The Gladiator's Touch (2 page)

“I am glad it was you, Cassia. I am glad
that it was you.”

Check out these other titles by Lauren Hawkeye

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NOW
from Avon Red/ Harper Collins

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by the Gladiator

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Wicked Gladiators

Hot
and Haunted (with Megan Hart and Saranna DeWylde)

Copyright
Lauren Hawkeye 2012

I
did not want to want him.

Yet as I stood on the balcony that
overlooked the training area of my family’s
ludus
—the most prestigious
of gladiator training schools—my husband by my side, want is what I did. I
could see nothing of the mock battle beneath me but him. His sweat, his blood,
falling down to the dry dust that ground beneath the worn leather that covered
his feet.

Never mind that I could never have him.
Dreams of what his touch could bring me only increased the need that thrummed
through my veins like flocking birds.

“You’re quite flushed, Alba.” Lucius, my
husband, touched a hand to my elbow and peered into my face with concern. “We
should retire inside. Drusilla will draw a bath for you.”

A bath . . . clear cool water, the thick
silk of oils that smelled like herbs. The slither of limbs through water, and
the sheen of dampness on muscles taut from incessant training.

“Come.” I could hear the alarm in
Lucius’ voice, though it was my slave girl, Drusilla, who moved to support me,
not my husband. “Your skin is quite red. Inside. Now.”

I alone knew the reason for my flush,
but I certainly could not tell it to my husband. And actually, I was not the
only one—there was one more who knew in what direction my thoughts lay.

I caught the eyes belonging to that one,
and their dense black seemed to swallow the golden gleams given off by the sun.
My heart fluttered in my chest, like a young girl with her first feelings of
lust, but his expression revealed nothing that was not there when he thrust his
battered wooden training sword through the dense air.

I knew that he felt it, too.

And what kind of
domina
was I,
imagining myself seducing a slave?

Uneasy shame brought clamminess to my
skin, and I stopped refusing Drusilla’s ministrations, allowing myself to be
helped inside. Lucius followed closely behind, barking orders at the other
slaves, though I could tell that his mind had already moved on, something to do
with the ludus, no doubt.

I could not complain, at least not out
loud, at his lack of focus on me, his wife. Since my father had given me from
his control to that of Lucius, Lucius was my
pater familias
, the head of
this house.

Much as our slaves had no choice but to
obey us, I had no right to argue with my husband.

And what would I have been complaining
about, really? My belly was full, my body draped in silk and gold. The pool
that Drusilla led me to was carved from bright white stone, and I could already
smell the expensive oils that I could have rubbed into my skin, if I so
desired.

I stood still at the bath’s edge and
waited for Drusilla to remove my garments. Lucius paced, raking a hand through
his dark ribbons of hair before crouching to splash a handful of pristine water
against the salty sheen on his face.

When he again rose, I was naked. He let
his sapphire gaze roam my bare curves, and the thin cloth at his groin tented.

Still warm from the fierce stare of the
other, the attention of my husband caused my nipples to peak and a shiver to
roll over my skin.

I so very rarely caught my husband’s
attention. He preferred to take his pleasures quickly with one of the slave
girls, women who did not require flattery or coddling. And since he had long
ago decided that I was barren, there was no need for him to spill his seed
inside of me unless he felt the desire to do so. To be fair, I also could have
satisfied my cravings with any of the slaves that I desired.

Any but the gladiators. And it was a
gladiator, one particular gladiator, whom I wanted.

But to have caught the attention of my
husband, a man whom I did care for after a fashion, after so long a respite
made me hopeful, and added to the heat that had begun to pool in my cunt.

Added to the heat was a hope, one that I
tried to keep hidden, that I could still, possibly, carry a child.

I shook my head, a move fraught with
impatience. It would not do any good for me to go down that route again, to
think too long on the one thing I wanted more than anything and couldn’t have.

“Lucius?” I held out a hand to him,
beckoning him forward. “Join me for my bath.” Drusilla, anticipating what was
to come, slid her hands from where they had rested at my shoulders, forward and
down to cup my breasts.

