Enslaved (5 page)

His arms wrapped around her like a quilt. His slick pectorals were her pillow. “Of course, my love.”

Chapter Four

The sweltering Mediterranean sun beamed down on the oblong amphitheater in Cales. It was packed with spectators of various ages and classes. The rotten stench of piss, shit, and entrails permeated throughout the seating area like a dense fog. The humidity intensified the foul odors.

Beads of perspiration rolled down Marcella’s cleavage as she sat between her father and Macer near the ring’s edge. The rumble of the crowd and the clanging of weapons rattled their ears. She covered her face with a fan when the warriors came too near. It was common to receive a splash of blood if the strike was forceful enough.

“Thraex looks strong. Who do you guess will win?” Macer wiped sweat from his temples. The moisture darkened his auburn hair to a burnt copper color.

The Thracian, with his shield and curved sword, battled the net man and his trident. A trio of her father’s gladiators were dead from the group matches and a fourth man wasn’t expected to survive his injuries. If the net man lost now, that lessened the odds of Canus winning or at least walking away with his head intact since today’s audience was especially brutal with their votes.

“The Retiarius is stealthy with his net,” she answered.

Macer spoke with a man behind him in order to place his wager. He would likely bet against the net man.

The Thracian thrust his weapon, finding his blade amongst the trident’s prongs. As the net man twisted his wrist, the sword was wrangled from his opponent’s hand. He only had to rise and skewer his rival to win, yet a celebration was short-lived. A shield smashed into his throat and knocked him down. The Thracian followed him to the ground, pummeling his head until the skull cracked apart like an overripe melon. The mass of watchers shouted with approval. A few boos came from factions that bet on the loser.

“How much did you collect?” she asked.

“I lost.”

Marcella wrinkled her brow. “Did you not say you favored Thraex?”

“Yes, but you picked Retiarius and so he had my support as well.”

The deceased man was dragged out by his feet, and the next two contenders entered the arena. Canus, with a sleeve guard on his weaker arm, held two swords against a bigger and more equipped challenger. The Provoker was dressed as a Roman legionary with a large shield, a sword, and a helmet that covered his head and face.

Marcella was more petrified than she’d ever been. She regretted telling Canus that she might accept Macer’s proposal. The way he responded was like the passionate fighter within him surrendered, as if now that she was taken care of he could let himself depart this earthly world.

When his name was announced, Canus raised his weapons and looked into the crowd. The people reacted with a unanimous roar and stomped on the wooden stadium equaling the sound of a herd of galloping stallions. Women screamed the loudest for the champion of Campania. He was a coveted symbol of sex and virility.

Marcella’s gaze froze upon him.

“I see you have a favorite.” Macer squeezed her hand. He seemed to recognize the look of love she couldn’t disguise.

For a second, Canus met her eyes and winked. She smiled.

When the noise abated, the Provoker was introduced. He pointed his blade toward the audience and received minor applause.

The announcer hollered, “Begin!”

Marcella held her breath.

Four yards of bloodstained dirt separated the gladiators and mere minutes stood between one of them and certain death. Canus was always the aggressor. He darted side to side in search of his foe’s weakness, hesitantly moving closer. His opponent watched, his knees slightly bent, shield up, sword at the ready.

Canus broke into a sprint and attacked. His first strike was deflected by the man’s shield, his second by the man’s sword. His third hit the mark. The blade sank into flesh, bisecting the neck and shoulder. The Provoker dropped his shield and collapsed to his knees.

The morbid spectators chanted, “Kill, kill, kill, kill!”

Canus obliged them and spared the man from a slower, more agonizing death. He lifted his second sword and plunged it through his victim’s heart. The Provoker fell back dead and the crowd cheered. That ended the games for the day.

Marcella exhaled a sigh of relief, feeling light-headed from the lack of oxygen. She gripped Macer’s hand even tighter. She overflowed with an amalgamation of giddy emotions—love, hate, fear, joy, excitement. She hardly noticed her father rise from his seat.

“Macer, I have business to attend with the promoter here. Escort Marcella home for me, please.”

