Seduced by the Gladiator

by Lauren Hawkeye

  I arched my hips against him. After pausing a moment again, as if to make sure that I had really meant it, he rocked against me in return, and the friction of his coarse cock hair against my labia made me gasp.

  I now saw. He would not do anything unless I told him to, or indicated that it was what I wanted. He truly was a man bound by the oath of honor undertaken by the gladiators.

  For reasons that I could not quite explain, this excited me terribly. Drawing him to me, my arms struggling for purchase against the solidity of his flesh, I let myself kiss him as I had wanted to be kissed for years, hot, wet, and open.

  His breathing was as ragged as mine when I drew back, shuddering through his great frame, and his skin flushed. He wanted me as much as I wanted him, this I knew.

  So I would take it, and I would enjoy it—we would enjoy it—this opportunity that the blessed gods had thrust in front of us. It seemed that Venus was in a fine humor that day. I would have to pray to her later, would have to offer up wine and bread in thanks.

  “Drusilla, you may go.” I was taking a risk, allowing my slave to leave—being alone with a gladiator, a man whose only purpose in life was to fight, was not a smart or safe thing to do. I knew that she would be irritated beyond belief with me, and that I would endure the sharp side of her tongue later on.

  But I did not desire an audience. I wanted to drown in the feeling of man and woman fucking, and nothing more.

  My slave girl exited silently, shaking her head but not daring to speak in front of a fellow slave, for fear that he would see our closeness. The friendship was not something that we hid, but nor did we flaunt it, for fear of upsetting the balance of the household.

  Had we been alone, Drusilla would have had much to say. But we were not, and she did not. She left, and I was alone with the gladiator. My gladiator, the one who waited silently for orders.

  I shivered with anticipation.

  “Enter the pool.” I gestured toward the stone steps that were swallowed by the wet, and heard the soft slice of his body through it as he descended and the silky water lapped at his hips. I seated myself on the side of the pool, ass against the chilly marble, legs dipped into the liquid from the knee down.

  I saw his eyes move from the breasts that were half hidden by the long coils of my hair to the area between my legs that he would not get a clear glimpse of until I parted them.

  He kneeled in the shallow water, facing me. Slowly, bit by bit, I opened my legs and let him see what he wanted to see.

  I saw the smallest of flickers in his eyes when I finally was spread open wide, and a slight tremor in those tremendous muscles.

  He wanted to do this, but would not until I gave him permission.

  It was intoxicating.

  “Place your mouth between my legs.” Before he could reach me, I took up the goblet of wine that sat at my side and poured it over my belly. The bittersweet liquid ran down my pale flesh in rivulets, streaming here and dripping there, the excess falling in fat drops into the water, where it dispersed quickly, a kiss of ruby in the deep blue.

  “As you wish, Domina.” Bending at the waist, he moved into the space between my legs, pushing them further apart to accommodate his large frame.

  I gasped at the first touch of his hard fingers on the soft flesh of my inner thighs. He looked up and smiled for the first time, just the faintest kiss of a smile that held a tinge of wickedness. Then he pushed me back, flat, the ridges of my shoulder blades pressing against the damp, chilled stone until I could no longer see him. His touch was gentle, far softer than I had ever felt the touch of my husband’s hands upon my skin. Startled by this, I immediately rose back up to my elbows and stared at him, brow furrowed.

  “You need not be gentle.” My voice was guttural, raw with wanting.

  His stare never wavered from my face as he nodded in acknowledgment, though the press of his hands on my flesh did not deepen in their pressure. “I would not hurt you. I would never hurt you.”

  My mouth opened to reply, but my words were lost as he moved his face roughly until it brushed the hot outer folds of my cunt. I understood that though he would wait for permission, and though he may not be gentle, I was safe with the warrior.

  He bit first, and a strangled scream escaped my throat. I tried to swallow it, for though I doubted that Lucius was home yet, he could be, very soon. It was a risk that I would take. But it was so very hard to swallow the sounds that kept exploding from my throat when Marcus buried his face between my thighs, the rasp of the stiff hairs on his jaw scratching and inflaming skin that was growing more tender by the minute.

