My Spartan Hellion (5 page)

His manhood began to swell and lengthen as he recalled how easily she had submitted to his kiss, her body opening and yielding to his desires. Her actions told him that, while at dawn she would fight him at every turn, by dusk she would willingly submit to his complete dominance over her body.

Chapter Four

Lamia sipped from her cup of wine, watching Thanos from above the rim. He shuffled back and forth across the camp, barking out orders to his soldiers, his lithe muscles flexing with every stride he took. Just like the dawn they’d met, when they’d fought in the
agora
at Athens, his very presence commanded attention and she found it impossible to tear her gaze from him.

A droplet of wine spilled from her lips, and she ran her tongue across her mouth, catching the tiny bead. Thanos chose that moment to turn his attention to her and she froze beneath his hooded gaze, stifling a small shiver when his eyes settled on her lips.

His eyes darkened, a dark feral glint swirling in their depths, before he abruptly spun around.

She touched her fingers to her lips, his fleeting gaze so intense she could still feel the heat of it upon her skin. Or maybe her lips were simply still swollen from the heat of his erotic kiss. She’d lain awake beside him for most of the eve thinking of him, that kiss, and what he’d meant by pleasure being found in punishment. More than anything, that notion intrigued her. The punishments she knew of only brought pain, so she was curious what it was that Thanos did—and if he actually could bring pleasure to punishment.

She set her cup aside and drew her legs up to her chest, the soreness creeping into her body firmly brushing aside all thoughts of Thanos. Their pace had been harder and faster than the dawn before, and every muscle now ached. Closing her eyes, she rotated her neck, trying to ease the tightness that knotted the tendons.

The unexpected brush of fingertips across her back startled her, and she twisted around, her gaze clashing with that of Thanos.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, slightly bewildered that he’d been able to get so close to her without her realising it.

“I’m trying to help you ease the aches in your back.” He emphasised his words by pressing his callused fingers against her flesh.

She forced back a moan. The rhythmic motion of his hands brought such a welcome relief to her body that she almost forgot she’d told him never to touch her again after what had happened last eve.

When her breasts grew heavy and her nipples drew tight from his skilful touch, she jerked away, as if his fingers had been dipped in a pit of fire.

“Have you already forgotten my words to you?
Do not touch me again, Spartan
should have been quite clear.”

His lips twitched with amusement, which only infuriated her more. She scurried away from him to sit on the other side of the fire, far out of his reach.

“You persist in being stubborn, even at great cost to yourself.” He sighed as he settled against the log she’d just vacated. “Suit yourself, but we will not stop next dawn when you complain that you are too sore to go on.”

“I shall not complain.”

He must have heard the belligerence in her tone, or maybe by now he was starting to realise that her wilfulness was not a ruse, because he smiled.

“Of course you will not complain.” She noticed that he inched towards her as he spoke, but she didn’t move. She simply watched him with wary eyes. “You would rather faint and expire from exhaustion than allow a man to take care of you.”

He now sat at her feet, his laughing gaze meeting hers. He was taunting her, daring her to back down and move away. She refused to let him see that his nearness affected her. Even as the heat of his body seemed to surround her, engulf her. She sat up straighter, battling against the embers of desire that tiptoed across her skin and flickered inside her belly.

“I do not need a man to take care of me when I can take care of myself.”

He arched a single brow as he studied her with such forceful scrutiny she had to tell herself not to fidget.

“But do you ever wish there was someone who would?”

She didn’t know which affected her more—his softly spoken words, or the piercing intensity of his turquoise yes. She wrenched her gaze from his, unable to allow him a closer glimpse inside her soul. She hated herself for doing it, for silently revealing that he’d got to her, but she could not allow him to see that she
did
long for someone to care for her, although she knew that, with Darius gone, there was now no one who ever would.

She inhaled deeply. “My wishes are unimportant. I am more curious as to yours, Spartan.”