“Yes, sir.” Macer offered her his arm and led her away.

In her father’s mind, Marcella was as good as married to Macer. The fact wasn’t as abhorrent now as it was days ago. Mitigating elements changed her opinion, like his huge bicep beneath her palm, his face without a single blemish, and his nose, so perfectly straight, it could be carved from Greek marble.

He sat across from her in the carriage headed southeast to Velia. She noticed how well he wore his uniform. His immense upper body almost totally filled his side of the compartment. She suddenly wondered what he looked like nude. Pictrix said one could only be absolute about love if she tried it with a different man.

She remembered dreaming about Pictrix in a threesome and how she herself transformed into the woman, with Macer and Canus completing the trifecta. Seduction rose like steam to the forefront of her thinking.

She brushed her lower leg against the side of Macer’s bare calf. “Will you join us for dinner?”

“If I were not on duty tonight, yes. I vow to make it up to you after our nuptials. Should you agree to marry me, that is.”

“You know you have my father’s vote.”

“I want yours.”

She proceeded brushing his leg with her own. “Have you any thought about what would be your wedding present to me?”

“Name it, and it is yours.”

“A gladiator purchased from my father.”

“You mean Canus?” He shook his head. “Bestia will never release his premier fighter.”

“Everyone has a price. This is mine.” She shifted to sit beside him, so near she could smell the leather from his studded shoulder lappets. She edged closer to his face at each spoken sentence. “Father wants us to be married. I want to own the best gladiator. You want me. We all win.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “I desire a bride who lusts for me.”

She couldn’t disregard her growing affection for him, and if their marriage bequeathed her Canus, she’d be happily indebted to her husband. “You shall have one.”

“Where is the proof?”

“Name it.”

Macer kissed her gently, focusing time on each of her lips. He didn’t overpower her with his mouth as Canus often did. There was no rush to his movements. They had plenty of time. That calculated pace tantalized her senses. She wanted more and found herself assuming control.

He sat back. “You trade yourself for a gladiator’s contract. Is he worth so much, and my love worth so little, that you attempt bribery?”

“Love?” She repeated the word again in her mind.
Love?
“You love me?”

“How could I not? When Lucullus’ baby was stillborn, neither he nor his wife would touch it, as if they believed the gods themselves cursed it, but you cradled that infant like it was your own. You cried so deeply at the loss. The woman I saw, utterly consumed with grief for such a tiny thing, was the woman I want to bear my children.”

A tear rolled down Marcella’s cheek. He brushed it away with his thumb.

She envisioned the boy who defended her from his siblings’ insults, the fellow who instigated street-side conversations when his family ignored her, the gentleman who’d remained her friend for years, the soldier who could easily ravage her, had he the whim, yet respectfully did not. She was a bit disappointed he hadn’t. On one hand, she wanted to experiment with him to reassure herself their marriage could work. On the other, memories with Macer had conjured emotions she hadn’t known she felt. Was it possible she loved him as more than a dear friend? She was in love with Canus. And yet…

“I was wrong to ask you for a gift. My apologies.”

“Darling, I would give you the world if only I could locate the seller. If he makes you happy, you shall have your gladiator.” He kissed the back of her hand and she was exultant. “Perchance, you can show me his value sometime.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I saw how you looked at him. It is not solely his battle style that interests you, is it?”

“No.”

“Some say ingesting the sweat of a gladiator will grant you fertility, though that is not the juice you seek. Tell me, how is he in bed?”

Blood rushed to her face. “What?”

“There is no shame in our having been with prior partners.”

“I am not ashamed.”

“Then to answer my inquiry, and to keep your cheeks that pretty crimson, is he as good a fucker as he is a fighter?”

Macer had insinuated the night before that he was aware of the indiscretions available to the lady of a ludus. Now he was telling her that he knew her secret and there was no use denying it.

She lifted her chin boldly. “He is better.”

“Ah, that I must see. I alluded to this fact once before, so now I confess. I have an occasional penchant for watching others make love.”

Marcella’s mouth gaped, not out of shock, but from finding a kindred spirit. She too experienced the thrill of voyeurism and her expression morphed into a half-smile.

