When I was malleable, soft and pliant, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, a trail of flame, and saw that my impetuous one had taken one of the dripping wax candles in his hand.
I felt heat, a searing burn, on the tender skin between the wings of my shoulder blades, and realized that he had poured the hot wax onto me.
An exclamation left my lips as my body stiffened. I half-turned to glare at the man, which caused Marcus to hiss in a breath. A tremor passed through me, as well—moving as I had tightened the hold that my cunt had on his cock.
Still, I was not over-pleased, and told Caius so. He simply grinned at me in return—the very nerve—and, bending so that his lips nearly touched the burnt skin, blew.
The cool air from his mouth felt like ice on the mild burn. A sound of enjoyment rose up from out of me before I could stop it, and my skin became prickled as the warring sensations of hot and cold entwined.
Oh, who knew that pain could feel so incredibly good? Why did it feel so good?
I did not care. I only knew that I wanted more.
Turning back to face Marcus, I buried my face in the nape of his neck, arching my back to expose it fully to Caius. I heard him chuckle, and I held my breath inside, waiting for the next stream of scalding wax to pour onto my skin.
When it came I hissed through my teeth. This time Caius let the wax fall for longer, crossing it over my skin in overlapping lines like a whip. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I blinked them away, jaw clenched, waiting for the pleasure.
When he leaned over, when he again blew over the inflamed skin, I felt a rush of wet to my cunt. I also felt the tears begin to trickle down my face—I was unable to hold them back any longer.
“That is enough,” said Marcus, as he trailed one finger over my shoulder, where the skin was unmarred. I sat up straight, shaking my head vigorously even as the tears spilled in a salty stream down my cheeks.
“No! No.” My voice was thick, a mixture of lust and upset. “More. I want more.”
I caught a look of concern from Marcus before I again buried my face in his chest, but I was past caring. With his cock anchored inside of me, I felt as if I could do anything, make it through anything.
There was a moment of hesitation, during which I am certain the men exchanged a look, but finally, finally the burn came again. This time I let a noise of anguish escape my throat, a guttural sound, and, before Caius could breathe cool breath over my skin, I was sobbing.
It was not the pain—no, it did not hurt, at least not very much. It was more, I think, that acknowledging that pain allowed the other pain that swirled through the depths of my soul a chance to escape, to be acknowledged as well.
Rubbing my face into Marcus’ large shoulder, I cried. I cried for Drusilla, and I cried for the loss of my marriage. I cried with fear for the child that grew inside of me, and I cried for things that I did not understand.
During the storm of my tears, Marcus held me close, and Caius danced firm fingers through my hair. Both were touches meant to bring comfort, but neither man tried to hurry the storm along, to deny me the tears that I obviously needed to shed.
When the last streaks of wet began to dry on my face, I found myself wrapped in arms from behind me. Caius lifted me off of Marcus’ cock, which was still nestled inside of me, and took me in his arms, being careful not to touch the light welts forming on my back.
Through the damp tendrils of my hair I saw Marcus himself rising from the now-cooled tub, the water sloshing around his large frame and onto the floor. The inn did not run to such amenities as towels, and so he merely padded after us, dripping fat droplets of liquid everywhere, as we were doing.
Shifting my weight in his arms, Caius tenderly laid me down on the bed, placing me on my stomach and then, as an afterthought, rolling me to my side to accommodate for the bump of my engorged womb. I felt limp, spent.
A delicious coolness began to spread over my back. Large fingers, whose I was not sure, began to rub something slick that smelled of lemon over the angry scarlet stripes that I knew danced across my pale skin. I arched into the touch. The salve, or balm, or whatever it was, cooled the marks that still burned.
As one set of fingers continued to paint the balm of lemon over my back, another placed a stripe of cloth over my eyes. The fabric was pulled snug, then knotted at the back of my head. I was tense for a long moment, then relaxed as the hands that had tied the cloth began to roam my torso. I did not know whose hands were whose. I could not tell from touch alone—both were large men, and both had palms calloused from training and scarred from battle.
