The smells were what she noticed first; rich, sweet, and heady – the warm scents she acquainted with apothecaries, with long nights of love making, with the gypsy caravans that roved through the streets. The room was entirely too warm, she decided. Perhaps the amount of people within the small confines of the tent had something to do with it. The music was loud, bells and chimes and all manner of drums drove her fuzzy brain into a confused frenzy. Around her, all manner of scantily clad bodies hummed and danced to the beat. Whether the heat or their own impassioned blood caused the sweat slick on their skin, it was anyone's guess.

She sat at the head of the makeshift table, a rough surface of pine boards held aloft from the ground by cinder blocks. The cushion she sank into was handmade, silk and corded tassels of every color standing out against her pale white veils. Kind of her, they decided, to honor their own traditions, their own customs. Her face was respectfully covered by a thin silk scarf, as pale as her robes. Only her wide blue eyes showed, betraying her curiosity at their obvious affections.

Those aquamarine orbs closed, the burning incense infusing her with muddled passion. When they opened again, they lighted on a single young man. He wore a simple linen vest; the purple made for a splendid comparison to his damp, dark skin, a sensuous golden sheen in the dim fire light. The loose-fitted cotton pants he wore were purple as well, but he was barefooted, the sand spinning around his ankles as he danced. The chains around his waist were made of flattened golden coins which seemed no richer than his skin. Finally her eyes drank in his face; what a glorious face, all proud cheek bones, dark, kohl-lined black eyes, made darker still by the long, luxurious lashes that even half way across the room she could make out. He danced alone; chin length brown hair damp with sweat as the smoke from the incense drifted around him in a sort of spell-cast way.

The lady's eyes danced with him, followed his hips as they sang with tiny chimes in time to the beat of the gypsy tambourines. He smiled arrogantly at her, correctly noting the arousal in her fae eyes. A combination of scents, and sounds...the sweat of lovers entwined in the erotic dance of the gypsy angels, the beat of the drum matching the beat of her heart as it sped, thundering against her breast bone as her pulse raced. Slowly he made his way towards her, the throng of dancers in their brilliant colors parting so easily for him.

"Iubire..." He whispered in her ear, kneeling beside her for what seemed like an eternity, each moment counted by a beat of her heart. She didn't recognize the word; it was true, her Romanian was horrible, and this boy couldn't possibly speak her language. It was something in how he said it, however, that caused the aching heat in her sex, that set her pale eyes flashing somewhat darker. She shuddered in the piercing heat of the smoke and flames, sliding her delicate palm into his. She enjoyed the contrast of their skins, the pale white of her own against the dark bronze of his. He helped her to her feet. Consciously, she abandoned satin slippers to walk with him, barefooted, into the sand.

She couldn't be expected to know their dances; surely, these things were scandalous. Well brought-up young ladies knew nothing of pure lust and abandoned virtues, and it seemed to her that these dancers must all be entirely naked, writhing at the pleasure of their partners. Suddenly she herself felt naked, and she reveled in the sensation. His hands found her waist, his hips pressed into hers from behind as his body moved so effortlessly to the music. It was a rush, his hands touching her so innocently, yet so absolutely maddeningly.

"Iubire..." He repeated, his lips grazing her ear as he purred lustfully. She couldn't stop the quiet groan that tumbled from her parted lips. In an instant, she turned to face him. The dance that only moments ago had seemed so foreign now felt entirely natural. It was as if her body could anticipate the beat, the rhythm, his fingers here, and his kisses there. Lips so sinfully soft danced as surely as he did, across her skin in hot trails. Her eyes slid shut. As the music played on, as sure and steady as her heartbeat, it sped slowly along towards a climactic din of pure sound, as holy and as true as God Himself must surely be.

Quietly, her amorous partner whispered his secrets in a language so primal it needed no words. Opalescent eyes opened; locked on his, their needs met in a place above conscious thought, above human desire. She splayed her fingertips over his bare chest; she adored the way long muscles wrapped themselves around bones, the gentle swell of his stomach so irresistible to a growing appetite. His fingers found hers, and laced with them. Only then was she aware that many dancers were becoming far more scantily clad, that this dance was becoming a feral mating ritual. The smell of sex and lust mingled with sharper smells, musk, and mulberry, and sandalwood. She felt faint.

