He took her until she cried, “Marcus!”
He froze. She had used his Roman name.
He rode her again, slowly at first, but her voice uttering his name echoed through his mind, making him want to burn through her like a fiery comet.
He had seen one in his youth. He always wondered if that marked the arrival of those strange beings his father claimed to have acquired that mysterious stone from, the one that could send a person into oblivion if they weren’t careful.
Oddly enough, it didn’t matter. For now, he had his own eternity in his arms.
She arched her back, digging her long nails into his hips.
He gritted his teeth. Sweat popped out on his brow. He kissed her mouth, positive that he had bruised her lips, such was his need for her.
He couldn’t hold out anymore, pounding into her with such force so that she arched her back again. This time, she wrapped her legs around his back, her heels beating a rhythm on his back.
He spilled his seed into the condom, resting his forehead against hers. Worries swirled through his brain. He had no doubt that she would investigate that book and its magic stone. But he knew, in his heart of hearts, that he could never let her go.
That’s why he never revealed the secret that would truly enable her to return to her time. Guaranteed.
* * * *
The next morning, Lyla woke alone. She stretched out her arm, her hand seeking the cushion she shared with Marcus.
Marcus.
He was no longer Mark, that, sexy, modern man she met in the bookstore. He was a noble Roman, a peer of his realm.
Marcus.
A slow smile spread across her face.
Master.
Her perfect alpha male.
Appia came with her breakfast. “Good morning, mistress.”
“Good morning,” Lyla murmured in response. No matter what Marcus told her, she still remained his prisoner, trapped by his glorious body and his potent, dominating allure.
What a sweet incarceration!
She glanced at Appia. “Where is Mar—I mean, where is the Master this morning?”
“He has gone out for a while, on business.”
She wondered what ‘business’ he was up to. Acquiring more slaves? What would happen when he tired of using her? Lyla squashed that thought, but her anxiety grew. Would he give her back to Corvus? Maybe he’d allow Domitian to take her.
She pushed those thoughts aside, remembering his promise to protect her. She had to trust that he would do as he swore.
“Will you send me my ornators, please?”
Appia smiled and bowed. “Will there be anything else?”
“No, thank you.” She watched Appia walk out.
While she ate, she pondered that story Marcus had told her last night. She could leave any time she wanted. All she had to do was use the power of that book and its magic stone.
It wasn’t that she feared being a slave, his personal lupa.
She was afraid that she liked it too much.
* * * *
Later, Eisha and Corinne bathed and dressed her.
Lyla wore a long, white gown with a criss-cross bodice. The garment’s daring cut revealed both her breasts. They styled her hair so that some lay piled in a curly mass atop her head, while the rest trailed down in waves. Tiny seed pearls and jewels adorned the fancy hairdo. Her lips and cheeks were reddened again with vegetable dye.
She gazed at her reflection, deciding that she resembled a cool, Roman woman of high rank, despite her slave status.
Finally, she slipped her feet into butter soft, strappy leather sandals.
In her time, she couldn’t strut her stuff this way. She’d be arrested for indecency. Here, it was expected and accepted.
Decimus came for her. “I will take you on a tour of his Excellency’s home.” His eyes found her breasts. Decimus nodded in approval. “The master will be well pleased.”
The notion that Marcus would be happy sent her clit throbbing with need. A tiny trickle of moisture seeped down her leg. She wished she could wear underwear.
“Something wrong?” The wily little man didn’t miss a trick.
She angled her chin. “I wish to wear undergarments.”
“His Excellency does not like women who wear the typical Roman undergarment, a subligar and subligaculum.”
“Oh.”
“He does not want your breasts bound, or your valum covered.”
She lifted a brow, hoping she looked confident. “He wants me ready, willing, and able at any time, is that it?” The idea of submitting to Marcus whenever he wanted made her heart pound and her body react in frighteningly wanton way.
Decimus didn’t speak for a few seconds. Then he smiled and bowed slightly. “Precisely.”
She sighed. No use trying to get the upper hand with Decimus… Or his handsome master.
Decimus led her around Marcus’ magnificent home. She’d seen very little, her early defiance distracting her.
He lived in grand splendour in the busy, bustling city of ancient Rome. There were outdoor pools and gardens built on his vast acreage. Wild animals roamed freely. She watched two zebras chase each other.
“I never dreamt Romans lived this way,” she marvelled.
“Our master has a great interest in many things.”
“Including slaves?”
Decimus stopped walking. He turned to face her. “Here, in this time, there is no, what our Master calls ‘automation’. ‘Machines’, as he refers to them, do not do the needed work. We need slaves to do it.”
“Slavery caused the downfall of the Roman empire,” she reminded him.
“His Excellency has told me so.” He stretched out his hand, indicating that they should walk again.
She fell into step beside him. “Doesn’t that frighten you to know that?”
“I will be long dead when it happens.”
“So, you don’t care what happens to everyone else?” She raised a brow.
