My Spartan Hellion

by Nadia Aidan

  He was nude.

  His chest rippled with muscles, meeting the hard planes of his chiselled stomach, while powerful arms, corded with sinew, rested along his sides, perfectly defined. She dipped her gaze lower, swallowing the hard lump in her throat when his manhood stiffened before her eyes, as if awakening from its slumber. His root stood thick and long, jutting out proudly from its nest of coal black hair that coiled around it.

  She snapped her wandering gaze back to his face, her cheeks boiling hot with embarrassment.

  His lips furled into a wicked grin, his eyes dancing with laughter. “I came to wake you. We depart shortly.” He nodded before turning to leave.

  And as he stalked away, she ogled his massive legs and taut ass, admiring how the muscles in his back flexed with each powerful step he took.

  She remained transfixed by his muscular back, but her appreciation soon gave way to alarm as sickening horror settled in the pit of her rolling belly. What seemed like hundreds of tiny lines crisscrossed his entire back.

  He’d been whipped—repeatedly—and she gulped in dismay, wondering whatever he had done to receive such a horrible punishment.

  * * * *

  The scorching waves of the desert heat crashed down upon her, choking her, and Lamia wiped at the sweat trickling along her brow as the blistering sun battered them mercilessly. They would travel south towards Sparta—the journey taking at least half a fortnight, if they were lucky.

  Already her muscles ached and she released a soft groan as she shifted in the saddle, tensing when her buttocks brushed against Thanos.

  “Relax,” he murmured close to her ear, the sound of his deep voice washing over her like a gentle breeze. She shivered as his warm breath feathered across the sensitive skin along the side of her neck, coaxing tiny goosebumps from her heated flesh.

  “I am fine,” she gritted out, but she was far from it. Her backside was sore, her back hurt, and her muscles throbbed with pain from holding herself so rigidly.

  He chuckled, the husky rumble resonating through her entire body as it seemingly crossed the narrow space between them to enfold her in its intimate warmth.

  “I do not bite,” he said with laughter in his voice.

  Lamia whipped her head around to glare at him. “I said I was fine.”

  By the gods, he was handsome when he smiled. The harsh planes of his face softened and his piercing eyes danced with merriment as he stared down at her. Afraid that her eyes would betray her, she twisted her head back around.

  He tightened his hold on his reins, enclosing her in his embrace. And when he leant forward, his chest brushed against her back.

  She stifled a moan and her eyelids drifted shut the moment she felt her body hum to life, her nipples budding so tightly that the sensation was almost painful. Yestereve, she’d noticed him as a man—his handsomeness, his virility. Yet at the same time she’d been so consumed by her fate that she’d purposely ignored her awareness of him.

  But ever since earlier that dawn in her tent…having seen his wet physique, the droplets of water that clung to his hair-roughened skin… She swallowed at the memory. Thanos was just so blatantly masculine that it was hard not to be affected by him—it was hard to be around him and still pretend that she did not notice, especially when his body was pressed to hers.

  “Move back and relax against me,” he said firmly, his warm breath fanning the tiny hairs behind her ear.

  She shook her head. The last thing she wanted was to have his strong arms wrap any tighter around her, so that, with each step of his horse, his solid chest would rub her back and the insistent press of his cock would nudge the swells of her ass, just as it was doing now—

  “Do it, Lamia.”

  “No.”

  He dropped the reins, and she gasped when his hand snaked out to splay across her belly, to gently but firmly scoot her back so that she rested against the hard wall of his body.

  “Stop that, Spartan,” she snapped, struggling to lean forward, but it was useless. He had trapped her with his large frame.

  “You are the most stubborn woman I know,” he shot back, his voice strained with exasperation. “Your back will be sore by dusk if you remain so rigid. Relax against me. We have a long journey ahead and you will ache all over before it is done. It is foolish to start off in pain,” he argued.

  She silently fumed but said nothing. She hated that he was right. But, more than that, she hated how the tender folds of her womanhood were now warm and swollen, the slick, wet juices of her blossoming body now pooling between her thighs. She let out a ragged breath, trying to fight back a moan while her gaze desperately roamed over the expanse of land that lay ahead of them. There was no way she would survive a fortnight with her body pressed against Thanos the entire time. She needed to concentrate on plans to escape…and the sooner the better, because her body threatened to ignite into flames with the slightest touch.

  It was shameful, it was shocking and it terrified her, the power this Spartan now wielded over her without any effort.

  Yes, it was imperative she escape him—and fast—for she could only imagine what would come of her if he were to do more than just touch…

  * * * *

  Thanos stifled the bubble of laughter that threatened to slip past his lips as Lamia’s face darkened with irritation.

  “Then where shall I sleep?”

  “Right there.” He nodded at the bed mat.

  She pinched her lips into a frown. “But then where will you sleep?”

  “I just told you, Lamia.” His voice was patient.

  “Absolutely not. Why can you not sleep wherever you slept last eve?”

  He smiled slowly, surprised by how much he was enjoying her discomfiture. “Last eve, I slept outside my tent, while you slept inside.” He didn’t bother to add that she’d slept inside alone, which apparently was what she wished for again this eve.

