“Shh, Justina. Let yourself go,” he whispered against her belly, tasting her, the heat of her skin about to consume them both, until finally his mouth found the wet soft curls of her womanhood. His mouth covered her, and Justina arched in abandon. Eventually he stopped, pulling himself away, letting her body slide down over his hard torso, past his full erection, until they were once again waist deep in the water facing each other.
He could hear her soft pants as she rested her head on his shoulder. Then he gently lifted her chin, making her meet his eyes, “There's no going back now, Justina, you know that don't you?”
Justina nodded, “I want you, Marsallas. I always have.”
Marsallas's eyes darkened with passion at her words. So here it was. The moment of truth. What he'd been waiting for ever since he'd seen her in his quarters at the Circus, and he couldn't control the emotions he felt for her. He wanted her more now, than when he'd been eighteen.
Momentarily, he ruthlessly pushed back the thought of her being with his uncle. That was the past. Here. Now. That was all that mattered. He was finally going to have what he craved for years now.
“Good,” he breathed, “Good.” Then his lips swooped down, capturing her mouth, before he lifted her in his arms as if she weighed nothing, and waded through the hot water, her slim body cradled in his strong muscular arms as he walked up the steps and out of the bath.
* * *
The coldness of the night air was a sharp contrast to the heat of the steamy bath water, and Justina shivered as she was carried across the bath house until she felt herself being lowered onto a couch. Marsallas leaned over her, his arms braced either side of her head, his left knee resting on the edge of the silken couch, waiting, never once breaking eye contact with hers.
Her hand reached up to cup the back of his neck. The unspoken gesture communicated her need, and spurred him on. “Yes,” he hissed, as he lowered himself over her, their bodies fitting together as if they had been made for each other.
“I want you,” he growled, his blue eyes darkened to almost black by the intensity of his need. “Open yourself for me Justina.”
Justina did as he bid, her thighs parting to allow his hard body to settle over her softness, her arms reaching up to hold onto the hardness of his broad shoulders, her eyes closing as desire once more washed over her.
“Watch me. Open your eyes Justina. I want you to see me when I enter you. I want you to know exactly who is above you.”
Justina's eyes flew open at his words, but he ignored the hurt that he must have seen in her eyes as he slid into the heat of her body. But then he stopped, his body tensing and Justina knew that he must have felt the barrier of her virginity. She watched mesmerised as his head fell back, exposing the muscles of his throat which convulsed with emotion, as he finally realised she had been telling the truth after all.
“No, no, no,” he shouted up at the ceiling his eyes pinched shut in pain, “It's not supposed to be like this.” And then he tensed all the muscles of his arms, and with what must have been a super human strength, he started to withdraw from her body.
“Please, Marsallas. Don’t leave me,” Justina whispered, when she realised what his intention was, “Please. I want this. I want you,” her hands gripped his shoulders, trying desperately to bring him back. Then with a woman's instinct, she lifted her legs and wrapped them around Marsallas's waist, stopping his movements, before she angled her hips and pushed upwards with all her strength, joining her body fully with his. She was unable to stop the gasp of pain that shot through her. But thankfully the pain was fleeting. She could feel him inside her, his fullness finally completing her.
She felt victorious when Marsallas's head came to rest on the curve of her shoulder, felt him shudder uncontrollably, his breath hot and heavy on her neck as he lay still in her embrace. Emboldened, she lifted her hands and smoothed them down the tense muscles of his back, lower until they gripped the smoothness of his buttocks.
“Ahh, Justina,” he groaned, her touch obviously enough to re-ignite his passion. Then she felt him move, as if he were powerless to stop the surging demands of his body. Eventually he lifted his head from her shoulder to take her lips once more, and her lips parted eagerly, giving him full access. Justina never imagined that a kiss could be so powerful, as his mouth slanted over hers, his tongue delving between her lips, searching, teasing, finding her tongue, mating with her, fencing, retreating, only to plunge once more into her moist depth. She arched as his fingers encircled her throat, her body trembling with reaction as his hips pounded into her body.
Then he stilled, their bodies intimately joined, before his lips finally broke away from hers to trail down over her throat, his mouth skimming over her sensitive skin, planting hot wet kisses on the curve of her neck, until, like a starving man they once again found the softness of her mouth, the kiss so deep that she convulsed around him, and she heard him groan, before his hips moved once more with a rhythm that was as old as time, the friction so intense that it was only a matter of seconds before she arched in ecstasy as her orgasm ripped through her. It was enough to finally send him over the edge, and she felt his body pulse, his seed spilling deep inside her, his voice loud, and hoarse, in the stillness of the night as he shouted out his release.
* * *
Languor seeped into her bones. She could feel him inside her, still joined intimately as only a man and a woman could be; content to listen to the deep steady beat of his heart, his arms wrapped around her protectively. It felt so right to be in his arms. At last.
He moved slightly, and she lifted her head up to look at him. Her stomach quivered when she saw the closed expression on his face.
“You should have stopped me.”
“I didn’t want you to stop.”
“So you told the truth after all. And I didn’t believe you.”
