She remembered Lydia’s exact words. ‘You must simply purchase the right mattress for you,’ her friend had advised. Suddenly Atia knew that Rab was her mattress.
She would pay him in gold coins and make it impossible for him to reject her. She would apologise for not answering his question about Plotius and assure him that she was not betrothed.
What harm could there possibly be in stealing a few moments of joy? Lydia was right, Atia had too little joy in her life and even less pleasure.
It is a powerful demon you face, she thought suddenly. And you are defeating it.
She took a deep breath, then stood and unwrapped her tunic, letting it tumble back on to the bank.
* * *
He feared it had arrived: the moment when the heat had finally begun to twist his mind. He had long dreaded this moment, though he had never imagined that it would occur on the banks of a river, or that his hallucination would involve the woman he wanted, but could not have, or that the experience of sun madness would be so very...pleasurable.
And yet there she was, standing before him in all her naked glory: beautiful, sensual, irresistible proof of his total insanity.
It was alarming how quickly the sun had worked its evil. Just seconds before, he had watched Atia rise from the stream in a state of distraction, oblivious to her exposed flesh. As soon as she had become aware of herself, she had yelped in surprise and lunged for her tunic on the opposite bank.
Rab had been equally surprised and the vision of all that dripping, curvy abundance had rendered him quite incapable of looking away. She had fumbled with her tunic for a long while, giving him plenty of time to consider what he was seeing.
Surely that was when the sun had gone to work. A thousand forbidden yearnings had swirled inside his head as he stared at the place where she had emerged. But the primary yearning had been this: he wanted to see her again.
Now it seemed he had got his wish, for she had abandoned her tunic and stepped back into the river, her dripping wet undergarments practically inviting him to take a closer look.
And that he most certainly did, for there was no more thinking now. There was only her tight, wet breast wrap that did nothing to conceal her shapely breasts. There were only the shadows of her nipples, which shone through the fabric of the garment like ripe berries. There was only her loincloth, which clung to her delicious curves, wrapping around her legs and then plunging between them to where the dark shadow of her womanhood lay.
He swallowed hard.
This is not really happening, he told himself, though his desire seemed to disagree. He could feel it rising beneath his loincloth at an alarming rate.
There were other sensations, too: the water she had splashed on him still dripping down his face, the fabric of his drenched robe clinging to his chest, the hot breeze tickling his skin.
Would he be feeling such things if he had truly lost his wits? Perhaps it was not he who had gone mad, but she.
He watched her eyes, searching for signs of sun madness. In truth, they had seemed clearer and more lucid for many days now. Her heavy lids had disappeared, replaced by a curious, wide-eyed watchfulness that Rab had found wildly seductive.
Now that gaze was slowly setting his insides aflame. Perhaps this was not Atia at all. Perhaps this was some splendid goddess who had simply taken Atia’s earthly form and was paying him a visit.
She certainly looked like a goddess. So many lovely dips and curves, so much soft, beckoning flesh. To see her march was to believe her made of iron, yet beneath her loose robes was this...garden of loveliness.
Her fingers tickled the surface of the water in slow, seductive circles. Her vivid dark eyes watched him closely, but without the doubt that usually veiled them. It seemed impossible that this was the same bristling, brooding, scolding woman who had eschewed his advances not once, but twice.
‘Stop gaping,’ she chided.
Well, maybe not totally impossible.
‘I’m not gaping,’ he replied.
I am throbbing and sweating and lusting, but definitely not gaping.
She took several more steps. She was halfway across the stream now—close enough for him to see the rise and fall of her stomach with her breaths.
It might have been pure wickedness that inspired her to do what she did next. She reached behind her with her long, delicate arms and undid the knot of her breast wrap. Pulling the length of cloth carefully over her head, she unwrapped herself for Rab.
He felt as if he might fall to his knees right there on the riverbank. Two gorgeous breasts appeared before him like precious prizes that he had somehow won. He had not seen a woman’s breasts in many, many years and he had forgotten how deliciously arousing was the sight of them.
He wanted to consume them whole.
‘You are definitely gaping,’ she said, but her voice was as soft as feathers and she was smiling shyly, as if it pleased her that he stared.
‘Yes, I suppose I am,’ he admitted.
Who was this new Atia? This bolder, stronger, happier woman whose eyes glowed with such a strange new light?
‘Rab, I am not betrothed,’ she said. ‘If I were, I would have been told. Plotius is injured and can do us no harm and the other soldiers are far from this place. There is no danger.’
Rab nodded, feeling that he would have gladly faced any number of dangers if it meant he could continue gazing at her while the sun painted her luscious belly with its honey light.
‘Do you want me, Rab?’ she asked.
The answer to such a question seemed to demand formality. ‘In the name of Dushara, God of the Sun, and Uzza, Goddess of Water, and all the gods that ever were or ever will be, yes, Atia. I want you.’
She flashed a playful grin. ‘Then why not come join me?’
He smiled back. Why ever not? It was a brilliant idea. Genius, really. She was always coming up with such clever, good ideas. Yes, just there in the middle of the stream. What better place to do what he had been wanting to do since the day his body had first tumbled against hers?
