The General's Virgin Slave (3 page)

Suddenly she could understand him!
Why? How?

Her mind must have conjured this world
somehow. Since she knew what the man was saying, he couldn't be a
real Roman centurion. He was a construct of her
imagination.

Okay then, if that's the
case...let me get free of him.

Nope. That didn't work. He had her
firm and the more she fought the more her breasts jiggled, which
seemed to increase the feral hunger in his eyes. He bent over her
and opened his mouth on the right nipple. She cried out in protest,
her spine arching, heels kicking in the dirt and dead
leaves.

"Get off me, you bloody
brute!"

Whether he
understood
her
or
not, he ignored it. His tongue flicked and laved ruthlessly as he
sucked on the tormented peak. To Amanda's horror and shame, her
pussy reacted with a sudden spring of dew and the weight of his
groin, pressing down on hers, only increased the dampness and the
heat.

He sat back and looked faintly
disappointed. Perhaps he had expected milk, she thought scornfully.
Typical. He thought to milk her like a cow or a goat. Woman were
worth no more to these Romans than that.

But he soon had his lips around her
nipple again, clearly enjoying the taste anyway. There was only one
thing to do. She would have to plead.

"Please," she gasped out.
"No."

He switched his mouth to her other
nipple and sucked harder still, growling, the vibrations rocking
her imprisoned body. Even through his garments and her own, Amanda
felt his penis, hard as marble, thrusting against her loins. That
thick rod, twitching with eagerness, was enormous and would surely
kill her if he used it with brute force to claim her.

"I'm a virgin," she exclaimed. "Please
don't do this."

His mouth left her breast and he
blinked down at her. "Virgin? I believe you not." To her surprise
he spoke English and quite well, although heavily accented. Then he
laughed again.

When he did so, it softened the planes
of his stern face, brought warmth to his dark eyes. She felt the
fingers of his left hand loosen slightly around her wrists, but she
knew he was still in control. His every muscle was alert, poised
over her. Like a snake ready to strike if she made a wrong
move.

"It's true. I am a virgin."

"Why?" A quizzical line appeared
between his brows. He glanced from one wet, tautly pricked nipple
to the other.

"I never found the right man. I wanted
it to be special."

"Why?"

Apparently virginity was not important
to the Romans. "Because that is what I believed in." Of course, the
idea of Amanda having any choice in why she kept her virginity
would be an alien concept to him.

"And where is he, this special man for
whom you wait?" he demanded.

Good question. Where was
he? Why had she never found him?

He stared down at her, waiting. A
curious and slightly bewildered light formed slowly through the
darkness of his gaze, almost as if he recognized her from
somewhere. Torchlight in a tunnel.

Maybe I never found the
right man for me because he was somewhere else. In another
time.

No! Don't think that. It
is madness.

Screwing up her eyes, she concentrated
hard on the tree limb above his head. But nothing happened. She
wasn't waking from this strange dream.

When she had no answer to his
question, the Roman snorted disdainfully. "'Tis well for him he is
not here." He used his teeth to pull off his riding glove and then
placed his right hand over her left breast, cupping it roughly. She
shuddered as his sweaty palm caressed the nipple he had so
violently suckled."I didn't think there were any virgins left," he
muttered under his breath, eyeing her with part amusement, part
disbelief.

She stared up at him with as much
pride as she could muster in this undignified position, with his
rude hand squeezing her breast, his fingers plucking at the
sensitive peak. "Of course, you Romans have done your best to see
to that."

Again he licked his lips. He sniffed.
"A woman's purpose is to yield to a man's needs and bear babes. Why
keep a woman's hymen unbroken once she's well ripe? 'Tis a waste. A
woman's prime breeding years do not last forever."

She rolled her eyes. "You must have
been talking to my friend Chrissy."

Abandoning her breast to the cold air,
his hand reached lower between them. She heard the cloth of her
gown ripping again and then felt his fingers pushing between her
thighs. Since he still sat astride her hips, he couldn't part her
legs until he lifted up and moved his knees between hers. In the
next moment his hand was on her sex, stroking her, exploring with
rough, deliberate intent. She shivered uncontrollably at his
forceful touch.

"What happened to the hair of your
pudenda?" he demanded, sounding shocked.

"It's called a full Brazilian," she
snapped. "And it wasn't my idea. It was Chrissy's. She's into
makeovers."

"This is tradition in your
tribe?"

Amanda thought quickly. "Only amongst
the high of rank. So if you harm me, you'll be in big trouble,
see?"

His eyebrows drew together, puzzling
over this.

"I suggest you let me go," she added.
"I'm sure you've got enough on your—"

"Silence, feral princess."

"The name is
Amanda
! And I'm not
feral.
You
are!"

"This man of yours must be addled if
he hasn't fucked you yet. Even the dumbest of beasts knows when a
bitch is ready for rutting. And you are ready. I smell your musk
like a hound sniffs out a fox." He lifted his tunic and the lappets
hanging from his cuirass. "Look, woman."

So she did. Her eyes felt sore,
because she couldn't blink. His cock stretched toward her, arching,
the head bulging. He gripped it in his fist and worked it briskly a
few times until a bead of juice appeared on the crest.

"See what's coming inside you, virgin
princess? By the gods, you make me lusty as a bull."

"You make
me
sick!
Nauseo!"

"I think not. This cunny blushes and
blossoms for me like a sweet briar rose." He chuckled
again.

She gasped, biting her tongue,
wriggling again in an effort to get free. It was fruitless. He
looked down to watch his own hand parting the lips of her pussy.
The Roman grunted and Amanda saw the tunic skirt of his uniform
lifting where his cock was roused further. She expected to feel
terror then, but instead she was very warm inside. Her sex
moistened as he pressed two fingers inside her labia and rubbed in
a slow, steady circling motion.

