by Nadia Aidan
A droplet of wine spilled from her lips, and she ran her tongue across her mouth, catching the tiny bead. Thanos chose that moment to turn his attention to her and she froze beneath his hooded gaze, stifling a small shiver when his eyes settled on her lips.
His eyes darkened, a dark feral glint swirling in their depths, before he abruptly spun around.
She touched her fingers to her lips, his fleeting gaze so intense she could still feel the heat of it upon her skin. Or maybe her lips were simply still swollen from the heat of his erotic kiss. She’d lain awake beside him for most of the eve thinking of him, that kiss, and what he’d meant by pleasure being found in punishment. More than anything, that notion intrigued her. The punishments she knew of only brought pain, so she was curious what it was that Thanos did—and if he actually could bring pleasure to punishment.
She set her cup aside and drew her legs up to her chest, the soreness creeping into her body firmly brushing aside all thoughts of Thanos. Their pace had been harder and faster than the dawn before, and every muscle now ached. Closing her eyes, she rotated her neck, trying to ease the tightness that knotted the tendons.
The unexpected brush of fingertips across her back startled her, and she twisted around, her gaze clashing with that of Thanos.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, slightly bewildered that he’d been able to get so close to her without her realising it.
“I’m trying to help you ease the aches in your back.” He emphasised his words by pressing his callused fingers against her flesh.
She forced back a moan. The rhythmic motion of his hands brought such a welcome relief to her body that she almost forgot she’d told him never to touch her again after what had happened last eve.
When her breasts grew heavy and her nipples drew tight from his skilful touch, she jerked away, as if his fingers had been dipped in a pit of fire.
“Have you already forgotten my words to you? Do not touch me again, Spartan should have been quite clear.”
His lips twitched with amusement, which only infuriated her more. She scurried away from him to sit on the other side of the fire, far out of his reach.
“You persist in being stubborn, even at great cost to yourself.” He sighed as he settled against the log she’d just vacated. “Suit yourself, but we will not stop next dawn when you complain that you are too sore to go on.”
“I shall not complain.”
He must have heard the belligerence in her tone, or maybe by now he was starting to realise that her wilfulness was not a ruse, because he smiled.
“Of course you will not complain.” She noticed that he inched towards her as he spoke, but she didn’t move. She simply watched him with wary eyes. “You would rather faint and expire from exhaustion than allow a man to take care of you.”
He now sat at her feet, his laughing gaze meeting hers. He was taunting her, daring her to back down and move away. She refused to let him see that his nearness affected her. Even as the heat of his body seemed to surround her, engulf her. She sat up straighter, battling against the embers of desire that tiptoed across her skin and flickered inside her belly.
“I do not need a man to take care of me when I can take care of myself.”
He arched a single brow as he studied her with such forceful scrutiny she had to tell herself not to fidget.
“But do you ever wish there was someone who would?”
She didn’t know which affected her more—his softly spoken words, or the piercing intensity of his turquoise yes. She wrenched her gaze from his, unable to allow him a closer glimpse inside her soul. She hated herself for doing it, for silently revealing that he’d got to her, but she could not allow him to see that she did long for someone to care for her, although she knew that, with Darius gone, there was now no one who ever would.
She inhaled deeply. “My wishes are unimportant. I am more curious as to yours, Spartan.”
His grin was smug as he leant back, his every gesture hinting that he knew she was purposely evading his question. Lamia ignored the self-satisfied gleam in Thanos’ eyes, refusing to be baited into a discussion she did not wish to have.
“I already told you what I wish for.”
“A wife.”
She gave a derisive snort, but he didn’t seem to notice or care, when he shrugged and said with a half smile, “But not just any wife.”
She frowned. “What do you mean, not just any wife?”
His eyes closed as he settled his back against the log. “You’re not ready for such honesty, Lamia.”
She glared at him. How did he know what she was ready for? Besides, it did not take a scholar to figure out what type of wife he wished for.
“You want a woman who enjoys pain.”
He opened one eye, his lips furling.
“Is that what you think?”
“I’m only repeating what you said last eve.”
“And what was it that I said, Lamia?”
She stared at him, his eyes now closed once again. This was a game to him. He wanted to force her to say the provocative words that he knew would embarrass her. He enjoyed baiting her, just to see how much she would squirm. Well, she was tired of playing.
She shot up from her perch atop the felled tree. “This is ridiculous.”
It was amazing just how quickly and quietly he could move. She’d barely taken a step, before he seized her by the arms and dragged her to him.
She struggled against his hold. “Is this what they teach men in Sparta? How to maul women?”
“It is so apparent you are curious as to how I can make punishment pleasurable for you, but you are too much of a coward to simply come out and ask the question.”
His voice was as soft as a lover’s caress, but his words stung and she drew back as if he’d slapped her. She was many things, but a coward was not one of them.
“Release me, Spartan.”
“Or what? Will you strike me again?” Mischief flashed in his gaze. “That is going to be a bit more difficult this time, since I have your arms.”
