Page 59 of Enslaved
“But what about the men’s training?” she asked, blushing prettily.
“I have more important lessons to give here, now.”
Marcus slid his body from beneath hers so that she lay facedown on the bed. Then he straddled her, lifted her golden hair from the nape of her neck, and nuzzled her there. His playful lips sent shivers down her spine and she began to squirm with a tingling arousal. She arched her back so that his hands could slip beneath her body to claim her breasts. They felt so full and lush in his big calloused palms. She realized that her squirming bottom was brushing against his manhood, hardening and lengthening it to an alarming degree.
“Mmm, sword practice, I believe. But I have no weapon,” she teased.
“I’ll lend you mine. This morning we will practice sheathing the sword.” His fingers began to stroke her soft buttocks, sliding in the cleft to arouse her.
Diana was amazed at the sensations that began to build deep within her woman’s center. It was as if threads of fire were connected from her bottom, all the way up the front of her body, through her belly and up to her tingling breasts. When she began to pant with feverish desire, Marcus murmured, “Go up on your knees for me.” She was so highly aroused, she would submit to anything he desired, trusting him to give her unknown pleasure.
He arched his great body over hers and entered her from behind. As before, her muscles spasmed upon him and actually drew him deeper. He paused to let her get used to the fullness and experience the new sensations of his position. When Marcus began to thrust, she cried out her pleasure immediately. The head of his shaft kissed her sensitive bud each time he stroked in. The sensations felt entirely different than when she lay on her back. His cock slid so much farther forward, rubbing her bud with a sleek rhythmic friction that made her build so quickly, she felt wildly uninhibited. Diana had seen a stallion cover a mare once and realized Marcus was taking her in the same way.
He was able to unleash his great sexual energy without restraint in this position. Marcus knew if he thrust too savagely, Diana was free to pull away. She did not, however. She arched herself to match the curve of his lithe body, so that he could surge into her with powerful strokes. She built to such a pitch of excitement, she clawed at the bedcovers, thinking her need was unquenchable. Then Marcus bit her neck exactly as the black stallion had done and Diana climaxed with an eruption that sent tremors down to her toes.
The moment he felt her contract upon him with her pulsations, Marcus exploded inside her. He rolled on his side, taking her with him, and they lay curled together experiencing the “little death” that always follows a magnificent mating.
When Diana could again think coherently, she asked, “Marcus, won’t you be missed at the fortress today?”
“I’ll send a message telling them I am doing a report for the Procurator.”
When Kell brought breakfast, he was loath to disturb them for something as mundane as food, but a naked Marcus proclaimed he was famished and gave him a message to be sent to his highest-ranking officer. Kell kept his eyes from the high bed where Diana perched with the covers pulled high beneath her chin. Without setting his eyes upon her, he knew she was blushing deliciously.
Marcus brought the tray to the bed, set it down between them, and proceeded to feed Diana, making her try everything that had been brought.
“Your food is the best I’ve ever tasted. The Prince of Wales would kill to have your cooks.”
“The Prince of Wales?” Marcus questioned, quaffing from a goblet of honeyed mead he had just held to her lips.
“Our king’s son. The heir to the throne always holds the title Prince of Wales. Wales is the western country that gives you so much trouble. It was eventually conquered, but not for hundreds of years.”
Marcus cocked a quizzical brow. “Your stories fascinate. I almost want to believe you are who you say you are.”
“Almost, but not quite,” she teased, taking the goblet back from him and setting her lips to the spot where he had drunk.
“What is this prince like?” Marcus demanded.
Diana laughed. “He’s fat and parades about in military uniforms because of his frustration at never being allowed to fight in a war. His father, the king, is mad as a March hare and the prince is holding his breath until they make him regent. In the meantime he wears satins and lace, paints his face, writes silly letters to his mistress, and plays ridiculous practical jokes with his equally ridiculous friends.”
“Males who wear lace and paint their faces are not men, Diana. They are playthings for the debauched. There are many such at the emperor’s court in Rome. What are normal men like in your London?”
“The young ones slavishly copy the style set by the prince. ’Tis the fashion to wear tight satin knee breeches and powdered wigs. They are extremely effeminate and that is why I refused to consider marrying any of them.”
He pulled her down into his arms. “You are making all this up so I won’t be jealous of the men you know.”
With the tip of her finger she traced the vicious scar that slanted down to his cheekbone. “It’s all true. I spent my entire life dreaming of the real men of other ages.”
“Like Romans?” he asked, taking her breasts into his possessive hands.
“No, I never daydreamed of Romans. That’s why I find it so strange to have been transported to your time in history. I would have loved to have gone back to Elizabethan times or the medieval period.”
“Tell me about these medieval men you daydreamed about,” he growled with mock ferocity.
“Well, it’s a long story and I’d love to tell you all the intimate details, but why don’t we wait until after?”
“After?” he asked huskily, hoping she meant what he thought she meant. Happily for both of them, she did.
Chapter 18
