Seduced by the Gladiator (8 page)

“You ignoble fuck.” My ankle throbbed where he had hit it. I suspected a sprain, or at the very least a strain of the muscle. Damn the gods, this would set me back a week in training.

Turning baleful eyes to Christus for a moment, I clenched my jaw. I should have expected it from Bavarius the traitor, but somehow all of my emotions whirled together and decided that it was Christus’ fault.

I turned back to Bavarius, who now glared up at me from under the tip of my sword. It might only have been wood, but in the right hands, it could cause a lot of damage—even death.

“I should just kill you and end the suffering of anyone forced to be near you.” Angry as I was, repulsed as I was, I did not feel like killing anyone. I felt like being carried off the sands and laid to bed—my ankle was swelling rapidly, and throbbed like a heartbeat. And I was unused to the surge of emotion—over the years I had learned to tamp them down.

Instead I continued to glare, trying to make a point. I would not be able to hold the pose for long—my ankle was paining me greatly.

“Go find the medic.” Surely Christus could not be speaking to me in that tone—not in front of all of the men. From the corner of my eye I saw Darius in the crowd, and he grimaced, knowing my thoughts exactly.

I turned to Christus, and could not keep the hint of betrayal from my eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was exasperated.

“You could kill the bastard now; not a man here doubts that. But your ankle needs immediate attention if you are to be fit for the arena anytime in the near future. Go.”

His tone was not one to argue with, and I supposed that I had not hid my injury as well as I had thought. I should have been grateful—he had given me an out.

Instead, as I turned back to Bavarius with hatred in my eyes, all I felt was confusion.

“Gratitude for your kind thoughts.” I made sure to keep emotion from my face as I nodded to Christus, then hobbled across the sand, away from the crowd of men. Damn the gods, but I was in pain.

I hesitated on the edge of the sands, not sure of what to do, and loath to leave the scene behind me. With a quick decision I opted for the mineral steam baths instead of the medic. Before disappearing inside the building and down the long hall that led to the baths, I looked back over my shoulder.

I watched as slowly, very slowly, Christus scraped the wooden sword down the side of Bavarius’ throat, pressing hard enough that the grain of the wood scratched the skin. A trickle of blood welled up from the shallow cut, and Christus swiped the worn wood through the scarlet liquid before stepping back.

“Do not talk nonsense about trials and acceptance again.” A chill seemed to settle over the entire training area, and I knew why.

For a long time, I had been the strongest in the ludus, so long as I kept my guard up. But as I looked at Christus—as all of the men looked at him—we all saw that he was a dangerous man.

A man to be feared, both inside the arena as well as out of it.

Christus turned to walk away from Bavarius, but before he did, he looked back, toward the shadows where I still stood, riveted to the scene before me. Though his final action, the precise cruelty of drawing that thin stripe of Bavarius’ blood, had surely chilled me, even as I thoroughly approved of it, I stared back, unwavering.

Christus’ face was set in stone as he looked at me. Before he walked away, he lifted his arm toward me, a gesture that meant he dedicated his win to me. My lips parted in surprise, and from the corners of my vision I saw the men shift and begin to mutter among themselves.

Stunned, I watched as he stalked away in the direction of our quarters. Christus had, for reasons I did not yet completely understand, given me what it seemed I could not wholly gain for myself.

He had given me that first small measure of respect among the men. Though I had been trying for years to be seen as an equal, rather than a woman trying to succeed among men, it was not until that very moment that I felt as if it had been achieved.

T
he baths were empty, and I thanked the gods for that small blessing. My ankle protested vehemently as I hobbled across the large room, the steam clinging to me like the soft touch of a lover.

It was difficult to put weight on my injured foot, to step up the few stairs that led to one of the baths. I knew that the heat and the minerals in the water would help it to heal faster, however, so I ground my teeth together, tried to limit the weight on that foot, and half hopped, half dragged myself up to the platform.

