The Roman

by Caroline Storer

  Justina felt the colour drain from her face, and it was all the other woman needed to see to deliver her final blow, “Now don't distress yourself my dear,” she said patting her shoulder in a false display of sympathy, “Enjoy him while you can, he is a superb lover, I can vouch for that. Just don't be surprised when he comes back to me. He always does. None of his other women last for long.”

  And with that, she walked past Justina, her head held high, her stride confident, the sway of her hips designed to entice any man that cared to look as she walked past.

  * * *

  “You seem to be enjoying yourself this evening, Marsallas.”

  Marsallas turned away from the table, “Claudetta,” he acknowledged by way of greeting, deliberately ignoring her comment. His only reaction to it, and the sarcastic tone that it had been delivered in, was the slight tightening of his hands that held the two goblets of wine he’d just picked up.

  “May I?” She asked, nodding at one of the goblets.

  Marsallas pursed his lips in annoyance, but said nothing as he handed one over to her.

  “Thank you, darling,” she purred, looking up at him from under her long lashes, the movement one she was well versed in, and one he’d seen played out a hundred times before.

  It was a gesture designed to maximise her allure towards men, but it was one he’d quickly grown tired of, and it now irritated him to the point of anger. He took a sip of his wine, and reigned in his temper before saying cordially, “I’m not your ‘darling’ anymore, Claudetta, I thought we had already established that.” He took a small measure of satisfaction when he saw her eyes narrow, and before she could say anything he remarked, “Besides, I saw you with Atticus earlier. I understand he’s your latest lover.”

  Claudetta made a moue with her mouth, “Are you jealous, darl- Marsallas?”

  Marsallas’s mouth twisted in derision, but he delayed in answering her by taking another sip of his wine as he took his measure of her. He knew Claudetta of old. She was definitely in one of her trouble making moods, he would bet his last sesterce on it. Finally he answered her, “No, far from it,” and he took a small amount of pleasure when he saw her eyes darken in anger as his words hit home.

  But she quickly masked her reaction, and emulating him by taking a small sip of her wine, “Umm. So I saw. You seem besotted with your little sculptress,” and before Marsallas could say anything she laughed lightly, “And I can see why. She is charming, quite the innocent-”

  “What did you say to her, Claudetta?” he bit out, not bothering to hide his anger this time. He cursed himself for being a fool for leaving Justina alone. There was no stopping someone like Claudetta when she had her claws out.

  Claudetta lifted one expertly plucked eyebrow, “Oh, you know, girl talk. This and that,” then she paused dramatically before whispering, “Your prowess as a lover and the fact that I don’t mind sharing you…”

  “Bitch,” Marsallas said through gritted teeth.

  Claudetta laughed falsely, “Always darling. Always,” and her hand reached out, as fast as a striking snake, to stroke a slim finger down his cheek, before her eyes flitted to a point behind Marsallas’s left shoulder. “Oops,” she murmured, smiling brightly, “I think we’ve just been caught.”

  Marsallas stepped back from her, and whipped his head around to see Justina standing in the doorway. Her face was ashen, her eyes wide with shock and disappointment as she watched the byplay between him and Claudetta.

  “Shit,” he hissed, as their eyes clashed across the room. Hers were the first to drop away before she turned and fled.

  * * *

  A few minutes later he found her leaning against one of the marble columns that formed part of the huge doorway to the villa. Her palla was draped over her shoulders to ward off the chill of the night air.

  “There is to be another show-” But he stopped speaking abruptly, when he saw her stiffen, and turn towards him, her eyes flashing anger at him as he approached. The cordial atmosphere that had existed between them earlier that evening had now been replaced by suspicion and mistrust on her part.

  Curse Claudetta and her interfering ways. Annoyance surged through him as he realised that Justina had obviously believed everything that Claudetta had told her without question. If she had bothered to ask him what- He cut off his wayward thoughts abruptly. What did it matter what she thought about him? She was to be his mistress, nothing more, nothing less. All he wanted from her was one night of her body, as he’d demanded. Then he would discard her, as she had discarded him-

  “I would like to leave if that is possible.”

