by Aidan, Nadia
A lewd curse was ripped from Titus’ lips at the same time he shuddered violently and buried his shaft inside Cassius one last time. Cassius held Titus to him as the warmth of his seed blasted the walls of Cassius’ anus, and a groan escaped him as he pumped his ruddy flesh harder until he came with a slight tremor, his seed spurting between them in thick ropes.
Titus collapsed atop him and buried his face in the crook of Cassius’ neck, his warm breath sliding across sweat-soaked flesh. Cassius held him, his hands roaming across the other man’s back until their breaths finally returned.
“We need to bathe and dress quickly if we wish to be ready before guests arrive,” Cassius told Titus as soon as he rolled off him.
Titus nodded and crawled to his feet, then turned to help Cassius up as well. A small thud drew their attention, the sound was muffled and they glanced at each other curiously before turning their gazes toward the doorway.
Cassius frowned. It was empty. He looked at Titus again who simply shrugged.
The doorway was empty now, but he would swear upon his life someone had stood there only moments ago.
Chapter Three
That evening at the festival of Maikatat, Cassius stood with Titus beside him, his bronze helmet and breastplate reflecting the golden light of the fires burning from the oil lamps. His crimson tunic, which fell to his knees, clung to his body, the balmy air dampening his skin with perspiration.
He ignored the discomfort as he stood behind Anan’s chair, his gaze sweeping out across the room. Several couches lined the walls of the triclinium where guests draped in fine spun togas, shimmering jewels and golden adornments reclined. They wore the garments of Roman patricians, though their faces were of this foreign land.
The guests dined amiably as they gazed upon the young women who danced for their entertainment, whom Cassius recognized as harem girls from the far eastern province of Dahomey.
The young women danced a particularly intricate design, their hips swaying to the pulsing, pounding rhythm of the drums as their burnished sienna and mahogany skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat, the coiled locks of their unbound hair clinging to their waists.
Cassius appreciated the spectacle before him as tame in comparison to the festivities that would have accompanied such a feast in the heart of Rome.
Drunken orgies.
A display of naked flesh.
The heavy musk of arousal and desire perfuming the air.
And yet, despite the mildness of the entertainment, desire pounded inside Cassius, heating his flesh, causing his manhood to push against his leather braca. He swallowed a groan, his hands fisting at his sides. He longed to lose himself within the bodies of one of the dancers if only to distract himself—or inside the body of his lover again, if only to assuage his mounting needs. He glanced at Titus.
Anan stood then and approached the circle of dancers in the center of the room, and for the hundredth time that night Cassius imagined losing himself in the body of the woman before him—the sole object of his unfettered lusts.
He shook his head, desperately trying to rid himself of such errant thoughts. He’d found release only hours ago. That should have been enough to chase away his desire for this one woman, who’d apparently bewitched him.
He’d been sent there to discern whether or not she still remained loyal to Rome. It would not do to nurture an attraction toward her, even if she was quite beautiful, even if he did find himself attracted to her. He could ill afford such a distraction, no matter how lovely or enticing she was.
And as she stood in the center of the room, joining the girls in their dance, Cassius decided she was truly lovely indeed.
She’d ignored Cassius and Titus for most of the night, throughout the entire festival.
That did not surprise him.
Whether Roman or barbarian, she was well within her right to ignore common soldiers.
Cassius was accustomed to such treatment—such was the way of Rome’s hierarchy.
So he was surprised when she looked up and imprisoned him within her golden gaze, her body still writhing to the rhythm of the beat.
Her eyes widened, her lips parted and he realized then she’d seen something in his own eyes, glimpsed something within their depths that had shocked her, surprised her. When she looked away, he acknowledged it must have embarrassed her as well.
His jaw clenched tight as his cheeks suffused with heat. He’d been without a woman too long. Maybe that was the problem. He simply needed a woman. He needed to find a willing body and bury his pole inside her and rut himself until he was spent.
His gaze found Anan again, and the fire heating his blood burned out of control, a fiery molten blaze of heat and desire. With a weary sigh, he accepted his position was hopeless. He longed for her and knew with a certainty another woman simply would not do.
“You still want to protest that she does not desire us,” Titus whispered from beside him. “She desires us, or at least one of us.”
Cassius could hear the smirk in Titus’ voice and he closed his eyes with a long sigh.
“I do not care about her desires. Even if she would have us in her bed, she would only use us and toy with us. You of all people know that, which is why I cannot believe we are even discussing this.” The words flew from Cassius’ lips before he could stop them and he glanced over at Titus, his expression full of remorse.
“I am sorry. I did not mean to—”
“It is fine,” Titus bit out as he tore his gaze from Cassius and looked away.
It was not fine. They had shared another woman, a wealthy married Roman woman. It had not ended well and since that fateful night they’d not spoken of it. This was the first time.
Cassius pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out a long, jagged breath. He did not blame Titus, but of late one could not tell. He knew he’d been cold and distant to Titus, with no explanation or reasoning for his behavior.