He clasped his hands together behind his back. “My master’s travels through time are just that. A journey. Nothing he does may stop anything that is bound to happen. He treats all people with great care and concern, knowing that it is the slaves who keep Rome afloat and in it’s grandeur, so that at a time far into the future, people will be able to enjoy many Roman designs and devices. Like the wheel. We ancient Romans made the most use of it, for chariots, covered coaches and farm carts. We’ve also mastered mathematics in our architecture. The giant dome in the market is an example of angles and lines, and mathematical equations. It will be, according to our master, quite some time before the world will see such buildings again. But the necessary evil, slavery, is what brings it to life. My master knows this, so he treats us well.”
She snorted. “If you’re a slave, you remain a slave, just to serve the empire. You’d think your master would want to do something to eradicate it, knowing what the future holds.”
“My master will do nothing to upset the time’s delicate fabric, for if he did, many things in your time would not be as they are now. You could be living a much harder existence.”
“Like what? What could possibly be so wrong with dissolving the right to own slaves?”
“As I stated earlier, the great architecture of the Roman empire would be lost, for slaves built it.”
“We could do without a few Doric columns. After all, Roman architecture seems as though it relied on Greek architectural designs.”
“The Greeks owned slaves, too. Who do you think built their homes and temples?”
She sighed. “It is a vicious cycle.”
“It is the way of the world.”
They ended up in the atrium.
“I will leave you here to ponder it all.” Decimus bowed. “And remember, your wish is our command, and pleasure.”
He left her sitting on a stone bench surrounding a fountain. She dipped her hand in the cool water, splashing some on her neck and arms.
Marcus’ theories about not changi
ng things be damned! If she stayed here with him, she’d be his slave forever. Is that what I truly want?
She got up and marched into the house and sought Marcus’ bedchamber. She knocked on the door once, thinking he might have returned. When he didn’t respond, she opened the door and peeked her head in.
It was empty, save for a few pieces of furniture. A wide, canopied bed sat against the far wall. For just a second, Lyla wished Marcus were here, so she could share that magnificent bed with him. Fool! Concentrate on your task. Find that book…
She walked over to a marble table. Scrolls lay strewn on its surface. Buried beneath them, she noticed the gold binding of the large tome she sought.
She pushed the scrolls aside. Her heart raced when she saw the book’s cover. The hourglass-shaped gemstone winked at her while it sparkled in the light.
It begged for her touch. She could go back home now. Her fingers shook.
Do I really want to leave him?
Yes! Go, now, before it is too late.
She slid her fingers downward, stroking the gem’s smooth surface. She sucked in a breath, waiting for the walls around her to melt away.
Nothing happened.
She stroked the stone again. She had been light-headed the last time.
She waited. Minutes went by but she remained where she was, her head clear, the room still and silent.
“Damn him!” She pounded a fist on the book cover.
A deep, familiar voice echoed through the room. “That is no way to treat a priceless heirloom.”
She looked up to see Marcus standing in the doorway, his tall frame filling the entrance. He looked proud and masterful, his red toga strewn across his fine linen tunic. His wavy, dark hair styled in a close-cropped cut made his prominent nose stand out even more.
Unshed tears almost choked her. She held them back, prepared to do battle with him. “You liar. You insane man,” she hissed. “But I must be just as sick to have believed your bullshit story about this book.”
He walked into the room and slid the doors shut behind him. “Watch your tongue, Lyla.”
She rounded the table and stood with him, toe to toe. “You told me I wasn’t a prisoner, so I can act any way I damn well please.”
His eyes sought her bared breasts.
Damn, but her traitorous body always got her in trouble. Her nipples pebbled when his hot look caressed her.
She took a step back.
“Your journey here is not yet complete.”
“What sort of nonsense is that?”
“The book will not return you to your time unless you finish what you started here.”
“What am I supposed to finish here in this time? Being your lupa?”
“Precisely.”
I thought he was starting to care for me. Her shoulders slumped. A deep ache filled her heart. How could she have believed such foolishness from him?
Maybe it was the damned wine. It was probably tainted. She’d have believed anything he said or showed her if her mind was cloudy with a drug that stole her will.
“I won’t sleep with you again,” she said through clenched teeth. “Ever.”
He let go of a deep sigh. “I will never force myself on you.”
Tears burned her eyes when she tried to hold them back. A huge, shuddering sob escaped from her chest.
“Lyla.” He took a step forward. “You need to understand. The book will let you know when you can leave.”
“Oh yeah, right, sure. What does it do? Talk?” She rolled her eyes.
“In a way, yes. It does.” He angled his head. “It contained a message for you before, remember? Back in the book store.”
“Probably something you wrote.”
“I can’t write in that book. It wouldn’t let me.”
“Right. Uh, huh.”
His face fell. “I wish with all my heart that I could do something to make you believe me.”
She took in a calming breath, but it didn’t slow her racing pulse. “Well, there isn’t. So don’t try.” Her voice shook. One lone tear slipped from her eye. It travelled down her cheek.
He reached out and brushed it aside.
She whipped her head away, but not before the tip of his finger connected with her cheek. The contact made her body shudder.
