Moonstruck

A young woman stood knee deep in the cool spring, rinsing remnants of the day’s toil from her lithe figure. She was not naked, although the thin cotton shift hid none of her charms from his prurient scrutiny. The sodden fabric clung to every feminine hollow and curve of her delectable form, revealing small peaked breasts, trim waist and, holy mother of god, a taut, round ass that cried out for a man’s hands.

His cock stiffened as rivulets of water trailed down her thighs as if to welcome a lover’s touch, his touch. Her pale hair shimmered like liquid silver in the clear, moonlit night. The siren’s call of her femininity enticed Robert to dismount and seek a clearer view.

His horse snorted. The moon nymph swiveled her head and searched the shadows concealing him for the source of the sound. Ever vigilant, she picked her way to shore, heading straight for him. Robert stepped from his cover. Her eyes widened. “No, don’t!” She cried out…in warning?

Intense pain exploded in his head as everything went black…

Robert sensed people around him. Quiet murmurs contrasted with a harsher voice. His head rested on a pillow, quilts were tucked under his chin; Robert lay in a bed of some sort. He tried to sit up. Excruciating pain rocked through his head. He grabbed his head and lay back down.

“See, Lena, he’s not dead,” A male grumble penetrated the pain.

A feminine voice accused, “You didn’t have to shoot him.”

A crude expletive preceded heavy footsteps on a wooden floor. The bed rocked. Where was he? He groaned and faded into oblivion once more.

A cool, wet cloth on his forehead awoke him. How much later he could not say. His head still throbbed. Hot. Was he ill? His body burned from the inside out. Robert flailed at the light bed covers. Have to get them off.

“Shush.” Feminine hands stilled his attempts to pull off the covers.

He opened his eyes. Anxious blue-green irises framed by dark lashes met his own. Pale blond hair framed a beguiling face with very kissable lips. Her hair…he remembered that hair.

“You…” The rasp of his voice startled him. “Moonlight…water,” he muttered.

She removed the cloth and rinsed it in a bucket; put it back on his forehead. Blessed coolness. His gaze followed every movement of her slim, capable hands as she bathed him.

“Wh – where am I?” Was he as weak as he sounded?

“With me.” With a grand flourish of her hand, she indicated her cramped surroundings. Wood floors, partial wood sides, a canvas top. A wagon. He was in a wagon. Robert observed her gaily patterned blouse and skirt, the silver bangles on her arms, the opaque crystal orb on a table.

“You’re a gypsy.”

“Not gypsy. Romani.”

He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep again.

The next time he awoke it was dusk. He shivered. His teeth chattered. “So c-c-cold.”

“Here.” His gypsy placed a blanket on him. Still he shivered.

“Slide over…my bed isn’t made for two.”

He shifted close to the wall. The woman crawled in next to him. Blessed warmth. His shivers slowed, and then stopped. He relaxed and soon slept.

His head pounded but seemed better. He tried moving; just a dull ache. Robert realized it was not just his head that throbbed. He was rock hard. He lay quietly and tried to get his bearings.

Warm breath fanned his neck. A feminine leg entwined with his. Soft breasts nestled alongside his ribs. Images of a moonlit temptress with upturned breasts and a sweet derriere flitted through his brain. It must be the nymph with the sea green eyes. He racked his memory for her name. Aah, yes, Lena. Someone had called her Lena.

He turned ever so slowly onto his side to face her. She slept undisturbed. Moonbeams fell across her face and hair. His finger traced the naked curve of her hip and drifted down over the firm globes of her bottom. The regular rhythm of her breathing altered. He glanced at her face. Her eyes were open.

“Hello. I’m Robert.” His voice surprised him with its huskiness.

“I know.” She didn’t move, just continued to observe him as he gazed at her.

Robert wrinkled a brow in puzzlement. “You know?”

She nodded. “I’ve been waiting for you. I’m Lena.”

Gentle fingers traced the contours of his face. Robert was amazed she didn’t bolt from the bed; Lena seemed as comfortable with their close quarters as he. She explored his broad shoulder with her hand, traveled to his chest and seemed intrigued with his male nipples. Emboldened, he followed her lead, and smiled as her nipples became stiff little pebbles in his hand. He groaned with pleasure as her hand stroked the hard length of him.

He encouraged Lena to sit astride him and almost lost it as her hot, wet center settled over him. His hands gripped her luscious ass and he impaled himself in her welcoming sheath. The slight resistance gave him momentary pause but his body took control and completed the deed.

Mine, he thought, she’s mine.

Lena threw back her shoulders and moved in concert with his hips. The nipples on her small breasts extended to hard little points. He reached one hand between her legs and fondled the slick nub. Lena whimpered. Her body went rigid and she cried out. Robert grunted in completion a few strokes later.

He stole from her bed as dawn broke and left her wagon. The camp was quiet; no one was around to stop him. He found his horse and saddled him, making as little noise as possible. He was just outside the camp when he heard her soft entreaty, “Wait.”

He turned back. Lena was riding bareback on a black pony. She was partially dressed. He smiled at her mussed hair and the memory of those bare legs wrapped around him an hour earlier.

“You’ll be back.” She regarded him with calm dignity. “It has been foretold. It is our fate.”

He recalled his possessive plundering of her willing body. She was right. He would return.

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