Wild Rider (Bad Boy Bikers Book 2)

by Lydia Pax

  In her office, Porcia waited for her. She wore a thin ivory gown, a long yellow sash cinched tight around her thin waist.

  Aeliana could not hide the surprise in her voice. “Domina!”

  “Yes.” Porcia stood. “Domina. You do remember the meaning of that word, don’t you?”

  “I...yes, Domina?”

  “Oh, good. I suppose you had forgotten. When Caius survived the fight—and when Lucius was harmed during it—I supposed that you had forgotten. Or did we not agree that Caius was not to receive treatment?”

  “I delivered no treatment to Caius, Domina.”

  “Then how was he able to use his arm in the fight? It was burned.” Her smile was macabre. “Viciously. I suppose you want to tell me it was a miracle?”

  “The gods act in many ways, Domina. It is not for me to—”

  “And Lucius is hurt.” She knocked over a bowl of water, spraying the wall. “How could you have let that happen?”

  “Does Domina require that I take up arms in the arena?”

  Porcia licked her teeth slowly. She stalked around Aeliana, jaw throbbing with anger.

  “He was stumbling. I saw him. I was in the stands. He was not himself. Why not?”

  There was deep, real concern in Porcia’s voice. It surprised Aeliana enough to begin to tell the truth.

  “Because...”

  Lies tried to take hold on her tongue, to create some lie, but she could not give any purchase in time to hide the look on her face.

  “You know, don’t you?” Porcia stepped closer, their faces inches apart. “You know. You will tell me, slave.”

  “He was drunk,” said Aeliana. “Horribly drunk.”

  Porcia's eyes widened. “Then he shouldn’t have been fighting. Why didn’t you stop him from entering the ring? Isn’t it your responsibility to attend to the gladiators before fighting? Or did you wish to see him fall?”

  “I...”

  There was no point in telling Porcia she was wrong. Aeliana knew very well the Domina was completely right. Her own guilt had, probably, spurred her to get Lucius to apologize to Caius. But she owed an apology to Caius too, in that case—and yes, probably to Lucius also. Her part in the affair could not be hidden behind the actions of others.

  But to admit guilt to Porcia, with her so clearly angry, felt like a death sentence.

  “I attended other gladiators, Domina.” That was true enough. “Fighters hurt in the competitions before Lucius’s and Caius’s. When I examined Lucius in the morning, his physical condition was impeccable.”

  This answer did not seem to please Porcia.

  “I am going to speak with my husband about the state of your contract. I suspect you need a longer term here to truly understand your place. And...” Porcia picked up a scalpel from off the table. She held it to Aeliana’s throat. The comparison between this and what Aeliana had done to Lucius was not beyond her understanding. “If he is mangled beyond repair, then you may rest assured that I will blame the repairer and not the mangling. Do you understand me, girl?”

  There was little choice but to say she did.

  Chapter 40

  She walked in a daze from one place to the next.

  The threat of her future’s destruction had been depressing in itself. The thought of never achieving her dreams, a terror that was hard to escape. But now Porcia was truly going to make it happen. There would be no stopping her.

  Down the hilly steps of the ludus, into the training sands, across the mess hall, draping her fingers on the thick iron gate of the cell blocks.

  “Open it,” a voice said.

  She realized only moments later that the voice was hers. The guard—the same one from the column on the way to Capua—smiled and let her in.

  “Don’t be too long,” he said.

  He knew more than she did at that moment about what she intended. It wasn’t lights out yet, and some gladiators still socialized in the halls. She saw Conall and Flamma wrestling for money in one wide corner, their sestertii piled up before Iunius’s feet. The match seemed good-natured enough. Surprise would have flooded her if she had room for any more.

  Finally she found herself in front of Caius’s cell. He stood, that beautiful smile on his face. She felt her robes dropping away, hands moving of their own accord. Someone might walk by and see, but she didn’t care anymore.

  She didn’t care about any of it—nor anyone else.

  And that was why this happened now, she realized suddenly. If Porcia was going to make her life a hell no matter what, then Aeliana would earn her spot there.

  “Aeliana?” Caius said.

  His voice was a confused whisper. But his body was not confused. She saw the way his thick muscles tensed—and more than that, she saw the bulge of his erection behind the thin cloth around his crotch. Such a thin, sparse little thing, she thought, to be a barrier between chastity and the perfect release she knew waited for her.

  Her body slipped on top of his. Every feel of his skin was rough and hot. Her hands slipped against his length, feeling it twitch and grow beneath her touch.

  She was not weak. She was not ineffectual. She had meaning and consequences, and here was one in her hands. Should her hand slide past the barrier of the cloth, she would have more effects yet.

  An intriguing idea. She brought his head down to hers, arching her back and neck to meet his lips as they rushed down at her. And as their lips met again, for what felt like the thousandth time but was one of only a handful, her hand slipped down past that cloth.

  He was big there already, and hard. Her fingers had trouble wrapping all the way around. Very soon her strokes were encouraged by his body, slickness sliding up and down her palm.

  “Gods, Aeliana...”

