Her Roman's Hand

by Catherine Chernow

  “How positively gothic, to be speaking of a dowry.” She rolled her eyes, but inside, her emotions did battle.

  Trust Marcus to ensure that one of his people remained happy. His damned friend sounded like a good man, too. How can I be angry with him for that?

  “Pardon me?” Decimus cupped his palm around his earlobe. “I’m not sure I heard you correctly. What is ‘gotic’?”

  “Gothic,” she corrected.

  “Gotik.”

  “It is pronounced with a ‘th’ not just a—” She sighed. “Just forget it.”

  “It shall be.” He grinned.

  She walked away in a huff but an idea took root in her mind.

  Marcus entertained his friend and Appia. When he finished, she could speak to him about her punishment. Her palms grew damp at the thought.

  Damn, why did she have to be honest with him, when he hadn’t been the least bit honest with her? She shook her head, realising she lied to herself again.

  His actions sprang from a selfish desire to keep her here. He owned up to his mistake. Now, she’d have to come to terms with hers.

  The first had to do with Appia. The second was that she desired Marcus. She couldn’t deny it any longer. She had wanted him to make love to her the minute she saw him in the bookstore. She desired his complete domination.

  As a motivator of people, she made others see just how messed up their lives were so they could make them better, but she’d never faced her personal chaos. Now, she had to.

  It may not get her out of this godforsaken ancient land, but it would make her stronger. She’d need all her strength to deal with Marcus.

  If she could just sneak into that ‘punishment room’ without Marcus knowing, she could decide which one he should use on her.

  She glanced around to see that Decimus had left the hallway. Quietly, she made her way towards that wonderful little room filled with her heart’s desire. She turned the knob on the door. It opened without hesitation.

  She entered, sliding the doors shut behind her. She had to hurry, lest someone find her. The door possessed no lock, so if someone were to come in and see what she was up to, she’d be…

  Punished.

  A smiled spread across her face. Marcus would whip her bottom into submission.

  Her pussy beat in time to her racing heart. Lyla raised her gown, tucking the hem into the band at her waist.

  She walked over to the wall where the whips lay mounted in their holders and grabbed the lash made of twisted parchment thongs. Strange letters appeared etched into the handle.

  She peered at it and read aloud, “Scutica.”

  Glancing around, she noticed that the long, leather piece had writing burned into it. “Ferula,” she read. She had been correct in guessing that when Marcus used that word, ‘ferula’, it had been this whip.

  Pleasure made her lips spread in a wide grin. Trust Marcus to name and label his chastisement devices.

  Bending over a chair, she reached behind her, applying the scutica to her bare ass. It didn’t give her the same satisfaction as watching Appia’s punishment. She beat her ass harder, hoping to bring on release, but nothing happened.

  She tossed the whip across the room, plunking her backside onto the chair.

  If Marcus were here, she’d tearfully lay her transgression at his feet, and beg him to punish her. His use of the whip on her ass would release all her pent up anger, frustration, and shame.

  She spread her legs and rubbed her cunt until she was almost raw.

  Damn Marcus, and her need for his touch be damned, as well.

  She had turned the tables, thinking she could mete out her own punishment but this time; she had turned them on herself.

  * * * *

  Marcus left Cletus and Appia in the atrium to give them some time alone. Cletus and he had been friends since childhood. He could trust him implicitly.

  Besides, he missed Lyla. He wished fervently that she would have put her anger aside and joined them. He was a fool to think that she would.

  After his blunder—his lie—she would never forgive him. He had been selfish enough to think that she wanted him as much as he desired her. He’d been an even bigger fool to think that she also wanted his total domination.

  She may possess a wild, untamed side, but she didn’t want him.

  Somehow, he had to figure out another way to get her back to her own time, where she would be happy.

  A tremor coursed through him when he realised that her happiness suddenly mattered more than what he wanted from her. Sweat trickled down his chest when he thought about it.

  He walked from the atrium into his house, choosing to go into his bedchamber. Perhaps if he rested just a bit, and dreamt about her, she’d materialise like a goddess…

  If that were to happen, he’d go to the temple and worship every single Roman god and goddess forever.

  He unfastened his toga, swirling it away from his shoulders. He tossed it onto a chair. That’s when he heard a cracking sound, as if a whip lashed against flesh.

  He pressed his ear against the wall. He hadn’t commanded anyone to be punished, and if he did, he would be doing it himself.

  Marcus found the peephole. He glanced at the scene before him, his eyes growing wide.

  Lyla bent her body over a chair, much in the same fashion as Appia had done when she received her chastisement except that Lyla tried to mete it out on her own body.

  He grinned at the spectacle she made, her naked ass fully on display. And she had no idea he watched!

  His cock grew stiff with need when she plunked her body down onto the chair and spread her legs wide. Slowly, she stroked her fingers across her labia.

  He sat back on his heels and pondered her actions. Already, he owed her a spanking for splashing him in the pool, and now, she went against his command not to pleasure herself except when he ordered it.