His grin was smug as he leant back, his every gesture hinting that he knew she was purposely evading his question. Lamia ignored the self-satisfied gleam in Thanos’ eyes, refusing to be baited into a discussion she did not wish to have.

“I already told you what I wish for.”

“A wife.”

She gave a derisive snort, but he didn’t seem to notice or care, when he shrugged and said with a half smile, “But not just any wife.”

She frowned. “What do you mean, not just
any
wife?”

His eyes closed as he settled his back against the log. “You’re not ready for such honesty, Lamia.”

She glared at him. How did he know what she was ready for? Besides, it did not take a scholar to figure out what
type
of wife he wished for.

“You want a woman who enjoys pain.”

He opened one eye, his lips furling.

“Is that what you think?”

“I’m only repeating what you said last eve.”

“And what was it that I said, Lamia?”

She stared at him, his eyes now closed once again. This was a game to him. He wanted to force her to say the provocative words that he knew would embarrass her. He enjoyed baiting her, just to see how much she would squirm. Well, she was tired of playing.

She shot up from her perch atop the felled tree. “This is ridiculous.”

It was amazing just how quickly and quietly he could move. She’d barely taken a step, before he seized her by the arms and dragged her to him.

She struggled against his hold. “Is this what they teach men in Sparta? How to maul women?”

“It is so apparent you are curious as to how I can make punishment pleasurable for you, but you are too much of a coward to simply come out and ask the question.”

His voice was as soft as a lover’s caress, but his words stung and she drew back as if he’d slapped her. She was many things, but a coward was not one of them.

“Release me, Spartan.”

“Or what? Will you strike me again?” Mischief flashed in his gaze. “That is going to be a bit more difficult this time, since I have your arms.”

She glowered at him, fury bubbling over inside her. “This is a game to you, but I do not wish to play. Release me right now.”

He ignored her and pulled her closer, trapping her to him. He leant down, his face settling within the crook of her neck, and despite the protests ringing in her mind she could not stop the tiny tremor from rocking her body. When he chuckled, she knew he’d felt it. In that moment, she hated him—him and the power he seemed to so easily wield over her.

“Just so we are clear. I never said I liked pain. I only said that pleasure could be found in punishment.”

His warm breath teased her sensitive skin, and she found it nearly impossible to find her voice, but somehow she managed it.

“Pain, punishment…what is the difference?”

He groaned, and she had to bite back her own when his body hardened against her belly.

“There is a vast difference.” His words were choppy, and he lifted his face to rest his forehead to hers, his eyes clenched shut. “I ache to show you the difference, but you are not ready,
agapetos.
Far from it.”

She traced the taut lines of his face, somewhat awed by the effect she was obviously having on him. It was a heady feeling to realise that Thanos—the Spartan general who possessed such strength of will—was having trouble controlling himself around her. From somewhere deep within, she revelled in her feminine power over him, though she would never admit it.

Maybe it was the startling realisation that a man as desirable as Thanos actually seemed to want
her.
Or perhaps it was that he was so close to her that she could almost taste him on her lips, every part of him seemingly seeping into her pores. She truly didn’t know what it was that possessed her, but in that moment she yearned to once again feel his lips melded to hers, coaxing her to surrender to his kiss.

“Thanos,” she whispered, the soft plea barely audible.

He dragged in a deep breath as his eyes fluttered open, and, before she could change her mind, she closed her lids and tilted her head back just as he crushed his mouth to hers.

His kiss was hard and demanding, his tongue insistently probing inside her mouth to claim her. He deepened the pressure of his mouth and she moaned when their tongues scraped together. He was branding her, his kiss igniting a bone-melting fire that singed through her blood. Her entire body was set ablaze as heat gnawed at her belly before settling between her thighs, causing the plump lips of her core to grow slick and heavy with her desire.

She was a bit dazed when he pulled away from her, his chest heaving, although he didn’t release her.

