by Nadia Aidan
“I thought we were listening to your problems, but this sounds like a cautionary tale for me,” Lamia joked, although it was forced, as was her smile.
“I did not mean it to be—a cautionary tale for you, that is. Thanos is a good man, a far better man than my father,” Basha whispered, her beautiful eyes darkening with sadness.
“Same could be said for Ulysseus,” Lamia offered quietly, wondering if Basha had considered how lucky she was. Four annos was a long time to go without having a child. That Ulysseus hadn’t strayed rang true of his depth of character.
When Basha didn’t respond she realised that the woman was withdrawing from her. Lamia didn’t want to push her, knowing how hard it must have been for her to even reveal that she and Ulysseus had a problem.
“I realise this must be difficult for you,” she acknowledged gently.
Basha shook her head. “Talking is not what is difficult. Admitting that I am not perfect, well, that is a bit harder. But what is truly difficult is having to accept that I cannot be the woman my husband needs.”
Basha’s last words came out as little more than a tortured whisper, and Lamia’s heart broke for her and the pain she’d undoubtedly carried around inside for so long.
“That is not true. You are the woman Ulysseus both needs and wants. Ulysseus love—”
Basha’s eyes flashed. “Do not say he loves me,” she snapped, abruptly snatching her hand from her grasp, and just like that Basha’s walls fell into place. “You will soon learn, Lamia, that love has no place in Sparta. Ulysseus cares for me, but eventually he will leave once he realises I cannot give him the child he so desperately wants.”
Crossing her arms over her breasts, Lamia shook her head, because it was sad that Basha could not see the obvious—that her stubbornness, her need for perfection, her inability to heal from the wounds of her past had left her blind to the true needs of her husband. For, it was apparent to Lamia, Ulysseus wasn’t the one desperate to have a child—it was her.
She regarded Basha thoughtfully, carefully choosing her next words. “I saw Ulysseus walk out of here and he looked like a man who was hurting, a man who was in pain. The look in his eyes wasn’t one of a man who only cared for his wife, it was one of love. You cannot judge Ulysseus by the actions of your father—” Basha parted her lips to speak, but Lamia shook her head. She was not yet done.
“You must take him for whom he is, and open your eyes to the feelings he carries inside his heart for you. I have no doubt you could lose Ulysseus, but it will not be because you cannot have his child—it will be because you refuse to love him back.”
She didn’t realise she was shaking until she was done. Basha was a lucky woman to have a man, a Spartan man no less, who wore his love for her across his face. She thought fleetingly what it would feel like to have Thanos love her so deeply, but she refused to dwell on such a thought because it was one born of futility, one that would only lead to disappointment.
Basha claimed that Ulysseus only cared for her, but the woman was wrong. She needed to take a lesson from Thanos on the depth of caring, because he did it well. He was tender and considerate, kind and attentive…but he did not love her. Not that she needed his love, she told herself, because she didn’t, just as she was determined to ignore the feelings she’d begun to nurture for him. Thanos’ lack of trust and disregard for the promise he’d made to her was the reminder she’d needed, because over the passing dawns she’d lost her way, becoming distracted from her purpose.
For a moment, she’d allowed herself to forget that her destiny had been sealed the dawn Atallus had burned down her home and ripped her from Carthage. A few fortnights spent in Thanos’ arms, experiencing bliss, and she’d allowed herself to dream—allowed herself to hope that maybe she could lay her demons at his feet. That maybe she could find happiness with him in Sparta.
Yet such dreams were foolishness.
She could not allow herself to forget, not even for one moment, that Atallus was her destiny, and, when she’d dealt with him, she would return to Carthage and rebuild the ruins of her life…alone.
Chapter Fourteen
Thanos walked briskly towards his bedchamber, knowing that Lamia would be inside and hopefully in a better disposition than when they’d parted. It had been a long dawn for the both of them and he’d given her the space she’d needed after she’d returned from Basha’s.
