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~A/n: well........that took long enough lol~

~Here's the lemon ya'll have been so kind enough to wait for. I sincerely hope it was worth it. Ya'll know I love ya'll 5ever~

~I am making up the Romanian story included, but not the folklore!!~

Without you having noticed it, he had positioned himself at your entrance and pushes himself in till he’s fully sheathed. Your head tosses back as you let a broken strain of panting moans that blend with his low growl, palms pressing into his ribs before holding fast to the columns of his flexed back. His pulse has him throbbing hard inside that quakes your legs and every inch of your womb. Mewling, you try shifting your hips only for Esmeraldo to pin you beneath him with his weight.

“Patience, pakvora,” he grins with another slow stroke. “You'll get exactly what you desire. But first, you must memorize me, memorize your husband. The feel of me, every vein, every dip, every curve; the sound of my ecstasy, the sight of it, the taste of it. And know that this—” he brusquely slams into you, ripping a swear that you barely manage to catch with your teeth and lips, “Is the man you belong to now, and who belongs to you.”

You nod hastily in naïve hope that it’ll satisfy his sadistic wishes for your compliance in memorization, and yet his strokes remain measured yet somehow piercingly invasive, completely filling you before he draws himself out to repeat the torturous process. The dips of your heels find themselves lodged in the crooks of his upper thighs as a last attempt to pull and bury him inside you. Such a proper woman you had been before this night: quiet, simple, patient, reserved in your desires. Why has this man corrupted you so deliciously? Ever since you met him, a boiling pool of lust and love has been growing in the pit of your stomach seemingly for this moment of insurmountable bounding, and the way he’s penetrating you is spilling it forth in waves you can’t control. First your words begin to fail you till they’re nothing more than imploring whimpers and your husband’s name; second your strength renders your once stubborn legs shaking and limp; and last, you lose the will of your own body, moving to any rhythm Esmeraldo chooses.

You roll up against his body in perfect synch, filling any spaces between the two of you so you’re pressed flushed together.

Tiredly, Esmeraldo puts his forehead to yours and smiles, cupping your face with one hand while the other rubs the length of your thigh. He kisses you upon a groaning inhale. He can feel your concentration in your lips, see it in your fogged eyes that stare up into his; he no longer simply feels himself within you, but he can see himself in the burning desire that bites at your bottom lip and occasionally tilts your head back with a low groan.

Finally, your soul is bonding with his.

Abruptly you’re yanked forward as he sits back on his haunches and wraps your legs around his waist, your hands instinctively twining in his raven curls. The proud possession in his teal eyes is enough to make you blush. “You’re beginning to give in to the passion of a Gypsy,” he breathes, all the while slowly undulating up, “Now give yourself to me, sotie. Make me yours like I’ve made you mine.”

At his hands forcefully gripping your backside, you come to your senses and realize what he’s requesting. Not only was he giving you control, he was demanding it; demanding his own domination… Something deep inside you purrs at the thought. It’s the dark abandon you once feared, the same one that sent you collapsing into his arms that fateful day. All for the sake of a pleasure only he can bring you to. You weren’t giving into a Gypsy’s passion—you’re giving into an uncontrollable yearning for your husband. And the thought of shamelessly indulging in him drives your hips to move out of their own accord, and you watch as Esmeraldo closes his eyes beneath a soft but hard moan.

You snap. You begin moving with more aggression, more determination to give and take from him. His dark brows burrow and he seethes before his hands abandon your ass in exchange for the floor behind him so he can lean back. Every drop of your hips onto his girth produces a breathy strain of jolting groans from Esmeraldo that he fights to control with a growl that resonates through him and into your core. The sight and feel of his ecstasy is absolutely intoxicating; it’s not enough, you need and want so much it sends you in an aroused fit, bucking and riding him like a bitch in heat.

Esmeraldo cusses at the top of his booming voice. “Gods, yes. Just like that—just like that, baby,” he pants as he grips the back of your head to bring your forehead to his. His arms wind around your torso so his face is buried in your neck where he sucks hard on the heated flesh, disrupting your demanding rhythm with a high pitched squeal at his nipping teeth and lips. You lean your head back to allow him more access. He languidly licks the length of your neck and ends it with a kiss to your jaw, his hands massaging your already sore thighs. But then he lifts you up and tosses you back onto the mess of pillows. You land, giggling, and run your eyes up the broad pillars of his thighs as he stands before you, up his flushed groin and the taut rolls of abs and to his coy face.