  Her voice was pure ice as she cut him off, and Marsallas stiffened as frustration ate at him.

  “As you wish,” he said harshly, bitterness coating his tongue. “I have several races tomorrow afternoon. Diogenes will take you back to the farm tomorrow morning.” Then he beckoned to one of the slaves who stood nearby, and in a matters of seconds the huge door was opened and they stepped out into the night.

  * * *

  The journey back to the inn was undertaken in complete silence, and as soon as they arrived, Marsallas jumped out of the sedan chair and waited for her to get out, holding out his hand to help her. He saw her hesitate for a moment, undecided as to whether to take it or not, but after a moment’s deliberation she placed her hand in his.

  Again Marsallas felt a surge of annoyance flow through him when he saw her hesitation, and he bit back his anger, the only outward sign of it, a nerve that he felt pulsing in the hard set of his jaw. He led her into the hallway only stopping when he reached the bottom of the staircase that led up to her room. Justina went to pull away from him, but he tightened his grip slightly, stopping her. Her eyes flashed their annoyance up at him, but he ignored it. Then, in a deliberate movement he leaned forward, taking a small amount of pleasure when he saw the anger in her eyes give way to wariness. Good. Finally, he had managed to elicit a response out of her, and he smiled in satisfaction.

  “Just so you know all the facts Justina,” he said in a soft voice, before he made a fist with his free hand and raised a finger, “One. Don’t believe everything you see.” With a slight tug of his hand he brought her closer, watching as her eyes widened slightly at the unexpectedness of it. Then he lifted a second finger, “Two. Claudetta is a first rate bitch who would eat the likes of you for breakfast,” again another tug of his hand forced her closer, and he took a small perverse sense of satisfaction in that she was now totally at his mercy, “And three,” a third, and final finger, joined the other two, “Claudetta was my lover, but she isn’t anymore. I haven’t bedded her in over six months, and I have no intention of ever doing so again.”

  A third, and final tug, pulled her fully into the hard length of his body, and he felt her surrender to him, as the anger and mistrust finally left her eyes to be replaced with desire. Taking advantage, he bent his head and kissed her. It was a soft kiss, one designed to lull, to comfort, and it had the desired effect when he saw her eyes flutter shut. But then, deliberately, he pulled away, putting some much needed distance between her soft body and his own pulsing one. He took satisfaction in the fact that her eyes now registered disappointment.

  “Sweet dreams, Justina.” And with a mocking salute he left her standing there.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Justina watched him walk over to the small building, just as he’d done every night for the past week since he'd finally returned to the villa. Had it been a whole month since that disastrous evening at Senator Apronius's villa?

  She knew where he went; he’d shown her the bath house when she had first arrived at the villa. It was his pride and joy, a small scale version of the baths he frequented when in Rome. There were mirrors of polished bronze covering the walls and ceiling, and a pool lined with rich marble. A miniature hypocaust, a complex system of pipes, and conduits, fed the bath house with hot steam keeping everything piping hot, no matter the time of day, or the outside weather.

 
; As she sat on the window ledge, in what was becoming her nightly routine since his arrival, Justina frowned in frustration as he closed the door to the bathhouse behind him. It was as if he were playing some kind of game with her. And it had been like ever since he’d arrived back at the villa.

  His attitude was unusual to say the least. Instead of being cool, even angry with her, after he’d left her at the inn back in Rome, he had, in fact been the complete opposite. Cordial, amenable, the epitome of politeness whenever he spoke to her, or enquired about the progress of the bronze. Yes, she mused to herself, he was definitely up to something, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on, couldn’t quite fathom out what he wanted.