He opened his eyes and looked at his second-in-command who stood rigid beside him, his body vibrating with tension.
“I am sorry,” Cassius whispered.
Titus did not look at him. Instead he nodded and said, “This is neither the time nor the place.”
That Titus was right did not ease his mind in the least. He’d spoken out of turn, which had only served to put another rift between them, a rift their relationship could ill afford as strained as it had grown these days.
The absence of sound was what drew his attention and Cassius stared out over the room to find the music had ended and Anan was dutifully ushering her guests from the room.
Cassius appreciated the way the golden stola clung to her generous curves, how it stood in rich contrast to her shimmering skin. Anan was gracious to her guests, her smile warm as she said farewell and watched them depart. It struck him then that there was nothing to suggest she was the same as another woman, equally beautiful and equally wealthy, who was pampered and spoiled, who selfishly manipulated others for sheer sport.
He had many reasons why he should bury his desire for Anan—she was not Roman, she despised Romans, she could very well be plotting against him at this very moment. But to bury his desire because he told himself she was the same as another woman was foolishness and he knew it. The longing he’d glimpsed in her eyes as she’d bathed earlier told him her needs had long been neglected. In her gaze he did not see a woman who would lie with a man for sheer sport. No, if Anan took them to her bed, she would give of herself fully, completely, because she desired the touch of another, because she longed for it, desperately.
As if she could hear what brewed in his head, the very object of his thoughts turned and he found himself drowning in beautiful amber eyes. The room was mostly empty now, except for the servants passing through to return the dining hall to order.
Cassius was mesmerized by the woman drawing closer to him, the gentle sway of her hips, the slight smile teasing the corners of her lips.
“As I told you, all was perfectly safe. You may
retire if you wish.”
“We will retire when you do,” Cassius replied.
“In that case.” Anan glanced over at her maidservant and dismissed the girl with a nod. “I shall retire now, I think.”
Anan was drunk off wine, her body languid, and the two men who walked behind her assaulted her senses. The air of masculinity and passion that clung to them she could almost feel as if it caressed her like a lover’s hand.
She also sensed tension radiating from them, as if they’d quarreled. She glanced over her shoulder at Titus. His entire countenance was rigid, his handsome features marred by coldness, but the moment she caught his eyes, heat blazed in those emerald depths so full of passion, so full of hunger.
Before she could stop herself a gasp escaped her and she whirled her head around before Titus could glimpse the pinkening of her cheeks.
Titus wanted her—every time he gazed upon her, his eyes burned with longing, with desire.
She did not dare gaze upon Cassius, but if she had, if she’d met and held his stare, she was certain she would have glimpsed myriad emotions swirling in those sapphire depths. Unlike Titus, he did not herald his needs so openly. When he looked at her, fire burned in his eyes, just as hot and needy as the fire in Titus’, but Cassius fought it, he fought to leash it, quell it. He did not want to want her, and yet he could not seem to help it, he could not seem to stop himself from wanting a woman who was beneath him—a barbarian. What had he called her? Ah yes. A bitter, childless, husbandless bitch. He should not desire a woman such as her, and yet his body told her he did.
She entered her chambers and turned around, expecting to find them hovering at the doorway.
She was wrong.
They stood within yards of her, the heat of their bodies finding its way toward her, and the scent of them, the primal essence of their beings mingled with her own. She dragged in a breath, almost afraid of the physical awareness that was sure to come. Pure masculine dominance filled her lungs until she was lightheaded.
She was breathless as she stared back at them.
Anan held no illusions—she was a Roman matron past her prime, a barbarian queen who was really no queen at all. Cassius was all too correct in his deductions—she was a bitter, childless, husbandless bitch who had neither a kingdom nor land. And yet when they looked upon her it was as if they did not see all that she lacked.
They looked at her—the both of them—as no man had ever done so before. They looked at her as her husband never had.
Her eyes bored into them, probing deep, and before she had a mind to stop herself, she blurted, “Why do you gaze upon me in such a way?”
Anan directed her question to them both, but only Titus responded. “And how is it that we gaze upon you?”
Her attention darted between the two men and she was suddenly nervous but she remained determined. “I-I don’t know. You gaze upon me with lust in your eyes.”
“And do you wish us to stop?” She noticed Titus had drawn closer. Cassius remained rooted to his spot, but his eyes were now a swirling silver, with just the hint of blue.
Her attention snapped to Titus when she felt the warmth of his breath graze her cheek.
“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “No man has ever looked at me as you two do.”
“Not even your husband?”
Cassius had finally spoken and her gaze settled upon him, but she hesitated in replying.
The wine had made her bold, but did she dare admit to these strangers, to these Romans what she’d admitted to no one ever before, not her sister, not even her dearest friend, Pithia?
“No, my husband never gazed upon me in this way. He did not find me pleasing.”
“Then he was a fool,” Cassius rasped harshly, and she found it odd that her revelation would upset him, but there was no doubt it had as she watched his hands ball into tight fists.