  She was in control of him, she realized. This massive fighter. This man who had seen and strove against so much. She pushed him down onto the cot where they barely fit, and sat just in front of the thick, hardened manhood waiting for her.

  “You’ll have to guide me in.”

  He nodded eagerly. Strong hands attached to her hips and led her up. A breeze ran through the cell, making her already-firm nipples harder. His cockhead pushed slightly against her untested, moist entrance, and then slowly she sank down on him. Her wetness made the joining easy. A low, long cry exited her lips, bottom lip trembling.

  Several perfect moments passed. More than a minute. She was simply on top of him, and him in her. His hands ran over her breasts, squeezing with admiration.

  “Beautiful,” he said. “So very beautiful. My beautiful lady.”

  If she squeezed the muscles of her thighs and hips, she could slide upward on his length. The effect redoubled her pleasure—becoming just slightly less filled and then much more filled. Over and over again, she repeated the motion. Delight filled her as she saw the effect on Caius. Sweat poured across his brow, but his expression was one of abject affection and desire.

  For so much of her life, she had wished she was bigger. She wished she was anything but small, transient and ignorable. She wished her body had womanly substance instead of being so like a rail—without effect, without weight in the world, and made for running over.

  Time and again in her life, this had been driven home. So many men and prissy women insisting that she was without meaning, that she was weak, that she was too small and too frail to ever matter.

  Though she had fought against her past in almost every way, those words stuck still. Raised underneath the oppression of her household, it was hard to imagine a time when she might be free enough to see her body as it was.

  But Caius made her feel alive, and free, and womanly. Worthy of the desire of a man such as him. Her breasts, which she had hated for their diminutive area, became the perfect grip for his rough hands as he explored her body. Her thighs, so often defamed for their weakness and lack of strength, were strong enough to hold his density close to her as he thrust again and again. Her arms, which always seemed to her like deformed sticks, became the per
fect size to wrap around his neck and hold herself tight to his body.

  Here was completion. Here was love.

  She wanted to say it—wanted to make as real as she could. But something still held her tongue, and so she pulled Caius closer still and rode the moment as best she could.

  “I...I...oh gods, Aeliana.”

  Caius lifted up, picking her body up easily and standing, even as she rode him still. Quickly he had her pushed against the wall, her body crushed pleasantly by the overwhelming force of his strength. Her breath left her; all of her now was entirely his to control.

  “Too close,” he grunted.

  He removed his cock from her entrance, sliding it over the pleasurable mound just above. Still he thrust, placing the fullness of his hardness against her in that intimate spot. Pleasure sang through her bones.

  She cried out as the ecstasy began to take hold completely. As she vibrated and shook against him, he emptied upon her belly and breasts. The warmth of his seed spread across her torso. A deep flush stretched across what felt like her whole body.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered. “So beautiful.”

  He kissed her again, this time smothering her with his weight back down on the ground. It should have been uncomfortable, curled up into him against the stone. But all she felt was his warmth. His strength. The almost worshipful touch of his hands as they moved up and down her body.

  This was love.

  But she couldn't say it. Saying such things aloud too soon ruined them—and this was a feeling she could not bear to ruin.

  Chapter 41

  “Porcia has been telling me unsettling matters,” said Rufus. “A great many things.”

  His voice was weak. No matter the attentions of the medici, his health was poorly. Their many rituals and potions had only made him feel worse. In frustration, he had sent them away in the morning.

  Outside, it was early afternoon. In the bedchamber, though, with Rufus so sick, it could have been any time of day. A fire burned in a brazier, keeping him warm beneath layers of blankets. He was losing flesh at an alarming rate. Caius stood in his training clothes—loincloth, belt, and sandals. Next to him was Aeliana in a soft blue robe. It was maddening not to hold her hand.

  “She tells me that you, Caius, were gravely injured before your fight, and should not have survived in the arena. And she tells me that she has unofficially doubled Aeliana’s contract. She tells me that you and Aeliana are having an affair.”

  “Dominus,” Aeliana began. “I—”

  “I am as unsettled as you are, I imagine,” said Rufus, “to know that my wife is kept informed when a prize gladiator is hurt beneath my own notice. And that she has taken it upon herself to alter contracts I have had written up. And doubly so, that my wife makes it her business to know what slave sleeps with which when she does not even mother our son.”

  At this, they said nothing. Rufus had sent for Marius, his son, but there had been frequent delays due to storms and building the funds for an appropriately protected caravan. It was uncertain whether he would see him before he died.

  “Sleep with whoever you like,” said Rufus, waving a hand dismissively. “Your sex is not our property. Just your labor. You well know this.”

  He began to cough then. Aeliana approached and turned him to one side, firmly patting his back. After a few minutes, his body finally stopped spasming. Aeliana looked at Caius with worry in her eyes.

  “Thank you,” said Rufus, turning back onto his back. “I am not long for this world. No, don’t object. I see it in your eyes. Death waits for us all, even lanistae. And as I am dying, I made a few things clear in my will this morning. The first is the length of your contract, Aeliana. I understand you don’t like it here. That is very fine. Blood is not for everyone, even when coupled with glory and honor in the arena. You have done us a great service, and trained Chloe besides. Your contract is up at the expiration of its term, and no funny business.”