  What on earth was he playing at? She bit her lip in frustration, as her brain raced furiously. Then reality dawned like a bolt of lightning, and she thumped her hand on the marble window sill in vexation. Oh how could she have been so stupid? Of course! He was waiting. Waiting for her to come to him! It was going to be her choice as to whether she would honour their bargain. It was going to be her decision, to take the final step if you liked, as to whether she would make the first move and go to him for the one night he asked for.

  Relief surged through her, “Yes,” she breathed, as she stared out across the courtyard. “I will come to you, Marsallas.”

  Finally, after all these years, it was now time to bury the ghosts of their pasts. The six years of hurt, and longing between the both of them would end this night – one way or another.

  Slipping off the windowsill, Justina padded across her room, letting the moon which had appeared from behind the clouds, guide her towards the door. She was just about to open the bedroom door when she hesitated for a moment. Turning, she went over to her bed, and reached up behind her head, quickly removing the necklace she always wore, before placing it under her pillow for safe keeping.

  The necklace was precious to her, she had worn it every day since her sixteenth birthday, and it held too many memories, memories that for the time being, she didn’t want Marsallas to know about …

  Once she had made sure that the necklace was safe, she finally left her room and headed for the bathhouse, where she knew Marsallas would be waiting for her…

  * * *

  The steam hit her as soon as she opened the door; the silk of her dress clinging to her body as the heat instantly saturated the fabric. She stood in the doorway, letting her eyes adjust to the dim interior. There were only two oil lamps illuminating the bathing area, and it took Justina several seconds to see Marsallas sitting in the water, his eyes closed as he leaned his head back against a marble column. He looked relaxed, and a shiver of longing went through her. She could see a stirgyl, and a jar of oil sitting on the marble tiles next to him, and it was obvious that he had recently oiled himself, as his skin glistened in the flickering light.

  Justina took in the sight of him, his smooth muscled chest, the powerful breadth of his shoulders, the corded muscles of his neck as he leaned back-

  “Justina.”

  The words were said so softly that Justina started, and her eyes met his, seeing in an instant that he was watching her, a dark look on his face.

  “At last.” His voice was husky, as he slowly sat upright in the hot water, his eyes never leaving hers.

  Justina watched mesmerised, as water trailed over the smooth expanse of his chest, saw his nipples harden as they were exposed to cool air; and as if in response to the awakening desire she was feeling, she felt hers tighten too, pebbling under her gown into tight buds that pushed against the damp silk of her gown. She saw his eyes drop to them, as he too, became aware of her body's involuntary response to him, and for a moment she had to resist the urge to lift her arms and cover herself. But she didn't, and instead she finally answered his question, “Yes, Marsallas. At last.”

  She heard his hiss, and her heart accelerated when he stood up, revealing every inch of his gloriously naked body. She bit back a gasp, as her eyes travelled downwards, over the vast expanse of his chest, the flat ridges of muscle that bisected his stomach down to the fullness of his erection, standing proud at the juncture of his thighs. Her eyes snapped back to his face in wonder, only for her to swallow the lump of emotion in her throat, when she saw the desire in his eyes pierce her very core.

  There was no going back now, she knew that, and without conscious thought she walked towards him, stopping only when she came to the steps at the edge of the pool. Marsallas lifted a hand in invitation, and Justina smiled, walking fully clothed into the pool, taking the outstretched hand that he offered.

  She shivered with reaction as the wet warmth of his hand closed around hers, pulling her into the heat of his body; felt the friction of her gown against the hardness of the muscles of his chest, the pleasure that his touch elicited.

  As she stood next to him, waist deep in the water, he pulled her even closer into his hard body, and she was acutely aware of the fullness of his erection nestled in the warmth of her stomach. She arched into his body, his strong arms pulling her tight into his wet nakedness. Warm wet flesh met fabric, the thin silk of her gown moulding to her legs like a second skin, the abrasiveness of the material strangely erotic as it rubbed against her skin.

  Marsallas leaned down and kissed her, his hands gripping the softness of her upper arms, pinning her to his body as the heat of his lips met the coolness of hers. There was no going back – even if she wanted to. The feelings that were pulsing through her were too real, too raw, keeping her captive as if she were chained to him.