“Aah.” The relief was instantaneous as I submerged my injured foot. I shifted my weight on the edge of the tub, allowing my legs to dangle freely in the water. The ripples made by my submersion bumped gently against my thighs, washing away the sweat and dust of the day.

The heat tried to pry the tension out of my muscles, but my shoulders stayed tight. I could not turn the scene that had played out minutes earlier from my mind.

What had Christus been thinking, defending my honor that way yet again? And so very publicly. I wanted to feel rage—wanted to target that rage at him, this man who had barged into my life and turned it upside down.

I found that I did not have the energy. For just a few minutes, I wanted to sit here, let the steam moisten my skin, and not have to worry about defending myself, about how I appeared to the outside world. Did not want to consider the factors that made up my life—the fact that death lurked around every corner.

I just wanted to be Lilia, even if only for a few moments.

“Lilia?” I did not even attempt to swallow my groan, nor did I turn around. By now I recognized the voice, the tread of his weight over the dust on the ground.

I listened to that tread as it made its way across the great room, toward me. There was a slight hesitation before I heard Christus climb the same steps that I had only moments before.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back in avoidance. I was no closer to sorting through the mess of anger, thankfulness and lust than I had been on the sands.

When I could feel by the sloshing of the water against my legs that he had joined me in the tub, I sighed, finally opening my eyes to glare at him balefully.

I did not ask why he had done it. He had already told me, countless times and in varied ways. Asking him again would not make him stop.

“Why will you not just leave me alone?” This, I thought, was a fairer question. Though the man seemed determined to defend the honor of a lady, he had gone far beyond that. There was a connection that had been forged between us, one initiated by him, and what I did not understand was why he had done so.

I was difficult, I was stubborn, I was rude. I had mercurial changes of mood, and was haunted by ghosts that I did not wish to dwell on.

I watched his finely hewn features as he tilted his head, studying me intently.

“Do not tell me that you do not feel it, too.”

I opened my mouth to do just that, and found that my words had dried up, for Christus had reached down into the water and gripped my injured ankle in gentle hands.

“What are you doing?” My words were a hiss as I looked frantically around the room. We were alone for the moment, thank the gods, but someone could come in at any moment.

Weak was the least of the things that I would appear to be if someone were to come upon this scene, me flushed from the steam, Christus’ sure fingers beginning to lightly massage the purpling skin of my ankle.

Every touch of his fingers sent a lick of fire straight between my legs. Though I tried to swallow it down, a groan escaped my lips.

His touch felt so incredibly
good.

“I cannot let myself be seen like this.” There was no point in denying that I found his touch pleasurable. Against my better judgment, I closed my eyes for a moment—just a moment—and let sensation wash over me.

When I again opened my eyes, Christus’ fingers had trailed upward to my calf. His eyes burned brightly and were fixed on my own.

“I told the men that anyone who bothered you while you bathed would find himself without a cock.” My mouth fell open at the words, and inexplicably a giggle bubbled up from my throat.

I clapped a hand over my mouth as it escaped. I never giggled. I rarely even laughed.

Sobering myself, I tried to tug my leg from Christus’ reach. “That does not mean that they will listen.”

“I assure you they will.” Christus did not allow me to pull my flesh away, instead trailing his fingers ever higher. My breath caught in my throat as he stroked the tender skin behind my knee.

“If it eases you, Darius is keeping watch. No one will disturb you. No one will disturb us.”

I heard the double meaning in his words, and though I felt as though I should run, I found myself doing nothing of the sort. Instead I reached out, my hand shaking, and ran uncertain fingers over the stripe of cheekbone.

I shuddered as my fingers made contact with his skin. It had been so long since I had been touched with anything but violence or desire that was twisted at its root. Darius touched me sometimes, but his caresses were friendly and reassuring.

They did not affect me in nearly the same way that these small caresses were.

