Desire of the Gladiator (Affairs of the Arena Book 3) (17 page)

“But not in the primus.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Not in that.”

“You deserve it. They’re fools. You should be the one fighting there.”

“You want that?”

Her mouth twisted slightly. “Not particularly. But you want it. And I want you to have what you want.”

He was very handsome in the torchlight. He was handsome all the time. She wanted him now, wanted him with a deep, serious longing that she did not know she possessed. She realized now why she had come to him. Her eyes tracked the motions of his face, waiting to catch his own eyes in her gaze. Once he looked into her eyes, he would understand. Her hand climbed on this thigh, squeezing. As it did, she removed the knife from her own thigh and slipped it to the ground—it would be in the way very shortly. 

“Septus came and apologize to me. He was very nice. I told him it didn’t matter. That it didn't bother me.”

“I see.”

“But that was a lie. It does bother me. I’ve given up everything for that man. For Publius. I’ve given him my all, and still he undercuts me. You get tired of it over time.”

Her heart sang for him. She could heal him, somehow. She knew she could.

Instinct took over. The loincloth was nothing, a barrier of sight more than access. Her fingers slipped by easily, gripping on his shaft with a surety she did not know she had.

“Leda...”

“Hush.” She placed a finger to his lips. “This is what I am doing for you, now.”

For him, yes, but for herself as well. Every new action she took let her forget more and more of her troubles—and that was what she needed now more than anything. To help this man, and in doing so, help herself.

Perhaps there was a killer after her sent by her family. But if that was the case, then there was not any chance that they would arrange her marriage.

Why bother being pure at all?

Why not give in to the lust she had been denying for months?

She undid the ties of his loincloth and pushed it down to his feet. A bush of hair, as impressive as the thick hair around his head, surrounded the shaft. It was a wild, magnificent sight. Her hand did all the work, pushing up and down with urgency. His slickness poured out, making the thick shaft only quicken in her hands as she worked.

His hands tightened on her back, pulling her closer up against him.

“Leda...G...Gods!”

Lips landed on her neck, her chest, her chin. He could not stop himself from kissing her much the same as she could not stop herself from stroking him this way.

Conall’s arms were thick and long. He swept one on top of hers, allowing it enough room to keep working, and placed her on his lap. Hunching forward, he slipped his fingers up her thighs.

“Not fair,” Leda moaned. “This is my gift...for you.”

“Then let me have my gift. Let me do this.”

Her legs spread out, urging him forward. Thick fingers pressed against her entrance and slowly slipped inside. She could feel her moistness slide between his digits, the warmth of her center gently trapping him. Still she stroked him, harder than he was before. It seemed a marvel that he could have shown more need for her, and yet that was exactly what he did.

Something quickened in her belly as he worked his fingers upward inside of her. A sweet, hot release of passion began to tremble in her legs.

“Oh gods,” she moaned, biting his shoulder. “Gods, Conall...I’m going to...there’s something...”

He nodded, urging her on. “Me too. You should...you should move.”

But she wouldn’t move for anything. She did not care if the sky split open that very second, there was no possible way she would miss the feeling of his pleasure erupting through his body. She needed to feel him tremble, the way he made her tremble.

He spilled out over her hand and over their legs and torsos. The second she felt all that spreading warm seed, her own orgasm shook through her. She bit his hard shoulder, moaning deep into it.

Everything was pleasure. Everything was right.

Her mind drifted and several minutes afterward, he placed her down on the cot. It groaned with his dense weight—all that muscle. He spread her legs out, the ridged lines of his abs cutting down in a v-shaped arrow toward his still-hard manhood.

She raised an eyebrow as he pushed forward with his cock, urging for more. “I thought all that talk of the virility of gladiators was just talk.”

“Perhaps it is.” The head slid against her thighs, hard as iron. “But you’ve done something to me, princess. And now that I have you here, I need to keep going.”