  “Very well, then. I shall put up the tent and outside the tent is where you may sleep again,” she argued.

  He drew in a deep calming breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “I know you have another bed mat,” she hedged.

  “I do, but it is folded up in the tent and I just told you we are not putting it up this eve. It takes too long to break down camp when we do that. If Atallus’ men are still after you then we need to be able to move quickly. Now…if it rains, then we shall build the tents.” He didn’t add that only one would be put up…for her. Spartan soldiers were conditioned to endure any climate—rain, hail, snow. “Otherwise, we will sleep under the sky.”

  Her lips pressed tightly together while her eyes threatened to scald him alive. He ignored her. Thanos was tired and he would not waste his last bit of energy arguing with her.

  “I set up our sleeping mat over here to give you some privacy from my men. I suggest you relieve yourself and prepare for bed. We have another gruelling dawn ahead of us,” he said as he began to remove his heavy leather curiass.

  He rolled his neck on his shoulders, glad to be rid of the smothering armour, as he stretched and flexed the muscles in his torso.

  He started at the soft brush of fingertips along his back that was so unexpected his entire body jerked. The gentle touch of her hand ignited a simmering heat deep in his belly and he fought back a low groan as his body slowly awakened to her warm caress. It had been so long since a woman had touched him like this—had touched him at all—that he had to drag in a deep breath to gain control of himself.

  Wiping all traces of the effect she was having on him from his face, he twisted around to glance over his shoulder.

  “Who did this to you?” she asked, as she continued to run her fingers over the raised scars.

  There was something in her voice that caused him to still. It was concern, but it was more than that. There was something else lingering there, just beneath the surface, which stirred him. He sensed her compassion for his pain, and it warmed him inside. A small spark of hope flared within him. He kn
ew she sought not to wed him—that she was only with him because he’d forced her. But he gathered she was beginning to soften towards him, even if it was just a tiny measure.

  “Have you ever heard of the agoge?”

  She furrowed her brow. “Isn’t that a Spartan school?”

  A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Somewhat. Spartan boys enter the agoge at seven annos. It is where boys become soldiers. We are trained and educated in the agoge until we reach twenty.” He turned to face her, grasping her fingers in his hand. “Flogging is one such method of training.”

  Her eyes widened. “But there must be hundreds of scars there.”

  “Thirteen annos is a long time.”

  “But that is just barbaric.”

  He tightened his grip around her fingers when she tried to jerk them from his grasp. “No, Lamia—war is barbaric. Spartans simply train their men for the horrors of war.”

  “I disagree. They whipped you as a boy. You were just a child.”

  He let out a long sigh, knowing most could never hope to understand the ways of his people. He hoped Lamia would not be one of them. He hoped she would keep an open mind but he knew her grasp of Spartan culture would not take place in a single eve. “As we journey to Sparta, I will tell you more of my people, my home, and with time maybe you will come to understand our ways.”

  “If they whipped you as a child then I seriously doubt that, Spartan.”

  His lips twitched. “Well, if you ever have a change of heart and decide to wed me, and we have a son, then at the least you will have to accept Spartan ways, even if you do not agree.”

  He teased her, his words meant in jest, but Lamia did not share his sense of humour in that moment.

  “You truly think our situation is amusing, but as I’ve said before, I find none of this funny.” Her topaz gaze flashed with anger. “We will have nothing together, Spartan. I have already refused to wed you, so I certainly will not be bearing you any little Spartan soldiers.”

  His lips quirked higher and he released her fingers only to grip her arm with the same hand and drag her against his body, reaching out with his other hand to caress her face.

  His movements were so quick that she had no time to react and she stared up at him, her eyes wide with surprise and her mouth agape.

  “I wish you would reconsider. Any son we have together would turn out to be a magnificent soldier. With your spirit and my skills, I have no doubt he would grow to be one of the finest warriors the Spartan army has ever seen.”

  “I cannot believe you even speak of children when we shall never wed.” She snorted. “You are mad. Release me,” she demanded and raised her hands, flattening her palms across his chest to push against the solid muscle.

  He ignored her words and did the exact opposite. He tightened his hand around her arm, pulling her closer. “You enjoy fighting me at every turn. You think it sours me to you, but I find your fire…” He searched for the right word. “Enchanting,” he whispered, leaning into her.

  Thanos knew she glimpsed his intent in his eyes. She knew he was going to kiss her, and she could have resisted when his head descended, but she didn’t. She didn’t offer up a single protest, not even when his lips gently met hers and he clasped her body tighter.

  He groaned against her mouth as he moulded her lush curves to his larger frame, the heat of her body scorching his flesh. He released her just long enough to wrap his arms around her waist, dipping his hands to cup the firm globes of her backside. Squeezing gently, he massaged her ass softly, slowly, and he felt her shudder against him as a moan escaped her soft lips. Slipping his tongue inside her mouth, he stroked in and out of the moist cavern, letting his mouth mimic the rhythm of his hips as they pumped back and forth to grind his burgeoning arousal along her mound.

  “Touch me,” he rasped.