“I should have told you the whole truth about that book, but I didn’t want you to go.” His face looked drawn and solemn. His shoulders slumped. “But now, I wish I did, because I’d rather do anything than disappoint you.”
“Leave me alone,” she bit out.
He inclined his head. “If that’s what you wish.”
“It is.”
He turned around and walked towards the door.
Damn it, why didn’t he stay and argue with her? Why did he surrender? What vexed her more was that she still wanted to give in to him.
Anger bloomed inside her. She reached for a metal pitcher filled with water. She hurled it at his head, barely missing him. The container crashed against the door and fell on the floor, the liquid splashing Marcus’ legs.
He looked down at his wet sandals. Then he turned around slowly.
She swore in that minute that his taut, angry look matched hers. Her chest heaved. She ran towards him, intent on scratching his face with her nails.
Before she could utter any protest, he scooped her up and dumped her on the bed. She scooted away from him, but he possessed greater speed. He reached for her, grabbing her legs.
She shrieked in frustration and anger. Oh, if she could find something to hit him with!
“Calm down,” he told her. Heaving his body over hers, he stretched her arms upwards, holding both wrists in one of his hands. His weight settled across her, pinning her body to the bed.
“Get off—”
He leant down and silenced her with his lips. The heat of his mouth burned through her while he crushed her lips in a rough, commanding kiss. He released her wrists. Instinctively, her arms twined around his neck.
She loved his hot, branding kiss. And hated him for making her feel that way.
When he finished plundering her mouth, he did the same with her breasts, his mouth wreaking havoc on her nipples. That sweet throbbing started between her legs.
She knew she should stop him. Marcus had released her arms so she could pummel him at any time. She could also use her ‘safe’ word.
She didn’t want to. She wanted the sweet torture to go on and on.
He hiked up her gown and placed his hand on the juncture between her thighs. Her back arched when he rubbed her clit with the tip of his index finger.
“I am a Roman, alpha male,” he whispered in her ear, his voice gruff and powerful. “It is what you want, Lyla. The one thing you crave from me is domination.”
She whimpered in protest.
“I command you to come.” His voice held wicked, deep notes.
She tried to hold back, just to spite him.
“You will be punished if you don’t do as I say.” He kept rubbing her clit.
Punishment. The word alone sent her into a tailspin of sensual need. He knew the exact sensual button to push to send her over the edge.
She didn’t want to give in, but the more he massaged her labia, the more her body betrayed her. Finally, she cried out her pleasure, her back arching upwards so that her breasts shoved into his mouth again. He took each one while she came, heightening her release even more.
She placed her hands around his back, digging her nails into his flesh.
He didn’t say anything; it was like he didn’t even feel it. Instead, he captured her mouth again with his lips.
“It is the only way I know to silence you.” He grinned. “That,” he stroked the hair from her face that lay across her cheeks in damp tendrils, “and this.” He kissed her breasts again, and laid a hand between her thighs.
She clamped them shut, finally coming to her senses. If she let the lying bastard have his way again, she’d lose all control. “Leave me alone.”<
br />
He rose on his elbows and looked down at her, confusion lining his face.
She enjoyed that he seemed perplexed. It shifted the power balance into her court.
She uttered the one word she knew that would place the control back in her hands. “Horny.” Her voice was flat and devoid of emotion.
He nodded, lifting his weight from her.
Her eyes filled with tears. Damn him. Why did he have to act with honour now? “I won’t believe your stupid lies anymore and I won’t be your slave.”
He pointed his index finger at her. “And when you are ready to accept the truth about yourself, and that book, let me know.” He did as she bade, leaving her to sulk on the bed.
Lyla stayed there until her heartbeat slowed to a normal rhythm.
She got up and straightened her gown and hair, trying to make herself look presentable. That sweet ache built in her clit again.
She collapsed on the bed, shutting her eyes, trying to blot out the memory of Marcus’ hand between her legs. She wanted it there. She wanted him there. She needed his huge cock inside her. Again and again, and again…
She suddenly realised her need for Marcus far outweighed her desire to go home. It hurt more to face that fact than when Corvus had chained her to that cage in his prison, causing her physical pain.
She glanced at her wrists, the bruising barely visible. Marcus had seen to it that she healed. He’d also seen to her other needs. Mostly, her need for him.
She heard a rustling sound. She sat up, trying to judge where the odd noise came from.
Marcus’ writing table.
Her eyes widened. She saw the strange old book open of its own accord. A breeze lifted the pages, but no air swirled around her.
Slowly, she rose from his bed, and walked towards the tome. Page after page unfurled, as though lifted by some unseen hand.
She glanced out the window, thinking that a breeze came from there, but the air remained still. “It’s another trick,” she muttered.
But he had left the room. He couldn’t possibly make that book move like that, unless…
She glanced upwards thinking an air vent must be overhead but she felt no breeze.
The pages stopped fluttering. The book lay open, revealing the yellowed pages. She moved closer and reached for the tome, turning it so she could read.
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