This Burning Desire, Joslinne Morgan [essential reading .TXT] 📗

hell's ever-reaching flames.

He reached out; his hand touched the rough wood of the door. If anyone was going to teach this gypsy, it would have to be him. God would grant him the strength to do so.

He shut the door.

Esmeralda's eyes widened a touch further, and then narrowed again dangerously as she tried to figure out exactly what he was doing. He pulled his chaperon from his head, turned it around in his fingers once, and then dropped it to the ground.

"What are you doing?" she asked, curiosity overcoming her.

He did not reply, he simply dropped his mantel to the ground, and then turned to face her. There was a new expression on his fine aristocratic features. Something she hadn't seen before, but now scared the hell out of her. With the lightning movements of a serpent, he grasped her neck and drew her to her feet before throwing her against the wall. His fingers bracing her head kept it from slamming into the stone, but that didn't cease the numbing effect that the impact had on her legs.

Frollo couldn't control his movements any longer. He struggled, but he was too caught up in what he was doing to realize what had happened. He had given in to the temptation, had become entangled in the very trap the devil had set up for him.

But he was going to go through with it, he had to, now. God forgive him for it, but he had to go through with it!

Damning her, in his mind, he pressed in close, so that she could read his expression clearly and know what he was thinking. He wanted so desperately to speak to her, but the words were stuck in his throat. This was not the time for words. Let her scream, let her curse him, but this was going to be done. There wasn't a thing she could do against him.

His fingers began to explore the curves of her body. They wandered down from her neck to trace her collarbone, and finally went even lower than that to stroke her voluminous breasts, that were covered only by a very thin shift. He swallowed, hard, and crooked his finger around the cloth of the shift, pulling it down, until it her bare breasts were completely exposed, and the patch of skin even darker than her normal tone was his to be enjoyed.

Without thinking, hardly even conscious of his actions, he leaned forward, and his tongue went around the nipple. How delicious it was to taste her skin, to taste her, to know he could have her, all of her, at this moment, she was his …! It sent a shock of anticipation down his spine and pressed his entire mouth against the skin, taking as much into his mouth as he could, biting, sucking, tasting, savoring.

She screamed, and it hadn't even begun yet. Yet her screams were so faint they couldn't be heard, and eventually it was just reduced to whimpering, then silence.

It wasn't enough for him. He wanted her to plead.

With his free hand, he traveled down slowly over every curve of her body, and finally he took a handful of her white skirt and lifted it high over her hips. Her shapely legs tapered to a finish with tiny ankles and dainty feet. Above, they sprouted from swollen thighs, perfectly smooth and round beneath his touch, and he felt her recoil as he moved his hand slowly over, his finger slipping to her inner thigh.

She clenched her legs together, but it was not about to stop him. His lips traveled up her neck, and to her lips. So inviting, to taste them was to taste sin itself.

His heart leapt guiltily as he kissed her lips and drank heartily from the goblet of sin.


Chapter Two: Choose Me

Dawn was fast approaching. Streaks of bloody red and dull orange shot across the sky as if the flames of Hell were already on their way to consume her. With a resigned sigh, Esmeralda leaned her head back against the wooden stake and closed her eyes. Briefly, she wondered what it would be like to burn. She had only witnessed a public burning once, many years ago, when she was still young. Her mother, Natalia, lashed to a stake much like the one that was currently driving splinters into her own back. Natalia had said nothing whilst the judge rattled off the list of her crimes from the scroll that was pinched between his fingers. But when torch was applied to the brush, it immediately went up in flame, and Esmeralda remembered running away then. Leaving the scene far, far behind her, but her mother's agonized screams still rang in her ears and the stench of charred flesh was still thick in the air.

The sound of beating drums snapped her back into reality. Esmeralda's eyes opened and she lowered her head just in time to see him ascending to the platform. Bile rose to her throat at the very sight of him. The man who had ruined her, had dared to touch her! She hated him; she should have killed him while she had the chance. Burning would have been made so much more pleasant, then.

Judge Claude Frollo certainly looked refreshed. He had bathed before deigning to grace the scene with his presence, which was probably why they were off to such a late start. She watched as he moved closer to her, hating every movement he made. From the prissy way he kept the hem of his robe off the ground to the haughty way he lifted the torch from the executioner's hand. As he approached her, the firelight glinted off his dark eyes, and something inside of her recoiled. She knew what he was about to do. Oh my God, she groaned inwardly. He is going to drag this out.