  Caius saw a visible release from the woman. His woman, now, if she would have it be so. It was as if she had let down an aurochs from her shoulders.

  He was gladdened—greatly so—for her good news. He tried to push away the heavy pangs of loss that awaited him when he was stuck in the ludus and she was no longer there. How long would it take to forget about her affair with the gladiator once she was eligible for marriage once again? Wouldn’t her family want her married quickly? That was the Roman thing to do.

  “Secondly, there are games, as you know, arriving here at the end of the month.”

  Caius nodded. “Yes, Dominus.”

  “So, as my wife takes an interest in pitting you in strange battles, I thought it might be to your advantage that I took care of the matter for her. As such, it has already been arranged. You shall be in the primus, fighting against Felix. Ursus and Hector, in combat at last.”

  Caius grunted. What was it Felix had said to him?

  It would have been a great story. To avenge his brother’s death, the young veteran must fight the Champion of Puteoli.

  The story was still there, after all. The only difference was that Caius was a returning champion, injured, and Felix had years of experience and winning on his side.

  “This is, you understand, a great get for Quintus. He’s been wanting to pit Felix against Lucius for years. The agents always turned it down, though. They worried one less champion would hurt the draw from the crowd in later games. So now, if Felix beats you, the fight against Lucius would be almost assured.”

  It was a good match for both houses. No doubt the purses would be extraordinary. All of Puteoli—and perhaps those from other cities—would come out to see the show.

  Caius was mentally ready for any match the world could throw at him. But physically...

  “I don’t know if I will be healed in time for the match, Dominus.”

  “My boy.” Rufus smiled. “You will have to be.”

  Chapter 42

  Three years past, Caius was newly freed and racing through the streets of Puteoli to return to his wife Fabiana. She was under the care of an obstetrix—a midwife—who had volunteered her services for her love of the great and mighty Ursus of Puteoli.

  It would have been bad enough if the day of his last fight had ended with Caius executing Vox. Directly after that deed was done, he had known that he would suffer its consequences for years. The last thing he had wanted was to kill a man on that day—what was to be a glorious day—the day of the birth of his firstborn child.

  Doubling the poor omen was that he had—technically—broken his word to Felix. That stung at him.

  It had all been beyond his control. And yet that did not seem to matter. Not in his heart. His word was broken, and his child born under the cloud of death.

  His biggest fear was stillbirth. The wooden rudis, symbol of his freedom, slapped against the meat of his back as he ran. He had only a small pouch with this gathered belongings from the arena. Rufus had taken his armor to be cleaned and polished so that Caius could display it in his home. It would be delivered on the morrow.

  The day had been cloudy and hot, but now the clouds had broken and only clear starlight shined down. This did not make Caius feel any better. It made him feel as though the Gods watched him, as if they needed a clear view to unleash their judgment properly.

  The home was small—the bottom floor of an apartment not far from the place where Caius’s brother-in-law, the barber Seneca, operated his business. Fabiana had picked it out. She had been a free woman for exactly one month.

  Where had she gone in her newfound freedom? What had she done?

  Caius had heard only bits and pieces. When she came to visit, he greeted her gladly. But his mind was consumed with training. He had to win his fight. He knew his freedom was on the line. So when she spoke of her life as a free woman, he could recall only snippets—she bought a length of green cloth for a bargain; the figs tasted especially good this season; there was no space in the street past sunset when all the traders delive
red their wares.

  It took Caius years to forgive himself for not paying better attention at that time. He had given up the whole of his heart to her before, and had promised over and over again that he would listen to her every day if only he lived past the fight.

  He did live past the fight. But she did not.

  Caius arrived at the small home and rushed inside. The obstetrix was there to greet him. She held his child in her arms, but her face told the whole, sad story.

  For so long, after so many battles, Caius thought he might have finally earned a perfect life.

  Fortune, as ever, had other ideas.

  A gladiator had many essences, each as valid as the one before it. An outsider fighting his way back into society. A man living on the razor’s edge between glory and shame. A demi-god rousing the passions of thousands at once, worshiped by the crowd.

  But more than any of that, as a gladiator, Caius had only ever felt he was one thing—condemned. For a time he had forgotten how condemned he was, and Fortune conspired to make him remember.

  He would not forget again.

  Chapter 43

  If noses could wilt, if faces could, if an entire body’s worth of skin could, Porcia felt as though hers would do so now.

  Across from her, in the new office she had made for herself after the disrepair from the fire, was Cammedius. He was a large, gross slave with a jutting jaw. His nose was beyond crooked, it was positively octagonal, and his eyes were yellow and runny. Were he not a beast in the arena, they would have done away with him long ago. But he was a beast in the arena, and they could cover up the worst of his ugliness with a good helmet.

  Fortunately for her social standing, no such wilting of her skin or otherwise actually occurred.

  The walls around her were decorated with silver shields, bought at a bargain from a sympathetic merchant. She had sold three of them for a profit to pay down some of her debts; the other four, however, looked lovely on her wall. She sometimes imagined herself as a warrior, cutting through the lines of her enemies one at a time.