I found that it did not matter. I cared for them equally, different as they were.
I pillowed my head on my hand, fisting my fingers in the wet strands around my face. I wanted to touch them, as well, wanted to give pleasure as well as receive. But I was so pliant, so relaxed, and so comfortable that I did no more than stretch out the length of my body, offering my two loves all the access that they wanted.
The hands at my front traced my collarbone gently, then cupped my breasts. Rough thumbs strummed over sensitive nipples, and I felt the mounds become heavier, softer under the caresses. At my back, the stripes had been fully painted with the salve, but the scent of lemon did not fade, as it would if the tin were put away.
Rather, I felt the fingers that had been tending to my burns touch the skin at the base of my neck, exposed since my hair was hanging in thick tendrils over each shoulder. I felt that lovely coolness rubbed into the top of my spine, and then that softly circling touch began to trail down.
The bright scent intensified each time more salve was added, and then the touch would continue, making its way down my spine. At the top of my buttocks, where the crease that divided my ass into two began, the fingers hesitated for only a moment, just to get more balm, before working in between the soft mounds of flesh.
I sucked in a breath—I knew where this was going. In normal circumstances I might have felt embarrassed, maybe even inhibited. Too inhibited to allow this to happen, to actually happen.
I wanted it. With the cloth over my eyes, and with burns striping my back I felt like someone else, someone with more daring than Alba.
I said nothing, just shivered at the touch.
The hands in front of me drew attention away from the ones that were searching for my most hidden place. They danced across my belly, caressed the flesh of my hardening womb. Stroking through damp curls, they opened the petals of my lower lips, inserted a finger into flesh still wet with the wanting that Marcus’ cock had ignited within me.
As the finger entered my cunt, so too did the one that pressed against my pucker from behind. I gasped out loud at the twin sensations, at being filled from both sides.
One barely eased the ache. One caused an ache of an entirely different kind.
My hand slipped out of my hair, no longer supporting my head. I lay completely on my side, rocking back and forth, wanting to roll one way or the other but not wanting to lose either sensation.
The finger at my back rotated slowly, pushing in and out, its passage eased by the balm. I felt the muscles stretch, accommodate when a second finger was added, pleasure easing me through the sting.
When those fingers were removed, I whimpered at the loss, though I still had a hand playing over my clitoris, in my channel, tunneling in and out. The man behind me urged me to my hands and knees, and I felt a sudden drop in the pit of my stomach, one borne entirely of anticipation.
The hand at my front slipped out of my channel, but before I could feel empty, a slick weight was pressed against the pucker of my ass.
Could I do this? Really, truly? With my husband I had never had a desire to, but with my gladiators . . . .
With these men, I wanted to go wherever they would take me.
I pushed back instinctively as the cock was pushed into me, just the head. I made a
sound that crossed pleasure with shock—I was not at all certain that the thing would fit. But a little more entered my body, and then a little more still, and then my back entrance was as full as it could ever have been, and I found myself breathing through the startling sensations that had begun to riot through me.
The man behind me did not move, letting me adjust. I sniffed deeply, smelling lemon and candle wax, sweat and the heady musk of sex. I heard nothing but the harsh breath of three aroused people.
I could see nothing, nothing but darkness.
Slowly, testing, I rocked my hips backward. I grunted as the pleasure merged into pain and then back again, as the cock slid outwards, nearly leaving my body.
It did not leave, not entirely, beginning its journey in again in an agonizingly slow manner.
In, out. Out, in. I began to move with the man inside of me, began to ride the rush of pleasure that was entirely unlike anything I had ever experienced.
But I was greedy. I wanted more.
Shifting my weight to one arm, I groped out blindly for someone, anyone, to touch. I met with hard, slightly sticky skin gone hot, and began to pet my hands over whatever areas I could reach.
