Mistress of Rome, Book Three of The Emperor's Obsession (7 page)

"There is no need for me to keep pretending, sweet girl," the general laughed. "Now that I have done what the emperor asked me — killed or captured all his enemies, imprisoned that traitorous son of a dog Aviscena, I realized that I might as well rid Rome of its emperor as well. I never believed in half measures. I'm certain even you'll agree I'm the more effective commander, the better leader."
 

A gentle cough interrupted him and everybody turned to look at the back of the room. The curtains parted and revealed the massive whale-like figure of the smiling Majordomo who strode across and the plush rugs.

"You started the fun without me I see," the Majordomo wagged a finger at Petronius in mock admonition.
 

"Milord, not at all," replied the general laughing. "On the contrary — just preparing the girl for your pleasures. Something tells me you two have already met. I'm sure you'll be truly delighted."

The two men embraced and then kissed one another on the cheeks.

Myra's eyes became big as saucers. For a minute she had to remind herself to breathe. Majordomo Julius, her oldest acquaintance in Rome, the emperor's trusted ally, her father's best friend, had changed sides too!
 

"Traitor! You dog, how could you..." Her voice was cut off when a guard slammed a beefy hand across her face. It sent her ears ringing.

"Careful, slave!" A legionary growled. "Know your place."
 

Myra felt the soldier's grip tighten around her arm. And then she felt her hands grow numb.

The two men hardly acknowledged her from the other side of the the room. The general moved over to a table upon which little figurines of men and horses represented the positions of the armies as they lay situated around Rome. The Majordomo made a tsk-tsk sound with his tongue, as if complimenting a plate of delicious food.
 

"Exemplary work, my general," the fat man smiled.

"Or perhaps I must start getting used to calling you, Your Grace?"

"You flatter me, Majordomo," the general nodded. "Rest assured your position in Rome is secure." He put his arm up on the taller fat man's shoulder.

The Majordomo nodded slowly as if in humble submission. Then without so much as averting his stare from the figurines on the table, he moved like a lightning; he wrapped one bejeweled sausage-like hand around the scrawny general's forehead and with the other rapidly sliced across his exposed neck.

Even from the opposite end of the hall where she was still held naked by the hearth, Myra could see the glint of steel in the Majordomo's fingers.
 

Slowly, like in a dream, the general looked first down at the rivers of blood as they cascaded from the deep slits in his throat onto his formerly immaculate toga. Then he looked up in silent incomprehension at the sparkling eyes of the Majordomo.

"The emperor sends his best. May you rot in hell, general!" and the fat man wiggled with surprising dexterity out and away from the limp arm that general Petronius still had draped across his shoulder. The body slithered down and crumpled into a heap by his feet.

The Majordomo turned and for the first time met Myra's wide open eyes.

"Vergilius, release the girl, and make sure she gets some decent clothes to wear," he bellowed.
 

"Yes, Milord," replied the praetorian.

Myra found pressing herself back against the hearth, her heart in her throat as she began to understand.

The bulky man walked over, undid the thick mantle from around his shoulders and gently laid it across the girl's naked form as her legs gave way and she slid to the ground.

"Get some rest, child. The emperor is on his way back," the Majordomo smiled.

Epilogue

Three days later.
 

City of Rome. Imperial Palace.
 

"You took your sweet time, Majordomo Julius," the emperor said as they made their way back from the plaza in front of the palace. Behind their backs, upon a cross, firmly embedded in the dry ground, writhed in grotesque agony the pale body of Aviscena, former Lord of the Treasury. Around that single cross upon heaps of parched wood and timber, were erected beams of wood, to which stood chained dozens of co-conspirators, their moans and supplications joining those of their leader in a chorus of agony as one by one their pyres were set ablaze.

"For a moment there, I almost believed you betrayed me for real," the emperor stopped and stared at his Majordomo, his eyes scanning across the old man's fat cheeks.

