Читать книгу Pleasure To The Max! - Cami Dalton, Cami Dalton - Страница 9

Russian countryside, 1920

THE KING OF THE GYPSIES, Rajko Sanderzej, stared up at his bound hands and cursed under his breath as a drop of sweat dripped down the center of his naked chest. Of course, his entire body was naked. Naked and aroused. Give a female the ability to fulfill her every sexual fantasy and this was what happened…pure erotic torture.

“You look good like that,” Stasi said, her voice with an undertone that made the muscles in his stomach pull tight.

Rajko smirked, afraid that if he spoke he’d give away just how affected he was by her shocking new game. His wrists were secured by a length of rope that had been looped over one of the thick wooden beams that ran above his head, just below the ceiling of the abandoned cottage. He didn’t bother struggling to get loose. There was no point. There were powers at work far stronger than the tether that held him. Not to mention that he was too busy suffering through the most painful erection of his life.

He’d never been more excited. Either Rajko had a secret submissive streak, which he highly doubted, or the thought of his once shy and wounded lover turned bold tigress of domination had him twitching with lust.

Frankly, he should be annoyed rather than fighting not to spill his seed on the scuffed wooden floor before she even touched him. He was the recognized Rom Baro of the Gypsies, the leader of his band of people. He was the only Romani male ever to have been born with the gift of second sight and the ability to cast and quicken charms.

He’d kept his clan safe and fed through a world war, then led them across Russia in the midst of a revolution. His skill with a knife was unparalleled, and both his looks and prowess brought him any woman he wanted whether Gypsy or gadje.

Yet here he stood, twisting like a convict from the gallows, all at the whim of a mere slip of a girl who’d wound her way around his heart and whom he loved above all others. Or, rather, more like a sex slave bound and ready to perform his mistress’s bidding. Oh, yes, with her newfound inner vixen, his Stasi would definitely prefer the latter comparison.

The little hellion trailed her hand over his hip and down his flank as she circled behind him then around to the front. Rajko rocked forward on the balls of his feet, his cock thrust brutally in the air. He swallowed, clenching his hands into fists. While he scrambled for an ounce of control, he could do no more than stare; Stasi’s entire form was backlit by the fire. She’d started a blaze in the hearth to take off the early spring chill, and the flames crackled invitingly.

Her brown hair tumbled loosely down her back, and she was as bare as he except for the black silk scarf knotted sideways at her hip. The scrap hid nothing, merely accentuating her curving buttocks and the ruffle of curls at the meeting of her thighs. The tiny gold key that she wore around her neck glittered tauntingly. Just thinking about the kind of power she held, and what the key symbolized, made his blood pump in dark, thick pulses. She was only a step away. The small distance was killing him.

His breath slipped out. “You are so beautiful, my Krasili.”

She placed her fingers against his lips, then jerked her head to look at the window over her shoulder, apparently to make sure the shutters were closed tight. They were, along with the only door.

“You shouldn’t call me that,” she said in quiet urgency. “What if someone heard.”

Voice dry, he responded, “I’m standing here strung up like a gutted deer. I’m far more concerned about what someone could see rather than hear. Besides, in my eyes, you are a princess. My princess,” he said, referring to the Gypsy term he’d just spoken. He shrugged his shoulders as much as the rope would allow. “It’s just a word. Your reaction is what would trigger suspicion. Besides,” he soothed, “you are safe. No one can hurt you now, and I will keep your secrets hidden.”

Her cheeks going pink, she ducked her chin, then rose up on her toes to press her forehead into the curve of his chest. Her breasts molded to his torso. His flesh burned, and he shivered. The flickering light played over her skin, turning the scars that marred her back and torso silvery.

This time he did pull against his bonds, his arms aching to hold her. She’d come so close to dying. It had been almost two years since he’d found her, broken and bleeding on the forest floor in the midst of a revolution-torn Russia.

