The Perfect Concubine

by Michelle Styles

  Valeria gritted her teeth. Piso was seeking to demonstrate her new status. Very well. She’d oblige him. She hadn’t suffered through her marriage without learning how one teased in a dining room. She had been forced to watch others perform the trick often enough. It never seemed that complicated or complex, simply overt and obvious. This was her one chance to play the game and play it properly.

  She couldn’t be completely naked but she decided to strip down to her under-tunic. A demonstration to Piso that underestimating or intimidating her would fail.

  Her fingers examined her swollen lips. She had no idea why he had kissed her and then put her from him. There had been something more than carnality in the kiss and she hadn’t expected her response. She closed her eyes and refused to give into wishful thinking. Tonight was an adventure into the unknown. It certainly would be a tale to tell in the baths—the night Valeria brought Piso to his knees.

  She retreated up to the bedroom where the servants had placed her things. There she took out various pots and paints and made up her face, taking care to whiten her face and heavily kohl her eyes in the latest style. Staring at the small mirror, she found it hard to recognise the woman who looked back at her. Despite the thick paint, there was a latent sensuality in her lips and her eyes sparkled a bit too brightly. Valeria frowned. Suddenly her under-tunic seemed far too intimate a garment for such a gathering.

  She went over to the clothes press, opened it and discovered a simple tunic of fine linen. She slipped it on and the soft folds came down to her mid-calf, sliding about her legs as she moved. The cloth appeared to accentuate her curves and hint at what was hidden underneath. She took her belt and fastened it around the middle, straightening the folds so that her waist was emphasised. As a final defiant gesture, she took the pins out of her hair and allowed it to flow down her back. She took one last look in the tiny brass-backed mirror and did not recognise the perfect concubine who stared back at her.

  She hated to think of the woman who must have owned this first, and the delight in Piso’s eyes when she wore it. But the outrageous idea she had planned for tonight was sure to keep Piso’s attention firmly on her. She summoned several servants and explained what she wanted. They appeared dubious but accepted her order.

  ‘Seek to humiliate me, Piso?’ Valeria tapped her finger against her mouth. ‘Two can play at this game.’

  Piso leaned on one arm and with other hand he reached for the bowl of olives. The conversation about gladiators, and the upcoming season, ebbed and flowed around him.

  Valeria was taking a long time, far too long. A protest at the guests’ status? Overcome with nerves? He’d watched the shadowy figure on the landing as the guests arrived. The company might not be entirely respectable but they were far more interesting than ponderous senators or other worthies. And they had the added bonus of ensuring the identity of his new concubine would be all over the Aventine before the night watchmen called curfew.

  On the couches the guests shifted restlessly, their attention wandering from the discussion about whether or not Strabo the Cyrenian’s new tiro Valens was actually the best gladiator of his generation or simply a ladies’ favourite because of his legs.

  He had begun to rise, when his steward banged a heavy stick on the floor.

  ‘The next dish is served for your delectation.’

  Piso raised a brow. He had not ordered the next course to be served. Everyone was waiting for Valeria. But he had no wish for the cook’s food to go waste. Valeria would learn. Next course she would appear, or he would drag her from her lair. In her under-tunic if need be.

  He nodded towards the steward and signalled for the dish to be served.

  Four of his strongest servants came in carrying what looked to be a table with his largest pot covering it. He frowned, trying to think what the cook was doing. The meal was supposed to be a simple one.

  The servant lifted the cover. An audible gasp echoed through the dining room. Piso ground his teeth.

  Valeria reclined on the platter. The near translucent cloth of her tunic clung to her thighs and back, covering her but at the same time promising untold delight. She held a large bunch of grapes in one hand.

  ‘The next course,’ she said, gracefully rising and advancing towards him with smiling painted red lips. Piso watched, transfixed by the way her loose hair curled about her shoulders.

  ‘Would you like one?’ A dimple appeared in the corner of her mouth. ‘Shall I play the taster?’

