My Spartan Hellion (19 page)

She wished she could say the same.

Basha closed her eyes, the guilt and shame assaulting her all at once, weighing heavily upon her heart, threatening to strangle her. She didn’t deserve Ulysseus, and if he ever found out what she’d done, he would never forgive her. He would refuse to stay, and there would be nothing she could do to stop him from leaving.

No, she couldn’t tell him any and everything, and she hated herself because it hadn’t had to be that way.

“Basha—”

Her eyes flew open, locking with the shimmering blue of his concerned stare. She halted his next words with a single finger against his lips. She didn’t want to talk, she just wanted to feel. She wanted to lose herself in her husband’s touch, where everything that was wrong between them somehow was made right.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, tipping her head back, offering her lips to him. He didn’t hesitate as he crushed his mouth against hers, his tongue seeking entrance, and she eagerly gave it, openly surrendering to his heated kiss.

He moaned into her mouth, the rigid length of his iron-hard cock pressing deep into her belly. She curled one leg around his, rubbing her mound against his large bulge, teasing them both with the friction of their bodies.

“Basha,” he rasped, his words warning her to stop, to cease the rhythmic gyrations of her hips, but she couldn’t. Her body was on fire for him, a raging inferno that burned hot and completely out of control. It had been so long since she’d felt the urgency of his need coupled with hers. In recent moons they’d drifted apart, more her fault than his, the obsession of having a child having made their lovemaking more duty than pleasure. But this dawn was different.

 She’d sought him out because she missed him—the thrusting of his cock inside her, his heavy body pressing her into the furs of their bed. In that moment she simply wanted him as a man, as her husband…because she desired him, because she craved him, because only he could give her body the release it ached for.

He slid the single clasp of her
chiton
down her shoulder, revealing her pert breasts as they spilled forth. Dipping his head to capture one pebbled nipple between his teeth, she sucked in a sharp breath when he nipped her flesh. The small bite of pain brought a needy gasp to her lips. Her gasp soon dulled into a moan as he soothed the aching bud by drawing it deep within the moist, hot cavern of his mouth, where he suckled her hungrily. She shuddered against him, tangling her hands in his soft locks, her eyelids slipping shut.

Her head lolled back, and she arched into him, her breasts thrusting forward as if offering themselves to him. He seized the weight of her other breast, massaging the ripe mound, drawing a series of ragged moans from her lips as tingles of pleasure tiptoed down her spine.

She whispered his name when he moved to her other nipple, sucking the berry-ripe peak into his mouth, rolling it around with his tongue, laving it with his cool saliva. She hissed through clenched teeth, the pleasure of his mouth and hands almost too much to bear.

“Ulysseus, please. I need you inside me,” she begged, her voice sounding needier, more urgent than she could ever remember.

He chuckled, his warm breath feathering out to singe her skin, her nipple still between his sensual lips.

Releasing the perky globe of her soft flesh, he slid his hands down the length of her body, leaving fire in the wake of his touch. Dipping beneath her
chiton
, he inched his fingers up along the bare skin of her thigh, tracing a path straight to her swollen heat.

“How is this?” he teased, shoving a single finger deep inside her.

She shattered around him, small vibrations ricocheting though her neglected body. Her greedy tunnel clenched and unclenched around him, seemingly grateful for whatever attention it received as it rewarded him with the gift of her essence. He pumped his finger inside her, gently at first, building her until she was feverish, dragging her towards the edge, but never letting her fall, never letting her go.

“Ulysseus,” she cried out sharply when his thumb grazed against the tiny nub at the mouth of her entrance, but he ignored her urgency as he continued to explore her body, taking his time as he rediscovered the deepness of her cunt, the way her body tightened around his. He moved inside her faster, harder, her sheath dripping with her juices as he fucked her with his finger. She nearly exploded when he slid another finger inside her, and then another.

She was nearing the pinnacle, the place where she would find release, complete and utter bliss.

“Let go, Basha, do not hold back. Just let go, and drench my fingers with your sweet honey.”

