Replay Book 9: Gladiator

by Farrell, Nia

  “What’s wrong?” Sir Antony noticed her sudden pallor. “Are you too cold?”

  “No, Sir. The blanket is fine.” They’d wrapped her up just so she could see it in the moonlight. “It’s this,” she whispered, gesturing helplessly. “I don’t know if I can watch you fight. Just being here, thinking about it…it’s nearly too much for me.”

  Sir Antony cupped her face and made her look at him. “It’s because you’re empathic. I should have recognized it. How you treat others is because you feel for them. You’re sensitive to their emotions, their joy, their fear, their pain. We won’t make you watch our battles,” he promised, “but I would like you to watch tomorrow’s training. I have another gladiator coming in so that the others can watch us and learn.”

  “But…I have to work,” she stuttered.

  “Not tomorrow.” When he smiled, she heard the echo of his words, that they wouldn’t interfere with her work much. “Mistress Jewell has been informed that you’re taking the day off. It came as no great surprise. In fact, I think she was hopeful that you might need it. She seemed happy to oblige us, anyway.”

  “Is there anything else that you need to tell me? Anything else that I need to know?”

  Sir Antony shook his head. “Nothing, except that my pene is getting cold, and I am hoping that you and Sir Djiman will warm it for me. Come, chica. Let us go in. It is time to get ready for bed.”

  The swordmaster laid out a new toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, a dispenser of floss, and a bottle of mouthwash. With his braid, he actually had a hairbrush and a detangling comb that she could use.

  She was just as fascinated with Sir Djiman’s hair. She’d never dated anyone with dreadlocks, but they looked perfect on him. He pulled them back from his face and tied them so that they fell on the back of his neck, sometimes shifting to the crook of his shoulder.

  Like Lukas, Sir Djiman spent time each day, sculpting a perfect body that he’d made even more beautiful with ink. His tattoo was beautifully done. The placement was perfect. Her fingers itched to explore it.

  Sir Antony fisted himself and watched Sir Djiman and Leda discover each other’s bodies. The personal trainer mapped her valleys and curves. She admired his physique and explored his tattoo, first with her eyes, then fingers, then tongue. Before she could finish, he flipped her onto her back and buried himself inside her.

  Just as she thought, the curve of his cock was perfect for hitting her G-spot. Surging into her, he ripped the first orgasm from her in record time.

  Sir Antony joined them. Kneeling by her head, he fed her his cock an inch at a time until he was prodding the back of her throat. Fisting her hair, he wedged himself deeper, stopping only when her gag reflex kicked in. With Sir Djiman driving into her. Leda had a hard time keeping her teeth covered and her dinner down.

  Mercifully, Sir Antony decided to give Sir Djiman a treat. With his shaved brown chest blocking most of her view, she depended upon her other senses. There was the unmistakable scent of coconut oil, then a shift of the mattress as Sir Antony kicked their knees wider apart. Crawling between them, he sank his length inside Sir Djiman’s ass.

  Breath hissed between the personal trainer’s teeth. The look on his face was one of exquisite pleasure, being buried inside her warmth while a cock was inside his. Looking past Sir Djiman’s shoulder, she watched Sir Antony’s shifting expressions and wished that she could one day cause him to look like that—a man poised on the edge of ecstasy.

  The swordmaster began slowly and built up steam until he was pounding into Sir Djiman from behind. Every thrust of Sir Antony’s pushed the Ethiopian deeper into her pussy. Leda felt her own tide rising. A few more strokes and she was there, her abdominal muscles convulsing reflexively as her inner walls spasmed, milking Sir Djiman’s length.

  The men weren’t far behind her. They grimaced and grunted, expelling hot, harsh breaths as they shuddered to a finish.

  Sir Antony left them briefly, returning from the en-suite with hot, wet washcloths and soft, dry towels. Sir Djiman cleaned himself while Sir Antony cleaned her, wiping her face and body with practiced ease.

  “There,” he murmured. “That will do until we shower in the morning. Right now, I want you to void, brush your teeth, and take more ibuprofen before you come back to bed. Forget, and it’s a count of twenty this time. Comprende?”