Thoughts of Basha reminded him of his conversation with Ulysseus earlier. His brother and Basha had many problems to work through, but he knew they would sort their union out in due time. They cared far too much for one another not to, and he was starting to understand that feeling.
Lamia was too important to him to leave things as they were. She deserved an apology for his high-handed actions, and he would humble himself before her because she was worth the small slight to his pride.
His father, Icolos, had taught him that. And when it had come to his mother, Illythia, his father had never hesitated to set aside his pride—at times, even his own needs—to see to her happiness, for in turn she would always do the same for him. His parents had maintained a joyous single union for thirty-five annos until Icolos’ death, and Thanos reasoned that that was why he and his brother were somewhat different from most Spartan men when it came to how they demonstrated their affection for their wives.
He pushed open the heavy oak door to his bedchamber, pleasantly surprised to discover that it wasn’t locked. As soon as he entered, his gaze fell upon Lamia, who sat with Armine in her lap, holding a book in front of her.
She glanced up and he was relieved to see that the fury that had burned in her gaze earlier had cooled…somewhat. He’d been furious with Adonis for telling his wife the truth of their marriage, but he was mostly furious with himself for not thinking to share it. Truthfully, he’d never thought to share the information because he’d assumed…no, hoped that Lamia would not want anyone else. He certainly didn’t.
“Armine, just this sun rising I am going to ask that you finish your lesson in your chambers so that I may speak with Thanos,” Lamia said, placing a gentle kiss against the girl’s flowing russet curls, which were starting to look a lot less unruly since Lamia had begun taming them.
“Yes, Mistress.” Armine hopped down from her lap, but before she left she turned to give Lamia a hug and kissed her cheek, and gave the same to him as he bent down to the child’s height to scoop her into his arms. She then bounded out of the room with her book tucked beneath her arm.
He’d been successful in securing Armine an audience before the council who would decide if she was suited to attend Sparta’s agoge. For now that meant Armine was going to have to demonstrate that she was at the same level as the rest of the Spartan girls her age, so Lamia had doubled her efforts and added instructions in archery and Latin to Armine’s curriculum. He in turn had taken over her blade instruction. Knowing she would be expected to demonstrate her abilities against a seasoned hoplite, he wanted to adequately prepare her. By the time she tested, they both hoped Armine would more than impress the council, leaving none with any doubt that she belonged in the agoge.
“I am sorry,” he said as soon as the door clicked shut behind Armine.
Lamia stood, meeting his gaze, but her expression was inscrutable and it worried him that, for once, he could not read her. “Thanos, we need to talk—”
He crossed the space separating them to pull her into his arms. He heard the distance in her voice and it tore at him like a knife.
“Lamia, I did not tell you about the issue of an open marriage because truly I never thought we would ever take lovers. I know I do not want to—”
“Thanos, I—”
“Lamia, please, I do not want to argue with you. Please,” he said again at the hesitance in her eyes. He knew she had more to discuss, but he feared her words from the resigned look upon her face. He didn’t want to hear what he knew she would say, what he deserved to hear her say—that she didn’t trust him—and he could not bl
ame her, but she had no reason to doubt him. He cared for her, needed her in his life. He would never do anything to cause her pain, but it was difficult for her to see the truth of his words when he was always away.
With Armine’s lessons and his meetings with the gerousia, they had both been so drained. Nearly a week had passed since they’d last made love. They needed time alone, where he could show her just how important she was to him, how much she meant to him. He’d been hoping this eve they would make up the time they’d lost and he didn’t want an argument to ruin his plans. Especially when there were far more enjoyable ways for them to spend their time.
The look in her eyes told him she was still eager to talk, but she must have sensed his need for her. And when she tugged his head down to touch her lips to his, he reasoned her need for him was just as great. He kissed her deeply, his hunger for her evident in the urgency of their kiss. He teased her with his lips, his tongue, until he dragged a soft moan from her mouth. He kissed her passionately until he was forced to lift his head to draw a breath.