"The time has come, gypsy." His dark voice rolled over her, sending literal shivers down her spine. "You stand upon the brink of the abyss. Yet even now, it is not too late." He stopped just inches away from her, and leaned forward so close their noses were touching. "I can save you from the flames of this world, and the next."

Esmeralda closed her eyes, her breathing coming too quickly, her heart pounding so loudly in her chest that she was certain everyone could hear it. Instinct told her to refuse, to let him burn her, anything was better than whatever it was he had in mind.

The flames of this world …

Her head was reeling. The heat of the torch's flames was scorching against her skin. Suddenly, she remembered it all. The smell of the black smoke as it billowed in the air, her mother's agonized screams as the greedy flames licked the flesh away from her bones. The smell of burning flesh, those screams… those screams…

She couldn't do it! She couldn't face it – her mother may have been brave – and Esmeralda certainly had her own share of bravado – but she couldn't take it to that height. She had done nothing wrong, there was no reason for her to burn. No reason…

And there, his voice was so low it was nearly a growl. It tightened places that had been violated already by him the night before. "Choose me," he said. "Or the fire."

She couldn't do it, she couldn't say it. She glanced up again at the sky, not wanting to look at him, not wanting to see the expectant faces of her people who were all about to face the same fate. She was first, she was going to be the first sacrifice for their kind. She had to accept it with dignity; she was all the hope they had to look up to.

She had failed them once, to fail them again would be unbearable.

And Phoebus, she knew Phoebus would be in the crowd. She knew he would be disappointed in her. She felt the tears begin to rise again, unbidden. She had failed, not only the gypsies, but herself.

She drew in a deep breath and looked at Frollo, who stood waiting patiently, an unbearable smirk twisted his thin lips and marred completely his sanctimonious expression.

Galled, she lowered her head, her eyes fixed on the ground as she spoke. She just couldn't bear to look at him.

"I can't face it," she whispered, amazed that the words could even find their way out. "Save me."

He seemed slightly taken aback, as if it weren't quite the turn of events he had been expecting. The smirk grew darker, and his eyes gleamed, making her squirm. "All you have to do," he allowed his voice to climb, she visibly flinched. "Is claim sanctuary, and proclaim to all that you recant your wicked ways."

"I recant," the words came out more like a sob. Frollo grasped her chin and lifted it up sharply, so that their eyes meant.

"Louder," he hissed. "They must be able to hear you, my dear."

"I can't!" she shook her head. "I've said it! Isn't that enough for you…?"

His fingers clamped down harder than iron over her jaw, and the tears streamed down her cheeks.

"I RECANT!" she screamed.

Frollo released her chin. Her mother's screams were fading from her memory now, much to her relief.

"The prisoner Esmeralda has recanted," his voice just radiated self-satisfaction. "She has repented of her wicked ways and has turned from the darkness and the lures of The Enemy." He stroked her cheek, almost fondly, in a manner. "God has forgiven her, and so, dear people, must we. From henceforth she shall be a reformed woman, wise and pure in the ways of our world. Child, pick yourself up. You are a redeemed woman!"

In that moment, she hated him so much that it was a physical ache in the pit of her stomach. She would have lunged at his thin neck, if she weren't still bound to the stake. He had won her, this time, but she knew for certain that before her last breath rose from her chest, he would be dead.

Chapter Three: Unfinished Business

He had won. Frollo saw the look of resignation in her emerald green eyes and knew from that moment that he had won the game. The gypsy witch was his.

Yet, why did he feel no triumph? Perhaps it was the absence of the blaze in her eyes that made his heart turn leaden and sink. Perhaps it was the venom dripping from her tongue, or the hatred that contorted her beautiful features. Perhaps it was the knowledge buried in his subconscious that though he had won the battle, the war had just begun. She would not give in to him completely, and he would not be satisfied until that unbridled spirit of her was broken.

But what to do with her? Turn her loose into the streets? No, that was entirely out of the question. He had not come so far only to have her escape from his grasp once more. But a gypsy woman living in the palace of justice with the Minister, oh yes, the gossips could chew on that for months. Tongues would wag and while Frollo personally considered himself above petty gossip, that to even acknowledge it was sinful, the thought of his clean reputation tarnished in any manner was a revolting idea.

The wheels turned in his head as he climbed into his carriage and shut the door, twisting the long red ribbon of his chaperon around his index finger. He could hide her away