She bent to remove her sandals. Catching sight of her naked toes, he shivered with lust. He wanted to suck them, he realised. Each and every one of them, until she squealed with delight.
But what he wanted to do and what he needed to do were two very different things. He could not make love to her this night, not when his duty compelled him never to return. In truth, he was neither commander nor messenger.
He was a spy.
As such, his task was to follow orders—Cicero’s orders, to be exact—so that Caesar would be defeated and the Roman Republic would live on. All of the needless killing Titus had done in Caesar’s name, everything he had come to believe about generals and kings, had been leading up to this moment. The only thing preventing Titus from fulfilling his purpose was the woman who sat before him, smoothing her gown.
‘I did not think I would ever see you again,’ he said carefully.
She stared at her hands, projecting an eerie calm. ‘I did not know if you wished to see me.’
‘Then you were mistaken.’
‘You said that you did not wish to bother me again.’
‘I did not think you would wish to be bothered.’
‘I do wish it.’
‘You do not know what you are saying.’
‘You have helped me—’
‘Shhh,’ he said. He could not bear to hear her professions of gratitude.
‘Will you not sit by my side?’ she asked.
I must keep my distance...so that it will be easier to leave you for ever. She looked up suddenly, crucifying him with her eyes. Dutifully, he sat down beside her.
He placed his hand atop hers and a gentle peace spread out between them.
Finally, Wen spoke. ‘I came here because I wish to wander the marshes...for the first time...with you.’
The statement hit him like a battering ram. If there had been any doubt in his mind, she had just wiped it away, along with a good deal of his composure.
‘I see,’ he said, trying to seem thoughtful. Inside him, the trumpets of a thousand armies were sounding. Wander the marshes indeed. They were words that he never thought he would hear, describing a thing that he had given up hope of attaining.
‘Please,’ she continued.
His heart pounded. He could not do it. He could not accept such a gift from a woman whom he had just been ordered to betray. To abandon.
‘You do not understand,’ he said. ‘I will be leaving soon. Perhaps even tonight.’
‘That is why I am here now.’
‘Wen, I may never see you again.’ I will never see you again—not if I do my cursed duty.
‘I wish to live, Titus—while there is still time. I wish for you to teach me how. Tonight.’
He swallowed hard. He could not do this.
He had to do this.
He was going to betray her. If he did not, then Caesar would become King, and all of the civilised world would regress into brutal monarchy.
‘I cannot,’ he said.
He watched a tear trace its path down her cheek. ‘Do you not desire me?’
‘I desire you,’ he said, hardly able to speak. More than I desire my own breath.
‘Then why?’
He searched his mind for some excuse. ‘Because you are an innocent.’
‘But I am not. At least...not in my thoughts.’
Another gut-twisting statement, clearly crafted to test his nerve. ‘You have...thought of me?’ he asked, not wanting to know the answer.
Because if the answer was yes—yes, she had thought of him in that special way, yes she had fantasised about him as he had her, kissing her, touching her, pleasing her—then he was surely lost.
But she did not answer his query. She did something far, far worse. She pulled his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers: first his small finger, then his larger one, then his largest finger, which she took into her mouth and began to suck.
A bolt of Jupiter’s lightning travelled rapidly to his manhood, shocking it awake. Sorceress! She knew that drove him mad. He groaned and closed his eyes, begging the gods for mercy.
She had no idea that she had already vanquished him. From the moment he had seen her that night in the Queen’s tent, he had fallen beneath her rule.
His only remaining defence against her was that she seemed to have no notion of the power she wielded.
Or perhaps she did, for in a single motion, she found the hem of her hetaira’s robe and lifted it over her head.
He sat frozen in his seat, facing forward. He could not look at her. If he did, he was certain that his resolve would turn to ashes. He felt the curve of her hip pressing against the side of his leg. He was dangerously close to taking her in his arms.
Out of the corner of his eye, he perceived her naked flesh—her bronze skin and slender limbs and bulging round breasts. Her heaving stomach and some dark blur of flesh just beneath it. He did not dare look at her directly. He feared he might turn to stone.
‘Why do you not wish to look at me? Do you not desire me?’ she asked.
‘I desire you too much,’ he breathed. ‘You must don your robe once more and depart.’ But it was too late. He was already gazing into her eyes.
Her shining black hair hung around her face like a parted veil. He tucked one of the locks behind her ear and studied her delicate pink lips.
He followed her lips to her chin, then down the taut pillar of her neck to its pulsing nape. Just below it, the twin peaks of her breasts protruded, challenging his will. His lust bubbled, along with an unusual reckless feeling. He let his eyes slip farther downward to the small black patch signalling the entrance to the realm of oblivion.
‘Please,’ she said, ‘the marshes.’
He jumped to his feet and began to pace before her, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. ‘You must depart.’
His tone was firm, and she felt panic creeping in. Could it be that he didn’t want her? That she did not please him as much as she had hoped? ‘Why? What is the matter?’
‘Now.’