He took her by the thighs, roughly bringing her directly under him. He was strong—by the gods, he was so strong. Every part of her felt so deliciously weak. Powerless. Totally under his control. It was exactly what she needed.

“I need you, Leda. I love you.”

“I love you, Conall.” She nodded, taking him and guiding him in. “Do it. I want it. Please.”

The sudden entrance was rough, but entirely welcome. Already her thighs and folds had slicked from the earlier excitement, and he found no resistance as he pushed inside to his hilt. Gasp after gasp exited her mouth as she pulled him forward, needing more—always more.

His hips thrust into her with all the practiced motion of a lover who had spent years honing his fitness and endurance. There was no restraint. No holding back. Conall could go at full speed for hours and never get tired.

He was tireless on top of her, driving forward for what felt like days. Her brain melted from lust, every new stroke inside her body initiating another round of bliss. She bit his shoulders still, fingernails raking across his broad back.

Leda lost track of time but it did not matter. Time was inconsequential compared to the pleasure of his cock throbbing so perfectly inside of her.

Somehow, her thoughts formulated enough to have concern for him. “You must...must need to...?”

To come, she meant, though it felt almost too filthy to say. But Conall took her at her meaning.

“I have waited long for this, princess. I intend to make you remember me for a long time yet.”

That sentiment rushed her excitement. The contact of their skin, so warm and close, enervated her body beneath him. She began arching her back into his hands as they slid over her heavy breasts. Her own hands ran across the solid stone mass of his pectorals and neck, every part of him so very solid.

The rush of pleasure gave way to that sudden warm emptiness that signaled the arrival of another orgasm. Her mouth throttled the air, and she moaned again, warning him that it was on its way.

He merely grinned. Now he unleashed in full force, and she realized that what she had felt before was merely foreplay to him. The thrusts were furious and fast, needy. Her body felt completely under his control.

She could sense that his own orgasm was arriving quickly. Leda, struggling not to cry out as she came, bit hard onto his shoulder. He did not seem to mind, and stayed inside her long enough to feel her shake with pleasure before pulling out. The warmth of his seed spread out on her belly once again, warmth on top of the pure heat from the rapturous orgasm he'd given her.

Minutes passed, and then hours. He held her all through the night.

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H
is life felt right. There was much in the world that was wrong. Much that needed his attention. But right then, as the morning approached, everything was right.

Leda was in his arms at long last. His beautiful woman. His princess. And so long as she was there, there could be nothing wrong. He knew this to a certainty.

Morning light slid in from the high slot in the wall. It was time to get up, he knew, to start training. But today, just once, he would sleep in and let that take care of itself. Today, he would hold his love.

And then, it all went wrong.

The two were stirred from bed by the butt-end of a spear driving into Conall’s ribs.

“Time to wake up, gladiator. Your love nest has been rustled.”

He sat up, seeing three armed guards at the door to his cell. They did not seem especially concerned at the sight of the slaves sleeping together.

“Congratulations, Princess,” said a guard. “You’re going home.”

“I’m going...where?”

“Your family has sent for you. The soldiers are just outside.”

The two said nothing in the meantime. Leda seemed to be shaking her head, thinking it was all some mistake. Once they both were fully dressed, Leda walked outside. Conall followed like a sick puppy.

The soldiers were dressed unlike any that Conall had seen in the legion. They wore leather armor with bright gold disks placed upon them. Each had a tall, pointed helmet with a thick ridge down the front side. Their shields were large and gold, matching the tips of their spears.

“My family sent you?” she asked the man in front.

“That’s correct, Princess.”

“They have forgiven me?”

“Yes, Princess. There are assassins after you. Until your family contacts them, we must assume they are still working their contracts. We are to escort you to safety.”

Conall felt assured, at least, that these soldiers knew also about the assassins. He wondered if he could take them in a fight. If he could, they did not deserve to protect his Leda.

“They must have gotten my letters?” she asked. “The emissary in Antioch forwarded them?”