His heated words struck a chord inside her and she sobbed. Her entire body pulsed around him as she gave herself over to the euphoria of her climax, the sweet contentment that only Ulysseus could give her with just the sound of his whispered words in that deep, husky voice of his.

He held her to him, his arm clasped around her waist as she shook with the after-effects of her release. With his free hand, he undid the laces of his
pyterges
, releasing a ragged moan that was a mixture of relief and desire as his cock sprang forth, bobbing in the air.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he rasped.

She didn’t hesitate to obey his command and he shoved her
chiton
out of the way, his callused hands stroking the bare skin of her thighs, goosebumps dotting her skin everywhere he touched.

She quivered in his arms, the strength of him easily holding her suspended against him, almost as if her weight was that of nothing but a feather.

Clasping her arms tighter behind his neck, she clung to him, while his hands beneath her
chiton
clutched her hips, as he slowly guided her down the length of his engorged shaft.

“Ulysseus,” she gasped, clenching her eyes shut as she lost herself in the wondrous sensation of him stretching her, filling her with his hard, unyielding flesh until he was buried to the hilt.

He growled out her name, his face tucked against her neck, his warm breath tickling her skin. “I have missed this,” he whispered, and this time the sob she’d held back did break free. She had too, and she imagined that, when he finally did leave her, the loss of him would be unbearable. But in that moment she didn’t want to think about that, didn’t want to ruin the time they still had left together.

“Fuck me, Ulysseus, please,” she begged, and, not waiting for him, she moved her body up and down on him, impaling herself on his cock, taking him deep within her gushing wet sheath until she thought she would die from the pleasure.

She rode him, her movements frenzied, and he let her—he simply held her hips while she set the pace.

“Basha,” he groaned against her neck, that single word a tortured plea to her ears. She clenched her channel around him, dragging another ragged moan from his lips. She was on fire, felt as if she would burst into flames at any moment. Her body was needy for him—it ached for him, every single vessel inside her straining to absorb his essence.

Her entire body trembled in his arms as she rode him, taking his thick cock deep within her welcoming body. She closed her eyes, letting her other senses take hold of her as she filled her lungs with the scent of him, revelled in his skin sliding against hers, driving into her. Even now, she could taste him on her lips and she wanted more.

She moved faster, taking him harder, burying his ruddy shaft inside her with deep, stabbing strokes. He was close—she could feel it, his loosening restraint vibrating through him. She worked herself harder and faster on his cock, until he was panting, his breaths shallow.

“Come for me, Ulysseus. Fill me with your seed.”

It was as if her words sparked a flame inside him, and he went up like a wild blaze, his body jerking as he came on a violent shudder. His climax triggered hers and she found herself bucking wildly against him, her cunt dripping with liquid heat as she coated his thrusting length.

She screamed out her pleasure at the same time that he grunted her name, and his hands tightened around her hips, holding her against him as he continued to erupt inside her, filling her with his essence. He pumped his warm seed deep within her until the walls of her cunt were drenched, and their combined juices spilled forth from her channel.

Breathless, they clung together, their sweat-soaked garments sticking to them like a second skin. She slowly uncurled her boneless body from around him, her legs wobbly. He held her against him, steadying her until she could stand on her own.

Lifting her head, she smiled up at him, but it quickly died on her lips when she glimpsed the expression on his face.

“Ulysseus, wha—”

“Is this what our marriage has been reduced to?” he demanded harshly. “Your obsession with having a child?”

The blood in her veins ran cold, and for just a moment she feared he’d discovered the truth, but she knew that was not possible. She’d been so careful.

“I do not know what you speak of,” she said tentatively, wondering what it was she’d done to reveal that she hadn’t let go of her desire to have his son, even though she’d assured him otherwise.

“Of course you don’t. With you, it is so unconscious you do not even realise you do it.”

“Do what? I have no idea what you speak of, Ulysseus—”

“
Come for me, Ulysseus. Fill me with your seed
. You said that right before I came,” he mocked, and she hated it, the sound grating her ears.