She reached for her gown to cover herself, then changed her mind. Slowly, she stood. This was no time to be meek. ‘I will not leave until you tell me why. If you do not want me, you must say so.’ She gazed down at her naked flesh, inviting him to consider her. But he seemed determined to consider nothing but the carpet upon which he trod.
‘Wen, you are the only woman I want.’
‘And you are the only man I want.’
He ran his hand through his hair. ‘You do not know what you are saying.’
‘Then teach me what I am saying. You told me to notice the windows that appear in my life. This is one, Titus. This night we can have together.’
Finally, he stopped pacing. He slid his gaze up her naked legs, then up a little more, and a windstorm of breath tumbled from him. ‘By the gods,’ he mumbled, and turned away. She heard the soft patter outside.
‘The storm has arrived,’ she offered softly.
‘Indeed it has.’
* * *
He crossed to a table and filled a vessel with wine, drinking thirstily while he devoured her with his gaze. He slammed the goblet down suddenly, appearing to alight upon some idea.
‘You must be in command,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘You must tell me what you wish me to do and I will comply. Thus I can be assured that I will not take what you are not willing to give.’
Frustration bubbled inside her. ‘But, I am willing to give all,’ she said, having only a vague idea of what she meant.
‘It is my condition,’ he said gravely.
She paused, considering his proposal. She sensed there was some deeper reason for his hesitation—something unrelated to her innocence.
He was pacing again, avoiding the sight of her.
I have made him afraid to touch me, she thought. She had rejected him too many times, had unravelled before him too often for him to trust her now. She felt ashamed at her own cowardice and determined to show him that she could be different.
‘Fine, I accept the condition.’
He stopped pacing and stared into her eyes.
She wondered how many women had to negotiate the terms of their own deflowering. Then again, she wondered how many women had ever met a man like Titus.
‘When do we begin?’ she asked.
A small, sly grin played upon his lips. He was not answering her question and the reason was clear: they would begin when she commanded it.
She spoke softly. ‘I command you to remove your toga.’
His eyes flashed. He lifted his woollen toga up over his shoulders and tossed it on the floor. ‘What now?’ he challenged, but she was too overcome by the sight of his exposed flesh to respond.
He was a titan in truth—the very scale of him divine. It was no wonder the Queen’s handmaids admired him. His sprawling chest heaved with his breaths and his massive arms seemed to tense and flex as she approached. His stomach was a maze of thick, knotted muscle, and below it—
She gasped, stopping cold. His manhood extended out before him like a sword—bald, engorged, enormous.
He took a step towards her and her fascination edged towards fear. ‘Stop there,’ she commanded. He was just paces away from her and she could see every large, bulging part of him.
She tried to take courage. He would not harm her—she was sure of it. He had never harmed her. He had only ever tried to keep her safe.
When she returned her gaze to his, his lids were low and he had assumed a menacing calm. The wind-buffeted rain was now pouring outside.
‘What now?’ he repeated in a low growl. ‘What is your command?’
* * *
Surely she will relent, he thought slyly, and that was his intent. He had always loathed his largeness, for it startled the women he bedded. This night, however, it would be his greatest asset, for it would serve to deter Wen from her mistaken course.
Though she seemed alarmingly undeterred.
‘Stay where you are,’ she said. She approached him as she might have approached an unbroken horse. Slowly, carefully, she placed her fingers on his stomach.
His skin flushed with heat as she traced the hills and valleys of his muscles, growing bolder with each stroke of her finger. Soon she was standing at his side, staring down at the fullness of him, as if considering whether to indulge her curiosity further.
Touch it, he thought, trying to remember why that might be a bad idea.
His memory failed him. He could do nothing but pray—pray to gods he did not believe in for a thing he had never dreamed of attaining: her genuine desire for him.
And just as he thought them, his prayers came true.
She reached out and gently petted her hand down the length of his shaft.
He could not tell if it was the heat of the candles, the burn of his desire, or the simple unnerving fact of her naked body standing so close to his, but the dew of sweat surfaced on his skin.
‘Come on to the bed and lie beside me,’ she commanded, taking his hand. ‘On your back.’
Obediently, he followed her to bed, letting her lovely round backside tease him to an even greater need.
He thought he had a plan—discouraging her with the sight of himself, then challenging her to take the lead. But she seemed alarmingly unfazed on both counts, and as he climbed on to the downy mattress and lay on his back he wondered why he had ever wanted her to be deterred.
She lay beside him and petted his chest, spreading around his slick perspiration until it was as if she were painting on the canvas of him. Gently, she placed her hands atop his desire. He groaned as she touched, then traced, then stroked him with a maddening curiosity.
‘Turn towards me,’ she ordered, and he rolled on to his side and gazed into her eyes. He had never felt so aroused.
‘Touch my behind,’ she said. To aid him in the endeavour, she wriggled closer.
He did as he was told. He slid his hand on to her bare backside and relished the feel of its firm roundness.
‘Kiss me,’ she said, and he dutifully placed his lips on hers.
