My Spartan Hellion

by Nadia Aidan

  How had she thought she could ever take another man between her thighs, allow him to spill his seed within her, bear his child, tarnish and ruin what she’d built with her husband? Even if she could never give Ulysseus the child she’d once so desperately wanted to give him, she would never—could never—give herself to another man, just as she would die before she allowed another woman to feel the weight of her husband pressing her deep into the bed they shared together. No other woman would feel her husband’s seed stir inside her belly when he found release, no other woman would ever know that type of pleasure but her.

  That single thought caused something deep inside her to shatter and she splintered apart, finally giving herself completely to Ulysseus and the joys and pains of their mutual love.

  She dug her nails into his back as her hips jerked uncontrollably, rocking in time to the pounding of his wild strokes. And, when her climax exploded, his release soon followed as he burst deep within her spasming sheath, filling her with his hot liquid.

  A roar of completion tore past his lips, mingling with her ragged cry, just as the juices of their climaxes joined together.

  He collapsed against her, and Basha held Ulysseus tight, caressing the hard, muscled planes of his sweat-drenched back, absorbing the essence of him as his heart hammered out the same beat as hers.

  “I love you,” he said softly, his voice faint, but she heard every word.

  She curled her lips into a tired smile as she drifted in and out of consciousness, lethargy creeping inside her, gently enticing her into the arms of sleep.

  “As I love you,” she said, letting her eyelids flutter shut, her last thoughts of Ulysseus, and only Ulysseus.

  * * * *

  Thanos was in a foul mood by the time he entered his bedchamber. Adonis was lucky that he’d taken off as soon as he had because if he’d stayed just half a second longer, Thanos would have grabbed him by his chamlys and beaten him to a pulp.

  He didn’t need to be reminded that other men coveted his wife and it shamed him to admit that he was certain other men could treat her far better than him. She had openly revealed her feelings for him earlier, shining bright in her gaze, and he’d run like a coward because he didn’t know how else to respond. He knew he didn’t deserve her, and he hated that every man, including Adonis, knew this as well.

  He pushed open the door to his chambers, squinting against the brightness of the burning oil lamps as he stepped inside. Darkness crowded the space and shadows flickered off the walls as the glow from the flames danced about. Yet, despite the muted light, the sensual awareness coiling at the base of his spine revealed her presence immediately.

  His breath caught in his throat when he saw her, his gaze instantly snared by her wondrous beauty on display in a delicate peplos that clung seductively to her generous curves, its amber hue shimmering against her skin. She was absolutely breathtaking and she was in his bedchamber. He remembered then that they hadn’t shared the same chambers since the eve of their fight.

  “Adonis visited earlier. He told me you are planning to march to Athens soon. I thought, if you have such little time left here in Sparta, that it would be best if we were not separated by chambers,” she explained.

  He dragged a hand down his face. He was going to flog Adonis. The boy had interfered once again. He’d had no business telling his wife news that should have rightfully come from him. Adonis was quickly becoming a thorn in his side with his meddling.

  Obviously misreading the anger in his eyes, however, Lamia moved to step around him.

  “But I see that you would prefer to keep separate chambers so I will go—”

  Thanos shot his arm out, snaking it around her waist.

  “My anger was not directed towards you, but Adonis. It was not his place to tell you of our march to Athens, but mine. Please, do not go,” he said quietly.

  She nodded and, when he was certain she would not leave, he relaxed his arm.

  “When do you depart?” she asked softly.

  He and Cleomenes had invoked the Rite of Gorgo, an emergency directive implemented by Leonidas’ widow after the disaster at Thermopylae. It allowed the two kings to veto a vote of the gerousia, but only if it concerned the Spartan military. He and Cleomenes would meet with the council at dawn to deliver the news, and then he would prepare his soldiers for their campaign to Athens.

  “Within half a fortnight.”

  “So soon?”