Justina heard the tinge of bitterness, of regret, in his voice. “It doesn’t matter.” She lifted her hand and ran it through his hair, glorying in the texture. Her hand stilled, and she asked hesitantly, “Would you have made love to me if you had believed me?”
She heard Marsallas’s deep sigh, and after a long pause he answered, “I’m not sure.”
Justina shifted slightly, her body closing around him, squeezing him, and she smiled slightly when she heard his groan of pleasure.
“Are you sure you don't know, Marsallas?” she asked softly, when she felt him harden inside her once again.
She heard him grunt at the pleasure her body was inflicting on his. Then she couldn’t stop the squeal of fright when he swung his legs off the couch and sat up, with her still intimately joined with him, before he stood up. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his waist, her head cradled against his neck and shoulder as he walked towards the hot pool once more.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, her head lolling back to look at him.
Marsallas laughed softly, “You do ask silly questions, Justina,” then he leaned forward and kissed her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Marsallas stared sightlessly at the ceiling, his arms folded behind his head as he watched the rising sun chase the night shadows away. How long he had been awake he didn't know, but it must have been hours.
He was acutely aware of Justina sleeping next to him, and his lips twisted in derision as he acknowledged to himself, that for the first time in his adult life, he had actually allowed a woman to spend the night with him. And how ironic that it was the one woman who had plagued his thoughts both day, and night, for years.
Marsallas’s teeth clenched, biting into his jaw, frustration clawing at him. For six long years he had imposed an iron will over his emotions. He had been immune to feminine wiles, refusing to allow any woman to control him. Many had tried. Claudetta had been the last, and she’d soon learned that he was no woman’s plaything.
Perhaps he’d been too long without a woman? He’d been celibate for over six months, preferring to put all his energies into being the
best charioteer that he could, as well as building up his olive oil business. And, if he were honest with himself, since Justina had come back into his life, his only consuming thought had been his revenge, his “plan” for her. A plan which, he now acknowledged with a wry twist of his lips, lay in tatters.
And strangely, irrationally, he also felt angry.
Angry that Justina had been a virgin. Angry that she’d obviously lied to him about wanting to be with his uncle. Angry that he’d let a woman finally get under his skin, but most importantly of all, angry that he’d wasted so many years hating her. He sighed deeply, finally acknowledging to himself that he had never wanted any woman as much as he had wanted Justina.
* * *
Justina stirred, waking slowly, stretching out her long legs as she lay curled on her side.
She smiled to herself as she recalled that she had just been having the most delicious dream. She’d been imagining her fingers threading through the thickness of Marsallas hair. Waking him up slowly with the rhythmic stroking. Would he be angry if she trailed her finger over the hard planes of his face? Would he welcome the touch of her fingers on the smoothness of his chest? Lower…and she had the sudden compulsion to test out her questions.
She lifted a hand to push back her tangled hair, and as she did so her arm encountered warm hard flesh. She froze, and her eyes sprang open and she met Marsallas’s hooded gaze. Like her, he was laying on his side, a hand propping up his head. Watching. Waiting. Waiting for her to wake, and her heart squeezed into a painful knot. Here it was – the morning after the night before.
She looked away quickly, noting with a slight start, that she was in his bedchamber. Her eyes took in the masculine furniture, his wooden chest where he kept his clothes, the dark tapestry that hung on the wall. A remarkably Spartan room for such a wealthy man.
And a room she didn’t even remember him carrying her into. She had been so wrapped up in their lovemaking last night, she hadn’t even noticed that he’d brought her here. That thought started a blush that started from the tips of her toes right to the top of her head-
“Good morning, Justina.”
The simple greeting, delivered in a mocking tone made her stiffen. But refusing to be cowed, she turned and met his eyes once more. “It is for me. But I’m not sure if it is for you.”
He raised an eyebrow, his face darkening slightly. “Maybe you would like to tell me how you were still a virgin – well up until last night anyway.”
Justina stiffened at his supercilious tone, and sat up, pulling the thin silk covering over her nakedness. “I would have thought it obvious really. Your uncle didn't want me.” He snorted in derision, “Somehow I can’t quite believe that. You are too beautiful for any man to resist. Only a eunuch, or a man who prefers the company of other men would refuse you.”
His backhanded compliment hung heavily in the silence of room, and then he asked, “Did he try?”
She swallowed hard, “Yes.”
“And?”
“And what?” She bristled, embarrassment making her squirm. “Do you want all the gory details?”
“Yes.” The word was flat, emotionless.
Justina closed her eyes in mortification. Then summoning an inner strength, she opened her eyes, lifted her chin and looked him squarely in the face. “All right then. I’ll tell you everything. He made me come to his bedchamber every night. I was forced to strip naked and lie on his bed. He would come over and stand next to me and remove his own clothes. And then-” She stopped speaking, unable to continue, closing her eyes once more as a wave of humiliation washed over her.
“And?” This time, the one word was a tortured whisper.