  “Si.” That earned her half a smile.

  She did as ordered and returned to the bed that they would share. Not that she minded being with just the two of them, but she liked the idea of a bed large enough to fit them all. She missed Sir Lucius, and she needed to get to know Sir Marcus better. Sir Djiman, too, for that matter. She still had much to learn about all of them, but as of tonight, she felt that she had a better understanding of Sir Lucius and Sir Antony, the two Doms who seemed at the greatest odds with each other.

  She remembered how Sir Lucius had bristled at the New Year’s party, upset by Sir Antony’s interference. She’d been disturbed as well, but for entirely different reasons.

  His words echoed in her mind, resurrecting the feelings that had overwhelmed her and sent her running.

  Will you kneel for me like you did for Lucius? Will you spread those legs and let us all in? From what I saw, you can handle us. Take one of us in your ass, one or two of us in your pussy, while another finds pleasure in your mouth. That just made you gush, didn’t it, chica? Lucius got you warmed up. Come with us, and we’ll set the night on fire.”

  She had felt the Dom’s leashed power. Felt how much he wanted her. The image that he painted—one of them in her ass, two of them in her pussy, another in her mouth—had stolen her breath and made her body gush.

  It had frightened her, how badly she could want Sir Antony after just being with Sir Lukas. It had been too much, too soon. Overwhelmed, she had used her safeword, hoping to buy herself the time and space that she needed to process what he’d proposed.

  Her…with the four of them. Submitting to them. Pleasing them. It was clear that the Doms had used their time to learn what they could about her. They had given her the kidnapping fantasy that she’d only dared to dream about.

  If watching tomorrow proved too much…if she realized that it would hurt too much to stay…if nothing else came of this, she would always have tonight to remember.

  Chapter Six

  The clash of battle rang in her ears. Leda watched, horrified and mesmerized by the scene playing out in the arena. The sheer power that the two gladiators wielded was frightening to behold.

  Sir Lucius and Sir Djiman offered their support, sitting on either side of her and explaining what she was seeing. Because they were here to learn by observation, their play-by-play commentary served them as well as her. Dissecting the moves would help them remember what offensive and defensive techniques worked and which ones failed.

  Sir Cassius had trained Sir Antony. This afternoon, it was clear that the student had nearly surpassed the teacher. By the time the two men called a draw, they were gritty with sand and dripping with sweat, and Leda was a nervous wreck. Knowing that the weapons were blunt-edged should have helped, but it didn’t. They were still swinging heavy metal swords at each other with enough power to break bones.

  “Let’s get you inside,” Sir Lucius said. Scheduling the session for the afternoon had allowed the temperatures to warm to nearly sixty. The sky was clear, and the sun felt wonderful, but the wind had shifted. Coming from the north, it had picked up considerably, bringing a chill with it.

  Still dressed in a borrowed T-shirt and sweatpants, Leda followed Sir Lucius into the kitchen. She had worn her hair loose today at Sir Antony’s request but that wouldn’t do for working with food. Every kitchen in the known universe had a junk drawer. She checked the cabinets until she found theirs. Twisting the ends of two bread ties together for an extended length, she braided her hair and secured the end with them.

  All of the Doms knew their way around the gourmet kitchen, but Lukas Arik Haas was the undisputed chef of
the group. If time was precious, meals could be ordered and delivered from Replay One. Most of the time, the men cooked for themselves.

  Now that she was here, she wanted to contribute to the household, too. Helping or taking a turn in the kitchen was an obvious first step.

  “They’ll want to get cleaned up before they do anything else,” Sir Lucius told her. “Sand is no fun. It’s well-hidden but there’s an outdoor shower off the weapons room where we can strip and rinse clean before coming inside. Sir Antony worked with the architect and Sir Piers on the villa’s design. Except for not having enough bedrooms, they did a really great job.”