Had she said that? She couldn’t remember—she’d been lost so deep in her own climax—but if she’d said such a thing then she could understand why he was upset.

Those were the same words she used to call out before, while in the throes of her release, back when she’d been on the edge of desperation to conceive. It had not always been that way. In the beginning she’d screamed them out of passion, but her obsession had twisted their erotic meaning. Ulysseus hated when she said them now.
You make me feel as if I am some breeding animal and not your husband.
She’d been careful never to utter them again, something that had not been difficult, since they hardly made love these dawns.

“I do not remember uttering those words, but I am sorry if I did. I promise you I did not mean it in that way.”

His eyes flashed. “But of course you did, Basha.” He tunnelled his hand through his dark hair, something he only did when he was furious. “I thought we agreed to concentrate more on
us
and less on having a child.”

Before she could stop herself, she snapped, “No.
You
agreed.” She quickly realised her mistake when he froze, but still she did not regret her hasty words.

His idea of agreement had been to tell her to stop thinking so much of having a child, and that had been it. There’d been no discussion, no communication—he’d simply stormed out, and she’d been supposed to accept his words as final.

He sighed, his expression sad, and it hurt her heart to see the look upon his face. “Our marriage is falling apart, but you do not seem to care. All you care about is one thing—”

“That is simply not true.”

“Yes, it is, and we both know it.” His eyes darkened, and anger swirled in their murky depths. “You still think we should take lovers. I can tell,” he added, cutting her off when she tried to protest. “You know how much I am opposed to the idea and yet you still will not put it to rest.”

“But it is the only way, Ulysseus,” she said quietly, her gaze dipping when his expression twisted into a harsh frown.

“Damnation, Basha. Can you not even hear yourself?” Anger poured off him in waves, the heat of his fury blistering her skin.

“Where are you going?” she asked when he spun away from her with a sharp curse.

“I need some time away from you. To think—”

“But—”

He slashed his hand through the air, cutting her off. “I do not wish to hear you, Basha. You think if you take a lover and you get with child that I would accept it as my own—and I would, because you are my wife—but what you suggest is not the solution to what ails our union, for our problems are greater than just having a baby. I wish you could see that. I wish you could understand that the reason why I will not take a lover has nothing to do with my pride, and everything to do with how I feel about you.”

“Ulys—” His retreating back silenced her momentarily. She called after him again, but he was already gone, his large frame disappearing from the courtyard.

* * * *

Ulysseus was so full of anger by the time he made it to his brother’s home that, when he stormed into his courtyard, he didn’t even take notice that Thanos already had a guest.

“Basha still wants to take a lover.”

“Basha wants a lover? Then what am I still doing here?”

The seemingly disembodied voice startled him and he whipped around to confront whoever was foolish enough to even dare go near his wife.

“Adonis.” He glared at Sparta’s future king, not surprised at all. Adonis had graced the bedchambers of many Spartan wives, widows and
tavernas
whores. But Basha would not be one among them.

“You will not go anywhere near my wife.”

“Why not?” Adonis’ lips twitched. “If she needs a lover then I am happy to see to her needs, since it is obvious you have neglected them.”

He advanced on the smirking boy, but stopped when Thanos’ hand grasped his shoulder.

“Adonis, don’t you need to return to the barracks shortly?” Thanos boomed from behind Ulysseus.

“Actually, no, I—”

“Well, then I am
ordering
you to return to your barracks.”

Adonis wanted to protest, the displeasure was there on his face, but he didn’t even part his lips. As foolhardy as Adonis could be, he was still wise enough to realise how unwise it would be to challenge a direct order from his general.

“Yes, Sir,” he said crisply, as he snapped to attention, and, in the blink of an eye, he transformed from a playful youth to the battle-ready
hoplite.
Seconds later he filed out of Thanos’ home, heading back to the barracks where the rest of the young men in Sparta’s army lived.