  Justina heard him growl deep in his throat, as his kiss deepened, his arms gripping hers, almost painful in their intensity, as they communicated his feeling for her. Warmth began to grow in her body, as his hands moved down her back, over the curve of her hips and waist, feather light caresses that moved upwards until they cupped her breasts, all the while never once breaking their kiss. Even through the thin fabric of her silk gown, his touch was overpowering her senses, her breasts swelling under his touch, the nipples hard and sensitive to every stroke of his fingers.

  Eventually, his hands left her breasts to stroke upwards, to the softness of her flushed cheek, pushing away a tendril of her dark hair away from her face, his fingers gentle as they moved over her skin, trailing down to the line of her jaw, her chin, the delicate skin of her neck. Justina's breath stopped in her chest, and she tried to swallow but couldn't, as she felt the gentleness of his touch.

  His kiss deepened, becoming a long, slow exploration of pleasure, nipping, teasing all the while leaving her wanting more. One hand slid down, to cup her bottom, pulling her even closer, so that their bodies met, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, breast to breast, until she felt his hips move, thrusting against the softness of her lower belly, his hardness demanding a release. Warmth surged through her, a heavy lassitude of desire that threatened to overwhelm her.

  “You're wearing too many clothes,” he whispered, breaking off the kiss his breath feather soft against her lips.

  “Yes.”

  The one word was enough, and Marsallas drew back slightly, reaching up with both hands to grasp the neck of her sodden gown. He tightened his fists in the folds, and Justina heard the sound of silk ripping, as he slowly tugged at the fabric, pulling it apart with ease, his movements so controlled that it was infinitely more sexual than if he had ripped it open with force. Slow inch, by slow agonising inch, her body was bared to him, until she stood naked in the water, his gaze taking in everything.

  He bunched up the useless gown and threw it away, hissing though his teeth as his eyes took in the beauty of her naked body, the high points of her breasts, erect and aching with desire, down over the flatness of her stomach, and the gentle swell of her hips, lower, until his gaze took in the small triangle of dark hair at the apex of her thighs. She couldn’t control her visible shudder as he took his fill of her.

  His eyes snapped back to hers. Desire. Pure unadulterated desire flamed from his eyes as she looked up at him, and then he smiled, before he
leaned forward and traced a finger down the hollow between her breasts, taking a droplet of moisture from her skin before lifting his finger to his mouth, sucking at the wetness.

  “Your turn,” he whispered.

  Emboldened by his seductive command, she leaned forward, her finger taking a droplet of water from his skin before she leaned forward and pressed soft kisses against his super-heated skin. The taste of him was so intense, so erotic, so real, that she never wanted the moment to end, and she gloried in the power she had over him as she felt his body jerk when she took his erect nipple in her mouth and bit it gently.

  His hands traced the gentle swell of her hips, encircling them, breaking her hold over him for a moment, and before she could protest, Marsallas lifted her as if she weighed nothing; until her breasts were in direct alignment with his mouth. He took one full mound into his mouth, his expert tongue sucking, biting and kissing the sensitive aureole, until she whimpered in longing.

  * * *

  Marsallas smiled against the softness of her skin, as he kissed her breast, delighting in the soft noises she was making. Placing a final kiss on the swollen nipple, he transferred his mouth to Justina’s other breast, felt her back arch in wanton pleasure as she communicated her wants, her desires, to him without words.

  After an eternity he finished his tortuous exploration of her breasts, but instead of letting her go, he lifted her higher, feeling her nails dig into the muscles of his shoulders, and this time his mouth trailed hot wet kisses over the wet skin of her abdomen, sipping at the droplets of water that flowed off her skin.

  “M … Marsallas … I.” Justina's words were incoherent, her head shaking from side to side with abandon, totally lost in the feelings his mouth was inflicting on her body.