My Spartan Hellion (4 page)

“Move back and relax against me,” he said firmly, his warm breath fanning the tiny hairs behind her ear.

She shook her head. The last thing she wanted was to have his strong arms wrap any tighter around her, so that, with each step of his horse, his solid chest would rub her back and the insistent press of his cock would nudge the swells of her ass, just as it was doing now—

“Do it, Lamia.”

“No.”

He dropped the reins, and she gasped when his hand snaked out to splay across her belly, to gently but firmly scoot her back so that she rested against the hard wall of his body.

“Stop that, Spartan,” she snapped, struggling to lean forward, but it was useless. He had trapped her with his large frame.

“You are the most stubborn woman I know,” he shot back, his voice strained with exasperation. “Your back will be sore by dusk if you remain so rigid. Relax against me. We have a long journey ahead and you will ache all over before it is done. It is foolish to start off in pain,” he argued.

She silently fumed but said nothing. She hated that he was right. But, more than that, she hated how the tender folds of her womanhood were now warm and swollen, the slick, wet juices of her blossoming body now pooling between her thighs. She let out a ragged breath, trying to fight back a moan while her gaze desperately roamed over the expanse of land that lay ahead of them. There was no way she would survive a fortnight with her body pressed against Thanos the entire time. She needed to concentrate on plans to escape…and the sooner the better, because her body threatened to ignite into flames with the slightest touch.

It was shameful, it was shocking and it terrified her, the power this Spartan now wielded over her without any effort.

Yes,
it was imperative she escape him—and fast—for she could only imagine what would come of her if he were to do more than just touch…

* * * *

Thanos stifled the bubble of laughter that threatened to slip past his lips as Lamia’s face darkened with irritation.

“Then where shall I sleep?”

“Right there.” He nodded at the bed mat.

She pinched her lips into a frown. “But then where will you sleep?”

 “I just told you, Lamia.” His voice was patient.

“Absolutely not. Why can you not sleep wherever you slept last eve?”

He smiled slowly, surprised by how much he was enjoying her discomfiture. “Last eve, I slept outside my tent, while you slept
inside
.” He didn’t bother to add that she’d slept inside
alone
, which apparently was what she wished for again this eve.

“Very well, then. I shall put up the tent and
outside
the tent is where you may sleep again,” she argued.

He drew in a deep calming breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I know you have another bed mat,” she hedged.

“I do, but it is folded up in the tent and I just told you we are not putting it up this eve. It takes too long to break down camp when we do that. If Atallus’ men are still after you then we need to be able to move quickly. Now…if it rains, then we shall build the tents.” He didn’t add that only one would be put up…
for her
. Spartan soldiers were conditioned to endure any climate—rain, hail, snow. “Otherwise, we will sleep under the sky.”

Her lips pressed tightly together while her eyes threatened to scald him alive. He ignored her. Thanos was tired and he would not waste his last bit of energy arguing with her.

“I set up our sleeping mat over here to give you some privacy from my men. I suggest you relieve yourself and prepare for bed. We have another gruelling dawn ahead of us,” he said as he began to remove his heavy leather
curiass
.

He rolled his neck on his shoulders, glad to be rid of the smothering armour, as he stretched and flexed the muscles in his torso.

He started at the soft brush of fingertips along his back that was so unexpected his entire body jerked. The gentle touch of her hand ignited a simmering heat deep in his belly and he fought back a low groan as his body slowly awakened to her warm caress. It had been so long since a woman had touched him like this—had touched him at all—that he had to drag in a deep breath to gain control of himself.

Wiping all traces of the effect she was having on him from his face, he twisted around to glance over his shoulder.

“Who did this to you?” she asked, as she continued to run her fingers over the raised scars.

There was something in her voice that caused him to still. It was concern, but it was more than that. There was something else lingering there, just beneath the surface, which stirred him. He sensed her compassion for his pain, and it warmed him inside. A small spark of hope flared within him. He knew she sought not to wed him—that she was only with him because he’d forced her. But he gathered she was beginning to soften towards him, even if it was just a tiny measure.