“I see this is not the guise of embarrassment. It is excitement. Will you perform for me?”

“With him?” The notion piqued her libido. An exotic zing shot through her midsection. After having that dream, she’d fantasized about enjoying two lovers minus any guilt, but what men in reality would be unselfish enough to share her? “Oh, you are toying with me.”

“If you surmise that Canus will object, he does not have to be made aware of my observations. I am asking you to marry into wealth and status with a man who adores you, and for only this request. That is my price.”

Canus had afforded her his blessing to wed Macer. He had to have thought about her fornicating with another and didn’t seem to object. He may even revel in watching or being watched. He was accustomed to a big audience in the arena. A single man would make no difference. Whether or not he was agreeable held little consequence. The question was, was she?

“I will think it over.” The steamy thought of seducing him drifted up again. “Would you relish hearing the way Canus defiles me and how I plead for it?”

He cleared his throat as if allotting himself time to deduce whether she was bluffing. He tested her. “Very much.”

“All right.” She basked in his full attention, knowing her words could bring him to full mast. “I creep into his darkened cell with the terror of being caught drumming in my chest. It is wrong to want him, I know. I turn to leave. He springs on me, ripping my clothing off with his rough hands.”

“Show me.” His hungry brown eyes glistened like those of a salivating animal atop its prey.

She slid her bodice down to reveal her plump breasts. His face flushed three shades of red. She traced her fingertips over the copious bulge rising from under his tunic as she planted kisses along his neck.

“What else?” he breathed.

“He calls me his sex slave. I beg him to fuck me, but he pins me down and tortures me with the wait. He molests every part of my body, flicking at my clit with his tongue and sucking my nipples.”

“Such as this?” He pushed her back in the seat and gingerly nipped at her naked breast, causing the skin to horripilate.

“Yes.” She reclined and led his right hand beneath her dress.

“Does he touch you this way?” Two fingers penetrated her dewy slit whilst a thumb massaged her throbbing nub.

“Aye,” she murmured.

He yanked up her skirt. “Your cunt is exquisite, so smooth and warm and wet, like a sultry little treasure chamber.” He swirled around his first digit almost beckoning her to come for him. His left hand cupped each of her breasts in tandem, squeezing and releasing, pushing and then pulling her back from the cusp of orgasm.

He trailed his hand from her bosom down the length of her body until he reached his own crotch. He exposed his robust cock and began to masturbate. Seeing him derive satisfaction from watching her, Marcella was empowered and incredibly turned on.

“Do you take him into your mouth?” He continued rubbing her clitoris, urging her to a higher summit of excitation.

She was almost there. “Uh huh.”

“Such a voluptuous mouth.” He was breathing heavier as he jerked his hand up and down his shaft. Spots of perspiration popped out on his forehead. “Show me you want me.”

His fingers were fuel dousing her pleasure inferno. She wanted him to charge into her. She tried to scream “fuck me” but orgasmic contractions robbed her of voice. She arched her back while hot twitters of erotic delight vacillated from her pussy. She climaxed in a series of uncontrollable huffs just as he spilled his seed onto the floorboard.

The carriage abruptly stopped.

“Domina, we are home,” Scipio declared, knocking against the door.

“One moment!” She tucked herself back into her bodice and straightened her stola. She’d forgotten how close they were to her house.

Macer had already composed himself. “I must have you for my bride. Will you marry me at last?”

He wasn’t deterred by her feelings for Canus. In fact, he seemed all the more aroused by them. She could keep her gladiator by marrying a friend. It was a deal she easily accepted. “Yes. I shall inform father tonight.” She kissed him goodbye before exiting the cart.

The villa seemed less dreary as she approached it. Pictrix waited by the front entrance. Her slim body looked skinnier than days prior as stress was taking its toll. Her fate of being sold or sent to the mines rested in Marcella’s decision.

“There is a glow about you,” Pictrix said. “You have decided.”

“I am to marry him. We shall all be happy together.” She hugged Pictrix tightly. Her next request would be to purchase her friend from her father.