I heard the small laugh that I knew belonged to Caius, but I could not tell where the sound had come from. A moment later I sensed movement, a filling of the space around me, though nothing touched me.
Then hands cupped my cheeks, pushed my face down. I bumped my nose into hot, silky soft skin, and my eyelashes brushed over muscles that quivered. Curious, I turned my cheek and felt coarse hair.
With a sigh of contentment, I opened my mouth, licked at the skin by my lips. I felt the cock jump at the touch.
Lifting my head and opening my mouth, I tried to place my lips over the head of the erection. Not being able to see, it took me several tries. Finally I felt the swollen head against my tongue, tasted the slight bitterness of excitement, and closed my mouth around the shaft.
I sucked slowly, leisurely, lowering my head until the erection hit the back of my throat, and then moving back up to suckle just the tip again. I heard a groan, and this time thought that it came from under me, though I was not sure how.
Lowering my weight from my hands, so that I could lie flat, I found that Marcus had lain down beneath me while I balanced myself on one arm. Enjoying the feeling of his hot skin against mine, I pressed my breasts down on what I discovered were legs, while leaving my ass presented upward, so that the slow, delicious fuck might continue.
The man beneath me placed his mouth on my cunt. I might have thought that the touch came from fingers, were it not for the heated rush of breath that blew over my moisture a moment before the lick came. Fingers opened my folds, and that mouth nipped lightly at my clitoris, then suckled hard.
Losing my rhythm, I nearly collapsed. My muscles strained with the effort of supporting my body, when all that I wanted to do was go limp with pleasure. But the reward was worth the effort, and so I propped my weight again on my elbows, on top of the gladiator whom I knew could support me, and began to again bob my head over the erect cock that was in my mouth.
It should have been awkward, that tangled mass of limbs, but instead it felt as if we were all one body, flesh flowing together without pause. Though there was no rhythm, per se—I did not swallow the cock in my mouth every time the man behind me hilted—it worked, and I felt myself growing ever wetter, and felt the tightening of the muscles as my orgasm approached.
I rode the wave of bliss loudly, my cries echoing around the small room. The fingers continued to massage my clitoris after I had finished, but more firmly, and though I tried to shy away from the extra stimulation, which ran so deep that I felt as if I might drown in it, I was held in place, and a second wave crested through me, leaving me weak and boneless.
My ass was held in the air by the firm hands that clasped me at the waist. I bit lightly at the cock in my mouth, just the tiniest nip, and grunted as my mouth and throat were filled with thick liquid.
I swallowed, then swallowed again. Laying my face against my arm, I bit into the tender flesh there, hard, in defense against the quickening movements behind me. I felt the muscles that cupped my buttocks clench, and then heard a groan, long and low. I was filled, that tightest channel was filled to overflowing. As salt and stickiness dripped down my inner thighs, I laughed, a breathless sound of pure delight.
Someone laid me on my side, my head cushioned by a pillow that smelled only the slightest bit musty. A long, hard male body lay down on either side of me, limbs tangling with my own, wrapping me in warmth. Firm fingers tugged the cloth from my eyes, but I did not bother to open them, not caring who was where.
And then the only sound was that of our breath as we all three drifted to sleep, limp with satisfaction and wrapped in caring.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
After the vast openness of the coast, the city of Rome felt closed in and grimy.
We wound our way through the streets single file, our path meandering like the curves of a snake as we avoided carpenta like the one that we had left behind at the coast, litters carried by slight, malnourished slaves, and scores of people on foot.
When we entered the market closest to our ludus, I wrinkled my nose with distaste. Once, the aroma of spices and the glitter of baubles for sale would have excited me, but today I found that I no longer wanted any of it.
I did not care if the tunics that I wore from this day forward were but rags, so long as I was happy and free.
Rounding the last corner in the market, I took a deep breath, knowing that we would be the ludus in minutes. Nerves rioted throughout my entire self, and since I was trying to calm them, I did not notice the party approaching us on the road until they were nearly upon us.