She’d been barely conscious, blood soaking her dress from a dozen wounds. On the cusp of womanhood, her wealth and nobility of great fame in the area, he’d recognized her immediately and known that those who’d attacked her would seek her out to finish their evil work. If for no other reason than to claim the czar’s ransom of jewels with which she’d escaped, and that had glimmered from the torn lining of her clothes. Shushing her frightened whimpers, he’d gathered her into his arms and taken her back to his people.

Remembering that time, Rajko nuzzled the top of her head, smiling into her hair. Living and caring for his wounded angel, his feelings had grown beyond what he’d ever thought himself capable. But after her attack she’d become almost fearful, her demeanor quiet and shy. Trying to get more than the most timid of smiles from her had been a daily battle. Though his little mouse had furtively been every bit as fascinated by him, her eyes constantly following him around their camp.

Night after night he’d watch the beautiful young woman, who called herself Stasi, across the campfire as she wrote out her thoughts and secrets in a small diary. And, Rajko had believed, she wrote of her love and desire for him, knowing in his soul that she was a woman of deep hidden passions.

Hoping to win her heart, and release the pain that had crippled her with fear, he’d carved for her a lover’s box and placed it under one of the Gypsies’ most rare and potent charms. About the size of a cigar case, a lover’s box had become a popular trinket among the young gadje women who kept love letters or a journal filled with amorous yearnings for their beaux locked inside. The key was worn as a charm on a bracelet or necklace, a seductive symbol to any male by whom it was seen.

He’d designed the powerful spell so that whenever Stasi wrote her sexual longings and fantasies in her diary, she had only to lock the slim book inside the lover’s box and they would come true for her with the man she desired…none other, of course, than Rajko himself.

At the thought of just how well his gift had worked, his mouth slowly curved into what he had no doubt was an unholy grin and he chuckled wickedly.

Stasi lifted her head, and studied his amusement. She nipped his chin with her pearly little teeth. “Hmm, in my fantasy you were begging, not laughing,” she said. “I’ll have to do something about that.”

Rajko grunted. “I think you’ve done more than enough, Krasili.”

Stasi ran the curves of her nails down the inside of his raised arms, over his chest and down to the muscles that ran on each side of his lower stomach in a diagonal arrow to his groin. The air in his lungs hissed out in a rush.

Clearly fighting a smile, she assured, “You’re just upset at how you arrived. Next time I decide to write out my bondage dreams, I’ll be quite specific in the details,” she said, referring to the idiosyncrasies of the lover’s box.

Yes, the spell he’d created did indeed make her fantasies come true. This, however, left far too many options for fate to play with while getting all the key players into place. And fate seemed to enjoy riling up as much mischief and mayhem as possible along the way. There were times that, in spite of the spine-wringing benefits, Rajko wished she’d grow tired of his wildly successful gift and be happy to hide it away until some other poor woman needed its secrets.

“Next time you should try doing it the old-fashioned way. In a bed. Me on top. No frills. Just the basics. You don’t know. You might like it.”

Now it was her laugh that sounded wicked, and she slid to her knees before him. She laid her cheek against his thigh and her breath washed across him, stirring the dense hair at the base of his length.

“Oh, I don’t think so, my beautiful Gypsy king,” she said, pausing to give the skin between his groin and thigh a slow lick. He actually growled before cutting off the harsh noise escaping his throat. Her palms fit perfectly along the flat planes at the sides of his buttocks, rubbing and pressing, while her lips slipped beneath his heavy stones. She opened her warm, wet mouth impossibly wide then gently sucked as much of him in as she could take. He could hear her lips and tongue erotically working him, and he squeezed his eyes shut and dropped back his head.

His heart banged against his ribs. He had to swallow twice before he finally found his voice and asked, “Why not?”

As her small fist worked its way between his thighs and she pressed two fingertips to the smooth skin behind his sack, her lips loosened their hold on his flesh, though they still touched and brushed against him as she said, “Because we have the kind of passion that legends are made of.”

And with his gift of second sight, Rajko knew she was right and could only hope that the next poor man who found himself at the mercy of the lover’s box understood its true value and discovered the ultimate secret within…that the magic of fulfilling a woman’s desires was the only treasure worth having….