  With a lazy insolence, her tongue curled around a grape, sucking it before popping it into her mouth.

  ‘They’re absolutely delicious. Care for one?’

  Piso stared at her, blood pounding through his brain. All he could think about was how her lips had felt against his and how much he desired her…had always desired her.

  A variety of lewd remarks and cheers brought him to his senses. Valeria playing the concubine was one thing, but not here and not in front of other men. A jealous rage surged through him. She belonged to him, no one else.

  He rose to his feet, slung her over his shoulder and strode out of the room. With quick steps, he marched to the bathing complex. The marble-lined chamber still bore the faint heat from the bath he’d enjoyed earlier. He placed Valeria down on the ground with a thump and then closed the door with a distinct click.

  ‘There was no need to do that!’ she said, looking at him with accusatory eyes as she scrambled to her feet.

  ‘There was every need.’ Piso gave a long, slow smile. ‘I’m greedy and refuse to share the dish on offer. I do my tasting in private.’

  ‘I was merely trying to behave like any good concubine would.’ Her long lashes swept down, hiding her eyes, and she adopted a falsely contrite expression. She tried to peer around him at the firmly closed door. ‘We can return to the dinner party now. I promise to be good. Your guests will be wondering where we are.’

  He controlled his temper. She would pay, slowly and sweetly for her defiance. She’d learn. Such games remained private. His women were not teases for other men. ‘They’re adults. They’ll know.’

  ‘But…but…’ Her tongue flicked over her painted lips.

  He moved closer and lifted her chin, so her green eyes were staring directly into his. ‘Understand two things, Valeria and we’ll get on. First I require my grapes washed. Second my women unpainted.’

  Her eyes flashed fury and she tried to hit him.

  ‘My kitten has claws,’ he said, laughing, capturing her hands. He nodded towards the basin that stood in front of the cold room. ‘Wash and we can begin the feast…properly.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Very well, the die is cast.’ With one hand he undid her belt. The soft folds of the linen tunic fell about her curves. Then he methodically began to strip off his evening robes and put them in a neat pile, pausing between each motion to see her reaction.

  He’d undone his sandals when her hesitant voice filled the room. ‘What are you doing?’

  He raised an eyebrow, beginning to enjoy himself. ‘Somebody has to bathe you.’

  Chapter Four

  ‘There, my face is clean,’ Valeria said, turning back from the basin that stood at the entrance to the cold room where she had retreated while Piso took off his clothes. Her face now tingled instead of itching. ‘You’ve made your point. We can return to the party. I’m fit for your company.’

  Piso still stood, completely naked, watching her. His magnificent chest was crisscrossed in a network of scars. She kept her gaze from going any lower. ‘What makes you think we are going back? You began this, Valeria. I will finish it. The guests will make their own way home without us.’

  ‘Everyone will know.’ Her voice sounded thick and husky to her ears. Her entire body tingled from his nearness. Every particle was aware of him and his nakedness. She wanted to touch his skin and see if it was still as warm and pliant as her memory of him. And her lack of control made her furious. She had planned it differently and now everything had gone
wrong. ‘Is that why did you it?’

  ‘No, I wanted to do this without becoming a spectacle.’

  He bent his head and captured her mouth. The kiss was carnality personified. His hand came around her waist and held her. And she knew that this was Piso all grown up, rather than the youth of her memory. A master of seduction. He knew how to provoke a woman’s response, but each touch seemed especially designed with her in mind and her body craved more. She had thought she’d be immune but primitive desire rampaged through her. She concentrated on breathing and tried desperately to block out her emotions.

  The thin material of her tunic provided no barrier to the heat from his body. The fine material slid between them, heightening her awareness of how his hard muscles moved against her body. She opened her mouth and allowed her tongue to tangle with his. His hands roamed down her back, cupping her bottom, pulling her firmly against his arousal.

  ‘You see,’ he rasped in her ear. ‘You see what you’re doing to me.’