Curiously, he holds out his hand to help you stand, except he swiftly buckles you into a bridal style cradle. The two of you share a playful, lingering kiss. “What’re you up to, darling?” you ask, smiling.

He answers you not, only smirks in that mischievous and delightfully disconcerting way. You’re carried to the full vanity and set right on the edge so he can hastily push the counter clear of his trinkets and baubles. Assuming he’s going to straddle your legs, you begin to shift backwards, but he aggressively yanks you back to him till your toes touch the floor.

“Turn around,” he orders.

Slowly, you do as he says, purposely ensuring your backside brushes against his length in the process. He lets out a strained chuckle and you can feel his nose and lips nuzzling your shoulder.

“Knee up,” he says.

Again, you obey and place your left knee onto the countertop, the position pressing you up against the mirror.

“And the other.”

Needing assistance, you grip the top of the mirror’s frame to pull yourself up and yet Esmeraldo is suddenly pinning your wrists in place. You gasp at the feeling of him undulating agonizingly slow against you and you nearly plead for him to take you. That is, until you realize he’s quietly muttering the words to the song his people are singing below. It tells of the mythical Lele, a spirit that seduces men with sensual dancing and singing. His low voice growls how a man is spirited away by her alluring eyes, her tempting mouth—his fingers slip into your agape lips till your tongue graces them—her soft, supple breasts and the curve of her hips ripe for childbearing—his saliva coated fingers leave a chilling trail down the peak of your breasts and into your inner thigh where he palms your heat.

He fondles you in hard, swirling circles so you’re leant back into him, gasping and squealing, then raising his hand coated in a milky dew. Against your reddened ear he sings how, though the mere sight alone of the Lele was enough to drive a man mad with desire, the taste of her could steal his soul. You shudder as he paints the side of your neck before dragging his thick tongue along the new trail. He lets out a ravenous growl, flexes his hips, and pushes himself back into the tightness of your body.

Your groan is sustained as long as it takes him to be fully sheathed once more, but something in how his legs shift apart suddenly puts you on edge. Without hesitating, Esmeraldo begins pounding into you in time with the music, each delving stroke a testament to the drum fare, each of your near screams ringing with the singers below. The mirror fogs from your sporadic breathing that’s strewn with broken cries of bliss and arousal from the pangs racking throughout you, and yet it’s not enough to hide the beauty that is your husband. Even in his reflection, everything from his open, panting mouth, his arm muscles that jolt with every coil of his hips, the sweat that glistens in his hair—god, and he’s the one claiming to be driven mad a the mere sight of someone.

“Es…Esmeral—!” you mewl just as he wraps an arm across your chest and picks up speed, still with the music. Though you never hear it, the vanity begins rattling violently till it bangs against the tent’s support beams. The noise is almost deafening if it isn’t for your wailing and his breathy grunts that’re interrupted by what you’ve learned are Romani curses. Drawers fall open and closed and the glass shakes like it’s bound to shatter, whether from your sheer passion or from the love making itself.

He stops after a particularly hard thrust that leaves you collapsed till he pulls your head back by the hair and kisses your cheek roughly. Though your entire core is numb and only your combined throbs are all you feel, something tells you he’s near his end, so why has he stopped?

“What is it?” You whisper.

His head is hung too low for you to see his expression. “I…I want to make you mine, (y/n).” He says.

Laughing, you forcefully grind your hips onto him. “Oh trust me, you have,” you smile as he groans, and yet he shakes his head.

“You misunderstand, love. I truly want to make you mine, give to you not only my heart and soul, or my name…I want to give you the very essence of my being,” he says along a measured stroke.

It dawns on you. He wants you to bear his child.

The fact that he’s asking, that he doubts that you’d want anything less…!

“Please,” you raise his face to see his jade eyes are dark. “Please, my love. Give me the chance to start our family.”

Before you can complete your plea, he’s flipping you onto your back with your ankles hooked around his neck. His lips meet yours in a fiery display of abandon, one hand gripping your waist while the other slips up the sweat-slick mirror. A moan responding to his plowing length disappears into his mouth till he releases you to rest his forehead to yours. You cup his face, never looking away from his adoring gaze. His thrusts grow more frantic, more determined, and he grows more vocal, sighing your name between fervent kisses.