She glowered at him, fury bubbling over inside her. “This is a game to you, but I do not wish to play. Release me right now.”
He ignored her and pulled her closer, trapping her to him. He leant down, his face settling within the crook of her neck, and despite the protests ringing in her mind she could not stop the tiny tremor from rocking her body. When he chuckled, she knew he’d felt it. In that moment, she hated him—him and the power he seemed to so easily wield over her.
“Just so we are clear. I never said I liked pain. I only said that pleasure could be found in punishment.”
His warm breath teased her sensitive skin, and she found it nearly impossible to find her voice, but somehow she managed it.
“Pain, punishment…what is the difference?”
He groaned, and she had to bite back her own when his body hardened against her belly.
“There is a vast difference.” His words were choppy, and he lifted his face to rest his forehead to hers, his eyes clenched shut. “I ache to show you the difference, but you are not ready, agapetos. Far from it.”
She traced the taut lines of his face, somewhat awed by the effect she was obviously having on him. It was a heady feeling to realise that Thanos—the Spartan general who possessed such strength of will—was having trouble controlling himself around her. From somewhere deep within, she revelled in her feminine power over him, though she would never admit it.
Maybe it was the startling realisation that a man as desirable as Thanos actually seemed to want her. Or perhaps it was that he was so close to her that she could almost taste him on her lips, every part of him seemingly seeping into her pores. She truly didn’t know what it was that possessed her, but in that moment she yearned to once again feel his lips melded to hers, coaxing her to surrender to his kiss.
“Thanos,” she whispered, the soft plea barely audible.
He dragged in a deep breath as his eyes fluttered open, and, befo
re she could change her mind, she closed her lids and tilted her head back just as he crushed his mouth to hers.
His kiss was hard and demanding, his tongue insistently probing inside her mouth to claim her. He deepened the pressure of his mouth and she moaned when their tongues scraped together. He was branding her, his kiss igniting a bone-melting fire that singed through her blood. Her entire body was set ablaze as heat gnawed at her belly before settling between her thighs, causing the plump lips of her core to grow slick and heavy with her desire.
She was a bit dazed when he pulled away from her, his chest heaving, although he didn’t release her.
“I am afraid if I let you go you will strike me again,” he said with a smile.
“I have no plans to strike you, but this has to stop, Thanos.” She sucked in a shaky breath.
She would never know what had come over her, what made her desire his touch so wantonly, but she knew it was madness to continue this flirtation, for their actions were those of lovers, of a couple set to be wed, when she knew that would never come to be.
He unclasped his hands from around her arms to settle a single finger against her lips.
“Do not ruin this, agapetos, with talk of how you do not wish to be my wife—how you do not wish to journey to Sparta—”
She opened her mouth to tell him just that, for it was the truth, but he shook his head.
“Please.” His gentle request struck a chord deep inside her, and she nodded. They both knew how she felt. There was no need to hurl it in his face at that very moment.
He let his hand drop from her mouth. “I must speak with my men, so you will have plenty of privacy to prepare for bed.”
She nodded again and neither of them said another word when he turned and disappeared into the centre of the camp.
Settling down on the bed mat, she stretched out beside the fire, mesmerised by the wild blaze that echoed her inner discord. What she’d done moments before—seeking out his kiss—had been madness. This burgeoning desire between them was dangerous and she’d be wise to steer clear of him—a man who was but a stranger to her, a man she would soon flee from, never to set eyes upon ever again.
The twinge of regret that nicked at her with the thought of never seeing Thanos’ laughing gaze again, Lamia refused to acknowledge. It was impossible to harbour feelings for a man she’d known for only three dawns, and yet there was no denying the carnal desires he’d awakened within her. She sat up straighter with the sudden thought that sprang forth. The effect he had on her, it was the same for him.
Yestereve, her almost desperate response to him had frightened her, making Lamia that much more determined to flee him, but this eve had brought with it a new understanding of the man who still held her fate within his hands.
She’d witnessed Thanos struggle to control himself earlier, and it had come as a shock to her to discover that she possessed the same power over him. A plan began to form in her head. Now, if she could just keep her wits about her and her own attraction to Thanos at bay long enough to see her plan through…
* * * *
Thanos stalked Lamia with his eyes, digging his fingers into the cool sand. The sun was setting in the horizon and she reminded him of an ethereal water nymph as she playfully frolicked in the Gulf of Argolis.
They’d had another gruelling dawn of travel, and he’d promised her she would be allowed to bathe when they stopped, but now he was regretting his words.
She knew he was watching her, his eyes slowly appraising her. She was purposefully taunting him, laughing softly when she lifted herself in the water just high enough so that he could catch a brief glimpse of the swells of her breasts, before dipping beneath the surface.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, digging his hands deeper into the mushy sand, so that he would not reach inside his pyterges and stroke his cock.
He narrowed his eyes when she waded closer to shore to settle against one of the sand bars. With her back facing him, she gracefully parted her legs. The shadows of the approaching eve made it difficult to see, but he swore she was touching herself.