Blood rushed to his face as his heated gaze roamed over her figure in her revealing peplos, yet it still covered far too much.
“Remove your peplos, Lamia.”
She instantly obeyed his command without protest.
Lust burned in his eyes as he watched her reach for the bronze clasp that held the flimsy material together on one shoulder. He had to remind himself to breathe when the soft fabric slipped from her beautiful figure, pooling at her feet. Lamia’s full breasts jiggled slightly as her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, her large brown nipples hardening to stiff peaks.
He drank in her rich sienna skin, loving how it glowed beneath the moonlight that streamed through the window behind her. He ached to touch her, knowing her skin would be soft and silken, but he resisted. She was not yet ready for what he planned for her this eve.
“Bend over the bed.”
Again, there was not a moment’s hesitation. Resting her hands flat, Lamia pressed her chest into the bed, her backside high in the air.
Thanos’ steps were deliberate as he stalked behind her, enjoying the sight of her trembling before him. She was ignorant of what he would do next and that excited him—that she was wholly at his mercy.
Grasping the ends of his chlamys, he pulled the garment over his head, tossing it aside. His pteryges followed soon after as he released his aching cock. Gripping his staff in one hand, Thanos pumped his flesh with measured strokes, while he palmed the silky flesh of Lamia’s backside with the other.
“Spread your legs. Wider,” he demanded when she failed to part them to his satisfaction.
He feasted on her round ass raised before him with her legs spread and her folds glistening wet. The vision hardened his shaft even more as lust scorched through him, burning an agonising trail from the sac beneath his cock all the way to his temple.
With her shivering before him, poised and waiting, the possessive urges within him beat harder, more insistently, until he shook with his baser need to possess her. She was his. His to do with whatever he pleased. His to pleasure. His to fuck any time, any way, anywhere he wanted. Why would he want another woman, another lover, when he had her?
He groaned at the thought, unable to stop the sound from pouring from his lips. There was no need for them to have an open marriage when she satisfied him in every way.
“Lamia, I’m going to spank you for running off earlier. Do you want me to spank you?”
Her affirmative reply was a soft, seductive purr, and he smiled at how easily she’d yielded to him, submitting to the dominance humming low in his voice.
He smacked her backside, the sharp crack reverberating against the walls, and she released a low hiss but did not cry out. Again he struck her cheeks, her supple mounds bouncing from the force of his strikes. He delivered several stinging blows, desire stirring in his gut as he fixated on the jiggling flesh of her backside.
The breath stuttered in his chest when, giving her reddened cheeks one last swat, he stepped back and glimpsed the steady trickle of her juices trailing down her thighs. The possessive streak that had raked through him before raged out of control as he fixated on her trembling form. Taking lovers, having an open marriage—the very thought shadowed his gaze with crimson. He could never—would never—share Lamia with another, and neither would he ever desire another as he desired her—not when her carnal longings so perfectly echoed his. It was as if she’d been created solely for him.
“Whom do you belong to, Lamia?”
“Y-you, Thanos.” She shivered when he palmed her ass, caressing softly.
“You were made for me, agapetos. Strong, fierce, intelligent. And your body was made for me—supple, curvaceous, yielding. Your body responds to my touch as no other.” His voice hitched with desire, gripping her soft mounds. “I love the way your cunt grips me whenever I am inside you. I love how it milks my cock so sweetly when I fuck you.”
He leaned over her, whispering into her ear while he pressed his hardened length against the small pucker of her anus, teasing her. “You are mine, agapetos. I have no desire to take another lover just as I have no intention of sharing you with another man.”
She moaned and he knew his possessive words had aroused her. He placed a soft kiss against her neck as he shifted down her body. Clutching her hips in his hands, he held her firmly against the bed.
Rearing back, Thanos waited for several pounding heartbeats until they were both panting with longing. Only then did he thrust forward, plunging hard into her juicy cunt, a loud groan erupting from his throat.
She screamed his name, the wild sound blending with his own hoarse shout.