He pulled off his ghutrah, then his robe, and cast both aside. He did not need to look at himself to know the picture of raw lust he presented. He could see it reflected in her eyes, which slid down his stomach and then grew wide with alarm. He needed to close the distance between them lest he scare her away.
He bounded through the stream, lunging and splashing awkwardly.
When he arrived before her she had disintegrated into laughter. ‘You have the grace of Egypt’s finest river cow.’
‘Yet on land I am like a gazelle,’ he said with a smirk.
‘That you are—or perhaps more accurately a goat,’ she chided. She laughed—the most delicious, sensuous laugh he had ever heard. He splashed her again, getting water all over her face. It lodged in her eyelashes and dripped down on to her flushed cheeks. It gathered in beads on her chin and in that sensuous divot just above her lip.
And in that moment she was no longer Roman. She was like Aphrodite’s own nymph standing there, anxiously awaiting her pleasure.
And, by the gods, he was going to give it to her.
He slid his hand beneath her hair and gripped the back of her neck. Slowly, he bent and sucked the water from her cheeks, her chin, even her lashes. Finally, he bent to her lips and kissed her.
* * *
Time seemed to collapse and a tiny explosion took place inside her heart. She had been yearning for this for so long, wondering if kissing him would be everything she had hoped. It was not everything she had hoped. It was more. Stars and planets. Sweetness and light. A revelation sent by the gods.
His lips.
His beautiful, magical, mystical lips.
So soft, so maddeningly gentle. She was learning their texture, their shape, their secrets. They seemed to have so much to say. Tender, hungry messages accompanied by hot,
sweet breath and the scent of musk.
His mouth. So wide and strong. It kissed with slow reverence, as if it were enacting a kind of prayer.
She kissed him back as best she could, hoping her eagerness would make up for what she lacked in skill. None of her husbands had ever kissed her this way and she hardly knew what to do.
She might have been ashamed. Here she was, a fumbling Roman matron offering herself to a man in the middle of a stream. A woman so lonely and desperate that she had decided to compensate him for this pleasure.
Strangely, however, she could not feel any shame. In place of the judgement of Juno, she felt only felt the warmth of the sun. In place of self-doubt, she knew only the soft trickle of the river over the pebbles along the shore. And it was as if her heart was dancing to that music.
‘I will make this worth it for you,’ she whispered into his mouth. In exchange for his attention, she would pay him a small fortune. For though she was not attractive, she was rich and she would make it so that he never regretted giving her pleasure. ‘I will do right by you,’ she added. Her words seemed only to fuel him for his lips pressed harder against hers and she knew that he had accepted her offer.
His grip on her neck grew firmer. He paused, breathed her in, then swept his tongue softly through her mouth, barely touching it. He seemed to be holding himself back. It was as if his desire for her was made of clay and he was trying to fashion it into a shape she could understand.
Oh, she could understand.
A strange heat had invaded the deepest part of her. A curious, pleasurable heat that made her feel at once blissful and hungry for more of him.
‘What is this thing you do with your tongue?’ she asked.
He paused, a delicious smile traversing his face. ‘You mean this?’ He coaxed her mouth open once again, then moved his tongue across it with such maddening gentleness that she nearly lost her footing.
She sighed into his mouth. ‘Yes, that.’
She wanted more of that. And a bit more of his naked chest. And perhaps a sprinkling of neck kisses, as she had heard from Lydia they were quite delightful. She wanted other things, too, though she did not know exactly what those other things were. She only knew that they existed and that perhaps they could be hers.
He nuzzled her ear, then planted a hot, breathy kiss on it. Her hairs stood up like an army of soldiers. Oh, yes, she would pay whatever it cost.
‘Atia, you are so very sweet.’ He placed his hand upon her back and pulled her closer. The flowing water rushed around their legs.
‘Rab, you are so very—’ Her breasts crushed against his chest and she felt the whole of his desire press against her stomach. ‘So...very...’
Blessed Minerva. He was so very...very.
If she had any remaining doubts about the authenticity of his desire, they were utterly vanquished by the pillar of flesh that now stretched between them.
‘Atia, you feel so good,’ he said. ‘You taste—’ he pulled her lip into his mouth and sucked it ‘—so good.’
His words seemed genuine and she had to remind herself that he would surely be saying the same such words to any other woman in her position. She was the only available woman within a hundred miles, after all. There was nothing special about her—except that she happened to be here.
And that she was willing to pay.
It was a strangely liberating notion. It allowed her the boldness to rock her hips against him and feel her desire begin to flow. It gave her the audacity to wrap her arms around his chest and wonder at the solidity of him.
But it was more than just wonder. As she pressed her body against his, it was as if some darkness within her disappeared, and peace spread through her limbs.
She yearned to lay her head upon his chest, but she sensed that if she did, that same blessed peace would radiate into her heart and she would never wish to leave him.
So she resolved never to rest her head on his chest.