  His lips traced a fiery trail down her neck to the hollow of her throat where his tongue lapped. Slowly, his mouth descended lower. He cupped her breasts and pulled the material tight over them. His tongue traced their outline, turning the material translucent, showing the dark rose of her nipples. The cooling sensation of the fabric warred with the heat of his mouth, causing the pulsating ache within her to grow. And she remembered how long ago he had given her pleasure.

  She arched her hips forward seeking relief, craving his touch. He pulled her more firmly against him and ground his hips into her, teasing her with expert skill, and she found she no longer missed her boy lover. She wanted the man, far more than she had considered possible only a few hours ago.

  A moan came from her throat as his hips drove forward again, demanding her surrender.

  He scooped her up and, within a few steps, he had reached the raised marble platform in the caldaria and placed her down. The marble retained the heat from earlier in the day. Above her a faint light shone through the star pattern in the ceiling, reminding her of the stars on their last night. She had to take it as a good omen that she’d succeed in her quest.

  Piso drew in his breath as inch by inch he lifted the tunic to reveal her limbs. His body ached to finish it but he retained the narrowest leash on his passion. He had waited a long time for this and he intended to enjoy her to the full.

  He closed his eyes, remembering how he had once tasted her skin. He had tried to block out the sensation but she was unique, imprinted on his being. No other woman’s skin had come close. It was one of the reasons he had kept changing women, he realised with a jolt. The only one he truly craved was lying in his arms right now.

  He hated thinking of anyone else touching her. The primitive urge to cleanse her and make her forget any other lover filled him. He wanted to make this special for her, rather than simply taking his pleasure.

  He lifted her foot, kneaded it and took each toe, one by one, into his mouth, watching for a response. Her head thrashed on the marble plinth as a whimper of pleasure emerged from her throat.

  She arched her back and held up her arms, allowing him to remove the tunic. He feasted on the sight of her reclining, naked with lithe limbs and softly mounded breasts, more exquisite than his memory. It amazed him that he’d forgotten about the dimple on either side of her knees. And the memory of her somehow made the passion more intense.

  Slipping his hand down her body, he savoured the way her skin felt smooth under his fingertips, until he reached the nest of curls at the apex of her thighs. His forefinger parted her folds. To his delight, he discovered her warm and wet. She wanted him, was more than ready for him. He traced several figures of eight on the slick surface, heard her cry before he slipped his finger in her. Immediately her body clenched around him and she trembled, her hands gripping his shoulders.

  Valeria shattered. Her body arched off the marble, seeking more than his moving finger. She tugged at his shoulders, demanding. She wanted his strength and power pressing down on her and his body to cover hers as it had during that long-ago summer when he had initiated her into the rites of Venus and Cupid. She breathed his name, hoping he’d understand the urgency of her need.

  He pressed a feather-like kiss to her mouth. ‘Patience. I want to give you pleasure.’

  Bending his head, his breath caressed where his fingers had been. The tip of his tongue traced round and round, and when she thought she could no longer stand it, he slowly moved upwards, his knee parting her thighs, and plunged into her. She surged up to meet him.

  Her body opened and welcomed him as he filled her. Slowly and steadily she moved her hips. As his body arced downwards, she saw his face, intent and driven. And her body seemed to bathe in fire, becoming forged anew and remade just for him.

  She lifted her hips and felt him break inside her. He collapsed down on her. Her arms came around him, cradled him, holding him within her, keeping him there. She’d never felt so connected to one person in her life. She regarded the ceiling and the star pattern mocked her. Her long-ago experience hadn’t prepared her for this completeness. But there were secrets she had to keep. She couldn’t bear to see the hate in his eyes if he ever discovered her betrayal, not after tonight. And she hated that she cared.

  His hand smoothed her hair from her forehead and he looked down at her with tenderness in his eyes, blocking out the stars.

  ‘You can see why I didn’t want to create a spectacle.’

  She moved her hands down his back, touching the knots and scars, reminding herself that she had caused some of them. ‘I begin to get the idea.’

