“That’s terrible!”
“It serves a purpose. You acquire, uh, comfort, let’s say.”
Her face reddened.
“And he gets the coin he needs to survive.”
“That’s archaic and awful and—”
“Someone has to do it.”
“Not a child!”
“Lyla, you’d do well to remember that in your world, slavery still exists. It’s still around in your time, but people don’t like to talk about it. Just like they don’t want to talk about it now.” The discussion closed, but not in Lyla’s mind.
She couldn’t let go of Mark’s statement about child slavery. Children were still sold into slavery in her world. They became indentured servants, something she thought long gone since backward, feudal times.
She suddenly remembered reading an article about a young girl, a ‘household slave’ to some family in California. Some things never change…
Bitterness overcame her. If she escaped this horrid land, she vowed to break the shackles of slavery that trapped many of the world’s children.
Mark rose to his feet. “Come.” He extended his hand. “There is someone you must meet.”
She took his hand, her curiosity piqued. “Who?”
“My cousin.” He led her over to a grand spectator’s box where several people sat.
In the middle of them all, a man graced a throne. The fancy chair appeared to be solid gold. The man sitting in it seemed as tall as Mark, his nose almost identical, the bump the same.
His haughty demeanour reflected his arrogance and conceit. Atop his head, he wore a crown of gold leaves. His deep purple toga covered what she thought to be a muscular, well-toned body.
She shivered in response to the look that passed between them. As though he wanted to eat her.
“Dominus et Deus.” Mark dropped to one knee and bowed low.
Lyla whispered from the corner of her mouth, “What did you say to him?”
“I addressed him as Master and God.”
“Just who does this guy think he is?” She folded her arms across her chest.
“Emperor Domitian.”
She blinked once, then her eyes widened. “Do you mean to tell me, the emperor is your cousin?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Mark grimaced, answering her from the side of his mouth.
Domitian squinted at Lyla, then motioned with his hand for her to come forwards.
Mark rose and gave her a push in her lower back. “Do as he says.”
“Why does he keep squinting? The sun’s not shining in his eyes.”
“He has trouble seeing.”
“So, he should get glasses or conta—” She sighed. “I know. I know. Eyeglasses haven’t been invented yet.” She walked towards Domitian’s grand throne. He raised a brow.
She curtsied quickly then rose to her feet. She couldn’t help but cast him a sour look.
He rested his forearms on the chair and scowled, speaking rapidly to Mark in Latin.
She looked back at Mark.
“Go on,” he told her.
“Go on…what?”
“He wants to touch your hair.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake…”
“Just, do it, Lyla!”
She took two steps forward.
Domitian put his hand on her head, stroking his fingers through her hair. Then he smiled. He addressed Mark again. They spoke quickly. Domitian’s brows shot up when Mark mentioned Corvus. They spoke again, the one word she heard repeated was ‘lupa’.
Domitian shook his head, uttering something.
Mark bowed slightly.
“What did he say?” She elbowed Mark in the ribs.
He pushed her hand to her side. “He commanded that Corvus should be watched. Whatever belonged to my lupa,” he drew out the word. “Belongs to me. Domitian is not happy with Corvus right now.”
“Corvus seems to be a very unpopular guy around here.”
“He is a lenones, the most vile slave trader. He sells women into prostitution. A portion of his profits goes directly to the empire.”
“You mean, Domitian?”
“Precisely. But Domitian would not want that to get around.”
Domitian motioned with his hand towards Lyla. He spoke rapidly again.
“Well, what does he want now?”
“He says, What is your name, pet?”
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, what she wouldn’t like to do to Domitian! Her hand flexed at her side. She wadded it into a fist, but Mark threaded his fingers through hers, pushing her hand open.
“Stay calm,” he whispered to her. “He’s just baiting you.”
“Lyla.” Her voice rang out. “My name is Lyla.” She lifted her chin.
A collective gasp went up from the small crowd fawning over Domitian.
“Say, dominus et deus.” Mark whispered to her.
“He thinks rather highly of himself, doesn’t he?”
“Just say it, damn you.”
She bowed before Domitian and said in a tight voice, “Dominus et Deus.”
Domitian grinned, then dismissed them.
Back at their seats, Lyla fumed. “Of all the arrogant, pig-headed, ohhhhhhhhhhh, I can’t think of enough nasty things to say about him.” She shook her head, grinding a fist into her thigh.
“Be quiet and wave. He’s looking at us.”
She pasted a bright smile on her face and wiggled her fingers in Domitian’s direction.
“He’s right, you know. I should take you in hand.” Mark grinned.
“He said that?”
“Uh, huh.” Mark’s smile turned wicked.
It did strange things to her belly. She buffeted him in the arm. “Like I would let you.”
He leaned over and kissed her chest, his tongue flicking her nipple.
“Oh, my…” she moaned in ecstasy, her face heating. “We-we’re in a p-public place.” She could barely speak.
“Domitian needs to understand that you’re mine,” Mark growled. He kissed her breasts.
“Why?” She had trouble concentrating.
Mark’s mouth worked its way across one breast, to the other. “He might try and take you from me.”