  The Doms’ breakfast discussion had focused on finding a long-term solution to the sleeping situation. It was agreed to turn Sir Antony’s room into the communal sleeping room. To make room for the bed that would have to be built, they planned to convert Sir Djiman’s room to a multi-purpose space. Taking out his queen-sized bed would make room for Sir Antony’s dresser and desk, plus a daybed and work area for Leda—somewhere she could nap or read or sew. In the meantime, until the first Roman Orgy weekend was held, they planned to use one of the large, custom-made beds in the banquet hall.

  Just the thought of tonight made her shiver with anticipation.

  Sir Lucius put her to work chopping herbs and vegetables for the paella he would make, using brown rice instead of Arborio. The change in taste and texture was a sacrifice that they made for a healthier diet.

  As soon as she was done with her part of the paella prep, Sir Lucius handed her a large, stainless steel mixing bowl and had her scavenge the commercial-sized refrigerator for salad vegetables. She brought the bowl back full. Emptying it by the triple-bay sink, she rinsed out the bowl and focused on filling it again. She tossed field greens, fresh spinach, and romaine lettuce together for the base, adding brightly colored chopped peppers, chopped sugar snap peas, grated carrots, sliced celery, tiny cauliflower florets, and split broccoli spears. When that was covered and returned to the refrigerator, she started making an orange vinaigrette dressing. Grinding spices and chopping herbs, she added them with sea salt to a blend of orange juice, grated peel, olive oil, and cider vinegar.

  She asked Sir Lucius to taste it for his approval. “Where paella is a soft dish, I chose to use crisp vegetables in the salad. I thought the citrus dressing would pair well with a Spanish main dish,” she explained, watching his reaction.

  He took one taste, arched his brow at her, and took another. “Is that…?” he asked, grinning.

  “Cloves? Yes. I tried to keep it subtle. Not everyone’s a fan.”

  He was, though. Which is what inspired her fresh twist on an old classic. “If the others prefer a plainer dressing, I’ll make it that way next time.”

  Sir Lucius smiled broadly. Setting aside the spoon, he backed her against the counter, pinned her body with his, and lowered his face to hers. “No one’s going to complain,” he murmured. “Trust me.”

  Catching her braid, he wound it around his hand and fisted her hair. Pulling down, he forced her head back and her chin up, baring her neck for his pleasure. He rubbed his lips down its length and scored it with his teeth. His manhood hardened against her stomach. Feeling it, her body responded in turn. Her nipples tightened. Her swollen pussy lips throbbed with every beat of her quickened pulse. The opening they guarded grew wet, preparing to receive him.

  Letting go of her hair, Sir Lucius stripped off her T-shirt and untied her sweatpants. Hooking his thumbs on either side of her waistband, he pulled them down, lowering himself as they went until he was kneeling in front of her and her bottom was bare, too.

  His face was even with the apex of her thighs. That rich mop of brown sugar hair practically begged to have her fingers buried in it. Before she could act on the thought, he stood up, catching her waist and lifting her onto the island.

  “Stay here.”

  Sir Lucius opened a drawer near the sink and found two large cheesecloth towels. Shaking one out, he folded it into a triangle, then rolled it into a long cloth tube that he tied around her right wrist. He pulled her hand down to her right ankle and used the extra length to bind them together. He did the same thing on her left side, leaving her limbs trussed and her swollen pussy exposed.

  Panting softly, she whimpered with need.

  “You’re dripping wet, liebchen. So responsive. I was going to fuck you until I smelled you. Now I want a taste.”

  He pushed her knees apart. Bending at the waist, he nudged her mound with his nose, extended his tongue, and licked her from front to back and up again. Parting her labia, he exposed her opening and thrust his tongue inside. He kissed her intimately, savoring every whimper, every moan, every unspoken plea when her body begged him for more.

  He found her clit and began a sweet torment that made her chant his name. Hearing it, he thrust a finger into her, then two, finger-fucking her with the roughness that she craved. All he had to do was seal his mouth over her clit to make her orgasm.

  He brought her up again and left her there longer, taking his time where she was bound and at his mercy. He squeezed her breasts and plucked her nipples, twisting and pulling them hard enough to make her back arch off the counter, while twin currents of sexual energy streaked down to stoke the fire in her core.

