My Spartan Hellion (34 page)

She was kicking him out to punish him for the insult he’d delivered her. He understood that. But for how long did she plan to punish him—punish herself?

“But I have needs, Basha, needs I expect my
wife
to see to.” He was so close he could almost touch her, and he knew she felt the heat of his body when she shivered, desire darkening her eyes.

“I-if you have need of me, then I shall see to you. I am still your wife. Just as this is still your home and you are free to come and go at will…”

“But?”

“But I do not want you spending your eves here. You have insulted me, even after I swore I was telling the truth, even after I said I was sorry and begged you to forgive me. There are many things wrong between us, and most of our troubles are my fault, but I have never once doubted the truth of your words, and yet you doubt mine.”

 Her words sliced through his heart and he stilled, realising then just how wrong he’d been. He’d never once confronted her with anything and had her lie to him. No, she hadn’t volunteered the truth, but he could understand why. To her way of thinking, she had not truly committed an act against him—why upset him over something that had never happened? No, she had never once lied to him in the past, so why should he think she was lying now?

“This child is yours,” she said quietly, when he dipped his gaze to her rounded belly, voicing what he now knew to be true, but it was too late. Basha did not wish to hear about his moment of revelation.

“And when he or she is born you will know this for a fact. For you shall see yourself reflected in the face of our child and you will know.”

But until the birth of their child, he would have to humble himself before his wife, just as she had done before him. Maybe their eves apart would be good for them as they learned how to trust again, how to communicate again. He certainly knew he would spend the time working to repair their broken relationship and restore her faith in him.

“Lysistrata,” he said softly as he reached out to cup her cheek.

“What?”

Lysistrata.

The woman who led the strike of thousands of Spartan women to withhold the pleasures of their flesh from their husbands until they ended the Peloponnesian War. Yes, Basha was now his Lysistrata.

He repeated the name, but Basha shook her head. “You will still have the pleasures of my body,” she whispered, and he didn’t miss how her eyes clouded with lust.

Basha was stubborn, so he knew not to underestimate her, but he did wonder how long it would be before she caved and let him back into their bed for an entire eve.

He thought of the sleepless eves he would spend on the straw bed mats at the barracks that were so uncomfortable they had no right to even be called beds. No matter how long it took, it would still be too long.

“Well, let’s be thankful you’ve agreed to allow me the pleasures of your body, because I believe that is the only way I shall endure the discomforts of those barrack beds.”

Her eyes twinkled with laughter and he knew then she had no heart. He read it right there in her smug gaze. She was going to enjoy watching him suffer. And for what he’d accused her of, he would deserve every moment of it.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“For your own good, I wish I could lock you up for the rest of your dawns.”

Lamia smiled at the sound of Thanos’ gruff voice as his strong arms locked around her waist from behind.

“My first sun rising back on my feet and this is how you greet me?”

Thanos groaned against her hair before he released her and spun her around to face him.

“I thought I told you not to get out of bed unless I was here.”

“Thanos, I am fine, really. The physician even said so. You have much to do with the prisoners and the meeting of the council. You do not have time to attend to me any longer—”

His expression was stern. “
You
are the most important person to me, not the council, not the prisoners.
You
. Do you understand that?”

Warmth settled around her heart as she stared up into his face, love shining in the depths of his gaze. She wanted to protest again that she was fine, but she knew her words would only fall upon deaf ears. Thanos watched her like a hawk. Even now, with all of his duties, and despite the physician’s assurances, he was reluctant to leave her side.

She reached up on her toes to place a gentle peck on his lips, careful not to wince when a sharp pain shot up her side where the arrow had stabbed through her flesh. If Thanos glimpsed even the tiniest bit of discomfort on her face it would be impossible to prise him from their bedchamber. “I am fine,” she said again, her voice soothing as she stroked her hand across the frown lines that creased his face.

“You lost so much blood. I do not want you to be alone if you find yourself dizzy. You could fall and hurt yourself, or worse, reopen your wound—”

“Basha and Armine are here and Callisto will be here shortly. You have left me with three overbearing nurses but I doubt I will need any of them. My wound is healing nicely and I’m almost back to full strength.”

