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Her eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, so she
could make out the shape of a man walking along the stone path between the
plants and statues of the atrium. Who was still about at this hour, apart
from the watchman on the gate? As she sat motionless, the moon emerged
from behind a cloud and the silvery light fell on Verus’ hair and
shoulder. She drew in her breath as she felt her heart race and her
abdomen grow tight. Why would a mere slave cause such a reaction?
She wanted him to pass her by. No. She wanted him to
see her, wanted to speak to him.
She rose to her feet as he drew level with her. He
saw her immediately and halted on the path, his eyes downcast.
“Mistress,” he said in passable Latin.
His low, musical voice sent shivers down her spine.
Suddenly, she knew what she wanted.
“Approach me,” she commanded.
His gaze flicked over her but after a mere second’s
hesitation he moved obediently two paces forward. He carried a bowl and a
cloth over one arm. He must have been instructed to clean the
vomitorium after the night’s excesses. The scent of soap and fragrant
herbs wafted from him. She reached out her hand and traced one of the
tattoos on his shoulder with the tip of her finger.
And saw the muscle quiver under her feather touch.
The moonlight rimmed him while she remained in
shadow. The silvery sheen outlined the swell of his biceps, the curve of
his chest, the hard muscles of his abdomen.
The tattoo snaked from his shoulder, around one
pebbled nipple, down his belly to the edge of his loincloth. As she
followed its path with her fingertips the cloth stirred.
That huge cock was coming to life at her caress. The
thought drove all other considerations from her mind. She could think of
nothing but lying spread-eagled under him, that hard shaft nudging at the
folds of her opening—
Creamy warmth spread around her thighs and her belly
ached in a way she had never known, making her want to groan aloud. With
an effort she suppressed the sound.
She saw his jaw tighten as it had when Cassius had
touched him to display his nakedness, but whether now from anger or
desire, she could not guess.
“Verus,” she whispered, “you know you must obey me as
mistress of the house?”
“Yes, my lady.” His mouth set in a rigid line and his
whole body stiffened with tension.
She slipped her hand in the waist of his loincloth
and heard his hissing intake of breath.
“I am not like my brother,” she murmured. “I will not
make you do anything you do not want.”
“No, my lady.” His voice was even lower pitched than
before and she caught a hoarseness that had not been there earlier.
“What do you think of me?”
She saw his throat quiver as he swallowed. “You are
very beautiful, my lady.”
“So they say.” Her fingers met the hair on his belly
and she stroked more firmly. His loincloth was tented now, and he gave a
faint groan, but she did not touch his swelling cock. Time enough for
that. “Did you notice me at the parade?”
His mouth twisted at the memory. “May the gods
forgive me, but I did.”
“Why should the gods forgive you? I certainly noticed
you.” She brushed the back of her hand over the pulsing lump still
screened by the cloth hanging on his hips. It jumped under her hand.
“I should not notice my enemy in that way.”
“What way might that be?” She moved her hand behind
his waist and skimmed the hard cheeks of his ass. He closed his eyes as if
in pain. “Do you mean with lust?”
“Yes,” he whispered.
“But your warriors have—”she hesitated a moment
“—intercourse with women they have conquered?”
“They do.”
Her heart was beating so hard in her ears she could
barely hear her own voice and her legs trembled. She raised one hand to
rub her breast and calm the tingling ache and moved the other to take hold
of his fingers.
“Then let’s pretend I am a spoil of war. Come with
me.”
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