"My humblest apologies, Master," the Majordomo bowed his head in genuine submission. Behind him stood the silent form of the giant praetorian guard Vergilius. "I'm loathe to admit that this last little surprise that general Petronius sprung on us, really caught me unprepared. Before I confronted him, I had to make sure the praetorians still held their allegiance to us."
 

"We almost lost the girl, Julius," growled the emperor. "You're lucky you interceded in time. If she had been harmed in any way..." his voice trailed off. "Let us just say, I would have hated to lose such an adept ally as yourself, Majordomo."
 

In the background a particularly wicked scream echoed off of the stone walls. The Majordomo fell to his knees and grotesquely started kissing the emperor's feet.

"Thank you, Milord, thank you... You are too generous," the Majordomo said.

"Get up, Julius," the emperor grabbed the man by the shoulder and tugged him up to his feet. "You're a good Roman, Julius. We thank you," he smiled. The Majordomo used the sleeve of his toga to wipe off the tears and sweat that caked his face.

"May I ask you a question, Milord?"

"Go on."

"How did you know that he would turn on you like that, the general?" the Majordomo asked.

"I happened to remember what my dad had taught me of human nature," Commodus said. "That I can't trust anyone and should account for every possible treachery. But I was also lucky, lucky to have trusted friends in the right places." The emperor looked at Vergilius who bowed imperceptibly in the darkness of the room.

*****

Gods, she could feel him.

His hands — enormous, warm, their skin rough from daily use of his heavy sword pulled her across the silken bed covers until her breasts flattened against the solid muscle of his chest. Her heart threatened to explode out of her ribcage. They were naked — gone were the togas, the belts, the shirts and the sandals. Nothing but skin rubbing against skin. Heat and muscle sliding against softness and sweat. He stroked her temple, her chin, then gently he pressed her head to his chest. She whimpered.

His size excited her. She was tiny — a little morsel of energy, her father used to call her. But the emperor was huge, enormous, towering even above some of his own guards. His muscles pillowed her cheek and rippled beneath her body as she lay herself atop him. She felt his other arm flex across her back, holding her, soothing her. He smelled of cleanliness and soap, of fresh mountain lavender and something else that she guessed was just him.

Myra didn't know what surprised her more — that the most powerful man in the world loved her, or that she had stopped worrying. She felt at home. And yet she knew, there was still something she needed to tell him. She looked up from his chest.

"Master, I have to..." His mouth captured hers with a soft, strong heat and Myra felt herself surrender to his kiss. She never had a chance to protest, the slow, long, confident, devastating motion of his tongue robbed her mind of the ability to think. He tasted of wine and promise, of power and strength, of tenderness she had never thought possible in a man of such power. She felt him angle his head and heard herself make a small sound in the back of her throat. It surprised her, she had never made a cry like that before, it sounded like a plea. Her hands found his ribs and brushed along his corded muscles, mesmerized by their angles and hardness.

She couldn't stop herself. She let her body go. Her arms slid around his back and she found herself holding him as much as he was holding her. He turned and now he was on top, sliding his fingertips over her hair, her temples, her neck. And then lower...

Myra closed her eyes as he kissed the bared hollow of her throat, inhaling deeply the lavender and jasmine lingering there from her morning bath.

He felt his breath catch in his throat. Had any chief, any emperor ever possessed such a treasure? The sweet innocence of her voice, the heat of her fires that blazed under her skin which pale as snow was more intoxicating than wine, more invigorating than cold mountain air.

He lifted himself up on his elbows and gazed upon this treasure of treasures that lay in such exquisite bliss by him. His Myra. She was not beautiful — she was glorious. Her breasts lolled before him, full and taught, dusk aureolas moving into hardness before his own eyes. He could see the shimmer of her sweat break across her sultry skin.
 

He longed to have her, to taste her, to lose himself as he suckled on those proud peaks, to hear her gasps and cries of pleasure.

In his mind's eye he saw the areola glistening with the fiery reflection of the warm fire in the hearth. The curve of her smile told him she found pleasure in his gaze. He felt his manhood rigid and painful as it brushed her soft thigh.

He placed his fingertip on her chin and slowly traced it down her center across her throat, her chest, crossed her navel and stopped at the spot where her lips met.