  “Like that, do you?” he hummed.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “What about this?” Lowering his head, he scored her nipple with his teeth, lashed it with his tongue, then bit her breast in an erotic claiming that had her begging for more.

  He found a rubber spatula and used it, spanking her tits, her nipples, the insides of her thighs, her pussy, her clit. The last slap made her orgasm so hard, she squirted. Her juices flooded out, bathing them both.

  Sir Lucius buried his face between her legs and lapped up what he could. Leda felt like all of her energy had been drained out of her, leaving a delicious lassitude that she would have loved to revel in…except dinner needed Lukas’s attention. Regret flickered on his face when he untied her wrists. Kissing her forehead, he ordered her to not move and left the kitchen.

  He came back with Sir Marcus in tow.

  “She needs aftercare,” he told him. “Liebchen, Sir Marcus is going to take care of you. Be a good girl and do what he says. You will do that for me, ja?”

  “Yes,” she breathed, feeling limp as a noodle. Sir Marcus went around the kitchen, sticking things in his pockets. Returning to the island, he picked her up as if she weighed nothing and carried her away.

  She sighed into the hollow of Sir Marcus’s throat as he walked, relishing the strength of his arms and the feel of his muscles. He was dressed in the Henley shirt and Dockers that he’d worn for a late-morning appointment. His scouting had paid off; the potential site for an upcoming photo shoot had been secured.

  Reaching his room, he opened the door, carried her inside, and laid her gently on his bed. From his pockets, he pulled a small can of pineapple juice, two bottles of water, and a handful of individually-wrapped chocolates. Setting them on the nightstand, he found a blanket, tossed it on the pillows, and kicked off his shoes.

  He slid an arm under Leda’s shoulders and helped her sit up while he got into bed. Settling himself behind her with his back against the headboard, he pulled her to sit between his legs and threw the blanket over them both, making sure that she was covered.

  “You should drink something,” he said. “Juice or water?”

  The juice appealed to her more. “Juice, please.”

  Sir Marcus shook it up and popped the top for her. “Here. Careful, bella. Make sure you’ve got a good grip on it.”

  The pineapple juice was perfect, cold and sweet. She sipped it until the small can was gone.

  “Thank you,” she said tiredly, letting him take the empty can and set it aside. A shiver racked her frame. She pulled her arms back under the covers. “That really hit the spot.”

  “What about a piece of chocolate?”

  “Not right now, thank you, Sir.
I don’t see the flavors blending well. Maybe after some water?”

  He unscrewed the cap off one bottle and had her drink some.

  “Thank you.”

  “Ready for some chocolate?”

  “I am,” she decided. “But just a little. I don’t want to spoil my supper. Sir Lucius is making paella.”

  “That’s for our guest,” he told her. Unwrapping a piece, he fed it to her. “Sir Cassius is Spanish, too.”

  Leda savored the burst of dark chocolate on her tongue. While it melted in her mouth, she relished the feeling of being sheltered in Sir Marcus’s arms. She would never have guessed that the big Dom could feel like such a teddy bear.

  The one night that she’d assisted him in wardrobe, he had flirted with her a bit. She had downplayed it at the time, but after what Sir Antony said, now she wondered if she’d missed something.

  “May I ask you something, Sir?”

  “Of course, bella. And when we’re not in a scene, you may call me Marco.”

  “Thank you, Marco.” It was so strange to say it, but he seemed pleased, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Sir Antony told me that the two of you had talked about me…before all this.”

  “Well,” he began slowly, clearly thinking about what to share. “Antonio and I talk about a lot of things. But, yes, we had noticed you. We had discussed you. The one time that I got Jewell to assign you to me, you didn’t seem interested in more, and so I left it at that.”

  Leda leaned to the side, far enough to turn her head and look at him. He’d flirted with her, and she’d brushed him off, but she had no idea that he had asked for her until now.

  “I didn’t know,” she whispered, regretting the lost opportunity. But then, she would have been with the two of them, not the four men she would sleep with tonight. “I guess the timing was off. New Year’s came and the stars aligned. Whose idea was it to kidnap me?”