She tipped her head backwards, exposing her neck. He pounced on the invitation. Neck kisses! The smouldering embers deep in her belly flickered to life. Lydia had been wrong in her assessment of them, for they were better than delightful. They were utterly sublime.
And they seemed to be rearranging her wits, for suddenly she wished nothing but to surrender herself to him.
The sentiment gave her a shock. It seemed impossible that she should wish such a thing. She had been surrendering dutifully to her husbands for many years. The only thing she had ever wished was for the odious task to end.
She did not want this to end—not ever. Nor did the surrender she wished for now have anything to do with duty. A kind of knot had tied itself up inside her and she sensed that only he could unravel it.
His kisses became slower. His tongue made soft circles behind her ear. Hot needles of lust tore down her body, so sweet they hurt. This was virgin territory, and she felt rather lost. She had no map for how she was feeling, no guiding principles and, holy Mars incarnate, what was he doing to her neck now?
By the gods, he was sucking it.
And causing the embers in her belly to burst into flame. Her head arched backwards and he caught it in his hand, cradling it. He arched over her and gave her the longest, deepest, most passionate kiss she had ever known.
‘I want you so badly,’ he breathed into her mouth. The words filled her up, made her dizzy. This was new territory indeed, for no one had ever claimed to want her in such a way. And it seemed he did want her, for he was moving himself over the bump of her loincloth and its folds were slowly giving way.
Good, let them give way, she thought. She stood on her toes and salted his neck with kisses, then found a place just below his ear and tried her skill at sucking. She must have done something right, for his grip on her waist tightened and she felt his body quake with lust.
Now it was his turn to groan—a groan that was deeper, more consequential and much more dangerous than her own had been.
‘Atia...’ he breathed. He pushed his fingers through her hair and thrust himself against her. She could feel the fullness of his desire, like a question pulsing between them, demanding an answer.
‘Yes.’ The answer was yes. ‘I want you, Rab. In every way. Just—please be careful,’ she said. ‘I must not get with child.’
‘I will take care. But, Atia, are you sure?’
‘I have never been more sure of anything in all my life.’
To prove her certainty, she threw off her loincloth, turned around and dropped to her hands and knees in the middle of the stream. ‘Go ahead, Rab,’ she said, crouching on all fours. ‘Do it.’
At first he thought she had tripped and fallen. He moved to help her up, but she made no effort to rise. Instead she dug her limbs more deeply in the stream bed and repeated the command, ‘Do it.’
He stepped backwards in alarm. Was she expecting him to mount her? Great Goddess, no. Why was she doing this? She was offering herself to him in the basest, most impersonal way, and before he had even had the opportunity to pleasure her properly.
He felt confused, insulted. Was she so repulsed by him that she did not wish to see his face as they joined? Or was she already so tired of his lovemaking that she wanted to just turn around and have done with it?
None of those things made sense. She had desired him as ardently as he desired her. Moments ago she had told him so.
Though she need not have said a word. He had sensed it in her trembling movements and soft sighs, had felt it in the way she kissed him—as if a bottle full of yearning had suddenly come uncorked within her.
No, this was not an insult. This was something else.
‘Atia, please, get up.’ He bent and offered her his arm.
‘Why should I get up? Did you not say you desired me?’
‘Yes, but not like this. Please, Atia.’
He helped her to h
er feet. The colour was leaving her cheeks. ‘Why do you do this?’ she asked. ‘Why do you truncate our passion?’ He might have asked her the same. ‘Am I not appealing to you?’ she continued. She pulled her arm from his grasp, wrapped it around herself. ‘It is my nose, is it not? You find it repulsive? But I turned away from you. Is that not enough? Is not the back of me appealing, at least?’ There were tears gathering in her eyes.
‘All of you is appealing, Atia.’ He could see that she did not believe him. She took a step backwards. The bold, confident woman was in retreat. Her body itself seemed to be shrinking.
‘It is all right, you know. I understand your aversion.’ She was turning to walk away.
‘Stop, Atia!’ he burst out. He caught her by the waist. ‘Please, do not go.’ He took a breath. He needed to take care with his words, lest she misunderstand his confusion for derision. ‘I simply do not understand why you would drop to your knees in such a way.’
She turned to face him. ‘What do you mean, in such a way? Is it not the preferred way for a man?’
He closed his eyes and let the implications of her statement hit him. It was as he suspected, then. The woman had never known any other position. ‘Have you ever been married Atia?’
‘Of course I have—three times.’
Three times? She had had three husbands and not one of them had had the desire or even the decency to show her the possibilities of pleasure?
‘Oh, Atia...’
‘If you do not desire me, then just say so,’ she said. ‘I do far too much pretending in my life to pretend in this.’
She had misunderstood him anyway, it seemed. Her lips had tightened into a bloodless frown, and her eyes were acquiring their veil of scorn. She was retreating from him with every second. He was losing her. No, no, no.
He stepped towards her. ‘I desire you, Atia. More than you know. There is nothing I wish for more on this earth than to give you pleasure.’
Seduced by Her Rebel Warrior Page 11
