Gypsy Jewel (17 page)

At the first flick of his tongue upon a taut nipple, April gasped at the heat that burned through her body. She had never imagined such pleasure, that a man might suckle upon a woman like a babe and render pure delight.

Damien lowered her gently to the sand, his teasing tongue moving upward again, to curl around the pink shell of her ear. It delved mischievously inside the ticklish canal until April begged him to cease the sweet torture. She wound her own hands into his ebony hair, loving the silky texture as she kneaded his head like a little cat.

Remembering Damien’s recent injury, she was careful not to grieve him with an accidental bump. April contented herself with wrapping her arms lovingly around his neck, and then she copied his expert tutelage and pressed light kisses of her own accord against his neck.

Encouraging her with a faint moan, Damien delighted in the sweet willingness of his gypsy bride. He knew April was not merely teasing him, but fully intended to go through with their lovemaking. He also knew he should be the one to stop it, to save her heartbreak in the end, but her softly glowing green eyes somehow told him that to deny her now would be a terrible mistake.

If he could bring her joy in the act of love, then perhaps she would no longer fear men. April would be free to take a lover of her choice then, once they had parted ways. But why did the thought of another man caressing this Romany maid make him angry? Damien shook off his conscience to bury himself in her warm embrace, dragging the woolen blanket over them both where they lay in the sand.

Innocent and intoxicating, April’s lips burned a fiery trail across his upper body. Obviously delighted to be able to touch and stroke him as she wished, she occupied herself for some minutes by rubbing her silken cheek against his darkly furred chest. Her pale hair spilled over them both, reflecting the fire’s reddish glow. Damien stroked her head, fighting the rising desire to fully claim her as his own.

“Damien,” April whispered, her soft voice stoking the burning coals in his loins. She mouthed his name so lovingly that he could imagine this beautiful young woman as his wife. Then, determined not to fall prey to her sweet wiles, he forced himself to look upon her as merely another desirable female. April need never know of his inner restraint.

Gazing deeply into April’s eyes, he drew her up over his body, to mate their anxious lips. He drank deeply of his gypsy wife, exploring the sweet cavern of her mouth with his tongue, holding her firmly against the shivers that shook throughout her frame.

Wave after wave of passion slammed into April as she succumbed to desire. Somewhere in the distant fog of reason, she was aware that the rain had slowed, and now she heard the distant fall and crash of the surf upon the shore. How perfect, how right, that this should be their wedding night. Here, where man and woman had walked for centuries together along the shore, looking out to the sea in awe of its secret life force.

A tremor clutched her for a brief moment when Damien gently reversed their positions, putting her beneath him. He hushed her with soft endearments, quelling the fear in her eyes. April knew a little of what would follow, but she was still not fully prepared. Worrying her lower lip, she waited while her husband slipped out of his confining trousers. Romany girls were not shy by nature, and she gazed frankly upon the handsome male body revealed by firelight.

Del
, but he was beautiful. As lithe as a panther, and lightly furred with the same jet hair on his legs as on his chest. Damien’s eyes burned particularly bright blue this night, taking her breath away as she stared back at the man who would make her a woman.

Damien saw April blush a little as her gaze dropped to encounter his proud manhood, boldly upright in its own nest of curling black hair. But she did not draw away, as he joined her again and murmured softly, “Are you sure,
ma chere
? It will hurt a little, though after that there will be much pleasure, I promise you.”

At the unfamiliar endearment April smiled and snuggled closer to his delicious warmth. “What does that mean, “
ma chere
?” Is it French?”

“It is,” he grinned down at her, “and I confess I should have wondered if you had understood it, even as familiar with the language as you are. It means ‘beloved.’ “

April’s eyes softened, as if melting at the tender tone he used. It never occurred to her that endearments came as easily to men as their lusts, and she responded with a trusting smile.

“I am sure, my husband.”

Casting away the last of his doubts, Damien took April as his wife in the deepest sense of the word. With a strong, gentle mastery that came naturally to a lover of women, he began by exploring her flawlessly smooth skin inch by inch, with his lips and tongue.

With a fist stuffed in her mouth to keep from gasping, April let the sensations bolt through her untutored body, causing her to arch and writhe for something she did not fully understand. One minute he was worrying her nipples, nipping and then soothing the inflamed peaks with a cool tongue, the next he gently stroked the insides of her silken thighs and made her moan with longing.

Any attempt she made to return such caresses only caused Damien to shake his head and still her pleas. “Tonight is for you, little girl,” he whispered huskily as he licked her earlobe, “and I will not let you share it with anyone, not even me.”

Her head was spinning, her senses alive and aching with every touch of his hands. He brought her higher and higher, insinuating his long fingers into sweet, secret places that caused her to protest faintly until he silenced her with firm kisses.

“Be still, April,” he ordered. “Let me teach you. You need only relax and learn, that you might return the favor someday.” Damien’s eyes danced with flames, and for a moment he was a blue-eyed hawk, and April, his helpless prey. But still she would sacrifice herself to be caught. With an avid cry, she let him have full measure of her passion. Her head lolled from side to side, and her hair lashed his sweat-sheened skin. April felt burning wildfire in her belly, and begged him to soothe the unfamiliar ache.

Feeling the dew of her readiness, Damien edged his muscular frame atop April. She was no frail creature to be easily crushed, but still he held the brunt of his weight on his own arms as he settled his hips into hers.

The direct contact was too much. Sobbing with need, April clung to Damien and cried out for release.