You can feel him impossibly swelling and then—a pitching moan rips from your throat as liquid heat fills you. Esmeraldo, body hunched over yours, emits a rasping yet velvet, growling howl that stems from his quaking hips. His head idly brushes your temple though his shoulder sag with heaving breaths, and you draw your hand down the plane of of his chest to his heart.

Smiling, you summon what strength you have to say, “Thank you.”

A tired laugh. “Thank you for the sex, or possibly impregnating you?” He smiles up at you, that same coy, dazzling smile.

You return the laugh and toss your head. “Both, I suppose… Are you alright?”

He realizes you’re referring to the sweat coating his body and utter lack of breath. He sits up, brushing his sodden hair back. “Marvelous wouldn’t be able to cover it, sotie.”

“Oh? Well you said so yourself words weren’t your forte,” you tease as he pulls himself out and wraps a robe about his narrow waist, then handing you one.

For a second, he seems to want to entertain your playful demeanor, but instead he turns serious. He moves to hold your body to his and cup your face. “Nothing should stop me from expressing how much not only you, but your decision means to me—to give us a family. Because I know you never truly had one, and I never truly belonged to one. (Y/n)… I’ve never loved someone as much as I love you. I want to enjoy every possible part of life with you till our last breaths, and even then it will be your name on my lips. So it shouldn’t be you thanking me, but rather me thanking you.”

Your nose nuzzles his and you attempt to hold yourself together. Suddenly he taps your chin and kisses you. “We’ve a celebration to return to. Shall we?” He asks, holding out his hand, then grunting when you jump onto him.

“Esmeraldo, this is our wedding night. Do you really think I’m giving this up to go dancing?” You smirk.

He chuckles and fumbles with his knotted robe. “I hope no one plans on sleeping tonight. As you wish, pakvora. I’m all yours.”

* * *

"Just out of curiosity--what would we call it? Hopefully it'll be a girl."

"A girl? Hm... I think I like the name Analetta."

~Fin~

Description

~A/n: well........that took long enough lol~

~Here's the lemon ya'll have been so kind enough to wait for. I sincerely hope it was worth it. Ya'll know I love ya'll 5ever~

~I am making up the Romanian story included, but not the folklore!!~

Without you having noticed it, he had positioned himself at your entrance and pushes himself in till he’s fully sheathed. Your head tosses back as you let a broken strain of panting moans that blend with his low growl, palms pressing into his ribs before holding fast to the columns of his flexed back. His pulse has him throbbing hard inside that quakes your legs and every inch of your womb. Mewling, you try shifting your hips only for Esmeraldo to pin you beneath him with his weight.

“Patience, pakvora,” he grins with another slow stroke. “You'll get exactly what you desire. But first, you must memorize me, memorize your husband. The feel of me, every vein, every dip, every curve; the sound of my ecstasy, the sight of it, the taste of it. And know that this—” he brusquely slams into you, ripping a swear that you barely manage to catch with your teeth and lips, “Is the man you belong to now, and who belongs to you.”

You nod hastily in naïve hope that it’ll satisfy his sadistic wishes for your compliance in memorization, and yet his strokes remain measured yet somehow piercingly invasive, completely filling you before he draws himself out to repeat the torturous process. The dips of your heels find themselves lodged in the crooks of his upper thighs as a last attempt to pull and bury him inside you. Such a proper woman you had been before this night: quiet, simple, patient, reserved in your desires. Why has this man corrupted you so deliciously? Ever since you met him, a boiling pool of lust and love has been growing in the pit of your stomach seemingly for this moment of insurmountable bounding, and the way he’s penetrating you is spilling it forth in waves you can’t control. First your words begin to fail you till they’re nothing more than imploring whimpers and your husband’s name; second your strength renders your once stubborn legs shaking and limp; and last, you lose the will of your own body, moving to any rhythm Esmeraldo chooses.

You roll up against his body in perfect synch, filling any spaces between the two of you so you’re pressed flushed together.