“Christus. I cannot do this.” I wanted to. I could no longer lie to myself. I wanted this man, wanted the moments of pleasure that he could bring to me in this strange life that I called my own. “If the men found out that I took you as a lover, we would both be under attack.”

My voice had a breathless quality to it, one that I had never heard before. I was feeling things that I had never felt before, too, as Christus lowered his head and laid his lips on my knee.

When he again looked up, the expression on his face—the longing, the desire—was my undoing.

“Why should anyone find out? It is no one’s business but our own.” The fingers that still softly stroked the skin behind my knee moved with excruciating slowness, tracing a stripe up, and up, until they met the edge where my leather wrap met my skin.

“Christus.” What was happening to me? I was not weak—I made my own decisions. Yet I could no more have stopped this encounter than I could have stopped breathing.

Slowly, giving me time to say no, Christus worked at the knot in my leather. When the fastening was loose, he worked the garment away from my body, hanging it on the edge of the tub.

Leaving my skin bare from the waist down.

I felt my lower lip tremble, but apart from that small movement I was still, tensed, my breath caught in my throat with anticipation. With his eyes on my own, drinking in every nuance of my expression, he inched his fingers up, then up again, trailing them over my inner thighs as the muscles beneath quivered.

I inhaled sharply when those fingers grazed over the heated skin between my legs. Christus paused as the noise, again giving me time to say no.

I waited a long moment, my innermost thoughts whirling through my head in a great rush. Sex had been tied up with violence for so long, it had made me feel cheap at best. The idea that I could embrace it for pleasure was strange and oddly thrilling, if I could but take that leap.

My eyelids lowered, I looked down from the edge of the bath where I still perched, looked at the god of a man who was rising out of the water at my feet. He was golden and sleek and beautiful, and he wore an expression of reverence and of need that looked to be nearly painful.

It was that exact combination that pushed me that last step. With an exhalation of the breath that I had been holding, I covered his wrist with my hand, holding his hand in place even as I arched my hips to meet his touch.

“You are certain that we will not be disturbed?” I could not quite believe that I was prepared to accept his word when he nodded—the Lilia of even a day before would never have taken anything at face value, would have had to see for herself.

But this man inspired trust. Trust, as well as lust.

For the first time since I had come to the ludus, I decided to embrace the sensations.

Sliding my hand from his wrist down his arm, over his broad shoulder and up, I burrowed my fingers in the wealth of blue-black hair that was spiked with dampness. I fisted the strands, tugged gently, and closed my eyes, waiting for the touch.

“Oh. Oh.” I could hear the surprise in my voice as Christus began to gently stroke through the soft hair that covered my cleft. His breath hissed out as I shifted, my hips moving into the touch without thought on my part.

“Be still.” His voice was firm, and I blinked, part of me not sure that I liked to be told what to do. But if those light, stroking touches felt so good, what other pleasure could he bring to me?

The featherlight touches increased in pressure just the slightest bit, and then a bit more. I could feel the blood rushing to my pussy, causing terrible excitement to gather there. I tensed with the onslaught, and when he finally worked one finger between my moist folds, grazing it over my clitoris, I gasped, then clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle the noise.

Christus stilled his finger, though he did not remove the pressure. As I perched on the edge of the tub, I stared down at him with panic, both craving more of his touch and terrified that we were about to be found out because of my exclamation.

He shifted as he knelt in the water of the tub, and the liquid splashed gently.

“The men are all at their meal. And Darius watches them.” The words were murmured against my inner thigh. Though I was still nervous, the possibility of the pleasure that I had been promised won out.

“I—I don’t—”

Christus began to move his finger again, now avoiding my clit, deliberately I thought. Instead he inserted the tip inside my heated channel, groaning aloud when he found me wet and wanting.

Embarrassed, I ducked my head, feeling my cheeks turn the red of fruit. With his free hand he reached up to stroke over the curve of my cheek, at the same time working his other finger in and out of me just that small bit.

I could not pretend that I was not excited, even as I continued to blush.