  He soothed the sting left by his teeth with his tongue, though there was no softness in his movements. He swiped the rasp of his flesh through my slit firmly and forcefully, occasionally connecting with the inflamed area hidden a little deeper, and I couldn’t hold still.

  Raising my hips from the hardness of the floor, I begged him soundlessly for more. Replacing the hand that branded one of my thighs with an elbow, he used his newly free fingers to separate the folds of my labia, baring my clitoris. I hissed when the cool air hit it, but the air stopped when his mouth closed over the engorged nub, hot and wet, because the sensation shocked the breath out of me.

  I tried my hardest not to scream, and at the same time to close my legs, because the sensation was nearly too much to bear. But I had told him that this was what I wanted, and he was following through. His strength kept my legs apart, and his mouth stayed busy, stroking with his tongue, long, firm strokes, and I could feel myself careening out of control. My fingers scrabbled for purchase on the slick marble but found nothing to grab hold of, so I clenched them in my own hair and tugged as the whirling pleasure built.

  It had been so long that the orgasm nearly drowned me. I didn’t know if my screams had echoed off the corners of the room or merely off the walls of my mind when the shaking had subsided, but I shook my head from side to side regardless, knowing that I wanted still more and also knowing that time was coming to a close—Lucius would be home soon.

  I groaned and arched my hips again, raising myself onto my elbows and willing my quivering muscles to allow me to sit. When Marcus again came into view, I saw him swipe a hand over the excess moisture on his mouth, and I wanted to give him back some of the pleasure that he had given me.

  I moved my ass closer to the edge of the pool and let the water lap at my screaming clitoris. I huffed impatiently when he did not immediately move between my wide-spread legs, then remembered through a sex-fogged brain that he would not do so until I bid him to.

  “Fuck me.” I could not bring to mind any more detail than that . . . and indeed, I did not care how it happened. I just knew that if I did not feel the girth of the cock that was bobbing in the water inside my cunt, and soon, I would surely die.

  It happened so quickly that I was not entirely sure of how, precisely, it came to be. I only knew that one moment I was empty, and the next full, a cock of a surely impossible size impaling my most tender cunt. My legs were wrapped around his waist, my arms his shoulders, my bottom still braced against the edge of the pool as he rocked me back and forth. Though he was still on his knees in the shallow bath, he did not lose purchase, though I could feel his thigh muscles, hard as the rocks that covered the mountains outside, bunching beneath the globes of my rear with the effort to stay upright.

  I no longer cared if my husband was home and heard me, no longer cared about the fact that this was a forbidden gladiator and I his mistress. I let him ride me, hard and then harder still, until he grunted and the thick smell of salty come tickled my nostrils.

  The feel of the viscous liquid as it dripped down my thighs was so immensely satisfying, after so very long, that I again spasmed. Though not nearly as intense, the orgasm still brought a wave of pleasure, and I sighed with amazement at the feeling that I had been so long denied.

  Breathless, I lay back on the cold stone, sighing my complaint when he began to ease his thick cock from my body. E
very nerve in my body was spent with pleasure, and I felt the ridiculous urge to pull him back down toward me, to wrap his arms around me and enjoy the feeling of skin on skin. But though I wished it, he must have understood as well as I did that he needed to take his leave, and soon. The consequences for Marcus of Lucius finding him wandering the upstairs, let alone what he had just done with the wife of his master, his domina, would be severe. Never mind that Marcus’ temporary freedom was because of my husband’s carelessness. No, it would be expected that Marcus would have known his place enough to make his way back downstairs.

  The reminder of where he lived, where his life was, caused the reality of what I had just done to begin dribbling down upon my head, the chill mixing with the remnants of warm pleasure until the two were indistinguishable. I heard him splash water against his skin in an attempt to clean up, and felt shame.