I had not had her touch me for a long
time, though we had once been lovers, experimental young girls. But my husband
liked to watch us touch, liked to watch us play.

It excited him.

Lucius’ stare grew more avid, and he
absently rubbed a hand over his clothed cock as he watched my slave caress my
nipples. Relaxing into my girl’s familiar touch, I allowed a sigh of pleasure
to fall from my lips, and beckoned him forward again.

The movement broke the spell. With a
start, he shook his head and stilled his hand.

“I do not have time for this, Alba.”
Crouching again, he poured handfuls of cool water over his head, seeming not to
care when they made large wet splotches on his crisp tunic. “I will be late for
my meeting if I do not leave now.” And with that as his explanation, he took
his leave, leaving me alone with nothing but the attentions of a girl who,
though I knew found them pleasant, still had no choice but to give them.

I watched him walk away, watched the
beaded ornaments tied to the backs of his red sandals glinting in the
undulating beams of light.

A meeting. Of course. I knew better than
to ask him with whom or where. I also knew better than to argue, which could
result in his foul mood for days. His dealings here in Rome were what supported
us, and I knew it. I should have been thankful for the popularity of the
gladiators, and for our standing as the top school for them.

We would not stay at the top if Lucius
did not do as he did. And I knew that he felt tremendous pressure to live up to
the reputation of his ancestors, those great men who had trained giants and
champions.

But I was envious of the wives who were
doted on by their husbands, who were prized for their beauty and their grace. I
missed the ministrations of my husband, the one who had once stroked my skin
and whispered in my ear sweet words of wooing. I had not received one of those
whispers in a long while, and had been deprived of his touch for even longer.

Shaking Drusilla off, knowing that she
knew my feelings well and would not take offense, I stepped into the sparkling
pool unaided. The cool water clung rather than refreshed, sucking at me,
pulling at my skin.

Though I tried to stop them, thoughts
flooded my mind.

They were all thoughts of Marcus.

***

Sometime later,
the slight shuffle of worn leather on stone alerted me to a new presence.
Assuming that it was simply Lucius, I took my time opening my eyes, hoping, as
always, to lure him into the bath with me, if for nothing else but
entertainment’s sake.

I
was incredibly bored. I had nothing to
complain about, since my every need was cared for and my every desire granted,
but I had no purpose. Nothing with which to fill my day but leisure.

Leisure was tedious, the feeling of
uselessness unpleasant. I was also suffering the inattention of my husband, and
was beginning to wonder if perhaps I’d become dull, or unattractive. And here
was something new, something bright.

Something burning into my skin with its
embarrassed yet entranced stare.

“I beg pardon, Domina.” It took me but
the blink of an eye to place him.

How was he here, in front of me, as if
the gods had suddenly willed it so?

With a noise of distress, Drusilla moved
to cover me. I should have let her, but the gorgeous beast of a man who stood
before me threw my thoughts and wishes into turmoil. And so instead I cast a
look at Drusilla, communicating without words to leave me be. Though she pursed
her lips in disapproval—something I would not have tolerated from anyone
else—she removed the towel and stepped away.

“What are you doing here?” I made sure
my voice was sharp, though in truth I was not at all upset by the appearance of
this magnificent-looking man. Clad in nothing but his
subligaculum
,
leather briefs worn to preserve modesty, and cheap leather sandals, his muscles
were sculpted and raw from what I knew was incessant training, and his gleaming
honeyed hair was a delicious contrast to shadowy depths of the eyes that
stared.

My husband had summoned him upstairs,
eager to show off his newest prize to the visiting noble with whom Lucius was
meeting. But his visitor had fallen ill in the dreadful heat of the day,
and Lucius had chosen to escort him home, through the streets of Rome, with the
help of Justinus.

It would not do for anything amiss to
happen to the man, not when it had been known that he was in our home.

In the confusion, no one had thought to
show Marcus back down below, to secure him behind the iron gate that separated
the quarters of the gladiators from our upstairs lives.