Slowly she dropped the veil from her face. The silk slid over her features, revealing her full, swollen lips, the sharp angle of her jaw. Feathers adorned her dark auburn hair, mated with beads and flowers. The tumbling mess fell to her waist in curls and waves. Her lover pushed wayward tendrils from her pale face. She turned her head, and placed gentle kisses on the insides of his palms. She could swear to tasting his pulse against her tongue as it darted over his wrist, the salt of his sweat bitter on her lips.

He groaned quietly, a plaintive plea intelligible in any language. She slid her fingers to his vest, pushing it off his shoulders with a seductive purr. He laughed at her, mocking her, challenging her. Rising to his contest, she slid the floating white silk off her shoulders. Arousal, not chill, caused her dusky nipples to stand proudly erect, her firm breasts revealed to him amidst a hundred people. She knew she should feel ashamed, at least a little modest...but she didn't. She felt, if anything, over dressed. Slowly, the material slithered off of her, revealing pristine skin, as white as snow. He inhaled sharply, desire growing in his beautiful eyes.

Her hands went to the clasps of his many beautiful chains, undoing them with gently trembling fingers. She wasn't anxious; her nerves were born of lust and desire, of impatience and want. As the chains fell, so did his pants. Though strictly speaking, she knew she should avert her eyes, all she could do was stare in wonder at his beautiful erection. Without a word, her fingers wrapped around his cock, and she finally managed to bring her eyes back up to his face. He bit his lips together in exquisite pleasure, his eyes closed as he shivered softly at her touch. Encouraged, she trailed kisses down his chest and stomach before slowly, timidly wrapping her lips around his shaft.

She was immediately rewarded with his moan, his fingers fisting absently in her long hair. Groaning quietly herself, she wrapped her long fingers around the base of his cock and sucked eagerly at him, pulling back to bathe him with her tongue. He hissed a sharp intake of breath before he pulled himself away, kneeling beside her. His kiss was hungry, and his mouth devoured hers. She immediately submitted to his probing tongue, moaning quietly against his lips at the welcome intrusion. He pushed her back gently, not meaning anything by it more than, lay down. Language barriers, it seemed, were not a barrier at all.

She lay back in the sand, dark hair flowing around her shoulders like a shroud. His eyes caressed her body before his hands ever found her smooth skin, stroking gently over the side of her abdomen before teasing over her breasts. His ministrations were rewarded by an eager gasp, tumbling from her barely parted lips. She gazed up at him, pure want completely undisguised in her azure eyes. He claimed her mouth once more, an intricate dancing of their tongues commencing before he parted her legs gently with his knee.

Groaning, she slid her hand to the back of his neck even as she contentedly spread her legs for him. His fingers found her warmth, sliding into the soaked folds of her need. Her back arched; it was all she could do to contain herself. He grinned triumphantly at her, and it was the grin of the virile conqueror. Her returned smile was meek and giving. She wanted to give him all of herself, here, on the sand in the desert, surrounded by love, and lust, and heat. His hard cock thrust deep inside of her, too suddenly for her to prepare for, and she cried out in the splendid pleasure, reveling in the way he felt inside of her. Surely no man alive could compare, could fill her so completely, she knew it as surely as she knew she must keep breathing to live, even though her lungs and heart would stop willingly for even a moment more.

He hissed in pleasure, his hips keeping in time with the beating of the drums. Around them were the delicious sounds of lovemaking. They were surrounded by lust, inundated by need and desire and wanton pleasure. She was clinging to him, her hips rising to meet his thrusts, to pull him deeper into her heat, further inside of her. She murmured in English – he cursed in Romanian. His thrusts were increasingly powerful, his moans louder, filling her ears with the same intense ecstasy as she felt deep within her belly.

It was too much, not enough – it was everything and nothing, and all she knew was the roar of her blood in her ears, the thunder of her heart in her chest, and sudden, exquisite pleasure as her body betrayed her control. She spiraled into her orgasm, crying out sharply. Her nails dug more than gently into his dark flesh, her body tightening defiantly around his pulsing cock, demanding it release his seed deep within her, fill her up the way man was made to do. He obliged, his body tensing as he groaned, exploding inside of her, spraying her, painting her with his essence. He collapsed against her, breathing heavily in her ear.

As the sun came up, so did the sleepers rouse, and slowly, they began to pack away their drums, to put away their candles and their personal belongings. The procession carried on, the gypsies claiming another untamed soul into their eternal wanderlust.

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