  He nipped her chin. And as their shared laughter rang out, she knew the moment for regrets had passed. She had to concentrate on the important things—making sure she won and he took her to Alexandria.

  Within her, she felt him harden. She shifted slightly, encouraging him to move deep inside her. To stay with her and be a part of her. To want her for longer than three days.

  ‘As my lady requires.’ He captured her mouth and his tongue mimicked what he was doing inside her. And then he gripped her hips and turned her over, so that she was on top and he was the one beneath. ‘You call the rhythm.’

  Piso touched Valeria’s shoulder and she snuggled closer to him. After making love again in the caldaria, he had carried her up the backstairs to her bedroom. He couldn’t remember when he had last slept with a woman. Probably if he was honest, it was the summer he had been with Valeria, when they had made love and slept in each other’s arms in the temple’s gardens with the stars providing the blanket until he reluctantly stole away in the morning light.

  He enjoyed taking his pleasure with women, but actually sleeping? No. He always maintained his own bed, slipping out of theirs as soon as the act was completed. With Valeria he wanted to linger. He wanted the intimacy of hearing her soft breath as she slept. He wanted to wake up in her arms.

  His fingers moved down her back. Stopped. Light indents marred her lower back, as if at some point she had been whipped. Piso dismissed the thought as ridiculous. No one would dare beat a free woman like a common slave. He padded over to the window and opened the shutter, allowing the pale grey light to filter in. With light, there was no mistaking the deep white scars.

  ‘Who beat you?’ he asked, touching her shoulder.

  She blinked up at him, reached out for him. ‘It doesn’t matter. A lifetime ago.’

  He took her arm from his neck. Someone had dared to mark her, and a primitive urge to protect his woman drove him onwards. ‘It matters to me.’

  ‘Why?’ She raised herself up on one elbow. She smiled but her eyes were wary in the half-light. ‘Do you only have unblemished mistresses? Forgive me but I don’t recall having to give details of all of my imperfections.’

  ‘It was not what I asked.’ Piso ran his hand through his hair, wondering how he could put it and why she should seek to protect the culprit. Silently he vowed that he would discover who had done this to her and punish them. ‘
Are you going to tell me why it happened?’

  She wrapped a sheet about her and moved so her back was against the wall. ‘The scars healed. I…I don’t think about them.’

  ‘Your ex-husband.’

  She shook her head. Her lips turned up into another sad smile. ‘He preferred other methods—other women, other humiliations.’

  Piso reached forward and grasped her arms. ‘Your father then.’

  She was silent, confirming his guess. His insides churned. The scars were years old. She’d either been beaten when she left her husband or before she married him. Her father had beaten her so badly that he had permanently marked her. Whatever she’d done, it hadn’t deserved this reaction. Piso wanted to tear the man limb from limb. He didn’t deserve a daughter like Valeria, a daughter who was willing to risk her life to find his son, the son he’d driven away.

  Unaccustomed remorse flooded through him. He had failed to protect her once, but he would from now on. She belonged to him, not her father.

  ‘I forbid you to see him again.’

  ‘He’s ill, Piso. He needs my help. He and my mother will die without it. What I feel for my father is my business, but I did forgive him. I’ve not forgotten.’

  ‘You belong to me, Valeria. I will handle it.’ And I will make him suffer, Piso silently vowed.

  ‘Belong? I’m a free woman.’ Valeria lifted her chin and glared at him. What right did he have? She’d only agreed to be his concubine because she had made the foolish wager. ‘I make my own decisions.’

  ‘You are under my protection!’ His voice was laced with anger.

  Valeria bit her lip. If she explained the scars, she’d have to explain how she had finally given his name to her father to stop the beating. And she wanted to enjoy being with him before she saw the inevitable hatred. ‘I paid for my mistakes, Piso. Don’t ask for what I cannot give.’

  His brow lowered. ‘Are you going to tell me why your father beat you? Or do I guess?’