He had wandered, or so he told me,
admiring the beautiful things that were displayed in our home: the artisan
vases, the rich, finely woven hangings of silk; the gladiatorial galley, where
the stone busts—and cocks—of our former champions stood.

This has brought him here, coming upon
me in the bath, looking curiously through the arched doorway, while Drusilla
rubbed scents into the long coils of my ebony hair.

I was inclined to believe him, since it
was a rare thing for a gladiator to wander, unaccompanied, through the halls of
our home. I knew that I should have Drusilla escort him back downstairs
immediately, back behind the iron gate—knew that that was what Lucius would
have me do. Knew from watching Drusilla shift anxiously from foot to foot that
that was what she would have me do, too.

I also knew that Lucius would have him
punished for coming upon his wife in the bath. I was also more than a little
upset that a gladiator would know the contents of my husband’s meeting while I,
his wife, did not.

Though I did not want the man punished,
still I could not say where the boldness that overtook me came from.

I had never been bold, not even as a
curious child. I had always been shy, acquiescent—qualities that my husband had
praised at our marriage.

I also knew that, despite my own
feelings, he had not come to me. He had been summoned by my husband and had
happened upon me accidentally. I had not premeditated our encounter, but I was
still the one who had initiated it.

He would not be able to refuse. A slave
could not refuse his mistress, and though their lives were different from those
of many who served, gladiators were still slaves.

And still I proceeded.

Remaining silent, I motioned Drusilla
back and dipped my head under the water to remove the residue of the scented
oils. When I surfaced, I refrained from looking across the room to where he
stood, instead turning and rising from the water.

I knew what I looked like, naked, with
droplets of irresistibly chilled water running down my curves. My mirror, an
ornately edged sheet of polished metal that had been a wedding gift from my
husband, told me that my skin was fashionably pale, nearly as translucent as
the wet, and a stark contrast to the shadows of my hip length hair. My eyes
were bright, my features even, and my body free from disfigurations brought
about by disease.

I knew that I was pleasing to most eyes,
and I exploited that now. After a long moment in which I simply stood, the bath
lapping at my ankles, the excess water running down my limbs I turned. My
nipples had peaked under what I knew was intense scrutiny, and I was not
disappointed when the gladiator again came into view.

His cock had risen, hardened, and
pressed against the leather that covered him there. If it had not, if he had
remained unaffected, I might have been able to stop then, to send him away.

But he wanted me, too, obviously so, and
so I shoved the nagging guilt away, buried it deep in my gut, and beckoned him
forward.

“Remove your subligaculum and your
sandals.” His eyes widened, just a fraction, but he moved to comply. The
leather ties around his ankles were loosened first, and then the ones at his
waist. But instead of the gratifying sight of his skin, the leather stubbornly
remained in place, a barrier between me and what I wanted.

In my life it seemed that there was
always such a barrier.

“Remove your subligaculum.” Though I
tried to school my voice into sternness, I could hear the tremor that sounded
through it. I was certain that both Drusilla and the man could, as well.

What would I do if he did not comply?

When the clothing fell with a wet
sounding slap on the ground, I drew in a breath, one filled with both relief
and desire.

I had not seen a cock besides my
husband’s for years, even though I was permitted to do so . . . so long as that
cock did not belong to a gladiator.

Though I was permitted to fuck a male
slave, any slave but one of our warriors, the only one that we had was
Justinus, my husband’s boy, and I did not care for the man at all.

As such, it had been so very long since
I had allowed arousal to whip through me. The thrill of the forbidden, added to
the chance that my husband might happen upon us, collided with desire and
drugged me. Swallowing thickly, I reached out a hand.

“Come here.”

“Domina?” He hesitated, but just for a
moment. I was, after all, just as much his mistress as my husband was his master.
Still, I could see the war between morals and desire swirling in his stare.
Guilt washed over my skin, and with it came anger.

Why should I feel guilt over taking
something that I desired,
finally
taking something that I desired? Did
my husband not do the same every day of his life?