“Have you ever heard of the
agoge
?”

She furrowed her brow. “Isn’t that a Spartan school?”

A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Somewhat. Spartan boys enter the
agoge
at seven
annos
. It is where boys become soldiers. We are trained and educated in the
agoge
until we reach twenty.” He turned to face her, grasping her fingers in his hand. “Flogging is one such method of training.”

Her eyes widened. “But there must be hundreds of scars there.”

“Thirteen
annos
is a long time.”

“But that is just barbaric.”

He tightened his grip around her fingers when she tried to jerk them from his grasp. “No, Lamia—war is barbaric. Spartans simply train their men for the horrors of war.”

“I disagree. They whipped you as a boy. You were just a child.”

He let out a long sigh, knowing most could never hope to understand the ways of his people. He hoped Lamia would not be one of them. He hoped she would keep an open mind but he knew her grasp of Spartan culture would not take place in a single eve. “As we journey to Sparta, I will tell you more of my people, my home, and with time maybe you will come to understand our ways.”

“If they whipped you as a child then I seriously doubt that, Spartan.”

His lips twitched. “Well, if you ever have a change of heart and decide to wed me, and we have a son, then at the least you will have to accept Spartan ways, even if you do not agree.”

He teased her, his words meant in jest, but Lamia did not share his sense of humour in that moment.

“You truly think our situation is amusing, but as I’ve said before, I find none of this funny.” Her topaz gaze flashed with anger. “We will have nothing together, Spartan. I have already refused to wed you, so I certainly will not be bearing you any little Spartan soldiers.”

His lips quirked higher and he released her fingers only to grip her arm with the same hand and drag her against his body, reaching out with his other hand to caress her face.

His movements were so quick that she had no time to react and she stared up at him, her eyes wide with surprise and her mouth agape.

“I wish you would reconsider. Any son we have together would turn out to be a magnificent soldier. With your spirit and my skills, I have no doubt he would grow to be one of the finest warriors the Spartan army has ever seen.”

“I cannot believe you even speak of children when we shall never wed.” She snorted. “You are mad. Release me,” she demanded and raised her hands, flattening her palms across his chest to push against the solid muscle.

He ignored her words and did the exact opposite. He tightened his hand around her arm, pulling her closer. “You enjoy fighting me at every turn. You think it sours me to you, but I find your fire…” He searched for the right word. “Enchanting,” he whispered, leaning into her.

Thanos knew she glimpsed his intent in his eyes. She knew he was going to kiss her, and she could have resisted when his head descended, but she didn’t. She didn’t offer up a single protest, not even when his lips gently met hers and he clasped her body tighter.

He groaned against her mouth as he moulded her lush curves to his larger frame, the heat of her body scorching his flesh. He released her just long enough to wrap his arms around her waist, dipping his hands to cup the firm globes of her backside. Squeezing gently, he massaged her ass softly, slowly, and he felt her shudder against him as a moan escaped her soft lips. Slipping his tongue inside her mouth, he stroked in and out of the moist cavern, letting his mouth mimic the rhythm of his hips as they pumped back and forth to grind his burgeoning arousal along her mound.

“Touch me,” he rasped.

Her eyes grew wide, and her fingers were hesitant as she traced an agonising path along his shoulder blades, down his arms and across his back, before skimming back up his arms to twine her hands behind his neck. His skin heated wherever her teasing fingers stroked his flesh. He wanted to lay her down right there on his mat, spread her thighs and, beneath the dark sky, sink his rigid cock into her moist heat until his seed erupted inside her.

He deepened the kiss and devoured her mouth, squeezing her ass tightly, rocking her firmly against his engorged length. His body demanded that he release himself from the confines of his leather
pteryges
and plunge inside her, but he resisted. She wanted him. For all her protests—her body was her betrayer. But he could not push her on this, not yet. She was not yet ready for him to take her, to brand her, to make her his—for that was exactly what he would do if he made love to her. So instead of doing what his body demanded, he lifted his head, slowly ending the kiss.