She stilled.
“People know that if you receive an invitation to dine with the emperor, and you bring your wife, daughters, or any other woman from your household, Domitian will make love to them that night.”
“Are you serious?”
“Very. Domitian may do as he chooses.”
“The beast.”
Mark tugged on her dress, fingering her other nipple.
She almost came right there on the seat.
“And you, my sweet, bring out the beast in me.”
A trumpet sounded. Two gladiators entered the arena.
Lyla clamped a hand over her mouth when the first blow landed, sending a stream of blood spurting through the air.
Mark rarely visited the coliseum, except to pay the occasional tribute to his cousin, who seemed to love everything about it.
A collective shout went out when one gladiator lopped off his opponent’s arm.
Lyla buried her head in his shoulder. “I can’t watch this.”
He made a silent vow to protect her from everyone and everything that would harm her. She had yet to understand and accept the danger of his ancient time.
Reluctantly, he lifted her face from his shoulder and made her watch the two men in the arena. He wanted to turn away from it all, but if he did, Lyla would sense his weakness. He needed her to know that he would protect her from men like Corvus and Domitian, but she had to see, and believe, everything that happened from this point on.
“This is no different than watching the violence on modern American television,” he stated with far more certainty than he felt.
Lyla’s pale face and wide, unblinking eyes tore at his heart. “How can you say that?” She shook her head, her lips trembling.
He longed to kiss her to stop their shaking, but it wo
uld make things worse—for him, as well as her.
“These are two men trying to k-kill each other. It’s horrible.”
“You want me to think that it doesn’t go on in your time?” He raised a brow.
She looked around at the audience. “Everyone here seems so immune to what’s happening. It is nothing but entertainment for them.”
“Just like watching all the terrible things on television and in the movies in your time. People are just as impervious to violence in the modern world.”
“Yes, but movies and television aren’t real. What we’re seeing here is.”
He raised a brow. “But do you turn away from the violence you view on television, whether real or fake? No, you don’t. In fact, what you’re seeing many times is actual, violent footage in real time. Admit it, when you see that, aren’t you just a bit fascinated? As gory as it may seem, as ugly or brutal as it may be, you don’t turn away. A perverse interest overtakes you.”
She couldn’t argue with him. For once, she didn’t come back with a snappy retort. Maybe because she realised what he said was the truth. The modern world was just as fascinated by violence.
When the show ended, a decapitated man lay on the amphitheatre floor in a bloody heap. The crowd roared. They rose to their feet cheering and shouting, while the triumphant gladiator held his sword high in the air, proclaiming victory.
The tip of the sword held the dead man’s head.
Mark caught Lyla before she hit the ground, her eyes rolling backwards, her body limp in his arms.
Chapter Eight
Later, outside the coliseum, Lyla sucked in huge gulps of air. Bile rose in her throat. It tasted bitter and burned when she attempted to swallow it. Nausea rose in her belly.
A slave who carried the litter brought her a small metal cup filled with water. He glanced towards the other three slaves who stood by the litter, awaiting orders. They bowed their heads in her direction.
She gulped the water down, and handed the cup back to the slave. “Th-thank you,” she murmured.
The man nodded, then walked over to join his companions.
Mark took her arm and helped her inside the litter.
Her body and mind were weak. Drained. Devoid of emotion.
If she squeezed her eyes closed, she could erase that ugly scene of the headless corpse. That poor man!
The problem was it kept coming back, no matter how hard she tried to forget it. The drive home grew tedious and long. She didn’t speak. When she tried to form an entire sentence, her mind drifted. She couldn’t concentrate.
A terrible thought finally permeated her brain, an idea more horrible than the bloody gore she witnessed earlier. This was not a hoax. She had been hurled backwards in time to ancient Rome. Maybe, Mark did possess some strange power that enabled him time travel.
Moreover, perhaps his story held truth about her stroking some weird stone on the cover of that book. Perhaps the book possessed a force that propelled her back in time when she touched it.
By the time the litter arrived at Mark’s home, cold seeped into her pores. She trembled, her shudders increasing until her entire body shook uncontrollably.
Mark removed his toga, placing it over her shoulders. It trailed down to the floor, engulfing her small frame with warmth and his exotic, unique smell. He held out his hand.
She placed hers in it and looked down on their joined hands. Tears filled her eyes. She didn’t know why she cried, but she couldn’t seem to stop.
He led her to a room with a low table set in the centre. A fountain stood nearby, the sound of the running water soothing her taut nerves. He eased her down onto some cushions then clapped his hands.
Soon, Appia appeared, as well as two young men.
Mark gave them orders in Latin.
Afterwards, they ran from the room to do his bidding.
She pulled Mark’s cape tightly around her body, hoping it would warm her.
“Lyla,” he murmured. “Sit with me.”
She shook her head. Tears clogged her throat, making it difficult for her to speak.
He patted his thighs.
She looked over at his lap. It looked wide and inviting. She scrambled over to him, the cape tangling around her legs.
He caught her to him and gently placed her on his thighs.