  He watched her frustration mount. She needed, as well as wanted, a sound beating on her ass.

  She stopped stroking herself, dropping her head into her hands.

  He smiled to himself, knowing that what she did had not satisfied her. At the same time, he filled with the need to soothe, and he wanted to drill her with his cock.

  Domination rose within him.

  Why did she want a spanking? Was it just some kinky need? In his mind, he examined the reasons. She snuck into his punishment room without his permission, and that alone would merit her chastisement.

  Then again, how did she know about the room? Had Decimus showed it to her?

  No, he shook his head. He’d told Decimus not to.

  Marcus drew his eye away from the peephole, his mind a jumble of thoughts, his cock so hard he thought he would spill his seed right there. It pounded with need.

  He couldn’t wait to give Lyla what she truly desired…and deserved.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lyla had just about made it back to her room when two male slaves came for her. Tiny flutters tickled her abdomen, as if moths beat their wings inside her.

  They escorted her to Marcus’ bedchamber. When she entered, she found him sitting behind his writing table. At first, he didn’t acknowledge her presence. He didn’t say anything at all. Head bent, he continued to write, the stylus scratching on the rough papyrus.

  It grated on her nerves.

  Then he glanced upwards, regarding her much like a cat would a mouse. Her body tingled with alarm, yet her clit throbbed, too.

  He said something to the two slaves. They bowed and exited, leaving Lyla alone with him. The door slid behind them with a loud and final sounding click.

  Marcus leant back in the chair, his posture casual, but she sensed a coiled tension in him. The air in the room grew thick with it.

  “What do you want?” she asked, her tone sharper than she’d intended, but damn, he made her so angry when he ignored her.

  He raised a brow.

  She rolled her eyes. “Master,” she hissed. “What is your pleasure?” She drew o
ut the last word.

  He crooked his index finger. “Come here.”

  She angled her chin, hoping her defensive posture would hide her eagerness and fear of the unknown. It always seemed as though her emotions battled inside her, making her burn for Marcus’ touch.

  She took two, small steps forward.

  “Closer.”

  She inched towards him, bringing her directly to his writing table.

  “I’ve realised that I’ve made a big mistake with you,” he told her, his voice deep.

  She lifted her chin even higher. Better to keep a haughty distance between them. “It’s about time you came to your senses, but if you’re thinking an apology will do you’re—”

  “That wasn’t my intention.”

  “Right. You’ve tried apologising already. Now just get me the hell away from this place.”

  “It is not in my power to do so.”

  “So, we’re back to that…the book and that crazy story about the gemstone.”

  “The ability to return to your time is within you.”

  “Then I guess I’ll just have to click my heels together to get me back to Oz.”

  “You’re—what?” He scowled.

  “Forget it.” Exasperated, she let go of a long-suffering sigh. “So, you made a mistake in regard to me. Fine.” She wiggled her fingers at him. “I’ll be seeing you.” She turned to leave.

  “Subsisto!”

  She hesitated for just a second because she didn’t understand the Latin word, but when she turned around, she collided with his chest. Her nose bumped it. Her gaze travelled upwards until she stared into his face, drawn into tight lines.

  His anger simmered just below the surface. “I didn’t say you could leave.”

  “All right, make it quick, Master. I don’t have all day.” Damn, but she couldn’t let him seduce her with his honeyed words and lies.

  “My mistake has been allowing you the upper hand.”

  “Considering I’m your lupa, that’s pretty hard for me to do, isn’t it?”

  “You’re a slave in your own mind, Lyla. Until you break free, you’ll always be a slave, mostly to your own brand of lies.”

  Fear snaked down her back, making it tingle. She hated that he was always so damned on target.

  “You provide endless fascination.” He angled his head, regarding her as if she were a bug under a microscope. “You are a wonderful motivator, I’ve seen that firsthand. You’re someone who helps others turn their lives around, but you can’t do the same thing for yourself.”

  “I’ve had enough.” Her voice shook.

  His voice deepened. “Not nearly, my sweet. You have a long list of wrongdoings that you must come to terms with.”

  Her heart raced. “Like what?” She frowned, thinking what he might know. “I suppose Decimus told you about my attempt to esca—”

  His mouth kicked up. “Since you bring it up, let me just say that your failed plans to run away have turned my household upside down, as well as placing yourself in danger.”

  “It’s a captive’s responsibility to try and free herself.”

  “And I’ve told you, you’re not a prisoner.”

  “Look, we can go ‘round and ‘round this, but it’s going to get us nowhere. So why not just tell me all the bad things I’ve done?” She swiped her damp palms against her gown.

  Had Appia mentioned anything to him?

  “While I’ve kept that list right up here,” he tapped his temple with his index finger, “it will be interesting to see it clearly, when we both write everything down.”

  “Write what down?”

  “Your transgressions.” His voice dipped an octave.

  “Fine. Let’s get to it.” She walked over to his writing desk.

  He brought a chair over for her. She plunked her bottom into the seat.

  He shoved a small papyrus scroll at her and handed her a stylus. “Write. Then we’ll compare our notes.”