  I had made a slave have relations with me. Never mind that he had enjoyed it—I had not given him a choice, and that was something that I had never entirely agreed with. Biting my lip, I shifted restlessly on the stone floor, closed my legs tight and also shuttered my eyes as I heard him leave the silky wet of the pool. He paused for a moment by me, searing my all-too-naked skin with his stare before padding away to again don his sandals and his subligaculum.

  When I again opened my eyes, he was gone.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  * * *

  LAUREN HAWKEYE is a writer, yoga newbie, knitting aficionado, and animal lover who lives in the shadows of the great Rocky Mountains of Alberta, Canada. She’s older than she looks—really—and younger than she feels—most of the time. She has published with Avon and Harlequin and writes contemporary erotica as Lauren Jameson for NAL.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  By Lauren Hawkeye

  Seduced by the Gladiator

  My Wicked Gladiators

  Give in to your impulses . . .

  Read on for a sneak peek at four brand-new

  e-book original tales of romance from Avon Books.

  Available now wherever e-books are sold.

  BET YOU’LL MARRY ME

  By Darlene Panzera

  FIVE GOLDEN RINGS

  A CHRISTMAS COLLECTION

  By Sophie Barnes, Karen Erickson, Rena Gregory, Sandra Jones, and Vivienne Lorret

  DECK THE HALLS WITH LOVE

  A LOST LORDS OF PEMBROOK NOVELLA

  By Lorraine Heath

  CIRCLE OF DECEPTION

  By Carla Swafford

  An Excerpt from

  BET YOU’LL MARRY ME

  by Darlene Panzera

  (Originally published in shorter form under the title The Bet)

  In Darlene Panzera’s debut full-length romance, an entire town places a bet on just whom pretty Jenny O’Brien will marry . . . and her choice surprises them all!

  “If there was a gold mine hidden at Windy Meadows, I would know about it. I’ve covered every inch of that land and I—”

  Right before the barn fire took her father’s life, he’d dug five holes on the far side of the property, toward the eastern border. He’d said he wanted to plant trees. Trees he never bought. Did her father know what was in her great-great-grandfather’s journals? If he believed a gold mine was on the property, wouldn’t he tell her?

  “Is that why everyone wants to marry me?” Jenny demanded. “To get the gold?”

  What had she been expecting, that one of the men actually held feelings for her? Secretly loved her? Of course they didn’t love her. They barely knew her.

  She’d kept her distance from most boys since Ted Andrews stuffed a lizard down her jacket back in grade school. From that day on, she’d realized the male gender couldn’t be trusted. And the one man she’d thought had been different had only reinforced her opinion when he slept with Irene Johnson on their wedding day. Nope, the only men she could count on were her daddy, God rest his soul, and her uncle Harry and cousin Patrick. Family.

  She knew better than to let her emotions take hold of her, but she couldn’t help it. If there was one thing she couldn’t stand, it was deception.

  “You’re despicable. All of you. Anyone with any decency at all would loan me the money I need to save my land. But no. Here you are placing bets. And why? Because you believe there’s a stupid gold mine on my property.” Her whole body shook with rage. Fire burned through every pore of her skin. “If you want something to believe, believe this—there isn’t any man here who can get me to marry!”

  A tall, dark-haired man she had never seen before emerged from the crowd and slammed a green check down on the table beside her.

  “Ten thousand dollars says you’ll change your mind.”

  Jenny stared up at him. He topped her by at least six inches. Then she glanced down at the numbers scrawled on the check. A wave of openmouthed gasps rounded the room, followed by a single resounding, drawn-out whistle.

  “What?” she demanded. Was this a joke?

  “Ten thousand dollars says that within five weeks you’ll marry me.” Pushing back the brim of his black Stetson, he looked into her eyes with an expression of pure confidence.

  “You—you must be out of your mind.”

  “I’ve never been more serious.”

  “So if I don’t marry you, and I win,” she said, flustered by the way his silver-gray eyes studied her, “I get your ten thousand.”

  “Yes.”

  “And if you win . . .?”