And it was as if they had plunged back into the very same kiss they had shared outside the Library, which had merely been an extension of the kiss they had begun in the deckhouse, which was certainly a continuation of a kiss between gods, started at the beginning of time.
* * *
She kissed him languorously, listening to her instincts, which told her to get closer, then closer still. Moist with his sweat, she pressed herself against him and her body glided against his, writhing and twisting with her desire for more of him.
She had not expected to feel as she was feeling—so free and sensuous and wanting. She could have lain there all night were it not for the hot twisting feeling growing between her legs. She needed him closer still, though she knew not what command would achieve it.
‘Touch me,’ she said at last, uncertain of her own meaning. She felt his finger travel down her stomach and stiffened with alarm as it gently entered her folds.
She shivered with surprise, followed by a thick tingling of pleasure. His movements were subtle and gentle, his finger like some instrument of pleasure playing the tune of her, a tune she had never before heard.
He continued to kiss her as he slid his finger gently all around her womanly opening, and she opened her legs wider, though she could not say why.
Somewhere deep inside her a drum began to beat out a slow, relentless rhythm. An invisible necessity blossomed within her. ‘Yes, more of that,’ she breathed between kisses, and he moved his finger more rapidly, tracing every part of her until she began to feel so restless with need she thought she might cry out.
‘What now?’ she said feverishly, but he would not answer her. Her hips heaved upwards, the drum inside her beating faster still. ‘More,’ she breathed.
* * *
Her bliss was imminent. She heaved and moaned, her body writhing beneath his touch. He only needed to maintain his rhythm, pulsing his finger in and out of her hot, wet depths until she reached that mindless precipice and plunged over it.
He should have been thrilled. He was giving her pleasure—the thing he wanted to do more than anything else. Still, something inside him faltered. She would be alone in it, then—her first taste of bliss. He would play only a small part. And when it was over, what then? It pained him to think that she might depart having no idea of the real pleasure he could give her.
Slowly, he withdrew his finger.
‘No,’ she gasped. ‘Don’t stop.’
He knew he had to act quickly. He had disobeyed her orders, had engaged in mutiny of the most treacherous kind, and had only moments before her ardour became confusion, her passion a barrage of questions and the moment turned to dust.
‘Shhh,’ he said. He eased on top of her and kissed her on the lips. ‘Do not speak.’ He took himself in hand. ‘Do not think.’ He found her soft fleshy petals. ‘Just feel, my cara.’ He watched her expression change as the tip of him pressed against her and with the guidance of his hand began to trace that hot, slippery path around her entrance once again.
‘Oh,’ she cooed.
‘Yes,’ he said. That was more like it.
He kissed her again, pulsing forward, letting her feel the warmth and pressure of him.
He had stepped into a dangerous realm. With himself in command now, he risked scaring her. Any moment, she could stiffen, or bolt, or cry out for him to stop, and the opportunity for their union would be lost. He needed to make that moment impossible. He needed to make her want him as badly as he wanted her.
He kissed down her neck, breathing hard. He took her nipple into his mouth
. ‘Ahh,’ she cried, pushing her hips upwards. He pressed himself into her a little more, then withdrew, letting her feel his absence.
‘No,’ she said, and when he returned to her, ‘yes.’
He glided his body over hers. He pushed himself into her just a little bit more.
The rain poured in a loud torrent—or was that the rush of blood in his ears? He throbbed with impossible need and nuzzled his face in her hair. ‘I wish to be inside you,’ he breathed.
‘Please,’ she said. ‘I beg you.’
It was all the command he needed. He pushed as slowly as he was able, trying not to cause her pain. ‘The pain will go away,’ he said. ‘I promise.’
She moaned, then sighed as he eased himself into her. ‘Blessed heavenly Venus,’ he said, feeling her warm wetness envelop him. He paused—melting into the paradise of her.
Was she still with him? He needed to know. He bent to kiss her again, questioningly, pleadingly, wondering if he had done wrong.
The kiss she returned him told him all that he needed to know. She plunged her tongue into his mouth without restraint, arching up her hips and coaxing him into slow, rhythmic, movement.
Now their pleasure was one thing—one hot, moving, pulsing thing that he never wanted to end. He pulled away from her lips to look into her eyes. They shone up at him like twin suns, filling him with their light, then became clouded by her heavy lids as she fell deeper into bliss.
Small, encouraging whimpers were escaping her lips, and she gripped his lower arms with a fierce concentration. He watched her, then she groaned, and he crushed his mouth down upon hers once again. She was going to come apart.
He was going to come apart.
She squeezed, he pushed, and suddenly they were tumbling over a beautiful cliff, shivering and convulsing together. He pulled her atop him as bliss flooded through him as she enveloped him in her arms.
And he knew that he never wanted to be anywhere else.
Chapter Seventeen
It was the middle of the night when the rain finally ceased. The slow drips from the palace eaves were like the final notes of a song that she did not want to end. He lay on his back beside her, and she watched the quiet rise and fall of his breaths. His face was soft and almost boyish at rest. She could have watched it until the dawn.
In Thrall to the Enemy Commander Page 20