  Her eyes grew wide, and her fingers were hesitant as she traced an agonising path along his shoulder blades, down his arms and across his back, before skimming back up his arms to twine her hands behind his neck. His skin heated wherever her teasing fingers stroked his flesh. He wanted to lay her down right there on his mat, spread her thighs and, beneath the dark sky, sink his rigid cock into her moist heat until his seed erupted inside her.

  He deepened the kiss and devoured her mouth, squeezing her ass tightly, rocking her firmly against his engorged length. His body demanded that he release himself from the confines of his leather pteryges and plunge inside her, but he resisted. She wanted him. For all her protests—her body was her betrayer. But he could not push her on this, not yet. She was not yet ready for him to take her, to brand her, to make her his—for that was exactly what he would do if he made love to her. So instead of doing what his body demanded, he lifted his head, slowly ending the kiss.

  Her eyes were still closed and he smiled down at her upturned face. He’d been surprised that she’d succumbed so eagerly. He’d fully expected her to strike him before she yielded to him so wantonly—

  Whack.

  His head snapped sideways, and he would have visibly winced had he not been a better trained soldier. Gods, he’d forgotten just how strong she was. Rubbing his burning jaw, he hid his smile. Apparently, he’d been too hasty in his thoughts.

  “Do not ever touch me again, Spartan.”

  He lifted a single brow at her words. After such a passionate kiss, he had definite plans to touch her—many more times. “Do not strike me again, Lamia, or I will be forced to punish you.”

  “I will cut your hands off with your own sword if you flog me.”

  He grimaced at the vision of her doing just that. He would have to watch her…and his sword.

  “I would never flog you, Lamia. The punishment I have for you would serve only to teach you a lesson, not to cause you undue pain. It would be pleasurable for you—and for me.”

  She emitted a rude curse. “I doubt any pleasure could be found in your type of punishment,” she retorted, her arms folding across her chest, but the flash of interest brimming in her eyes betrayed her. She was curious about his brand of punishment that also promised pleasure.

  Desire heated his body and blood simmered in his veins at the challenge she’d unknowingly just issued. “Any pain I give will also bring pleasure. I am not a cruel man, Lamia. I would never hurt or humiliate you. As you learn to surrender to me, you will learn the joy of my punishments,” he murmured softly.

  He held her gaze for just a moment longer, making certain she understood the promise of his words, because, with the long journey ahead of them, her wanton behaviour and their desire for one another, there would surely come a dawn when she would find herself on the receiving end of one of his punishments, of that he was certain.

  He spun away from her then, turning towards the dense forest area where they were camped in order to relieve himself. Alone, hidden by the thick foliage, he drew in a deep breath as he counted silently, a technique he’d developed as a young boy to calm himself.

  He could have forced her to wed him, but he hadn’t—his honour and his pride would not allow him to take an unwilling woman to wife. But she was not as unwilling as she pretended to be. The explosive heat of their kiss, its intensity, had revealed her desires—that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

  He could not explain why he yearned for her so fiercely, why he longed for her so intensely, even though she was a stranger to him. He could only guess it was her inner fire that captivated him, drew him to her and enthralled him so completely that he would not be satisfied until he claimed her as his.

  Despite his longings, however, Lamia was not yet ready to confront the intensity of his desire for her. For now it was more important for Lamia to have the opportunity to awaken to her own passion for him, which would take…

  Time.

  He was certain that with time he could make her see that tying her life to his was destined by the gods and that it would not be a bad life if she were to wed him. But he would not succeed in convincing her
if he pressed her as he’d just done moments ago. He had not intended to reveal to Lamia his true nature. He wanted her to come to know him better, because the last thing he wished was to scare her away—not when, in all his annos, he’d never imagined he would come to find a woman such as her.

  While most Spartan men wed at twenty and had sired all of their children by thirty, at thirty-five annos he had yet to do either. It was not because he didn’t want a family, quite the opposite. The difficulty had always arisen when it came time to find a wife.

  Spartan women were dominant outside of the bedchamber—and equally dominant inside—sometimes indulging in several lovers or taking more than one husband. He had no desire to share what he considered to be his with any other man, which was why he’d given up hope of ever finding a Spartan wife. And yet women not Spartan born were submissive both in and out of the bedchamber, which was something he could not endure either. He had no desire to tie himself to a woman who could not think for herself. He wanted a wife, not a servant.

  The gods had driven him to Lamia—a woman who would challenge him in all areas of his life, except in the bedchamber. Her response to him that eve had hinted at her true nature—a nature he was certain she had no idea she even possessed.

  His manhood began to swell and lengthen as he recalled how easily she had submitted to his kiss, her body opening and yielding to his desires. Her actions told him that, while at dawn she would fight him at every turn, by dusk she would willingly submit to his complete dominance over her body.

  Chapter Four

  Lamia sipped from her cup of wine, watching Thanos from above the rim. He shuffled back and forth across the camp, barking out orders to his soldiers, his lithe muscles flexing with every stride he took. Just like the dawn they’d met, when they’d fought in the agora at Athens, his very presence commanded attention and she found it impossible to tear her gaze from him.