  He nodded stiffly, the look of dismay he glimpsed in her eyes like a dull blade sawing in his gut. He ached to pull her into his arms and reassure her, but he held back. If she was to be a queen of Sparta then she needed to harden herself to the reality that he could go off to war at any time…and that he might never come back.

  “How long do you plan to remain in Athens?”

  “I truly do not know. But we must remain there until we are certain the Roman army will not wage an attack.”

  “And what of Sparta? What if this is a trap to draw her soldiers away from the city?”

  He smiled to himself, pride swelling in his chest. His wife’s mind was ever sharp, ever assessing as one trained in the art of battle. “We are leaving a sizeable contingent here. If this is a trap, the city will be well protected and, with Cleomenes in command, he will be able to lead our men should there be a need.”

  “And what do you need of me, Thanos?”

  He reached out a hand and dragged her flush against him. He’d just promised himself he would not do this, but he could not stand it any longer. He had to touch her. Right now he just needed to hold her in his arms and succumb to the warmth of her tender embrace.

  “Truthfully, I need you to write to me and keep me abreast of what is going on here. I also need you to make sure the council does not try to go behind our backs on this. Cleomenes will be alert to this, but I want you to be present if they call a meeting.”

  She nodded against his chest. “I can do that,” she whispered.

  He let out a ragged breath when he felt her arms wrap around his waist. “Thank you,” he said quietly, dipping his head to capture her lips.

  She returned his kiss as she clung to him, drawing him within the circle of her warmth. Not since their quarrel had they been like this—together without anger driving their passions.

  He’d missed this. He’d missed her.

  He stripped out of his garments then easily removed her peplos. She gasped as he took the weight of her breasts into his hands, cupping them gently, drawing her nipples inside his mouth.

  She trembled in his arms, her hands in his hair. He backed her to the bed, covering her body as she spread out across it. Her skin was like spun silk against his, heating his body, inflaming his senses.

  By the gods, he loved her, couldn’t imagine what his life would have been like had he not met her. He could feel the words on the tip of his tongue, but held back, the doubts that hovered in the shadowed corners of his mind paralysing him.

  But he could show her. With everything inside himself, his body could utter the declaration that his lips could not. He cupped her face between his hands, claiming her lips in a deep, bone-melting kiss until she opened beneath him, the juices from her cunt wetting his thighs.

  With their lips still locked together, he turned her onto her side to face him. Draping her leg over his hip, he held her to him so that her body was perfectly open, perfectly poised to accept his searching cock. With one hand on her hip he cradled her against him, while he tangled the other in her wild rush of hair. Tearing his lips from hers, he stared into her eyes, drowning in their dark depths as he pushed his way inside her dripping wet heat.

  “By the gods,” he groaned, his body straining to drive deeper, to fill her completely.

  Her cunt wrapped around him so tightly, her juices coating him, making the journey of his cock in her passage slick and slippery.

  She clutched him, her arm twisting around his neck while her other hand was braced against his chest. In this position he couldn’t su
rge as deep as he wished to go, but he liked that he could see all of her. The light blush upon her cheeks, the tiny circle of her lips, her eyes dancing with pleasure.

  “Thanos,” she gasped, her body moving sensually against his, her rocking hips sending him tunnelling deeper.

  He couldn’t withhold his desires any longer. He needed to fuck her, mount her, spill his seed inside her until she overflowed with it.

  He rolled her beneath him and drilled her into the bed with his driving thrusts. Grunts spilled from his lips as he took her hard and deep until she shattered beneath him, her tight channel clamping down hard upon his surging length.

  She screamed his name, her head falling back, her eyes clenching shut as her nails dug into the flesh of his shoulders. Her release triggered his own and with one last powerful stroke he buried his shaft inside her and erupted, coating her walls with his essence until he had nothing left to give her. He shook and shuddered, his hoarse groans filling up the room. Completely spent, he collapsed atop Lamia then rolled to her side to cradle her in his arms.