Justina’s eyes popped open, and she took comfort in that, as she met his piercing gaze. His eyes were bright, with some emotion she couldn’t determine, but it lifted her heart and gave her the strength to carry on, “He would stand there naked, and then try to-” she made a gesture with her hand which he would understand, “But nothing. Every night for weeks I was summoned to his room. The same thing over and over. And then one night he never asked for me,” she took a deep breath, “And I thank the gods every day for that small mercy…”
His mouth tightened. “He never touched you? Kissed you?”
Justina bit her lip. When she spoke her voice was husky. “No. Never.”
A deafening silence filled the room until Marsallas laughed hollowly, “He was impotent. The bastard was impotent.”
Justina nodded, “Yes. Yes he must have been.”
“But he had so many mistresses…”
Marsallas shook his head as his voice trailed off, and Justina saw confusion flicker across his face, and her heart twisted in pity. It seemed to her as if their pasts, and their futures, were all becoming blurred, like the shadows of the night.
“So tell me, why did you lie to me when you said you wanted to be with my uncle, rather than with me all those years ago?” He eventually asked, interrupting her wayward thoughts, as he changed his line of questioning.
“I had my reasons,” she said slowly.
“What reasons?” he demanded, his tone demanding an answer from her.
Justina swallowed past the lump of emotion that had lodged deep in her throat. Even after all these years the words were difficult to say. “My father had debts, huge gambling debts. He borrowed money from Quintus, and when Quintus demanded his money back he couldn't pay.” She took a deep breath before she continued, lifting a hand in supplication as she continued, “So between them, they decided that I would be the given to him in exchange. All debts cancelled, providing I live with him for ten years.”
“But why did you lie to me?” he asked again, “You could have told me the truth when I came to your father’s bakery the night I ran away.”
She nodded slowly, “I know. But Quintus said that if I told anyone about what was planned, he would have my father killed, or as he put it, ‘arrange for him to have an accident’.” She drew in a tortured breath, “I couldn't let him kill my father, Marsallas. I just couldn't.”
Once she'd stopped speaking, she felt a surge of emotion well up inside her, as if at last, a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Tears filled her eyes as she tilted her face up to his and smiled sadly, “Finally, after all these years you now know the truth.”
She had given him her all. Her body. Her soul. Her love. For the one night he had demanded.
She could see by the closed expression on Marsallas's face that he was having a difficult time taking it all in. Realising that there was nothing for her to say she rose from the bed, but in her haste to leave she managed to tangle the silk sheet around her legs and hips, leaving her top half bare. Embarrassed, she turned away from him, presenting her bare back to him as she bent down to untangle herself.
Marsallas's gasp of outrage behind her was so loud that she stilled instantly.
“The scars on your back? By the gods how did you come by them?”
His voice was hoarse with emotion, and slowly she turned and faced him. His body was tense, his eyes dark with suppressed emotion.
“Quintus,” she said simply.
“He whipped you? Why in the name of Jupiter would he do that?”
For a moment Justina hesitated, but they had gone too far, and after last night she had no defences left. No more lies. “I was beaten because I ran away.”
“Why? Where – who - were you running to Justina?”
And even though he asked the questions, Justina knew deep down that he had already worked out the answers for himself.
“I was running away to find you.”
*..*..*..
“Lampon's fetlock is sprained, I have put some salve on it but he must rest for a few days.”
The words were said with a hint of sarcasm in them; sarcasm which Marsallas didn’t miss. Looking at Fabius Rufus he said nothing, merely nodded, unable to stop the slight tinge of colour that stained his high cheekbones.
Fabius had every right t
o be angry with him. Since his return to the Circus just over a week ago he had pushed himself, and his horses, to the limit once more.
And now, as he watched Fabius strap up the horse’s leg, he had every reason to be contrite. He had no excuse of course, only his hard-headedness, his cowardliness even.
He’d been so confused by the myriad of emotions that Justina had stirred within him when she’d told him that she had tried to escape from Quintus – that he had fled back to Rome the next morning like a dog with his tail between his legs. It had been a hard blow to the stomach to finally acknowledge, that everything he had accused her of, had been nothing but a lie. A lie fabricated by Quintus, and which she’d had no choice but to go along with in order to protect her weak father.
And if that wasn't enough, there was also another major problem. His elaborate plan for revenge had now gone - nothing but a tattered memory. Instead of the one night he’d demanded, he now found himself wanting more. One night would never be enough, he wanted her back in his bed, writhing under him, shouting out her pleasure as he took her to the heights of passion as they made love-
Love… Now why in the name of Hades had he thought of making love with her? It wasn’t love. Because he didn’t make ‘love’ with women, he just had ‘sex’ with them.
But you did love her once, and now she’s back in your life, whether you like it or not, his mind taunted him. Yes, but her rejection of him all those years ago had cut deep, as if she had somehow wrenched open his chest, reached in and squeezed out every last drop of emotion he had left in his heart, and all that had remained to this day was an empty husk of a man.
Perhaps he should let her go? Forget about her, take another lover even; after all, he’d had the one night he’d demanded from her.
But he dismissed those thoughts immediately, because even though he professed to be that empty husk of a man; that man still wanted her, still ached for her, and had to have her in his bed until he had purged himself of her once and for all.
And in order for that to happen she would have to become his mistress…
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