“I am afraid if I let you go you will strike me again,” he said with a smile.

“I have no plans to strike you, but this has to stop, Thanos.” She sucked in a shaky breath.

She would never know what had come over her, what made her desire his touch so wantonly, but she knew it was madness to continue this flirtation, for their actions were those of lovers, of a couple set to be wed, when she knew that would never come to be.

He unclasped his hands from around her arms to settle a single finger against her lips.

“Do not ruin this,
agapetos,
with talk of how you do not wish to be my wife—how you do not wish to journey to Sparta—”

She opened her mouth to tell him just that, for it was the truth, but he shook his head.

“Please.” His gentle request struck a chord deep inside her, and she nodded. They both knew how she felt. There was no need to hurl it in his face at that very moment.

He let his hand drop from her mouth. “I must speak with my men, so you will have plenty of privacy to prepare for bed.”

She nodded again and neither of them said another word when he turned and disappeared into the centre of the camp.

Settling down on the bed mat, she stretched out beside the fire, mesmerised by the wild blaze that echoed her inner discord. What she’d done moments before—seeking out his kiss—had been madness. This burgeoning desire between them was dangerous and she’d be wise to steer clear of him—a man who was but a stranger to her, a man she would soon flee from, never to set eyes upon ever again.

The twinge of regret that nicked at her with the thought of never seeing Thanos’ laughing gaze again, Lamia refused to acknowledge. It was impossible to harbour feelings for a man she’d known for only three dawns, and yet there was no denying the carnal desires he’d awakened within her. She sat up straighter with the sudden thought that sprang forth. The effect he had on her, it was the same for him.

Yestereve, her almost desperate response to him had frightened her, making Lamia that much more determined to flee him, but this eve had brought with it a new understanding of the man who still held her fate within his hands.

She’d witnessed Thanos struggle to control himself earlier, and it had come as a shock to her to discover that she possessed the same power over him. A plan began to form in her head. Now, if she could just keep her wits about her and her own attraction to Thanos at bay long enough to see her plan through…

* * * *

Thanos stalked Lamia with his eyes, digging his fingers into the cool sand. The sun was setting in the horizon and she reminded him of an ethereal water nymph as she playfully frolicked in the Gulf of Argolis.

They’d had another gruelling dawn of travel, and he’d promised her she would be allowed to bathe when they stopped, but now he was regretting his words.

She knew he was watching her, his eyes slowly appraising her. She was purposefully taunting him, laughing softly when she lifted herself in the water just high enough so that he could catch a brief glimpse of the swells of her breasts, before dipping beneath the surface.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, digging his hands deeper into the mushy sand, so that he would not reach inside his
pyterges
and stroke his cock.

He narrowed his eyes when she waded closer to shore to settle against one of the sand bars. With her back facing him, she gracefully parted her legs. The shadows of the approaching eve made it difficult to see, but he swore she was touching herself.

With a muttered curse, Thanos shot to his feet and marched on stiff legs towards her. As he drew closer, he became convinced that she was pleasuring herself. Her unbound hair dripped with water as it clung to her arched back, while uneven breaths caressed his ears.

“What are you doing?”

She moaned softly, her entire body tensing. Twisting her head around, she looked squarely at him, and despite the encroaching darkness he easily glimpsed the laughter in her eyes.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

He frowned at the teasing lilt of her soft voice. This was out of character for Lamia. She had to know how she affected him, but nothing about her actions before
had spoken of wanting to encourage his desire. Actually, quite the opposite.

“What are you doing, Lamia?”

“You already asked me that. And I would think it should be obvious.”

Frustration seized him. She knew what he was truly
asking.

“Not
what
you’re doing, but
why
are you doing it? Why are you touching yourself?”

“Again, that much should be obvious, but, if you must know, it’s because I need to find release.” She quirked her lips into an alluring, seductive pout. “That is, unless you would like to give it to me.”