7. Chapter 7
As soon as they stepped within the walls of the ludus, Ferox released Velia.
He hadn’t wanted to touch her again, not after that dizzying kiss, but it couldn’t be helped.
He would not take any further risks with her safety.
On the walk back, he glowered at anyone who came within an arm’s length of them, and everyone gave them a wide berth.
Even the simple clasp of his hand on her arm stirred up vexing, greedy feelings within him, and he let her go with relief once they returned.
Velia nodded to him, then disappeared in the direction of her room.
She hadn’t said a word on their walk back.
It was unlike her to go that long without speaking.
She must be regretting their kiss, trying to figure out how to warn him off.
She shouldn’t have worried. He had no intention of trying to repeat that encounter.
She was his manager’s niece, which was reason enough to keep her at a distance.
Lucullus surely wouldn’t want her dallying with his gladiators.
And she was also paying him to train her novice.
Things were too complicated between them.
It didn’t matter that her touch, her kiss, made him feel things he thought impossible.
Yes, he had found comfort and pleasure in a woman’s embrace before, but only ever the night before a match.
And the heat of those experiences now seemed like a flickering candle compared with the inferno that Velia had lit under his skin.
He retreated to his own room, latching the door behind him.
Lust crept over him in a relentless itch.
He could still feel her pressed against him, her small hands roving over his chest and shoulders.
She was so slight that for a moment he’d worried about hurting her, before the desire burned through him and chased away those fears.
That was yet another reason he should keep his distance—he was sure to accidentally hurt her if they did anything further.
Velia was too delicate for the likes of him.
She deserved a gentler man: a scholar or an artist or someone like that.
Not a gladiator whose only skills were fighting and killing.
But he couldn’t yet set aside his desire for her. Arousal simmered within him, flaring insistently as he recalled the softness of her lips, the heady taste of her skin.
He sat on the edge of his narrow bed. It creaked beneath his weight. An image rose in his mind: the story she’d told him of why she’d ended up at the ludus—how she’d been caught atop a man, mid-tumble.
Now, in his imagination, it wasn’t some faceless man beneath her. Instead, it was himself, feeling the clasp of her thighs around his hips, the press of his fingers into the flesh of her bottom, the grip and slide of her tight sheath around him.
He closed his eyes and thought of Velia—the way she felt in his arms, the way he imagined she’d feel taking him inside her. His hand found his arousal, and a groan hissed through his teeth at that first potent stroke.
It took only a few tight, quick passes of his hand for the pleasure to rise in a hot, rolling tide. He gritted his teeth, riding out the wave. When it left him, he collapsed backward, slumping against the graffitied wall behind his bed, breathless, his mind scrambled.
As the rapid hammering of his heart slowed, the silence settled over him.
This was usually when he felt the presence of Hector’s ghost, when the memories of his friend’s death became impossible to ignore.
But now, they felt more remote. Like a storm cloud that rumbled in the distance, rather than pelting him with rain overhead.
He dared to close his eyes, and all that came to him was Velia. Her saucy smile, the businesslike way she’d managed that mortifying encounter at the brothel, the blast of panic he’d felt when he thought the thief might have harmed her.
No, he shouldn’t be thinking of such things. It was just desire, simple lust, between him and Velia. Nothing so strange. Nothing that couldn’t be solved with some efficient self-pleasure. Nothing that need trouble him any further.
Velia woke early, her linen bedding tangled around her legs. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she gazed up at the plastered ceiling. Specters from her dream still loomed in her mind, seducing her with wanton images.
She’d dreamed of herself and Ferox, of what might have happened if she hadn’t retreated from their kiss yesterday. Her eyes fluttered shut, unable to resist the pull of her lustful thoughts.
She imagined allowing her hand to wander down his strong, broad chest until it found that stiff, tempting arousal. She would have let her fingers explore, stroking him until he lost any restraint he might have had.
Her breath caught, and she tugged up the fabric of the loose tunic she wore to bed.
Her fingers slid between her legs, slipping in the dampness that had already gathered.
The muscles of her stomach and legs tensed as she stroked herself, trying to imagine what Ferox’s big hands would feel like on her.
Nothing like her own delicate touch, surely.
Though in that moment at the end of their kiss when he’d fixed the shoulder of her dress, his touch had been surprisingly gentle, feather-light on her skin.
She pictured his hands becoming rough, urgent as he pushed their clothing out of the way. And then she’d hook her leg around his, opening herself to him. He’d sink into her, filling her deep, taking her breath away with the sweet ache of it.
In her bed, her thighs fell open, and she pressed one finger into herself, then another. Her other hand circled at the apex of her sex, driving her pleasure higher and higher.
Her back would press hard against the brick wall, shifting up and down as he took his pleasure.
She’d cling to him, relying on his strength to keep her upright.
She’d anchor one hand on his shoulder and slide the other down to where their bodies joined, finding her own pleasure just as she was doing now.
It would be quick, rough; an alley was not the place for a lingering, tender coupling.
She bit her lip to stifle a moan. Need coiled tight inside her, and her fingers moved faster.
She imagined Ferox’s movements becoming rougher, uncontrolled, the way his breath would turn ragged as he got closer. His stoic exterior would finally crack, and he’d groan in her ear as he lost himself inside her.
Her climax burst over her, and her body bowed and shuddered against her thin mattress. She wrang as much pleasure as she could from the release. Then, breathing hard, she relaxed back onto the bed. Sweat dampened her forehead and limbs, and residual sparks of pleasure pulsed in her sex.
Velia opened her eyes, forcing herself back to reality.
From outside her room, she could hear the noises of others waking, chatting with each other as they headed to the dining hall.
With a reluctant sigh, she heaved herself into a sitting position.
Much as she might wish to, she couldn’t spend all day in bed, lost to her fantasies.
She had a job to do…and a very inconvenient attraction to ignore.