  “I get you.”

  Her body lurched with an involuntary start, and she struggled to regain her composure. “What’s your name?”

  “Chandler,” he said, never taking his eyes off her. “Nick Chandler.”

  “You’re on.”

  She accepted his challenge with outward calm, but her stomach twisted into a lasso of knots as Pete laid out the rules.

  “The bet ends Saturday, July Thirteenth, at one o’clock in the afternoon. Winner takes home the check. Agreed?”

  Jenny hesitated. “Thirteen is an unlucky number.”

  “Not for me,” said the man by her side.

  Jenny locked eyes with the dark-haired stranger. “Even if you were the most charming man on the face of the earth, there’s no way I’d ever agree to marry anyone in just five weeks.”

  “Sometimes,” Chandler said, arching his brow, “five weeks can seem like a lifetime.”

  Jenny knew she wouldn’t be able to keep up her bravado much longer. She needed to run away. Fast.

  She turned to leave, but a hand on her shoulder spun her around, and she found herself pressed up against her newly acquired opponent instead.

  Her first thought was to reach down and draw out her boot knife, but before she could react, his warm lips brushed across her own.

  What perverse, mind-warping insanity led her to think she could stop the bets? Here it was, six years since the last time her name was on the chalkboard, and she hadn’t learned her lesson. She was still humiliating herself in front of everyone in this confounded café!

  “My money’s on Chandler.” Old Levi MacGowan’s voice rang out as more gasps and guffaws erupted around them.

  Jenny pushed away from the brash newcomer and retaliated with a slap. A hard slap. She caught her breath as the left side of his tanned face turned a glorious dark pink.

  Chandler didn’t flinch. The hit must have stung like the spines of a devil’s club plant, yet it didn’t stop him from smiling at her or looking at her with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

  With all the courage she could muster, she held her head high and walked out the door.

  FIVE GOLDEN RINGS

  A CHRISTMAS COLLECTION

  by Sophie Barnes, Karen Erickson, Rena Gregory, Sandra Jones, and Vivienne Lorret

  The holidays are a time for wishes and magic and, of course, for love. Celebrate the season with this delightful collection of Christmas tales by five rising stars of Avon Impulse.

  Mistleto
e Magic by Sophie Barnes

  What better way for Connor Talbot, Earl of Redfirn, to spend the holidays than convincing Leonora Compton that the only match she needs to make is with him!

  His Perfect Gift by Karen Erickson

  The Duke of Ashton has had three years to plan for his perfect Christmas present—the Lady Eleanor Fitzsimmons as his wife. Now, all he has to do is convince the reluctant lady . . .

  War of the Magi by Rena Gregory

  Phin Baldwin does not believe in Christmas magic . . . until the clever and beautiful Ginny Overton gets it into her head to show him how wonderful it can be when wishes come true.

  Her Christmas Knight by Sandra Jones

  Just returned from the Crusades, marriage is the last thing on Sir Caerwyn’s mind. But will he be able to resist Lady Nia, the thief of his boyhood heart, when she tempts him yet again?

  Tempting Mr. Weatherstone by Vivienne Lorret

  Responsible Ethan Weatherstone is determined to save Penelope Rutledge—and her reputation—from her silly scheme, but can he save himself from the temptation of her lips?

  An Excerpt from

  DECK THE HALLS WITH LOVE

  A LOST LORDS OF PEMBROOK NOVELLA

  by Lorraine Heath

  Lady Meredith Hargreaves and Alistair Wakefield, the Marquess of Chetwyn, thought they missed their shot at happiness together. But as Christmas approaches, Chetwyn is determined to lure Lady Meredith back into his arms. From New York Times bestselling author Lorraine Heath comes a tale of Christmas miracles . . . and second chances.

  She studied him for half a moment before it dawned on her. “You purposely stole his dance.”

  “I did. I saw all the gentlemen circling you earlier, so I knew your dance card was filled. And if it wasn’t filled, I rather doubted that you would take pleasure in scribbling my name—”