“There’s no need to fear,” Maximus whispered against her ear. “All the slaves are from Rome. Your secret remains safe in this house.”
She heard the edge of mockery in his voice but decided to ignore it. “I trust you’re right.” Because if word escaped that she was a willing guest in the home of the Commander of the Legion, the repercussions would be horrific.
“I’m always right.” His breath tickled her ear as he ushered her through the door.
She stumbled over her feet and stared at the vision, speechless with awe. Her tutor had told her of such luxuries, but secretly she always assumed he exaggerated. But he hadn’t. A room, so large she could scarcely comprehend, spread before her with countless lamps flickering and smooth columns soaring to the ceiling.
And taking up a vast expanse of the multicolored, tiny-tiled floor, was a sunken, water-filled lake.
* * *
Maximus eased her farther into the bathhouse and shot her a glance. The look of disbelief on her face was priceless.
“Nothing to say?” He hid his amusement, immensely satisfied his surprise appeared to enthrall her.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before.” Her voice was hushed, as if she spoke in the presence of the gods.
He cast a cursory glance at the bath, and tried to see it through her eyes. “You should see the public baths in Rome. Now, they are truly magnificent.”
“This is magnificent.” She shot him a scandalized look. “And it grieves me greatly to admit that.”
He grinned and unwound the linen from her shoulders before handing it to one of the attending female slaves. “This is but a small private bath. Barely large enough to satisfy the Legatus’s family.” Its construction had been a priority for the comfort of the Commander’s wife and daughters, but its minuscule scale and lack of marble was, he knew, an irritant to the patrician ladies. “But more than adequate for our needs tonight.”
She angled her head and appeared to be studying the mosaics adorning the floor. “It’s very pretty.” She sounded as if the confession pained her.
He gripped her shoulders and pulled her toward him. “Don’t analyze it, Carys. Just enjoy it. Tonight, this is for us.”
“Oh.” She raised her eyebrows in mock astonishment. “Do you mean to ravish me, Roman?”
“Only if you behave yourself.”
“Alas. I never behave myself. I thought you knew that by now.”
He laughed. Much as he enjoyed fucking Carys, he enjoyed her conversation almost as well.
Except when she contradicted him. Naturally.
He untied her bodice, never breaking eye contact. Gods, her eyes bewitched him. They would bewitch any man.
But no man would dare touch her. Not now.
Without turning from her, he spoke to the slaves. “Leave us.” He had no need of slaves tonight. Not when he wanted to administer to Carys’ every need himself.
Chapter 22
He pulled back from her welcoming body, but long enough only to tear the constricting clothes from his own. He watched her rake her gaze over his chest, before fixing it upon his groin.
He stifled a groan and clasped her outstretched hand before she managed to rip all control from him. “Later.” The word rasped against his throat. “First, we bathe.”
“We could bathe afterward.”
“For once,” he said, as he led her to the steps descending into the bath, “obey your master without question.”
The teasing smile on her face vaporized as her toe hit the water. “It’s hot.” She sounded aghast, as if she’d never before experienced such a thing.
He knew she hadn’t. And yet her Latin was so perfect, her beauty so refined, it was hard to remember she was a primitive Celt and not a Roman noblewoman.
“You’ll enjoy it.” He took her free hand and urged her toward him. Gingerly she took another step, and the water lapped over her ankles.
“I’m enjoying it already.” She continued toward him, and, as the water enclosed her, her face radiated sublime pleasure. “I’ve never copulated in water before. Have you?”
The curve of her succulent rear filled his hands, although he had no recollection of sliding his arms around her.
“Not recently.” Not since he’d been thoroughly seduced in his family’s bathhouse at the age of fourteen by a beautiful slave girl of his mother’s.
“Oh.” A frown flicked over her features as if the thought displeased her. He squeezed her tempting globes, simultaneously forcing her pussy to rub against his rigid shaft. Her frown vanished. “Then at least I know such a feat is possible.”
“It’s possible.”
“I want to make love with you in every possible way.”
A heat, which had nothing to do with the steaming bath, pulsed through his blood, stiffening his engorged cock to an impossible degree.
“That can be arranged.” He cradled her bottom, caressed her smooth, wet skin, and attempted to recall what he wanted to do with Carys.
Her fingers stroked his neck and speared through his hair, and her stiff nipples rubbed and jerked against his chest with every tantalizing move she made. And then her lips found his, so sweet and right, and her tongue demanded his surrender and he acquiesced to her invasion as she probed, explored and sought to conquer.
He thrust back, sliding along the length of her tongue and penetrated her mouth. Her moan vibrated through his brain, and his hands roamed over her back and shoulders, before once again gripping her delectable bottom.
Her fingers dug into his scalp, an erotic agony, and then she powered into him, knocking him off balance, sending his arse sliding onto the step of the bath.
Winded, he attempted to regain his footing and his dignity but Carys’ hold around his head tightened, and with a hop she wrapped her legs around his hips, bracing her feet against the step.
