The Gypsy King (15 page)

several colored scarves tied all around the pitched roof. The material waved in the midday breeze.

She furtively glanced up and into each of the three, white trimmed windows, but could not see anything inside. No lit candles and no crystal ball.

A little shiver ran through her and her misstep brought her tender foot down on a particularly rough clump of mud that pinched the side of her bruised ankle. “Ugh!” she moaned, lifting up her foot again to massage her swollen joint.

Suddenly Veronique felt another little shiver only this time strange waves of dread flowed through her body. The hair on her neck and arms stood up. She paused a few feet from the wagon.

She was suddenly frightened and alone and more than a little scared. She knew from the stories her father told her and her little sister, Emelie, that gypsies had a persecuted past.

“The black crow that all the other birds kill.”

Her father described to her the gypsy way of life.

“Their history is much longer than ours, and even our family’s family, Veronique. You must

appreciate this. The Lowara are survivors. But never, ever trust them and you can be sure they will never trust you either. That is how they survive. They have their own language, their own religion, their own customs and they fool the
gaje
whenever they can.”

And what if this fortuneteller doesn’t like me? What
if she treats me like the people in my town and other
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towns treat them?
she asked nervously. Veronique felt sorry for them and admired them at the same time, but was suddenly not looking forward to having any of her questions answered by a

fortuneteller, regardless of how beautifully she may dance.

She rubbed her ankle and, without thinking, reached up to her face. Veronique ran her fingers over the ragged bandage running from her ear almost to the middle of her chin. She could not ignore their kindness however. “They cleaned my wounds, they pulled me from the river and saved my life. They welcomed me into their struggling lives without question. They fed me, they took care of my broken bones and now they are

sending me to a fortuneteller.”

She huffed away the old ladies at the lavoir and her own father in that instant.
I believe what I see
and today I know that these people are helping me,
she told herself with surprising conviction.

And didn’t the Gypsy King seem to know just what her spirit needed? First Nanosh, then Diego and now a fortuneteller? She shuddered and felt a surge of lust drizzle between her legs when she thought about both Nanosh and Diego. Mostly she thought about Ahndray, although that memory brought tears to her eyes every time.

No time for fantasies now, or sad memories.
She stood up, straightened her skirts and, although she sounded like a sniffling poodle with all the crying 151

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she had been doing lately, she felt better.

Veronique brushed off her dirty feet and walked up to the fortuneteller’s wagon. The small white door at the end of the wagon opened before she even got to the porch and the fortuneteller emerged with a smile. Veronique’s heart jumped and she could almost hear herself purring.
This
fortuneteller is much, much prettier in the daytime.

She wore a white, puffy blouse and crimson red skirt that failed miserably at covering her full, curvy body. She was several inches taller than Veronique and her hair was lighter in the sun, closer to hazelnut brown. She liked the way she had it pulled up and out of her face with a shocking yellow headband. Her skin was also lighter than Veronique expected and, in the sunlight, looked very much like caramel, one of her most favorite candies. Her face was

Mediterranean in shape with dark eyebrows and wide, full lips. Her breasts seemed even larger in the daytime and Veronique squirmed as she ogled the outlines of dark brown nipples pushing

through her blouse. She noted she had jewelry on her wrists and ankles, and she wore gold dangling earrings that caught the sun.

Veronique tried to stop staring, but after the experiences with Diego, she was becoming much more comfortable around her new gypsy family.

Instead of being embarrassed, she took a deep breath and let her gaze stare at this girl’s pretty 152

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toes, up to her legs, across the two curves of her hips, and stop at her well-covered nether regions.

She was surprised at her boldness, but she had the courage to look up and right into the

fortuneteller’s eyes. They were bright, crisp green with small splinters of slate. She was momentarily a bit jealous of her natural beauty, but laughed at herself.
This is the one girl who can help her the most,
what a bonus that she is beautiful.