Tiredly, Esmeraldo puts his forehead to yours and smiles, cupping your face with one hand while the other rubs the length of your thigh. He kisses you upon a groaning inhale. He can feel your concentration in your lips, see it in your fogged eyes that stare up into his; he no longer simply feels himself within you, but he can see himself in the burning desire that bites at your bottom lip and occasionally tilts your head back with a low groan.

Finally, your soul is bonding with his.

Abruptly you’re yanked forward as he sits back on his haunches and wraps your legs around his waist, your hands instinctively twining in his raven curls. The proud possession in his teal eyes is enough to make you blush. “You’re beginning to give in to the passion of a Gypsy,” he breathes, all the while slowly undulating up, “Now give yourself to me, sotie. Make me yours like I’ve made you mine.”

At his hands forcefully gripping your backside, you come to your senses and realize what he’s requesting. Not only was he giving you control, he was demanding it; demanding his own domination… Something deep inside you purrs at the thought. It’s the dark abandon you once feared, the same one that sent you collapsing into his arms that fateful day. All for the sake of a pleasure only he can bring you to. You weren’t giving into a Gypsy’s passion—you’re giving into an uncontrollable yearning for your husband. And the thought of shamelessly indulging in him drives your hips to move out of their own accord, and you watch as Esmeraldo closes his eyes beneath a soft but hard moan.

You snap. You begin moving with more aggression, more determination to give and take from him. His dark brows burrow and he seethes before his hands abandon your ass in exchange for the floor behind him so he can lean back. Every drop of your hips onto his girth produces a breathy strain of jolting groans from Esmeraldo that he fights to control with a growl that resonates through him and into your core. The sight and feel of his ecstasy is absolutely intoxicating; it’s not enough, you need and want so much it sends you in an aroused fit, bucking and riding him like a bitch in heat.

Esmeraldo cusses at the top of his booming voice. “Gods, yes. Just like that—just like that, baby,” he pants as he grips the back of your head to bring your forehead to his. His arms wind around your torso so his face is buried in your neck where he sucks hard on the heated flesh, disrupting your demanding rhythm with a high pitched squeal at his nipping teeth and lips. You lean your head back to allow him more access. He languidly licks the length of your neck and ends it with a kiss to your jaw, his hands massaging your already sore thighs. But then he lifts you up and tosses you back onto the mess of pillows. You land, giggling, and run your eyes up the broad pillars of his thighs as he stands before you, up his flushed groin and the taut rolls of abs and to his coy face.

Curiously, he holds out his hand to help you stand, except he swiftly buckles you into a bridal style cradle. The two of you share a playful, lingering kiss. “What’re you up to, darling?” you ask, smiling.

He answers you not, only smirks in that mischievous and delightfully disconcerting way. You’re carried to the full vanity and set right on the edge so he can hastily push the counter clear of his trinkets and baubles. Assuming he’s going to straddle your legs, you begin to shift backwards, but he aggressively yanks you back to him till your toes touch the floor.

“Turn around,” he orders.

Slowly, you do as he says, purposely ensuring your backside brushes against his length in the process. He lets out a strained chuckle and you can feel his nose and lips nuzzling your shoulder.

“Knee up,” he says.

Again, you obey and place your left knee onto the countertop, the position pressing you up against the mirror.

“And the other.”

Needing assistance, you grip the top of the mirror’s frame to pull yourself up and yet Esmeraldo is suddenly pinning your wrists in place. You gasp at the feeling of him undulating agonizingly slow against you and you nearly plead for him to take you. That is, until you realize he’s quietly muttering the words to the song his people are singing below. It tells of the mythical Lele, a spirit that seduces men with sensual dancing and singing. His low voice growls how a man is spirited away by her alluring eyes, her tempting mouth—his fingers slip into your agape lips till your tongue graces them—her soft, supple breasts and the curve of her hips ripe for childbearing—his saliva coated fingers leave a chilling trail down the peak of your breasts and into your inner thigh where he palms your heat.

He fondles you in hard, swirling circles so you’re leant back into him, gasping and squealing, then raising his hand coated in a milky dew. Against your reddened ear he sings how, though the mere sight alone of the Lele was enough to drive a man mad with desire, the taste of her could steal his soul. You shudder as he paints the side of your neck before dragging his thick tongue along the new trail. He lets out a ravenous growl, flexes his hips, and pushes himself back into the tightness of your body.