Her response was low whinny like a filly in the spring. He answered with a low growl as he let his hands roam and explore her tenderness. He kissed her ear and gently nibbled on her lobe before he slid down, almost too fast, hungry, insatiable, until his mouth found her soft petals bellow, parting them, finding her wet and welcoming with anticipation.

She made little broken cries that almost made him come as he touched her. He settled between her thighs, his hands tipping her up and forward, granting him sweet access. He kissed her and his tongue slipped within her intimate recesses. She tasted like milk and honey, warm with life and alive with tension. She shivered but her sweat told him she wasn't cold. Her little twitches came slow at first and then harder and faster, in time with her broken moans of desire.

Neither one of them was sure exactly how many times she came beneath his tongue. But just when he thought she was tired out and almost about to fall asleep he felt her hand move grasp his engorged manhood.

        "I need you, Master," she whispered, her voice raspy with tension. He moved his back and she slowly adjusted him to her entrance. With her legs spread and her folds moist beneath his body as he hovered poised at her entrance, he rounded a hand in between them both and cupped her mound. She started gyrating again and when he felt her rhythm carry her close to the breaking point he let himself go and plunged, their angle and her excitement brought depth and triggered of sensations within Myra's center she never even thought possible. Her muscles welcomed him within her and squeezed him in time with his own movements.
 

Too tired to guide him or even herself Myra accepted her own surrender and he felt her grow soft and delicate beneath him. He accepted her choice and took control for them both, guiding his hips, gently caressing her legs all the way from her toes to her buttocks, a force of nature which she allowed to overwhelm her until their very world started to spiral and then broke in a tidal wave of ecstasy that took them to the very gates of life.
 

He lightly kissed her forehead, her hair, her temples as she lay spent next to him, her head nestled upon his arm, his hand upon her belly. A log cracked and split, its fiery ambers flying up into the chimney. She fit him, his body, his soul so perfectly. She sighed and when he looked up he saw the two twinkling orbs staring back at him.

"So tell me, Master, there is one thing I cannot understand," she asked, her voice a tired whisper.

"Yes, my dove," he said.

"How were you able to get away from the pirates? I was so worried for you. Did you kill them all?" her brow furrowed in quiet incomprehension.

He suppressed a smile, and shimmied out of bed to kneel by her side. He took her hand in his and looked her in the eyes. He could see her frown deepen.

"You don't have to tell me. You're emperor and I don't have to know everything…," she whispered.

"Shh..., I will tell you everything. I
want
to tell you everything." She could see concern and worry fold his features. "But first, I want to you to know that not a moment goes by without me cursing myself for allowing you to come in harm's way the way you did. I will never forgive myself for that…"

Myra shook her head. "But how could you have stopped them? You were a prisoner yourself…," she stopped when she saw him shaking his head.

"I was no prisoner, Myra. It was all a ruse," he looked at her with concern as her eyes grew wide. "I had to make as if I was weak so my enemies would feel bold enough to reveal themselves."

"But, they kidnapped me..." she whispered now and sat up in her bed. "They had me in a dungeon...”

"I know, Myra. All these people, the evil ones that meant you harm, they are punished now. Believe me. You were never meant to come see me at the galley. Josephus was a conspirator and had you believe I had sent for you. I think he hoped to dispose of us both at once that way," Commodus shook his head in disappointment.

"You had him killed..." she whispered as she started to understand.

"Yes, I did," he replied.

"But why didn't you tell me? I worried so much for you."

"I decided you were safer if you knew less… The pirates were my allies but even most of the simple warriors in their midst didn't know their chiefs were on my side. If my enemies suspected that it all was a trap, we might all be dead by now."

Commodus held on to Myra's hands and knelt by the bed, at her feet. He looked her straight  in the eyes and she could see tears trickle down his cheeks.

"Myra," he said. "I cannot imagine myself without you. It is better you don't know how many nights I lay in my bed, woken by nightmares of you kidnapped, tortured, lost…" His body convulsed with thoughts too hard to bear.