With a muttered curse, Thanos shot to his feet and marched on stiff legs towards her. As he drew closer, he became convinced that she was pleasuring herself. Her unbound hair dripped with water as it clung to her arched back, while uneven breaths caressed his ears.
“What are you doing?”
She moaned softly, her entire body tensing. Twisting her head around, she looked squarely at him, and despite the encroaching darkness he easily glimpsed the laughter in her eyes.
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
He frowned at the teasing lilt of her soft voice. This was out of character for Lamia. She had to know how she affected him, but nothing about her actions before had spoken of wanting to encourage his desire. Actually, quite the opposite.
“What are you doing, Lamia?”
“You already asked me that. And I would think it should be obvious.”
Frustration seized him. She knew what he was truly asking.
“Not what you’re doing, but why are you doing it? Why are you touching yourself?”
“Again, that much should be obvious, but, if you must know, it’s because I need to find release.” She quirked her lips into an alluring, seductive pout. “That is, unless you would like to give it to me.”
His heart battered the wall of his chest until it threatened to burst, a furious rush of blood surging into his pulsing cock. He was almost tempted to wade through the water and do just that, but he came to his senses before he could make a fool of himself. Just like the sirens who’d ensnared Odysseus, Lamia sat there spinning her web, trying to trap him, but he wouldn’t be so easily fooled. He knew she was up to something.
“Get out of the water.”
He realised his mistake too late when she shrugged and stood. His next breath lodged somewhere between his lungs and inside his throat when she spun around and sauntered towards him, her movements sensual, erotic. His gaze followed every single droplet of water that clung to her nude figure, tracing the trail that a lone dewdrop made as it slithered between her breasts and across her middle, before disappearing into the thatch of dark curls that hid her womanhood.
Buried deep within his foggy brain, somehow he managed to recall that his men stood on the ridge behind him. Snatching up her garment, he stalked over to her and wrapped it around her wet body.
“What in Hades are you doing?”
“You keep asking me that and—”
“I do not know what game you are playing, but it shall not work.”
She shrugged away from him, slowly donning her peplos, and he struggled not to follow her every move with his eyes, but it was just that—a struggle.
“You are overly suspicious, Thanos,” she said when she was finally fully clothed. “Come, drink some wine with me, and let me help you relax.”
He knew her docility was a trick. Even as he followed behind her, his gaze fixed on the gentle sway of her hips, he knew. And when he sat beside the fire and relaxed against her, drinking from his cup of wine, while she soothed the aches in his shoulders with her delicate hands, he knew. In his arrogance he determined that, because he recognised her ploy, he would not be fooled by it—but later he would realise his mistake in underestimating her.
Chapter Five
Lamia snapped her eyelids open, and she tried to stretch, but a solid wall of muscle hampered her movements.
Thanos’ nude body lay pressed against her back, while his arm was draped around her waist. She glanced down the length of her body—his leg was entwined with hers and his hand gently cupped her breast. Thanos always slept nude, and until last eve he had politely stayed on his side of the mat, but, likely owing to all the wine, he’d drifted beside her until their bodies lay intertwined.
She swallowed down a needy moan, her nipples tightening as molten heat furled in her belly at the coarse hair of his rough legs brushing across the smooth skin of her thighs. Everythin
g about Thanos screamed of untamed, masculine virility, and, while she was loath to admit it, his large, powerful body—with its rough planes and hard edges—called to her as a woman, making her feel delicate and feminine, something she’d never felt with any other man before.
He shifted again and his thumb brushed her now stiff nipple. She bit back the sigh that hovered on her lips as lightning shocks of pleasure sizzled down her spine. Everywhere he touched her skin tingled, causing dewy warmth to pool at the juncture between her thighs. She wrestled with the feverish heat that now claimed her body, hating the desperate need this stranger had awakened inside her from the moment their lips had touched and they’d shared their first kiss.
She shook herself—to gather her wits. And then she shook him.
“Thanos,” she whispered.
She rolled her eyes when he mumbled a series of muffled words but did not budge.
She nudged her back harder into his chest. “Thanos,” she hissed. “I need to relieve myself. Wake up.”
Somewhere in the back of his sleepy mind he must have understood her because he loosened his embrace and rolled away from her.
Thank the gods. Her ploy had worked. He’d been suspicious at first, but, between the wine and her gentle hands, he’d eventually relaxed before succumbing to the arms of sleep. Her only hope was that the wine would keep him asleep long enough for her to escape.
She wasted no time in scrambling off the mat. With measured steps she tiptoed into the sparse forest that surrounded the camp. After relieving herself, she waited. Several moments passed without a sound.
Thanos was still asleep.
She carefully made her way towards where the horses were tied up for the eve. With stealthy movements, she untied Thanos’ white stallion and slowly guided him away from where the Spartan soldiers were camped. She walked beside Zeus until she was sure the sound of her galloping away would not be heard by the sleeping soldiers.