A dark glower crossed his face. “I do not think you understand just how truly lucky you are, Lamia, that the arrow went clear through without damaging anything vital.”

“I do, Thanos,” she said softly. “I promise you, I do.” And she did.

Thanos didn’t believe she was taking her near-death as seriously as he was, but he was wrong. She knew just how fortunate she was that she
and
Thanos had come through this ordeal alive. She clasped her arms behind his neck, pulling him close until their lips touched. His strong hands fell to her hips, careful not to touch her wound, as he brought her mound against his hard cock trapped inside the confines of his
pyterges
.

“I should leave…” Thanos groaned against her lips. “Before I cannot stop myself.” His hands roaming over her body were a testament to his words.

With the shake of her head, Lamia clutched him to her. “Thanos, please. It has been so many moons since we were together like this, and then the dawns while I healed…” She slid her hands across his chest, teasing lower to the bulge below his waist. “I need you,” she whispered.

“We cannot make love with you not fully healed—”

“But we can do other things.” She grinned, her eyes twinkling as she cupped his face between her hands and kissed him again.

He sighed against her lips, his body already weakening, and she knew he was caving in when he deepened the kiss.

Flames licked her skin at the urgency of his mouth pressed to hers, at his body pressed to hers. She embraced him, biting back a groan when her aching nipples scraped across his chest. Her channel clenched, the juices of her arousal filling her sheath. Thanos backed her to their bed, his movements gentle as he laid her across it, but he did not cover her with his body.

She reached for him, but he shook his head, his eyes lighting with mischief as he made his way down the length of her, slowly pushing her
peplos
up past her legs until it bunched at her hips.

She gasped at the first kiss against her thigh, heat curling in her belly, radiating outward until she was a quivering mass of need and warmth. Her cunt was sticky and wet, aching for his attention, and she grabbed his head, arching, drawing him to the core of her.

“I take it you missed me,” he chuckled, making light of her urgency, her desperate need to have him touch her, taste her in her most intimate place.

“Thanos, please,” she begged, the words barely escaping her lips before he latched his mouth to her tiny nub, sucking hard. She cried out, jerking towards him when he thrust two fingers into her dripping heat.

“Oh gods.” She shivered, her cunt tight from the long absence of him inside her, but welcoming as she took his fingers deep within her. He moaned against her mound, his tongue, his lips feasting upon her flesh, lapping up her juices.

Every centimetre of her tingled, her nipples throbbed, and she cupped her breasts, stroking them, heightening her pleasure.

She quivered against him, her body just at the precipice of fulfilment, but she clenched her eyes shut, fighting the onslaught of pleasure that raged through her. She did not want it to end—not so soon.

“Do not fight it, Lamia,” Thanos whispered against her tender flesh. “Come for me,
agapetos.
Come against my face,” he demanded, and she screamed out as she surrendered to the erotic caress of his heated words. Her channel tightened around the pounding length of his fingers and she exploded into tiny pieces.

“Thanos,” she gasped, digging her nails deeper into the supple flesh of her breasts as she arched her body like a bow, tremors rocking her through the endless waves of her climax.

Thanos held her to him, anchoring her through the storm, his mouth devouring her, licking up every bit of her juices until her breathing quieted and she relaxed against the bed.

He settled her
peplos
over her legs as he stood, and she sat up, reaching for him. He bent down to take her lips in a sweet kiss, full of love, tenderness. As she twined her tongue with his, she let her hands roam down to the bulge inside his
pyterges
, cupping the heavy weight.

He seized her hand as he tugged his lips from hers. “There is no time—”

“But I want to please you, Thanos. It has been so long for you too.”

He smiled. “Your pleasure is my pleasure,
agapetos.
” He caressed her cheek. “But when I am done at the barracks, I will return to my wife’s bed for my reward.”