“Is that Alba?” Four slaves carried a litter, and the woman who lay upon it sat up only partway to look at me.
Though I shaded my eyes and squinted into the direct sunlight of the afternoon, I knew who it was without seeing clearly.
“Hilaria.” Her litter was being carried down the path that led to the ludus. I wondered what her business had been there.
Perhaps she had grown impatient, had settled for gladiators apart from my own at last.
When the other woman saw who accompanied me, her eyes grew round with astonishment. I then caught a flash of hurt, of betrayal, which in turn gave way to a look of cunning.
“Lucius did not tell me that you were due back today.” Though she referred to my return, I knew that she was speaking of the gladiators. Bending slightly at the waist, allowing her ripe breasts to press against the thin material of her tunic—for the benefit of my men, I knew—she spoke to her slaves.
“Turn around. I will accompany Alba back to the house. I will help her unpack, and then perhaps I will indulge in something . . . decadent.”
Her smile was sly, and reminded me that, despite the madness I suspected her dead husband had pulled from her, she had somehow guessed that I felt more for these men than I should have.
Her return to the ludus, her accompaniment of me, was strictly to make my life difficult. This was perfectly clear. I had insulted her by taking Marcus and Caius with me to the coast. Now I would be punished.
I drew in a deep breath and reminded myself that she no longer had any hold over me. Nor would I feel sorry for a woman who had chosen to sink into the depths of depravity, rather than relish in the goodness of her freedom from an abusive man.
Yes. Any fuss that she caused was Lucius’ problem, not mine.
“No.” Though I had said the word so often lately, it still felt somewhat foreign on my tongue. “No. You will not accompany me.”
I could not allow her to do so. I needed to speak to Lucius, and if I waited too long, I would not only lose the element of surprise that I was counting on to break through his defenses, I would also completely lose my nerve.
Hilaria rear
ed back as if she had been slapped, and I again saw that trace of vulnerability that she had revealed to me before. Then shutters fell over her face, and the façade of arrogance that she usually shrouded herself in became apparent.
“I am afraid that you do not have a choice, Alba my dear.” She sat up fully now and smoothed a hand over her shining hair. “I have a deal with your husband, if you will recall. I have not been happy, waiting for these men to come back from wherever you were. Do not think that I do not know that you chose them simply to annoy me.”
I very nearly laughed at the arrogance, at the certainty that my world revolved around her, when I had not given her a thought for weeks. I maintained my stern demeanor, however, aware that I would need it to get through to her.
“Your deal is no longer valid.” My words were clipped, and shook with nerves. I drew strength from the men who stood so near to me.
“I beg your pardon?” The other woman did not look concerned, simply amused.
I inhaled deeply. “The contract allows you access to men of the ludus. As of today, these men will no longer fit that definition.” I looked across to where Marcus sat on his horse, my eyes wide. He gave me the slightest smile of encouragement, then returned to his stoic self.
My warrior, ever serious.
“What is this nonsense?” Hilaria was getting angry now, her eyes glittering like hard stones. “Lucius mentioned none of this.”
“Lucius does not want to return your money.” I did not mention that he also did not yet know. Hilaria would seize on that detail like a bird of prey. “He would have you choose new men.”
Hilaria’s spine stiffened, and her eyes narrowed. “I will not.” The sun shone through the thin fabric of her tunic, and the ripe curves of her body became clearly visible.
I no longer worried that Caius or Marcus would prefer her to me. They had made their decision, and she was not it.
“I was told that I could have these two, and have them I will.” Rising to her knees on the litter that became unbalanced under her shifting weight, she pulled at the shoulders of her sleeveless tunic with brisk motions. “Right here, then, and now. Dismount your horses, slaves, and strip. I will have a cock in my cunt, and another in my ass, and you, Alba, will have nothing to say about it.”
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