The fortuneteller smiled and showed a full

mouth of strong, white teeth. She pressed a hand against the doorframe to balance herself, and bent down slowly like a dancer but with exaggerated elegance that was almost comical. “Come in, Veronique! I’m Isabella. The Gypsy King tells me he wants you to see where you come from, or better yet, where you are going.”

It wasn’t a question, and Veronique didn’t

know how to respond.

“Come in. Come in. The men have been staring at you long enough,
putos
!” She laughed.

Veronique felt herself whisked up by a strong grip, and it was all she could do to not stumble over her own good fortune. She felt immediately at ease with Isabella and relaxed. The last several weeks washed away like the soapy old water at the lavoir and she even shivered as a wave of cold water seemed to rush over her, bringing with it a fresh smile and her old mischievous grin. “It’s nice to meet you, Isabella,” she smiled into Isabella’s 153

The Gypsy King

receptive face. “You look…uh…” she stammered, but forced herself to look into her eyes and dropped her voice to almost a whisper.

“I’ve seen you around the campfire, Isabella. I really enjoy watching you dance. And your

skin…” she trailed off, unsure of herself, but her passion was giving her courage she didn’t know she had. She reached out and rubbed the back of her hand along Isabella’s shoulder. “Your skin looks….delicious…like soft, sweet candy.”

There. She said it. Had she really said that?

Delicious?
Her own skin was flushed and hot.

Little prickles burst up and she found it hard not to shake. “Maybe you could teach me to dance like that someday…the way you move your body…I’d like to be able to move like that…would you show me?”

Isabella smiled a warm smile but didn’t say anything for what seemed like several minutes.

She traced the line on Veronique’s face with a long red fingernail, sighed out loud and smiled again.

“Today, I will show you many things, brave girl,”

she whispered, her lips forming a perfect kiss.

Isabella turned sideways and motioned for

Veronique to go inside first.

As Veronique moved forward, Isabella filled the small doorway with her curves and she was forced to brush past the full front of Isabella’s body. Her whole right side was on fire as energy ran from her shoulder to her ankle and back up to 154

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her throat. Veronique was immediately aware of Isabella’s form and firmness. Her body was soft and firm, tough and forgiving, all at the same time. Her breasts were larger than she expected and she suddenly felt her own nipples tighten as she grazed against the pebble of a nipple.
Mmmm,
heavy and full, V
eronique grinned inwardly.

She loved her own breasts, especially her

nipples and the heavy, round curve beneath her underarm, her favorite part of her body. She could rub her fingernails along that curve with her other hand massaging and stroking herself, and it never failed to create a puddle of jelly between her legs.

As her shoulders were absorbing Isabella’s

breast, her waist pushed against Isabella’s hip and thigh. Both were firm, yet wonderfully forgiving.

She took the last split second she had and

carefully, delicately dragged her own dirty foot over Isabella’s instep, letting her toes run over each of hers, one, by, one. It was meant to be sexy but Veronique felt like a child, awkward and not elegant at all.

Isabella said nothing, but raised her eyes to meet Veronique’s and Veronique felt another strange sensation—the feeling was like being pulled by a strong current. If she closed her eyes, surely she would soon be crushing herself up against her. She reeled back a bit, regaining her balance. Suddenly she sensed that this woman was capable of looking deep into her heart. She 155

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wondered if she could also see how fast and hard it was beating. “What do you see in there?”

Veronique asked with a giggle.

Isabelle pulled her lips together and gently blew a breath of warm air into Veronique’s face.

It was a gentle breath and Veronique closed her eyes and felt like she was in a summer field surrounded by wheat and sunflowers. She inhaled the aromas of apricots and cinnamon and clove.

Her emotions swirled like light rain blowing from the fountain in her town.

“I just blew a breath over your soul,
mon cher.
It is good luck,” Isabelle whispered.