The soldier nodded after a moment. “Yes, Princess. You must come with us.”

“But I’m a slave.”

“Make no worries about that,” said Publius. He strode down the stairs. “They paid handsomely for you. Your release is secured already. I drew up the papers late last night when they arrived.”

Leda and Conall leaned into one another, the shock wave of the news not quite settling down upon them.

She was free. She was free and she was a princess and he was a slave and a gladiator.

It was like this bad news had simply been waiting on them to announce their love for one another, to make the hit all the worse.

“Go and grab your affects,” said Publius. “The guards will wait, but I’d like to have you gone before training starts. I don’t want my men starting fights with foreigners.” He eyed the Armenian soldiers with some suspicion.

Conall swelled with emotions he did not even know what to call. Joy, yes, for his love. But also sorrow—deep sorrow that burrowed into the core of him.

Leda, his love, the woman he wanted nothing more than to live for entirely—freed. Gone from his life.

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L
eda stood at the gates with Conall. Their hands were clasped around one another, and they kept grabbing, as if they could somehow grab just the right way to keep themselves there. There had been no time to make ready. No time to prepare.

She had run upstairs to gather her things, hardly having the time to think. Her bag with her things—there were few of them, a few spare stolas, some scrolls of writing along with her own writing materials—sat in the wagon prepared for her. Her papers for freedom—and the token designating her as a freed citizen—was on her person. She had inspected them thoroughly. They were either genuine or such a magnificent forgery that she had trouble believing anyone would ever discredit them.

The soldier with his heavy Armenian accent was clearly from her home country. Still, there was something suspicious that she simply could not place the fingers of her thoughts around.

“Somehow we’ll fix this,” she said to Conall, nodding. “We can fix this. I shall write some letters and it will all be taken care of. Gladiators can be sold. They can be freed. We shall be together again.”

Conall shook his head.

“No. It’s all right, Princess. I’m not worthy of you, remember?”

He was smiling as he said it, trying to joke. But just recalling those words hurt her.

“Don’t say that.”

“You’ve said it enough.”

He shook her just slightly, trying to earn a smile. But she would have none of it. This was no time to pretend that the past was different.

“No. I was wrong. I wasn’t...I wasn’t worthy of you. I should have acted better. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for a lot. I wish...” she could feel tears brimming now. She tried to straighten. She
was
a princess. “I wish this was different.”

He nodded, silent. It was the sort of silence that said to her he did not trust the sound of his voice.

“I wish anything else at all was happening right now,” he said finally. “Earthquake. Flood. A fire.”

They embraced once more, unable to stop themselves. His lips were sweet and rough. Gladiators began to trail out from the cell blocks, doctores ordering them around the yard.

“I love you,” she whispered in his ear. “Do you hear me? I love you. This is not the end of us.”

“I love you too,” he said. “Gods, I really do.”

She wished with him that something would happen—anything—to stop this. Ten fires. A thousand earthquakes all at once.

But there was no such thing. They kissed a final time and she got up on the wagon they had provided for her. Very soon the horses started.

Conall remained in sight, just looking as she rode away.

The gates creaked loud, closing behind her and shutting the sight of her love away. And that was the end of that chapter of her life.

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T
raining began and Conall’s heart was on fire.

They began as they always began, in front of the posts in the sands. The intent of the post was to practice form. Conall used it to practice his fury. He attacked his post until his arms dragged, trying to fight out the pain.

Every chop was laid against Publius. Every thrust against the soldiers who had taken Leda. Every slash against the blasted Romans who had brought him to this garden of torture to begin with.

His form was terrible—sloppy and scary. Murus, watching him, knew the score, and knew better than to try and stop him. These matters usually took care of themselves. At the rate Conall was chopping, he’d be burned out soon enough.

Twice now, when he thought he had finally reached some zenith of happiness, some inescapable foundation of joy, it had been taken away from him. Twice. Once after gaining the primus—only to be driven from it in the very next munus. And again, now, with Leda.