"What are you doing?" she cried. If he
was going to rape her, why did he not just get on with it? She'd
stick the bastard with his own pugio— he must have one of those
small daggers somewhere on his belt— before he even got half his
shaft inside her. She'd cut it off and...oh... this was not pain.
It was pleasure. Wicked, wicked pleasure.

She'd masturbated before, of course—
Chrissy would be relieved to hear— but this was much
better.

His mouth went slack as he stared down
at her, his eyes sparking. He quickened the motion of his
fingertips and then bowed his head again to lick her nipple. Just
once.

She tensed, lifting off the ground,
buttocks squeezing.

His fingers slid down and then pushed
slowly, carefully inside her dewy pussy. Amanda looked up and found
his eyes pinned to her face as he fondled her in this crude way.
She was rendered speechless suddenly, for that light was there
again, dwelling deep in the Roman brute's eyes, burning brighter.
It was like...yearning. The sort of thing she'd seen in the gaze of
a dog waiting for a bone. The thought amused her for a brief
moment.

"Virgin!" he exclaimed, incredulous
and with a tint of victory.

The sensation of his thick, long
fingers prying part way inside her made Amanda pant for breath. She
lay still, afraid that any movement would encourage him to push
deeper and break her hymen. "I told you!" she snapped. "Stupid,
ignorant oaf."

Her insults seemed to roll
off his great, muscular shoulders. "I've heard of
Vestal
Virgins." He
chuckled low and shook his head, dark curls falling over his brow.
"Never met one in this land of savages." His fingers slowly slipped
out of her tight sex and he looked at them, where her sticky
essence gave evidence of arousal. Though ashamed, there was nothing
she could do to prevent her body's response.

"I warned you," she exclaimed, trying
to buck him off again. "I'm a high ranking noble in my tribe, and I
wouldn't like to be in your shoes when they find out that you've
manhandled me, Roman brute."

"Virgin," he muttered
again, looking down at her with heated pride. "
My
virgin now."

Chapter
Two

He decided to keep her intact a while
longer. A strange, powerful warmth had rushed over him when he
found that hymen unbreached. Such a strange sensation. It was not
just physical either. Yes, she was incredibly tight and would be a
glorious prize for his cock. But there was more to it than that.
She was his. For him alone.

Marcus Cassius had never enjoyed a
virgin and he quickly became obsessed with the idea.

She claimed to be some
sort of princess and he could believe that for she had a superior
manner, an elegance in her bearing, even when rolling around in the
dirt, promising to nibble his testicles. She amused
and
aroused
him.

The gods had brought her to him; he
had no doubt that she was a reward for his years of service to the
Emperor and his country.

A virgin was certainly a novelty and
just what he needed to shake off this shroud of despondency that
had settled over him. Marcus would slake his lust with her soon,
but for now she would be his object of untouched fantasy, his
pristine vessel, unopened, sealed treasure to be savored. A new
toy.

He took her back to his house on a
hill overlooking Aquae Sulis and strode through the atrium,
carrying her over his shoulder with her four limbs tethered
together so she would not hurt herself. Although the angry native
woman did not seem to appreciate his concern for her bruises. When
he handed her off to the slave master for bathing, he said, "She's
my virgin. See that she is treated well. Guard her." For some
reason he wanted everyone to know she was a maiden, when usually
his business was his own.

He saw a moment of raw surprise pass
over the old slave-master's face. Particularly when the wench spat
in her captor's face again and Marcus merely laughed.

"You are wounded, General," the loyal
servant exclaimed in shock, pointing to his master's
brow.

"Ah, tis a slight scratch, nothing
more." Perhaps when that weapon hit him it dislodged his brain, he
mused darkly. That would explain why he let this woman get away
with her screaming and biting all the way back to the domus. And
why he didn't claim her virginity at once when he wanted to. He let
her slide down to the floor and then he stooped, swiftly cutting
her ropes with his gladius. She could run through his house if she
wanted, but she would never get out. There were guards at every
door. "Take the new slave and wash the woad off her."

"I am not one of your slaves," she
howled at him, springing upright at once. "I'm a liberated woman
enjoying a university education. I have access to birth control and
I can vote! I sing along to Beyonce. In the shower."

He had no idea what the strange woman
chattered about. Every other word was nonsense. But the soft,
tinkling sound of her hapless cries made him laugh. Marcus cuffed
her chaffed wrist in his large hand and felt for her rapid, strong
pulse. "And now you belong to me. Stop fussing. It has no point."
He grinned. "Like your foolish spear."

"I will never be yours!"

"You are already," he said with a
shrug.

One of the benefits of being Primus
Pilus was that no one questioned him, no matter what he did. When
he wanted someone or something, he took it, even if they belonged
to another. Whatever he liked to do, no one raised an
eyebrow.

And he wanted this woman. This feral
princess.

His first sight of her had heated his
blood and when he touched her that heat burst into
flame.

He knew his household staff would be
distrustful of the noisy, beautiful redhead he had taken as a
slave, especially when they learned he had not fucked her yet.
Female slaves— attractive ones—were kept around mainly to warm his
bed and suck his cock, but Marcus had kept himself aloof lately and
sensed his slaves wondering what was amiss. Now he brought home a
new acquisition, a mystery. A native. The rumors would start at
once. But of course, the slave-master dare not ask where Marcus had
found her, or why she was naked, had painted toenails and was
warbling at the top of her lungs like a concussed songbird. Or why
Marcus brought this troublesome creature into the house when he
could be making use of the perfectly good slaves he already had.
Well-trained slaves who knew how to anticipate his every need
before he even gave a command. The old man valued his skin enough
to keep his thoughts tucked away.