  They lay there entwined, their breathing erratic, their hearts pounding. The tenderness of the moment reminded him of their first time together, and he sighed, remembering how she’d shattered so sweetly in his arms, crying out his name beneath the stars before curling up in his embrace.

  He didn’t want to leave her, not after he’d just found her, not after they’d just repaired the fragile bonds of their union. The Oracle had revealed he would wed this woman, that their fates were intertwined…but she’d never said for how long.

  He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of Lamia. If their dawns were numbered then he would cherish them, just as he planned to cherish her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lamia’s sandalled feet brushed against the cobblestoned street, barely making a sound as she walked with purposeful strides towards Basha and Ulysseus’ home. Time was drawing near for Sparta’s men to march to Athens and the entire city was abuzz with anxious energy as everyone prepared for their departure. She was eager to speak with Basha, who’d been through this before, who understood the politics of Sparta and what would be required of her in Thanos’ absence.

  She couldn’t believe her turnabout—that she actually planned to stay. She didn’t dwell on what it meant, or for how long she would remain in Sparta. All she knew was that she loved Thanos and he needed her right now. She could not betray her love for him and steal out into the night like a thief while he risked his life on the battlefield. For now, she’d put her thoughts of revenge aside. Thanos’ need of her was more important. She would sort out her business with Atallus once this crisis with Rome had passed.

  She nodded at the young helot who stood outside Ulysseus and Basha’s home as she passed by. Following the stoned pathway through their gardens, she headed into the vestibule.

  The din of muffled voices caused her to slow her steps. The hushed sounds were that of a man and woman, clearly engaged in an argument. She started to turn around, not wanting to intrude upon the intimate moment between Ulysseus and Basha, knowing that if they discovered she’d overheard them they would be embarrassed. Yet, before she could leave, she caught a brief glimpse through the thick foliage to see that Basha was indeed the woman involved in the argument, but it was not Ulysseus whom she was now quarrelling with.

  Basha’s face was flaming red, her eyes flashing with anger as she glared at the handsome man who stood before her. He was younger, much younger, as if he’d just graduated from the agoge. His golden hair floated against his broad shoulders, his sapphire gaze swimming with fury. She recognised him immediately as Zenos, a prince of Sparta and Adonis’ younger brother.

  She wondered what he was doing there, arguing with Basha, until he moved towards her sister within the law, his expression intense. Basha shook her head and held out her hand, pressing it against his broad chest. Lamia stood there transfixed by the sight of them, watching the interplay of emotions that crossed their faces. They were lovers. She knew so immediately by the intimacy of their actions. Even the way Basha touched him was familiar.

  A battle raged inside her as she spied upon them, struggling with what she would do next. She felt betrayed, betrayed by Basha and her deceit. Ulysseus was a man of honour. He did not deserve a wife so cruel that she would bring her young lover into the home they shared.

  Lamia wanted to intrude upon them, but realised it was not her place…and, more importantly, that, even if she disagreed, there was nothing amiss about Basha’s actions—at least not according to the customs of Sparta. She backed away, trying to slip out before the couple took notice of her presence, but the slight movement caught their attention, and two pairs of eyes slammed into her, halting her where she stood.

  She ignored Zenos, her gaze settling on Basha, her eyes conveying every emotion she felt inside, none stronger than disappointment.

  Now that she’d been discovered, Lamia didn’t move to apologise or turn to leave. Quite the opposite. She stepped through the low arch into the vestibule, forcing Zenos to mumble a quick goodbye as he made a hasty departure.

  “It is not what you are thinking,” Basha said as soon as the young hoplite disappeared behind Lamia.

  “I am listening.” Lamia moved closer to Basha, forcing herself to wipe her face of any expression that would betray her. Before she accused her of any wrongdoing, Lamia would hear Basha out.

  Shoving a hand through the silky locks of her dark hair, Basha inhaled a sharp, deep breath as she settled down on a nearby stone bench.

