followed suit. They savoured the last of it, before devouring each other’s lips. The kiss came savage, unrestrained, voracious.
She might faint with the avalanche of sensation it brought her. Scattered strength gathered, she went back to the table.
“This table used to display torture instruments, you know.” He said at her back.
“Torture is exactly what I intend.” She devolved. And it was. He would find it out in due time.
Jar of honey in hand, she carried it to where he stood.
“The idea is,” he paused. “Enticing.”
Not giving an answer, her fingers dived in the satin viscosity of the honey. To rest on his chest, through the mid-chest gaping shirt, lathering his hair peppered expanse with it. He groaned, his head tilting to the column behind him. The smell of him, earthy and man, mixed with the honey perfume invaded her nostrils with an invitation to touch.
Her tongue followed her hand to his collarbone, descending to one side on the top of the prominent muscle and encasing his nipple. Her mouth stayed there tasting his salty tang mixed with the sweetness and almost losing control. Her hand continued down, though, to the trail of hair, his navel, under the shirt and the top of his trousers. The thick shaft straining the fabric reacted to her caresses eager. Romulus sucked in air as if suffering.
“Annabel.” He muttered. “You are driving me to the edge.”