She stood, wrapping her arms around him. “And you shall have it, my love,” she whispered, her lips joining his in a tender kiss.

“She just got on her feet and already you are trying to put her flat on her back.”

Lamia grinned against Thanos’ lips when he swore softly. She dragged her gaze towards the door as Basha entered with Armine in tow.

“Shouldn’t you be at the barracks with Cleomenes?” Basha questioned Thanos. “Ulysseus left over an hour ago.”

Lamia held back a snort. That was because Ulysseus now
lived
there, but she kept that to herself.

Thanos looked between her and Basha, his eyes filling with concern. “I don’t think my leaving is such a good idea. Lamia is just getting—”

“Have you forgotten your duties, Thanos?” Basha’s eyes widened as if she did not recognise him. “The questioning of the prisoners cannot begin without you. Lamia is fine. We will be here to see that she stays that way,” she said impatiently.

He stared at his sister within the law with hard eyes as if he wanted to argue further, but the matching determination in Basha’s gaze must have discouraged him, especially since they all knew she was right…and with child. Everyone was also careful not to upset her these dawns, especially not after what she’d done to Ulysseus, no matter that he’d deserved it.

His gaze snapped back to Lamia. “I only have to remain at the barracks until the interrogations are done. It is simply for convenience sake and it will allow the process to go by faster. It should take only a few dawns and I will return the moment they conclude,” he assured her, dragging her into his arms with one last lingering kiss.

She knew he did not want to go, that he wanted to remain by her side, and she felt the tension in his body as he reluctantly released her. With stilted steps, he turned away and marched towards the door, stopping only to nod curtly to Basha and lovingly kiss Armine’s brow.

As soon as he departed, they all breathed a sigh of relief.

“That man is worse than a mother hen,” quipped Basha, and Lamia laughed heartily because she could only agree.

* * * *

Marcus Aurelius stirred awake at the sound of soft footsteps along the stairs leading down into the prison. He stood up from where he’d been napping atop the thin straw mat that crawled with fleas and curled his hands around the iron bars. Peering through the rusty rods, his gaze searched through the darkness.

 From thousands of men, to just a few hundred. The Spartans had crushed the Roman army and taken the rest as prisoners. He would likely be turned into a slave or, if he was lucky, executed.

When the Spartan king had learned it was Marcus who’d kept Cornelius from striking down his wife and her friend, he’d been placed into solitary quarters. The king considered it a small tribute, since they both knew he would have been murdered in his sleep if he were put in a cell with the rest of the prisoners. The punishment for treason, for killing one of your own soldiers—no matter that Cornelius had been a bloodthirsty barbarian—was death.

He appreciated the king’s gesture of goodwill, but he could not have cared less if he’d lived or died. His rising career in the Roman military was over, and his home, his lands and his title would all be stripped from him if he dared to return to Rome… That was if he wasn’t first charged and executed for treason as soon as he set foot on Roman territory.

“I—I brought you some things,” a small voice called, interrupting his dark thoughts. “I know it isn’t much but it was the least I could do.”

Marcus squinted, straining to get a glimpse of the woman with the soft, husky voice. She stepped forward, the embers of the torchlight casting a warm glow across her face.

He recognised her immediately. The woman from the battle. The woman whose life he’d saved. The woman who was the very reason why he no longer had a home to return to.

He glared at her, the bitterness inside him driving him to snarl out, “The
least
you could do? I would think so.” He sneered at her comely face, a fresh wave of anger hitting him. He’d thrown his entire life away for a woman who wasn’t even a great beauty.

He swept her with his disdainful gaze.
And
she was
plump
—though pleasantly so. His ideal woman had always been tall and toned, not short and lush, but he found the petite Spartan’s voluptuous figure quite enticing as her ripe breasts and wide hips strained against her obscenely thin
peplos
, which did little to hide her supple figure
.
He decided then that she wasn’t plump at all, just abundantly endowed. But apparently she
was
simple-minded because she failed to heed the warning in his angry gaze and continued to walk forward, stopping just within his arm’s length on the other side of the bars.