My Wicked Gladiators

by Hawkeye, Lauren

  “I would be very grateful if you were to not tell Lucius . . . Dominus . . . about this.” He looked at the sandals on his feet as he spoke, his jaw set. I noted absently that the foot coverings looked to be new.

  I was not sure what I had been expecting him to say, but this was not it.

  “Why?” My words were sharp as a sword, and I did not care to soften them.

  His head snapped up, and he looked me straight in the eye, a trace of a challenge swirling through the pale storm-sky depths.

  “I simply would rather he not know.” Gone was the humility he had shown the moment before, in its place a thick layer of arrogance.

  I cocked my head to the side. I was not intimidated by him, though I think that was how he meant to make me feel. It would be a calculated move, for Justinus did nothing unless it bettered his position in life, and since I had not been born a slave as he had, I supposed that I had no right to judge. Instead of playing into his hands, however, the curiosity that I had felt for so long, the wondering of why he felt permitted to act as he did, finally boiled over.

  “And what makes you think that I would keep something from my husband?”

  He smiled then, and the transformation from panicked hothead to his normal, calculating self was complete. No longer was he caught in the moment; he knew what he was about to say, and why he was saying it.

  “Perhaps because I know that you did not tell him that you visited the gladiators’ quarters the other night.”

  My breath caught in my throat, though I schooled my face to remain expressionless. He had seen me, then. Or had he? Was he attempting to call my bluff? To see if I would admit it? I would have to tread carefully here, because I was no longer entirely certain that Lucius held me in as high esteem as he did this man.

  “And if I agreed to keep your . . . intimacy . . . with Marina to myself? What then?” I would admit nothing, would speak only hypothetically.

  “Then I will keep your visit below to myself, as well.” He smiled again, certain that he had won.

  I did not like the feeling that he had gotten one up on me, and in any household that did not contain such a conniving person, I would not be made to feel that way at all, ever. I could not be certain that he had seen me ascending those stairs from below, while I had absolutely seen him with Marina.

  “Then I will also require you make yourself absent from the . . . the times that I am to be mated.” Again I held my breath, wondering what my secrecy was worth to him, wondering if I had pushed him too far.

  What I wanted more than anything was to question him about the books, the suspicious entries in the ledger, but I could not be certain that he would know anything, and as such it was not worth risking the possibility that he might tell my husband that I had been in them.

  Looking as if he had swallowed something particularly unpleasant, he considered before finally nodding, slowly.

  “Fine. If I am able.” Oh, no. I was not going to let him weasel out of this condition, not when I finally had leverage over him.

  “You will make yourself able.” Adrenaline was starting to course through my veins. I had never been one for confrontation, but this, confronting someone I truly despised, was strangely exhilarating. I was fairly certain that my secret would be safe, so long as his was, as well.

  Justinus looked pained. “Alba . . . apologies, Domina . . . I cannot promise to make myself absent when your husband is at home. If he is away, I will fulfill your request, but otherwise . . .” He let his voice trail away, waving his hand in a dismissive motion, as if his attention had already moved on.

  “You will convince him.” Again, the man did not look happy, for the gamble to improve his position yet more had not paid off. As he weighed the odds I became certain that he had not seen me ascending the stairs—he merely suspected that I had paid an illicit visit below. For when weighing my certain knowledge of his clandestine activities against his possible knowledge of my secret, he seemed to finally understand that he must do as I wished.

  I could see his thoughts playing over his face—an opportunity lost. What would it be like, I wondered, to live with the constant need to thrive, not just survive? Had Justinus been born a patrician, I had no doubt that he would have made a fine addition to Roman politics. Perhaps he knew that, as well. Perhaps the frustration over his social standing was what drove him to act as he did.

  As for this matter? I assumed that Justinus’ concern was because he had fucked the slave girl that my husband liked to do the same to. Lucius would not take kindly to sharing with a slave, even Justinus.

  “Very well.” He nodded sharply, then turned on his heel to walk away, possibly to follow Marina and finish what I had interrupted. After he had gone down half of the hallway, I remembered something and called after him.

  He spun around, clearly annoyed, with a questioning eyebrow raised.

  “Do feel better, Justinus.” My voice was as sweet as the honeyed wine that I intended to imbibe while relaxing in the bath that should have been ready right at that moment. “I know you must have been very ill indeed to need to lie abed this evening.”

  The man blanched, then moved as quickly as he seemed able into the nearest room, which belonged to no one, simply to be away from me, I thought. I could not help but laugh to myself as I made my way out of the slaves’ quarters and toward the room where the large marble bath lay. It was not often that I obtained a victory such as this, and it made me very happy, indeed.

  As luck—my luck—would have it, Lucius was indeed away on the evening of my next mating. I had not taken in the details of his whereabouts, knew only that it was some sort of meeting with another of the city’s ludus owners.

  I was too excited. Apprehensive. Resentful. Aroused.

  Instead of consuming pitcher after pitcher of wine as I had while preparing for this moment during my last cycle, I sat as Drusilla brushed through my hair, sat with muscles tensed, bursting and overly full of emotions.