“A man has not shared my bed in a long time,” she whispered into the silence. “I would be a fool to invite you now.”
“It certainly would not be wise,” said Cassius, although she gathered Titus did not share his opinion if the glare he shot Cassius was any evidence.
Cassius was right. It would not be wise for so many reasons. But how she longed to—how she longed to take a man to her bed who actually wanted to be there.
Her husband had not desired her, touching her had been a burden. He’d only spent his wedding night with her because that had been his duty. After that, he could rarely be bothered, if at all.
Her gaze danced between the two handsome, virile men before her. How she longed to take these men to her bed, who both wished to be there, who both seemed to actually desire her.
“I think I should retire now.”
“I think that would be best.” Cassius nodded, while Titus could only sigh, his eyes full of longing tinged with frustration. The former was for her, the latter, his comrade.
With that, she bid them both good night and turned away with the expectation they would take that as their signal to retire as well, so she was surprised when a deep, husky voice floated across the room, halting her where she stood.
She spun around with a small gasp, her hand tensing at the sleeve of her stola, which she’d already slipped off her shoulder.
Titus’ gaze darkened from even that scant display of naked flesh. The burning intensity caused desire to knot her belly and she was suddenly grateful that he stood on the other side of her chambers hovering in the doorway, for if he’d been near she would have surely found her way into his arms.
“Cassius would think your husband a fool, but I would add that he was also a liar.” Her breath hitched as Titus’ gaze speared her. “That any man would not find you pleasing is a lie.”
An answering fire flared in her belly at the heat flickering from his eyes. Desire scorched between them, all three of them, if the embers sparkling in Cassius’ eyes were any evidence.
The passion brimming between them threatened to burn out of control until finally Titus turned from her and left her bedchambers, along with Cassius, closing the door behind them with a muffled thud.
With the absence of the two men from her chambers, Anan was surprised to discover they’d left something behind—a deep, aching longing within her for something she was a fool to want, yet she was powerless to ignore, and certainly could not deny.
Chapter Four
The next morning, Anan strolled through the empty vestibules of her villa. The thud of sandaled feet striking the stones embedded in the ground, along with ragged, stilted breathing from its three owners, were the only sounds to be heard.
She’d learned from her father that in order to be a good master in a household full of slaves, one had to be generous. After such a long night of revelry she’d allowed her servants the day to themselves. Her home would not cease to function without them for just a day, but now she regretted her charitable gesture.
Burnished rays of sunlight filtered through the arched columns of her home, heating her skin, but the warmth it ignited along her flesh paled in comparison to the frissons of fire clawing its way through her belly as she pretended to ignore the presence of the two men who walked behind her.
Cassius had requested a tour of her estate so that he might position his men strategically throughout her villa and across her lands, but now that her home was all too silent and empty of any servants who were awake, she wished she’d feigned a passing infirmity to avoid being alone with the two men.
They walked in silence, interrupted ever so often when she pointed out something unique or they asked a question.
The silence was torture.
That they pretended as if the events that transpired the night before had not happened was even more so.
Anan acknowledged she’d had far too much wine, but what about Titus and Cassius? They’d had none. As inconceivable as it was, she was forced to accept they’d spoken truth.
They found her pleasing—the both of them.
They desi
red her—the both of them.
It had been so long since a man had touched her intimately, with longing in his eyes. It was foolish to invite these two Romans into her bed. But she did not think she had the power to resist them, not when they stared at her so openly with lust and desire brimming in their eyes. That was why she walked ahead of them, only addressing them briefly and barely meeting their gazes. She could not trust herself alone with them, she could not trust herself to resist them.
It was foolish to invite them into her bed.
A woman who had not experienced passion in so long, it was foolish not to.
She stepped from her villa onto the wide expanse of land spread out before her, the sun beating down upon her.
“And here is where we keep our sheep,” she said, gesturing toward the small wooden fence that corralled the sheep she raised for their wool. “Our pigs.” She pointed at a similar wooden pen across from where the sheep were housed. The pigs she raised for their meat.
“What do you harvest there?”
Anan glanced in the direction of where Titus pointed. “Apples, figs, grapes for the wine. A number of fruit. And beyond those trees there are more, full of olives.”
She noted the surprise on their faces with a measure of pride. The Romans may have taken her territory, but after her father’s death, she’d demanded a substantial parcel of land in exchange for her willing submission to the dictates of the Empire. This villa, this farm, was of her own making, and she’d done well by it in harvesting both livestock and vegetation.
“The stables over there. Do not tell me you raise horses as well?” She nodded, smiling at the awe in Cassius’ voice.
“That is the most impressive feat of this estate,” she said, making her way over to the stables with both men on her heels. “The horses I breed here can often be found in a number of your Roman chariot races.”
Anan entered the expansive stable, the smell of hay and manure tickling her nose. It was a familiar smell, a welcome one. Her father had been an expert in horse flesh and she’d spent a great deal of her childhood alongside him, examining the quality of the beasts they bred then sold.