Her eyes were still closed and he smiled down at her upturned face. He’d been surprised that she’d succumbed so eagerly. He’d fully expected her to strike him before she yielded to him so wantonly—

Whack.

His head snapped sideways, and he would have visibly winced had he not been a better trained soldier.
Gods
, he’d forgotten just how strong she was. Rubbing his burning jaw, he hid his smile. Apparently, he’d been too hasty in his thoughts.

“Do not ever touch me again, Spartan.”

He lifted a single brow at her words. After such a passionate kiss, he had definite plans to touch her—
many
more times. “Do not strike me again, Lamia, or I will be forced to punish you.”

“I will cut your hands off with your own sword if you flog me.”

He grimaced at the vision of her doing just that. He would have to watch her…
and
his sword.

“I would never flog you, Lamia. The punishment I have for you would serve only to teach you a lesson, not to cause you undue pain. It would be pleasurable for you—and for me.”

She emitted a rude curse. “I doubt any pleasure could be found in your type of punishment,” she retorted, her arms folding across her chest, but the flash of interest brimming in her eyes betrayed her. She was curious about his brand of punishment that also promised pleasure.

Desire heated his body and blood simmered in his veins at the challenge she’d unknowingly just issued. “Any pain I give will also bring pleasure. I am not a cruel man, Lamia. I would never hurt or humiliate you. As you learn to surrender to me, you will learn the joy of my punishments,” he murmured softly.

He held her gaze for just a moment longer, making certain she understood the promise of his words, because, with the long journey ahead of them, her wanton behaviour and their desire for one another, there would surely come a dawn when she would find herself on the receiving end of one of his punishments, of that he was certain.

He spun away from her then, turning towards the dense forest area where they were camped in order to relieve himself. Alone, hidden by the thick foliage, he drew in a deep breath as he counted silently, a technique he’d developed as a young boy to calm himself.

He could have forced her to wed him, but he hadn’t—his honour and his pride would not allow him to take an unwilling woman to wife. But she was not as
unwilling
as she pretended to be. The explosive heat of their kiss, its intensity, had revealed her desires—that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

He could not explain why he yearned for her so fiercely, why he longed for her so intensely, even though she was a stranger to him. He could only guess it was her inner fire that captivated him, drew him to her and enthralled him so completely that he would not be satisfied until he claimed her as his.

Despite his longings, however, Lamia was not yet ready to confront the intensity of his desire for her. For now it was more important for Lamia to have the opportunity to awaken to her own passion for him, which would take…

Time.

He was certain that with time he could make her see that tying her life to his was destined by the gods and that it would not be a bad life if she were to wed him. But he would not succeed in convincing her if he pressed her as he’d just done moments ago. He had not intended to reveal to Lamia his true nature. He wanted her to come to know him better, because the last thing he wished was to scare her away—not when, in all his
annos
, he’d never imagined he would come to find a woman such as her.

While most Spartan men wed at twenty and had sired all of their children by thirty, at thirty-five
annos
he had yet to do either. It was not because he didn’t want a family, quite the opposite. The difficulty had always arisen when it came time to find a wife.

Spartan women were dominant outside of the bedchamber—and equally dominant inside—sometimes indulging in several lovers or taking more than one husband. He had no desire to share what he considered to be his with any other man, which was why he’d given up hope of ever finding a Spartan wife. And yet women not Spartan born were submissive both in and out of the bedchamber, which was something he could not endure either. He had no desire to tie himself to a woman who could not think for herself. He wanted a wife, not a servant.

The gods had driven him to Lamia—a woman who would challenge him in all areas of his life, except in the bedchamber. Her response to him that eve had hinted at her true nature—a nature he was certain she had no idea she even possessed.