  “Are you quite all right?” Drusilla knew me better, perhaps, than anyone. I had never been able to hide anything from her.

  “I am.” I longed to confide in her, and I knew that she would keep my darkest secrets entirely to herself. Somehow the words would not pass my lips. I was not even sure that there were words to describe how I was feeling.

  I was still angry at Lucius for forcing this upon me again. I felt pity for the warrior man who had no choice in the matter . . . and I also felt lust for him, lust matched in intensity only by what I felt for Marcus.

  I was excited, anticipatory. I was also nervous.

  What if the magic had gone?

  Oh gods, what if it was not even the same man this time?

  My stomach clenched at the thought, which had not before occurred to me. My body jerked in response to the sensations, and Drusilla accidentally tugged at my hair.

  “Apologies.” She muttered curses that turned the air blue as she smoothed out the tangles of my hair. I pulled away, intending to tell her that I was ready.

  Justinus pushed aside the curtain to my room before I could speak. I nearly scolded him for entering without knocking, but I had no desire to irritate him before the evening’s events, for fear he would renege on our bargain.

  I would have my time with my gladiator, have my time alone. Oh, if only he was the same man.

  “It is time. I want this to end long before Lucius is due home.” Gesturing grumpily, he again disappeared, expecting us to follow.

  Drusilla looked stunned at the audacity of his words. “Domina? What is this?”

  I wished she would call me Alba. “Domina” was a reminder that I was the mistress of the man I was about to bed.

  I shook my head at her. I did not want to take the time to explain. Instead I followed Justinus, who stalked across the great hall as if he owned the place. Drusilla made to follow me in turn, but I again shook my he
ad.

  “I am fine.” I smiled, attempting to make the expression reassuring. “I have no fear, this time. Go. I will summon you afterward, when I need you.” She still seemed unsure, uneasy to not have a chore during this important event. Seeing that she would not enjoy time to herself, not now, I thought of something that she could do that would be truly beneficial.

  “Drusilla . . . see to it that Justinus stays away from the chamber.” I would not put it past the little imp to go back on his word.

  She smiled with genuine amusement. “As you wish.”

  My slave girl did not like the man any more than I did.

  And so, alone, I followed Justinus. He stopped in front of the heavy velvet curtain that belonged on our balcony, pulling it aside for me.

  “Thank you.” I, at least, would be polite. To a point. “Now leave.”

  The look that he cast me was anything but complimentary, but he did go. It would not benefit him to go back on his word. I heaved a sigh of relief as he retreated, to fetch the gladiator, I assumed.

  I had a few more moments in which to compose myself, countered by a few more minutes in which to fret that perhaps my gladiator would not be the same one as last time. That I would be prostituted out to someone new, made to share my body with another man.

  I could barely stomach the idea, and as such looked ill, or at least I suspected that I did, when I pushed through the heavy velvet curtain and entered the chamber.

  Perhaps I would indulge in just one cup of wine, after all.

  When I was free of the heavy cloth, I looked around the room, and stopped, stunned, when I saw that my gladiator was already in the room, standing defiant, fists clenched, in a dim corner.

  Suddenly unsure of myself, I ran a hand up to smooth my hair, then down to fidget with my tunic. I did not like this, did not like having no time to become settled before the man made his appearance. I was certain that Justinus had suspected this, had known that I would need time to compose myself, and that was why he had done it.

  I had made him promise that he would not “guard” the curtain, but he would have his little victory.

  “Domina.” The man stepped forward, and as the palest glow of light from the candles washed over him I saw that he was indeed the same man as before—the same rusty yellow hair, the same hard build. He was already naked, but for the mask of Mars, the god’s fierce features, cast in glossy white, cast overtop those of the flesh-and-blood man. I swept my stare over him from top to bottom. It reaffirmed what I had been suspecting, though I would not know for certain unless I asked him to remove his mask.

  Still, I thought, very much thought, that it was Caius.

  “I . . .” I did not know what to say. My thoughts flashed to Marcus, then to the image of Marcus and Caius in the baths.

  Heat suffused me from the inside out, a molten core liquefying. Still, I did not know how to handle this situation, how to work through the awkwardness that I felt.

  This time, I could not rely upon disgust and anger to carry me through. This time, though I did indeed feel both of those emotions, they were tempered by lust and confusion.

  Silently, with his eyes upon my own, the masked man walked toward me, shadows throwing his musculature into sharp relief. I remained as I was, frozen in time and space and, I could admit, somewhat spellbound by the man’s beauty.

  His hair was golden, as I already knew. His body was a thing of beauty, and sculpted of hard ridges and planes where mine was soft. His cock had risen, suffusing with blood, at the sight of me, and the sight of it made my mouth water.

  When he came close enough that I could see clearly in the flickering candlelight, I could see that his eyes were the blue of a spring pool. Not the stormy clouds of Marcus’.

  I knew for certain, then, who the masked man was not.

  Did I have the courage to discover who he was?