  She shoved the papyrus aside, suddenly afraid. “Th-this is crazy.”

  “But very necessary.” He shoved it back.

  “Why?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Her body tingled in response, curiosity heightening her anticipation.

  She unrolled the papyrus and wrote across it with the stylus. She handed both things back to Marcus.

  He raised a brow. “You’re done?”

  “Yup.”

  He snatched the papyrus from her outstretched hands and read, “This sucks.” He tossed it down onto the table.

  She sat back in the chair, a smug smile spreading across her face.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Lyla.”

  “Well, good. Maybe it’s about time someone did that to you.”

  “I don’t care about anyone else, just you.”

  “Well, I was very sincere in that I truly do think this entire bullshit thing sucks.” She lied, for she had longed to pour her heart out on that papyrus and tell him everything that happened between her and Appia…and what she really wanted from him. But that would mean the power balance lay in his court. She wasn’t sure she was ready to surrender—yet.

  He regarded her thoughtfully. “Care to hear my list?”

  She slumped in the chair. Her sarcasm didn’t seem to scratch his tough, outer shell. “Go ahead,” she mumbled. “Let’s hear them.”

  What if Appia had broken down and told Marcus the truth? That it was Lyla who had whispered all those negative things in her ear about Cletus? Marcus would be pissed that she defamed his friend.

  Is this Marcus’ way of making me sweat it out? She bit down hard on her lower lip to stop it from quivering.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No!”

  He raised a brow.

  “Just read your damned list.”

  That brow rose higher.

  “Master. Please read your list.”

  “All right. Number one—you use foul language. It undermines my authority with my household.”

  “Like they understand what I say. I don’t speak Latin.”

  “Decimus and Appia understand it.” Her face heated when he uttered Appia’s name. “And my people can detect your tone and attitude. Two—your sarcasm makes it impossible to get to know the real you.”

  That took the breath from her body.

  “It is something I’m dying to do, Lyla, to get to know the real you, but you prevent it at every turn.”

  That’s because every man I’ve ever known before you hurt me. My own father didn’t like me…

  He read again. “Three—you don’t want to change. While your circumstances have been precarious, you still react the same way.”

  She shot up from the chair. “How can you say that?” She placed her hands on the desk, anger making her shake. “When I was in Corvus’ prison, I hung onto every shred of fight in me.”

  “While I admire that in you greatly, I just wish you wouldn’t battle me that way, too.”

  “You said you liked that I always argue. Now you’re singing a different tune?” She shook her head. “Why don’t you make up your mind?”

  He grinned.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “That’s better,” he murmured. “At least you still want to debate.”

  Why do I always fall into his trap?

  “Four—when I tried to make amends, you splashed me in the pool.”

  She held up a hand, palm out. “Wait a minute. That ticked you off?”

  “What?”

  “That I splashed you. In the pool.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out. “Yes, it ticked me off.” He scowled. “You undermined my authority with the eunuchs. It shows no respect for your master.”

  “You lied to me, Marcus, and made up a ridiculous story about the book. That’s why I splashed you.” Tears threatened, but she held them back.

  “That book really is your ticket away from here if you want it to be, Lyla. You just refuse to believe it because it won’t d
o what you want it to do, when you want it to.” He settled his hip on the table’s corner and folded his arms across his chest.

  Lyla swiped her hands on her thighs. “So, what now?” Her pulse sped up when he didn’t speak.

  “You’re going to be punished.”

  Yes!

  He walked over to the bed and sat down on it. “Come here.” He patted his thighs. “Raise your gown, and lay yourself across my legs.”

  Whoa. She looked around. Wasn’t he going to use a whip?

  He lifted a brow. “Are you afraid?”

  “Just, I mean, are you going to spank me?”

  “Precisely.” He softened his tone. “It will be over soon.”

  It sounds like he just wants to be done with me.

  “Let’s get this over with.” He motioned with his hand.

  Yup. She walked over to him, taking one small step at a time. A part of her craved this yet, something inside her rebelled. This is not my heart’s desire.

  “Turn around.”

  She did.

  He lifted her gown, tucking the hem inside the waistband. Cool air swirled across her backside. It made it tingle.

  He grabbed her upper arm. “Walk backwards, towards me.”

  She took a few steps.

  “Place yourself over my lap.”

  Lyla sucked in a breath then bent over his thighs.

  He placed a hand on her lower back, using just enough pressure so she couldn’t move.

  The first smack came without warning, his wide, flat palm landing directly on her butt cheeks. She cried out when the second one came, his hand enflaming her backside, and her loins.

  He rained more slaps on her bottom. Her eyes filled with tears.

  It wasn’t so much from the pain; it was because the hand spanking was too sensual, too erotic, too…intimate. While his palm hit its intended target, it was off course as far as her emotions were concerned. She wanted, no needed more.

  He gave her a warning. “You’re receiving three more swats, Lyla. Then it will be done.”

  Her ass turned warm and tingly. It didn’t hurt as much as it was supposed to. “Horny!” she cried.