“Easy, love, I want to take it slow. There may be pain at first …”

“I don’t care. Please, please love me!” With an instinct deeper than she understood, April spread her legs wide and arched upward into him. Damien could no longer deny himself. They fit too well together, and when she moved with primal sensuality, he brushed her warm entrance and eased slightly in.

Fighting himself for control, Damien’s hands dug into the sand and he braced his back. But April was undulating her sweet hips, urging him on, and with an anguished moan he thrust fiercely into her burning core.

She flinched slightly, but Damien cut off her gasp with a ravishing kiss. As he rode her, slowly and then with increasing speed, he released her bruised lips and let her cry out over the discovery.

Though there had been a moment of pain that had shot through her loins, April quickly forgot it in the breathtaking excitement of making love. Damien’s hips settled against hers, and her long legs wrapped around his calves. Together they rode the waves of passion higher and higher until each felt the great crest crashing over them.

Damien was past reasoning, though he had intended to love his wife gently. Instead he had taken her like an animal, rutting desperately after months of celibacy. The fact April encouraged his fierce efforts bewildered his already hazy mind. Never had a woman clung to him so tightly, matching him thrust for thrust, the sheen of perspiration on her as bright as his own.

A burning, roiling sensation built in his loins, to Damien’s dismay. He wanted to last the night through, to make April’s first time wonderful, but like an untried boy he soon found himself crying out and spilling himself deeply into her womb.

April clutched his shoulders, which were taut for a full minute as he bore down upon her. The warmth of his love soon trickled down her thighs, but she would not release him from the leglock.

She nipped playfully at his shoulder, asking in a soft, mischievous voice, “Is that all, my teacher? Or would you kindly repeat the instruction so I might learn it well?”

“Witch,” Damien gasped against her ear, but her carefree giggle eased his mind. He had feared she would be furious after such brief lovemaking, as any of his mistresses surely would have been. But he had forgotten April’s innocence, and that she took anything he dished out as her proper due. Why did that make him feel worse? She deserved better than this quick and clumsy assault.

Angry at himself, Damien withdrew and slid down to prop himself between her languid thighs.

“What are you doing?” Alarmed, April tried to close her legs and sit up, but his hands pinned her firmly to the sand, and before she could squirm or utter a protest, his mouth was loving her where his manhood already had.

First she tried to kick free, and then, when that didn’t work, seized a handful of his silky black hair and yanked hard. But Damien would not be dislodged, and when she felt the first velvety stroke upon her secret woman’s jewel, April cried out in startled pleasure.

He loved her, and he loved her well. In mere seconds she followed his example admirably, arching high with a piercing shriek. Then, as she drifted slowly back to earth, he moved up beside her again and branded her with lips that tasted faintly of sea-salt.

Holding her protectively to his side, Damien studied April’s serenely smiling face. Her green eyes aglow from lovemaking, she was a study in contentment. Curled up like a little cat against him, April nestled in his arms and laid her head upon his chest.

“I can hear your heart beating. It’s so strong,” she murmured sleepily.

Damien only patted her head in response. He was lost in thought, staring into the glowing coals of the fire that had since died down. It was getting cold now, but he did not want to break the spell by dislodging April and moving around. Now that he was restored to some sanity and reason, he could only curse himself for being a twice-tried fool. He had dishonored April tonight, but worse, he had done so with the full knowledge of repercussions.

Knowing that she was not his wife in the eyes of either France or England, and that by virtue of her heritage, she could never be, he had nonetheless taken her innocence, and taken it well.

Detesting himself as he did other men of his class who dallied with servants or easily impressed maids, Damien was at a loss as to what to do. By Romany law, he had had the right to take her, but now she was ruined for any other man. If King Jingo suspected that Damien had wronged April thusly, he would not hesitate to kill him and leave his corpse for the crows.

As he well might, Damien mused darkly. What fate for a girl like April, once he left her behind? Her beauty would always secure her a protector, but what of a husband, a happy life? She would never be more than a rich man’s trull, or worse yet, die from childbearing before she was thirty.

Never before had he been so conscious of his own actions as now. The sophisticated courtesans he had amused himself with had never expected anything from him beyond physical pleasure, nor had they gazed at him with such loving, open eyes. He knew that April’s vulnerable heart lay full in his hand, and damn it all to hell, what would he do now?

She was already asleep, breathing softly against his chest, as lovely a wife as any man could ever hope for. So for the moment, Damien Cross dared dream too, and as he held his sweet gypsy bride tightly in his arms, he vowed that he would do whatever it took to keep from hurting her in the days to come.

I
T WAS LATE FALL
before Damien and April finally reached Moscow. Already the imperial city was lightly glazed with snow, like a spun-sugar confection with endless spires and steeples sparkling in the crisp air.

Damien glanced over at April sitting beside him in the wagon, and could not restrain a grin at her obvious delight. With childlike wonder she pointed and exclaimed over everything, and he agreed to tour the sights.

They paid to leave the wagon and the horses at one of the cheaper stables, and April eagerly dashed into the core of milling humanity. Though they were dressed like gypsies, they blended in easily after they entered the poorer sections of Moscow. Here nobody looked twice at a gypsy girl stepping daintily over piles of manure and trash, except to remark upon her loveliness, or the scowl of the darkly handsome man at her elbow.

Damien dared not let April explore alone, and had to restrain her from running free as she had done since her youth. As a child she had been able to avoid notice by keeping to the alleyways, but here her blonde hair and uncommon beauty attracted the wrong sort of attention. Though escorted by a menacing, battle-scarred Romany man, April received stares that made Damien angry and uneasy.