  “Take . . . take off your mask.” My voice shook as I spoke. What if it was someone else entirely? I was already torn between my need for two forbidden men.

  The only sound in the room was that of our breath, which grew somewhat harsher and shorter with every moment that passed. The sunset glow of the fat wax candles infused everything with an air of sensuality, and the smells of candle smoke and herbs seduced me with their wafting tendrils.

  Slowly, he reached behind his head, untied the strings. His movements were sure, and he did not question my order. My husband had given me the choice of masking my mate, after all. I was going against Lucius’ wishes only by not wearing my own mask.

  I watched the man as he lifted his hands to the sides of his head, and removed the covering of glossy white.

  It was Caius.

  Of course it was Caius.

  In my deepest of hearts, I had already known this. Still, to have it confirmed sent relief paired with desire through every fiber of my body. I sighed, audibly, with gratification.

  This explained why Lucius was so adamant that both Marcus and Caius not be given to Hilaria. Marcus needed his seed for strength in the arena.

  Caius needed his to impregnate me.

  Knowing after weeks of wonder was an immense relief. Now I had only to understand my feelings for two separate men . . . two men who seemed to have feelings for each other, as well.

  Caius remained still, his muscles telling me of the tension that rode him. I thought of what I had seen pass between him and the other men in the ludus, and the anger that he had lashed out with—anger that seemed to have been in my behalf. His manner with me was so very different from that with others—he had never shown me anger, or rashness. With me he had . . . respect. Yes, respect.

  It was more than that, though. I thought almost that he was calmer in my presence, though I could not have said why. Perhaps it was all in my mind—he was a gladiator, after all, and when it came to honor and order, all gladiators were bound by the same code.

  I ran my tongue over dry, swollen lips, trying to force the words out of my throat.

  “Come. Come to me.” My words trembled, as did my hands.

  When he reached me, he still said not a word. With a light but firm touch at my waist, he turned me round until my back just barely kissed the heated skin of his wide chest.

  I had been completely unprepared for this, had thought that, as with Marcus, I would have to give permission for each act. Not so with Caius, it seemed.

  I had already consented, and so he would do as he would.

  I wondered if he had the control to do otherwise.

  I thought to protest—now that I knew who he was, knew that he was one of the men that I wanted so badly, I wanted to look upon him, to take in his raw beauty. But it felt too good, causing shivers to rain over my skin, so I permitted him to move my body as he would.

  His hands moved from my waist up the sides of my torso with a touch so light that if I inhaled too deeply I would not feel it. Traveling his way up, his hands came to rest on my shoulders, where he tugged on the cloth that hung there.

  One pull, two, and my thin tunic fell down to pool around my feet. I wore nothing underneath, knowing that nothing would be needed.

  And so I stood naked in front of him, waiting for . . . I was not sure, precisely, what I was waiting for, until it came.

  It came in the form of his finger, tracing my spine from between the wings of my shoulder blades until the cleft of my rear began. I thought that he would begin again, trace that same path again, but instead that finger continued lower, and I shivered against the decadent sensation.

  He traced through the cleft, pausing for only the briefest of moments on the pucker that lay hidden between. He continued the touch through to my lower lips, pressing his finger inside of my waiting cunt just the barest hint before withdrawing.

  With just those slight touches I was ready. Ready, drenched, aching for his cock. I marveled that I had gone so long withou
t sensual touch, before that first time with Marcus, for it now seemed that I was an addict. Instead of satiating me, satisfying my cravings, each touch with either Marcus or Caius had me dying for more.

  As such, I was ready for roughness, to be ridden fast and hard. I wanted to be bent over the chaise and taken from behind like a beast, to hear the slap of flesh as he thrust inside me, hilting every time.

  Instead I felt something rough, something textured trailing along the path that the man had just traced with his finger. Something braided, though I could not imagine what.

  My spine stiffened even as I gasped when that roughness was threaded through my cleft, when it brushed through my moist labia and against my clitoris. Some kind of string, then, some kind of cord.

  No. I understood when my hands were drawn together behind my back, when the textured string was looped loosely around them.

  Rope. It was rope. I did not know where he had obtained it from, but found that I did not much care, either. What I wondered was how he had tapped into my mind, how he had known my darkest desire.

  But I thought back to the conversation I’d had with Marcus, the one in which I had admitted my hunger to be restrained, to have the pressure to please removed from me.

  Marcus had told Caius. And Caius was trying to please me.

  I could not speak. Knowing that my dark dream was about to come to fruition rendered me mute.

  I bowed my head in acquiescence, shivering with anticipation.

  Though I barely knew this man, though I had not, in fact, known his name in certainty until a moment earlier, I felt safe. I trusted him like I realized now I had never trusted my husband.

  This man could bind my hands behind me, could tie me wide open and expose me. I would not feel fear.

  Large hands slipped beneath my own bound ones and nudged at the small of my back. I let myself be guided to the wall adjoining the one that contained the entrance. There, in one swift move, I was turned, my back pressed against chilly marble that quickly warmed beneath my skin.