Gods, she was seducing him. Sharp arrows of fire ignited his groin, hardened his balls, and a primitive growl seared his throat as her hot slit teased his engorged head.
“Is this good for you?” Her panted question made no sense. He grunted in response, jerking his hips in an effort to slide into her welcoming heat.
Her thigh muscles flexed, and she evaded his tactical maneuver.
“Do you like the feel of me on you?” she persisted, and he stared at her through a haze of red-tinged lust, incomprehension pounding with every thud of his heart.
“Yes,” he snarled, since she clearly required an answer. “Do you like the feel of me?” He neither expected nor required a response. All he needed glittered in her passion-filled eyes.
“I love the feel of you.” As added torture, she ground her hips, sweeping her pussy across his straining shaft. “Your cock fills me, in a way I had never before imagined.”
He gripped her bottom, a warning that he was on the edge. “Then let me fill you again, Carys, to remind you how much you need my cock inside you.”
With a ragged gasp she plunged onto his shaft, so sudden, so exquisite, his sanity shattered.
“So big.” Her hands slid down his neck, and her fingernails gouged his flesh. “All I can feel is you.”
And all he could feel was her tight channel clasping him, sucking him into a haven of pure sensation.
Her thighs flexed as she raised her hips, bracing her weight against the step upon which he sat, fucking him as if she were a water nymph and he her captured mortal.
He leaned back against the side of the bath, soaking in the sight of her straddling him, her hands on his shoulders, her breasts tantalizingly close to his mouth as she plunged along the length of his shaft.
“Tiberius,” she panted, as she sank onto him, taking his entire length into her body. An involuntary groan shuddered along his throat.
“Valerius.” She retreated, until only the tip of his throbbing head remained clasped inside her wet cleft.
“Maximus.” She thrust down violently and flung back her head, lips parted, eyelids fluttering, as her glorious pussy c
lenched around him in endless waves of infinite delirium.
He gripped her hips and plowed into her, his cock pulsating with primeval intent. Rome receded, the Empire crumbled, but none of it mattered because all that mattered was that Carys was here, safe with him, and fucking him as he had never been fucked before.
His frenzied thrusts claimed her, branded her, and finally filled her with his scorching seed. One hand tangled in her hair, grasped her head and forced her to him so he could taste her lips, savor her tongue and devour her sweet cries of passion.
Eternity shimmered in the heated air, nebulous and fragile. The lingering scent of lust filtered into his sated limbs and cocooned his drifting mind.
Carys.
Chapter 23
Arms wrapped around her, he held her securely against his body, her soft breasts crushed against his chest, her heartbeat thundering in tandem with his own.
She belonged to him, and nothing but the gods could take her from him.
Carys lifted her head from his shoulder. “How did I compare?” Her voice was breathless, her eyes still glazed.
He brushed her wet hair from her face. When he regained his strength, he would unbraid her hair and allow it to float free in the water. “Compare?” The word was idle. He had no idea what she was talking about, and didn’t much care.
“With the other times you’ve made love in water.”
A satisfied smile curved his lips. “Favorably.” In truth, there was no comparison, but he had no intention of confessing that to her.
“Only favorably?”
He sighed indulgently. “You don’t need me to tell you how good you are.” And then his indulgence evaporated as comprehension surfaced. “Your technique was such that I find it hard to believe this was your first time in a bath.”
Instead of rushing to reassure him of the fact, a slow smile lit her face and caused her eyes to sparkle. A scowl crawled across his features at her unwarranted response.
“I’m gratified you thought so.”
Gratified? “That was not intended as a compliment.”
She settled herself more comfortably against his groin, which was becoming more uncomfortable by the moment. “It was a compliment, for which I thank you.”
He held her bottom in a punishing grip. Something that had plagued him since the previous night gnawed at the forefront of his mind, demanding to be satisfied no matter how much the answer would grate.
“How many men have you fucked?”
Her smug smile wavered as if she hadn’t expected that. “I could ask you the same question.”
He bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “I don’t fuck men.”
With reluctant fascination he watched a rosy blush spread across her cheeks, as if his question truly bothered her.
And again he had to remind himself she wasn’t a Roman noblewoman. Her culture was different from his, and a wellborn Celtic woman wasn’t condemned for taking lovers before she married.
“You know what I mean.” Her voice was haughty.
He wrapped his arms around her waist. “It doesn’t matter how many women I’ve had.”
“Then it doesn’t matter how many men I’ve had.”
He was not a Celtic barbarian. And he wanted—no, he demanded to know how many men had fucked his woman.
“Carys.” The word was a warning, low and dangerous.
She raised her chin defiantly. “Why do you wish to know?”
He didn’t want to analyze why he wanted to know. What did he expect to do with the information once in his possession? Hunt the men down and gut them?
He’d taken women from many cultures in the past, and never before had he cared about their previous lovers. So why did the thought of Carys being with another man affect him so profoundly?
It didn’t make sense. And yet he couldn’t let it go.
“You’re my mistress. It’s my right to know.”