Soon, the food came. The odour of warm bread and grilled meat drifted by her nose. She didn’t think she could eat a single bite.
Mark held a goblet by her nostrils. A fruity aroma revived her. She sipped from the cup and realised it was not the sour, watered down wine she’d had when she first arrived.
This drink tasted delicious. She swirled the deep red liquid in her mouth, enjoying the combined flavours of grape, berries, and oak.
He raised the cup to her lips again. She drank some more. Then he fed her some sliced fruit. It resembled and tasted like a juicy, ripe pear. In between, he gave her small bites of a spicy pepper, marinated in something salty.
The creamy texture and savoury taste of soft cheese took away the pepper’s sting, but the heat from the spicy vegetable invaded her body, warming her and enabling her to focus.
She looked up at Mark’s handsome face, taut with worry.
“I’m sorry you had to see that in the arena.” He told her. “But you needed to believe the reality surrounding you.”
Her body was aflame because of the wine and spicy peppers. Or maybe, it was Mark.
Lyla slipped the toga from her shoulders. To eradicate the horrible vision of that dead, headless man from her mind, she needed to replace it with something else.
The desire to live, to mate, hit her full force. She needed to reaffirm life after that nightmare she’d witnessed.
She reached for another piece of fruit, but he was quicker, popping the slice into her mouth. She savoured the juice running down her throat.
Then he fed her some grilled meat. It tasted delectable, like roast pork.
“Lyla, I will give you anything, do anything, to ease the burden of what you saw today. Whatever you desire, your pleasure will be fulfilled.”
She fingered the collar around her neck, noticing her reflection when she glanced into the side of a polished, metal wine goblet. The jewels encrusted in the wide, metal strip glittered in the light.
Her boldness returned, bit by precious bit. Instead of the collar making her feel subservient like it did earlier, it suddenly made her feel beautiful.
What is my pleasure, he had asked.
She wanted him to dominate her completely. She needed release and she wanted it now. She threw aside fear, and decided to jump headfirst into what she desired.
“Trust me to make you happy, Lyla. I will give you the greatest pleasure you’ve ever experienced. If there’s something I do that you don’t like, you’ll tell me and I will stop. I promise.”
She sighed. “Promises are easily broken.”
“Not mine.”
The first wall around Lyla’s heart crumbled. She perused his face and body, while he stretched lazily on the cushions. He reminded her of a big, wild cat.
As the barricades surrounding her heart started to fall, her body overflowed with lust. She wondered if he laced the wine with a drug, for her clit throbbed with such intensity, she thought she’d go mad.
Oh, how I want to jump his bones!
“You’ll give me a signal. One word, and I’ll stop immediately. I promise, Lyla.”
“Horny.”
He frowned. “You’re hor—?” His mouth lifted into a smile. “Oh, I see. That’s the word you want to use. ‘Horny’.”
“Uh, huh.” Her heart raced. She jumped when he clapped his hands together, the sound echoing through the room.
Soon, four big men stood before them.
Lyla recognised them instantly. They were the four slaves that had carried the litter. The one who gave her the water at the Coliseum bowed his head then his eyes caught hers.
She had the most insane desire to preen naked before
them…and Mark. Her breasts were suddenly too heavy for her body. Her nipples ached for the touch of the slave’s lips. Shame washed over her. How can I be thinking such wicked thoughts about that man?
“I am going to watch while they pleasure you, Lyla,” Mark told her.
Her nipples peaked. They pushed against her gown.
Mark’s eyes were drawn to her chest.
She looked at the four, swarthy, well-built servants, wishing their mouths were on her breasts right now.
“Whatever you wish them to do, they will.” Mark nodded at the four men.
“They’re going to serve me? How?”
He glanced at the four men. “Their task is to pleasure you.”
She gave a mental shake and bit down on her lower lip. She could never seem to handle one man back home, let alone four. If she counted Mark in the mix, that made five. The idea of allowing those four slaves to pleasure her before Mark sent her heart and pulse racing like a runaway train.
Mark helped her to her feet then moved to stand behind her. His warm breath scattered the few tendrils of hair that escaped her up-do. They drifted against her skin, tickling it. That feeling drove shivers down her back.
“I will not let them harm you, Lyla,” Mark whispered in her ear. He nipped her lobe with his teeth.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhh.” She tipped her head back to rest against his shoulder, closing her eyes.
He fondled her breasts, massaging the tender tips. When she opened her eyes, she saw that Mark signalled to one man.
He approached.
Mark commanded the slave to do something.
Lyla wished she understood! But her lack of knowledge fuelled fear and excitement about the unknown.
The slave tugged on her gown, exposing both breasts. Then he bent his head. She sucked in a breath when his tongue touched her right nipple. Then he blew on it, the breeze surrounding her turgid little point sending arrows of need straight down to her labia.
Her knees buckled, but Mark caught her before she slipped to the floor. He released her then he positioned himself on the cushions. His eyes remained on Lyla, his gaze hot.
Standing there before him made her taut with worry, but at the same time, it heightened her anticipation.
The other three slaves approached. Lyla’s palms grew damp. Perspiration inched down her back.
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