Veronique opened her eyes and realized she

was suddenly standing inside the wagon! Her mind began to race. This woman, this

fortuneteller, this seer of souls, made her feel dizzy, silly and yes, sexy, all at the same time. She missed the sexy part,
especially the sexy part
. Her own boldness shocked her, but she was not herself these days and this was evidence of that, too.

Visions of pleasure filled her inner mind,

sending jolts of bliss and excitement through her tingling body. It had been less than a week since Diego gobbled, nibbled, and sucked on every inch of her flesh, and sent her head into the clouds and back down into a raging storm of orgasms, and back up to the clouds, time and again. She was learning how to explode, then relax, and explode again.

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So many times she had lost her mind almost

completely in her erotic encounters that she didn’t know her own name anymore. All she could

murmur was his name, Ahndray. No! Diego? She realized as she inhaled the smells of this

fortuneteller’s wagon that she may have not even have been pronouncing either of those lover’s names right. So vulnerable she was these days that she found herself utterly exhausted, but deeply satisfied. Diego and his amazing hands. Ahndray and his amazing touch, and now this girl, with amazing eyes and a gift that begged to be

explored.

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er head swooned inside Isabella’s wagon as

Hluscious scents filled her nose, heady

combinations of wild flowers, smoke, apricots, lavender and there was no mistaking the scent of sex. Or perhaps it wasn’t the wagon that was giving off that aroma? She was breathing fast and suddenly, she felt like she was back in her own bed at her home in town. “Your wagon smells and feels just like my old room.”

Veronique talked as she looked around. She

was feeling a bit vulnerable now, her body

betraying her feelings of desire far too easily. The interior of Isabella’s wagon was tiny, but cozy and quite elegant. The crisp, white eiderdown was too clean to have ever been taken outside for any length of time. A small round table with beautiful yellow lace trim was accented with a bright red 158

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chair with each of the three backrests painted yellow to match. But it was the vanity that caught Veronique’s eye.

She traced her fingers slowly over a treasure chest of perfumes, powders, three hair brushes, small silver coins, finely-detailed bottles containing different colored water, delicate cubes of quartz, granite, a tarot deck and a little gold bell so small she doubted it would make any noise at all.

She missed pampering herself and it made her feel sexy to play with these girlie things again. A small hand mirror, a rare possession for a gypsy, caught her reflection and, before she could stop herself, her gaze bolted straight to the smooth scar on her right cheek. Her image made her stomach feel cold, like she swallowed ice water. Isabella moved behind her. Veronique felt a touch on her shoulder. She jumped and turned quickly to face her.

“Are you ready, Veronique?” Isabella asked

while placing a hand on Veronique’s shoulder.

“I guess so…yes.” Veronique was tense, but she was ready. She clenched her strong, pussy muscles together and held them for a few seconds. “Yes, I’m very ready.” She heard herself whispering to this intoxicating woman.

“Then sit, please.”

Veronique’s sigh did not hide her

disappointment. “I may not know exactly what I 159

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want, but can I have more than just my fortune read?” She began to ache, all over, especially between her legs.

They both sat down and Isabella reached across the table and slowly took Veronique’s hands into her own.

“Don’t you have a crystal ball, or something?

What do you use?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“Relax, young lady. I’m going to tell you what I see and you tell me whether it means anything to you. I only use the ball when silly
gaje
come to see me. They see the crystal ball and it makes them feel better about what I tell them. It lets them see their own selfish reflections. For you, there is no ball. Just relax and breathe,
mon cher.
”

Veronique relaxed and closed her eyes. She felt Isabella’s hands holding hers and tried not to fidget. Her hands were soft and she wanted to hold them forever, rub her wrists, her arms, her shoulders. She managed to sit somewhat still and Isabella began speaking. Her voice was soft and soothing with no accent at all. It reminded Veronique of warmed syrup. Again she found

herself wriggling her legs together and stole a glance across the table. Isabella had indeed closed her eyes for the moment.