“I didn’t ask to be your mistress.” With a suddenness that took him by surprise, she pushed at the step with both feet, severing bodily contact. “And you have no rights over me whatsoever.”
Before she could flounce away he caught her by her arms, swung her around and pinned her into the corner of the bath. Irrational anger warred in his brain. Why did Carys resist his offer? And why did her refusal irk him so?
He stared into her defiant eyes, and a shiver inched over his skin as he recalled the lifeless expression she had harbored earlier that day.
And remembered the Celtic barbarian looming over her prone body, ready to ravish her while she hovered on the brink of unconsciousness. The barbarian who would pay with his lifeblood when Maximus discovered his heathen lair.
A memory stirred and soothed his wounded pride. “Why haven’t you enjoyed a lover for the last three years?” It was inconceivable to him that, in her morally relaxed culture, she had chosen to remain celibate.
He didn’t think she was going to answer. He ran his fingers along her arms, and noted with satisfaction how her nipples visibly hardened.
She let out an exasperated breath. “I don’t owe you an explanation.” Her eyes narrowed in clear provocation. He decided to ignore her challenge, and continued to caress her arms, up and down, a soothing gesture, and eventually her glare faded.
“No man pleased me.” Her voice was lofty, but he caught the furtive glance she shot his way before she stuck her nose in the air and looked over his shoulder.
His fingers paused against her wet skin and his brain took over from his ego as something occurred to him.
“Perhaps your lovers were boys, not men.” Why that should appease him he didn’t know, but somehow the thought of Carys fucking boys her own age, rather than older, experienced men, didn’t tie his guts into seething knots.
She made a sound of disgust. “He was certainly a man.”
Something in her manner alerted his senses. “He?” He strove to make his voice casual, so she would elaborate further and not decide to be stubborn yet again.
There was a heartbeat of silence as Carys stared at him. The tip of her tongue moistened her lips. “They.” Her voice was husky. “I meant they were men. Not boys.”
She was lying. The certainty was as clear in his mind as if Carys had told him so herself.
But why would she lie to him about the number of men she’d had?
“Did your . . .” He hesitated for a brief moment. He had almost said Did your father, but he didn’t want to drag up her father now, not when he knew his Legion was responsible for the man’s death. “. . . parents give you to this man when you were a young girl?”
The thought shouldn’t rile him, and yet his blood boiled at the image. In Rome, among his patrician class, arranged marriages were commonplace. Young girls were often married to older men, and until this moment he’d never given the girl in question a second thought.
But then, the girl in question had never been Carys.
Her brow creased, as if his question mystified her. “Of course not. How could my mother give me to anyone? I’m her daughter, not her slave.”
“So you went willingly with this man.”
“Of course I did.” She sounded surprised, as if she couldn’t imagine there being another logical response. “All my kin were in favor of the union, despite the differences between our lineage.”
Now he understood. “So he used his superior status to leave you no choice.” Bastard.
Carys gave him a strange look. “I could have denied him, and no one would have forced me to go with him.” She stroked her fingers along his chest, almost as if she was unaware of her action. “He was older than me, and powerful. Very powerful.” For one unnerving moment her eyes lost focus, as if this man’s power still retained a hold over her.
Twisted rage coiled his belly. “So you fucked him for his power.”
Carys didn’t spit in his eye, or knee him in the balls. Incredibly, a smile curved her lips. “I didn’t need his power.”
He pressed her against
the side of the bath, his cock hard and hot and throbbing as it scorched her tempting belly. “Then why did you fuck him when you didn’t want him?”
Her smile wavered. “Why do you think I didn’t want him?”
He raked his gaze over her flushed face. “You don’t speak of him as a woman would speak of her first lover whom she had desired above all others.”
Or was he mistaken? Did he want Carys to admit she had felt nothing for this man, simply to appease his ego?
Mars take him, since when had his fucking ego been so fragile?
Her smile disappeared entirely and a haunted expression flared in her eyes for one heart-stopping moment.
“I didn’t desire him.” The words tumbled from her lips as if she had never spoken them before, and she shot him a defiant look. “But he fascinated me. And for two years he had watched me constantly, telling me how we were meant to be together.” She sighed heavily. “By the time I was ready to offer myself to the goddess, he was the only man willing. All others had been warned off by him.”
He slid his hands from her shoulders and threaded his fingers between hers, beneath the hot water. His simmering rage against her family, against this faceless man who had abused his position of power to force his attentions on her, struggled against restraint.
“How long were you with him?”
“Three years.”
Three years? Shock ripped along his spine at the implications.
“You were betrothed to him.” It was a statement of fact.
She blinked in obvious surprise. “No, certainly not.”
Rage of another sort seared his chest. “He didn’t offer for you?” How dare he use Carys for three years without also legalizing the union?
She raised her eyebrows. “Offer for me?” she echoed. “He wanted to tie the knot, if that’s what you mean. He was obsessed by becoming my husband.”
The rage stumbled and confusion rocked through him. “You refused him?” How could she have refused? How had her father allowed her to refuse?
The Druid Chronicles: Four Book Collection Page 19