  “It is no secret that Ulysseus and I have been unable to bear a child, just as it is no secret that it has mostly been me who has been desperate to have one.” She stared at her clasped hands as if they held the answers to all her questions, all her problems. “Several moons ago I became so desperate that I convinced myself it would be good for us to take lovers, but Ulysseus was against it—”

  “And yet you went ahead anyway, despite his wishes.”

  Basha’s gaze snapped to her face, at the same time that she shot up from the bench. “Do not judge me. You have no idea what it is like for people to whisper behind your back that you are inadequate, that you are less than a woman because you are only half Spartan—”

  “You are right, I have no idea what that feels like.” Lamia stalked towards her, feeding off Basha’s anger as her own fury whipped through her.

  No, she had no idea what Basha was going through exactly, but that didn’t mean she didn’t carry around her own set of troubles, her own set of insecurities. No one was without them. Basha was not unique—nor was her situation. As much as Basha didn’t want her to judge, it was hard not to, especially when it was clear that her sister within the law had done something that was beneath her dignity, had resorted to actions she knew she would later regret.

  “I have no idea what you are going through, but what I do know is that your husband is leaving for war soon and it is unthinkable to me you would invite another man into your bed while he is away just so you can have a baby.”

  Basha’s eyes widened. “I have not invited anyone into my bed—”

  “But you’ve thought of it.” She knew she was right when Basha seemed to shrink right before her eyes. “Did you take Zenos as your lover so that you might bear a child?”

  “No,” Basha sighed. “But I considered it. I did more than that. I came very close, but I could not go through with it.” Her words came out on a tortured whisper, her expression one of agony.

  Lamia recognised then that Basha was telling the truth. The anguish in Basha’s eyes was one of self-loathing, not guilt.

  “You have to tell Ulysseus,” Lamia said finally.

  Basha’s eyes rounded. “No! It would crush him.”

  Lamia wanted to say that she should have thought of that before she’d acted, but she bit her tongue, at least on that point. “Don’t you think he deserves the truth? Don’t you want him to hear it from you, instead of an angry Zenos? Whatever you did to e
ncourage Zenos has nurtured the boy’s feelings. I would not be surprised if he reveals the truth out of spiteful jealousy.”

  Basha flattened her lips into a tight line, the expression on her face acknowledging that Lamia was right, even if she refused to say it.

  Lamia let out a loud sigh, brushing aside a single lock of hair that tickled her brow. “I know how stubborn you are, so I know you will refuse me on this, but think about what I have said. If Ulysseus finds out from someone else besides you, it will be that much worse for you both.”

  * * * *

  That eve, as Lamia lay in Thanos’ arms, she recalled her words to Basha. She’d judged Basha for not being truthful with Ulysseus, and yet here she was keeping her own secrets from Thanos, secrets that were not as blatant as Basha’s but still just as powerfully destructive. As long as she kept them to herself, there was no risk that Thanos would find out. There was no risk that he could be hurt by the truth, but she knew the truth, and the guilt of carrying that knowledge around was like a heavy weight upon her heart.

  “What is it, agapetos? Your entire body is stiff.”

  She lifted her head from Thanos’ chest, a small smile curling her lips as she met his searching gaze. There were many obstacles that stood between them, which left her wondering what their future together held, but there were moments like this, when Thanos guessed her inner turmoil without her ever having to say a word, which made her believe with time that they would come to bridge the distance still separating them.

  She dragged in a long, deep breath. Trailing her hand across his jaw, she grazed the pads of her fingertips along the stubble just starting to grow out.

  “There was a time when I considered leaving you as soon as the opportunity arose. Planned to go as soon as you rode out of Sparta to war.” He tensed beneath her and she stopped tracing the hair along his cheek to meet his blue gaze, which was now clouded, revealing little of his true emotions. He’d wiped his face clean, afraid to show any emotion that would betray him, afraid to reveal that her words had hurt him, even though she knew they had.