Your groan is sustained as long as it takes him to be fully sheathed once more, but something in how his legs shift apart suddenly puts you on edge. Without hesitating, Esmeraldo begins pounding into you in time with the music, each delving stroke a testament to the drum fare, each of your near screams ringing with the singers below. The mirror fogs from your sporadic breathing that’s strewn with broken cries of bliss and arousal from the pangs racking throughout you, and yet it’s not enough to hide the beauty that is your husband. Even in his reflection, everything from his open, panting mouth, his arm muscles that jolt with every coil of his hips, the sweat that glistens in his hair—god, and he’s the one claiming to be driven mad a the mere sight of someone.

“Es…Esmeral—!” you mewl just as he wraps an arm across your chest and picks up speed, still with the music. Though you never hear it, the vanity begins rattling violently till it bangs against the tent’s support beams. The noise is almost deafening if it isn’t for your wailing and his breathy grunts that’re interrupted by what you’ve learned are Romani curses. Drawers fall open and closed and the glass shakes like it’s bound to shatter, whether from your sheer passion or from the love making itself.

He stops after a particularly hard thrust that leaves you collapsed till he pulls your head back by the hair and kisses your cheek roughly. Though your entire core is numb and only your combined throbs are all you feel, something tells you he’s near his end, so why has he stopped?

“What is it?” You whisper.

His head is hung too low for you to see his expression. “I…I want to make you mine, (y/n).” He says.

Laughing, you forcefully grind your hips onto him. “Oh trust me, you have,” you smile as he groans, and yet he shakes his head.

“You misunderstand, love. I truly want to make you mine, give to you not only my heart and soul, or my name…I want to give you the very essence of my being,” he says along a measured stroke.

It dawns on you. He wants you to bear his child.

The fact that he’s asking, that he doubts that you’d want anything less…!

“Please,” you raise his face to see his jade eyes are dark. “Please, my love. Give me the chance to start our family.”

Before you can complete your plea, he’s flipping you onto your back with your ankles hooked around his neck. His lips meet yours in a fiery display of abandon, one hand gripping your waist while the other slips up the sweat-slick mirror. A moan responding to his plowing length disappears into his mouth till he releases you to rest his forehead to yours. You cup his face, never looking away from his adoring gaze. His thrusts grow more frantic, more determined, and he grows more vocal, sighing your name between fervent kisses.

You can feel him impossibly swelling and then—a pitching moan rips from your throat as liquid heat fills you. Esmeraldo, body hunched over yours, emits a rasping yet velvet, growling howl that stems from his quaking hips. His head idly brushes your temple though his shoulder sag with heaving breaths, and you draw your hand down the plane of of his chest to his heart.

Smiling, you summon what strength you have to say, “Thank you.”

A tired laugh. “Thank you for the sex, or possibly impregnating you?” He smiles up at you, that same coy, dazzling smile.

You return the laugh and toss your head. “Both, I suppose… Are you alright?”

He realizes you’re referring to the sweat coating his body and utter lack of breath. He sits up, brushing his sodden hair back. “Marvelous wouldn’t be able to cover it, sotie.”

“Oh? Well you said so yourself words weren’t your forte,” you tease as he pulls himself out and wraps a robe about his narrow waist, then handing you one.

For a second, he seems to want to entertain your playful demeanor, but instead he turns serious. He moves to hold your body to his and cup your face. “Nothing should stop me from expressing how much not only you, but your decision means to me—to give us a family. Because I know you never truly had one, and I never truly belonged to one. (Y/n)… I’ve never loved someone as much as I love you. I want to enjoy every possible part of life with you till our last breaths, and even then it will be your name on my lips. So it shouldn’t be you thanking me, but rather me thanking you.”

Your nose nuzzles his and you attempt to hold yourself together. Suddenly he taps your chin and kisses you. “We’ve a celebration to return to. Shall we?” He asks, holding out his hand, then grunting when you jump onto him.

“Esmeraldo, this is our wedding night. Do you really think I’m giving this up to go dancing?” You smirk.

He chuckles and fumbles with his knotted robe. “I hope no one plans on sleeping tonight. As you wish, pakvora. I’m all yours.”

* * *

"Just out of curiosity--what would we call it? Hopefully it'll be a girl."

"A girl? Hm... I think I like the name Analetta."

~Fin~