“Fuck, you are tight.” He began to stroke inside her, his length ramming deep. “I could fuck you forever and still never get enough of your cunt.” He groaned, bucking his hips wildly as he pounded her with furious thrusts.
He rode her, the rhythmic echo of sweat-drenched skin coming together barely muffling Lamia’s cries of ecstasy.
“You feel so good,” he growled out, moving his hands to grip her shoulders.
With one hand, she reached behind her body to grasp his ass, encouraging him to deepen his strokes as he pummelled her harder.
Every muscle in his body clamoured for release as he rode her ass harder, faster—tunnelling deeper, impaling her roughly against his cock.
Wrapped around his thrusting shaft, her cunt sucked him in, tiny flutters trembling along his length. A shudder of pleasure raced through him, and he barely leashed his waning control, wanting her to surrender first before he would join her. As if she could hear his thoughts, she began to buck beneath him. Throwing her hips back, Lamia eagerly met each thrust until there was no space left in her snug sheath for him to go any deeper.
“I’m coming,” she gasped, the words rushing out. Her body pulsed and vibrated around him as she gripped the woollen cover atop the bed, her knuckles reddening beneath the firelight.
He took her harder, his guttural moans joining her soft cries as he pounded wildly into her sopping wet cunt.
“Yes, Thanos. Yes!” Her screams rent the air, her back arching, and she held herself perfectly still while he drilled her with mindless thrusts.
Plunging into her over and over, Thanos lost all control as he rode Lamia’s body through her release, ploughing roughly inside her dripping sheath as it clenched tightly around his cock. She climaxed so intensely that her juices flowed down her legs, coating the nest of hair surrounding his shaft. He inhaled the musky scent of her release, dragging it deep within his lungs, trapping it there where he savoured her unique perfume.
Tiny, waning tremors rocked her until she collapsed against the bed, breathing heavily, her body seemingly spent.
His body demanded release, that he take his pleasure and join her, but he tamped down his desperate needs. With his teeth clenched tight, he withdrew from her, his cock still hard as a rock.
She glanced over her shoulder at him, a quizzical
expression upon her face.
He lovingly stroked her back as he smiled. “Your pleasure is mine, agapetos,” he whispered. “I restrained myself only so that I may take you where I have wanted to take you since the very first time I punished you.”
Her eyebrows arched over her still questioning eyes, so he reached down to part the cheeks of her backside, his smile hitching higher when she realised his intent. Her lips formed a tiny circle and her eyes blazed with renewed passion.
“Trust me, agapetos. I shall be gentle,” he assured upon glimpsing the tiny flicker of uncertainty she tried to hide.
Trailing his palms across her skin, he slowly eased his shaft back into her. She gifted him with a delicate moan, all traces of unease disappearing from her hooded gaze as he worked his cock in and out of her sheath, coating himself with her juices.
After several lazy thrusts, he pulled out of her only to replace his hard staff with three fingers. A soft whimper rose out of her when he removed them, now dripping with her slick wetness, to press a single digit against the tight pucker of her anus.
“Relax, Lamia. Relax,” he urged when she stiffened. He gently probed into her forbidden tunnel. Even as her tight rectum bore down upon him, he pushed inside until her ring of muscle surrounded his knuckle. He shivered in anticipation of feeling her anus clenching his cock as tightly as her snug hole now gripped his finger.
He pressed deeper, until his finger disappeared inside her and her body eased. When her breaths settled into a steady rhythm, he added a second finger, stretching her wider. Thanos probed and prepared her hole, not ceasing until she easily welcomed the three fingers he’d coated with her wet essence.
Satisfied that she was ready to accept him, he withdrew his digits from her tight pucker to curl his other hand around the iron length of his pulsing cock. Dipping his shaft into her cunt one last time, he pulled out slowly to position the tip of his staff against her opening. He leaned into her, pressing forward, his cock burrowing against her hole. Letting the head of his member slowly slip inside her, he didn’t stop pushing forward until he was past the first ring of muscle.