Chapter 10
Apart from a surly guard at the entrance, peeved at missing the festivities, the ludus was empty.
In the barracks building, shadows cloaked them as Ferox led Velia to the door of his tiny room.
The whole walk back, he’d been waiting for her to change her mind.
Perhaps now she’d come up with some excuse, some reason to disappear.
But as soon as he opened the door, she walked straight in, as bold as if it were her own room. A smirk lifted the corner of her mouth as she beheld the graffiti that still adorned his wall.
Ferox turned away to light an oil lamp, which rested on a shelf bolted to the wall.
It filled the room with a warm, flickering glow.
He paused for a moment, his back still to her.
How should he go about this? He hadn’t lain with a woman since the night before his last fight, over eighteen months ago.
His prior partners had all valued efficiency when it came to bedding; the faster it was over, the faster they could move onto their next customer.
But with Velia, he wanted to take his time.
When he turned back around, Velia was standing in the middle of his room, gazing steadily at him. He envied her composure. Being alone with her, his stomach was a riot of nerves—a welcome relief from worrying about tomorrow’s fight.
At the banquet, she hadn’t been entirely correct in assessing his plans for that evening.
He hadn’t yet decided whether he was going to seek out a woman.
After so long away from the arena, he felt as tense and ill-equipped as he had before his very first fight, and a night with a woman was the most reliable way he’d found to distract himself.
But he’d spent most of the banquet surreptitiously eying Velia from across the table, and he came to the uncomfortable realization that he didn’t want a quick tumble with a woman whose name he’d never remember, a woman who was only bedding him because he paid her to.
He wanted Velia. And somehow, she was in his room—real and warm and so, so beautiful.
Velia was bold enough that he half-expected her to take charge of the situation. To his surprise, however, she did nothing, only stood there watching him. Waiting.
He recognized her inaction not as hesitance or uncertainty, but as something else. She, after all, had initiated their kiss and had been daring enough to flat-out proposition him in the middle of the banquet.
Now, it was his turn to prove how much he wanted her.
He approached her. She tilted her face up, holding his gaze. His arms slid around her, and the pleasure of holding her stole his breath for a moment. He lowered his head and kissed her. She let out a sigh against his mouth and pressed closer. Arousal flared, quickening his heartbeat.
His palms tingled with the desire to feel her bare skin against them, and he didn’t deny himself.
He found the fabric sash at her waist and untied it.
Then, his hands went to the shoulders of her dress, pulling them down.
The loose dress gave way easily, baring her breasts and then falling to the floor in a heap of fabric.
His breath stuttered in his throat as he beheld her. He forgot how to breathe, to move, to think. The low light didn’t do her justice; she deserved the blaze of high noon sunlight to bathe every inch of her perfect body.
But since the sight of her shadowed body was nearly enough to undo him, perhaps it was for the best they didn’t have more light.
Her body was slight but womanly, with a swell of breasts and hips usually kept well-hidden beneath her clothing. She was formed with a fineness that reminded him of figures on painted vases—so exquisite she couldn’t possibly be real.
He reached for her, taking her into his arms again. Her small breasts were just enough to fill his palms, and she shivered as he gave them a gentle squeeze.
“How do these compare to those women at the brothel?” she asked.
“What women?” he replied dazedly, much too occupied in skimming his thumbs across her hard nipples to comprehend her words.
She gave an unsteady chuckle. “Good answer.”
He lowered his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth.
She let out a sharp gasp and arched against him.
Her hand slipped between them, and when it found his cock, he broke off from his enjoyment of her breasts with a ragged groan.
Even through the layers of fabric separating them, her touch made him stiffen and ache.
But he needed more, needed to feel her on his bare skin.
He struggled out of his clothes. In an attempt to look respectable for the banquet, he’d worn a toga, which he hated.
He found the garment heavy and restrictive, and always feared that with one wrong move the carefully arranged folds would collapse in a pile of tangled fabric.
Hands clumsy with urgency, he somehow extricated himself from the miles of wool, balling up and tossing the fabric into the corner of the room. Then, he stripped off his short-sleeved tunic.
Finally, he was bare to her gaze. Her eyes roved over him. He knew he didn’t look like a perfect specimen of a man; his skin was scarred in many places from various fights over the years, most of which he didn’t even remember. But there was no mistaking the appreciation in Velia’s eyes.
Her hands soon followed her gaze, making straight for his cock. Her slender fingers wrapped around him. Desire surged at her touch, and he strove to master himself.
“I knew that graffiti was a filthy lie,” she said with a grin, her eyes sliding to the defaced wall. “Under-promise and over-deliver, indeed.”
He wasn’t capable of summoning a suitably clever reply, so instead he walked her backward, until her calves bumped the edge of his bed. He put a hand on her shoulder, meaning to lay her down, but she stopped him with a raised hand.
“One thing first.” A note of breathlessness entered her voice, which pleased him: a small sign she was as affected as he was. “I don’t wish to risk a child. There are herbs I can take, but it’s safest if you withdraw.”
He nodded. “I understand.” He should have thought of that sooner, but his mind had been too scrambled by the thrill of having her in his room, naked.
With that settled, he gently but firmly pressed down on her shoulders.
She let out a pleased giggle and yielded easily, lowering herself to sit on the bed. She moved to shift backward, but Ferox caught hold of her knee, keeping her in place with her legs draped over the edge of the bed, feet on the floor.
He sank to his knees between her legs. He trailed his fingers down the insides of her thighs, touching her as lightly as he was capable of. Her skin felt as soft as the petals of a flower.
He widened her thighs, head lowering toward that tempting place at their summit.
The unsteady illumination was not sufficient to fully appreciate her, but he could see the peaks and valleys of her center.
A flicker of light caught on dampness gathered at her entrance, and the sight of it made his cock give a painful twitch.
He slid his hands beneath her round bottom and tugged her toward the edge of the bed, angling her hips up toward him.
“Ferox,” she breathed. Her hand grazed the back of his head. “What are you—oh!”
His mouth found her, tongue sliding over her sex. The banquet earlier might as well have been ash for how it compared to the taste of her.
Her hand tightened in his hair, and she let out a moan as he explored her with his lips. “No one—no one’s ever done this to me before,” she gasped.
He managed to tear his mouth away from her for long enough to speak.
“So this wasn’t what you were imagining when you made that comment about my shoulders?
” Your shoulders are just the sort of thing a woman could imagine throwing her legs over as she’s getting—she’d said on their return from the brothel before he’d cut her off, scandalized.
She managed a breathless laugh. “If you must know, I was imagining getting fucked with my legs over your shoulders.”
That image sent an aching pulse of need through him, but he held onto his composure.
There would be time for all that soon enough.
He hadn’t yet had enough of her taste, so he sought her once more with his mouth.
His lips closed around the swollen bud at her apex, tugging at it gently.
She made a high-pitched noise, so he did it again.
Though he appreciated her experience, there was a deep, primal satisfaction in knowing he was the first to please her in this way. Many would claim that this act was unmanly, degrading to perform.
But Ferox would dare anyone to say that to his face.
Her thighs closed around his head, reducing his entire existence to the feel of her against his tongue, her intoxicating scent, the salty tang of her desire.
Suddenly, he didn’t just want to be the first to do this to her. He wanted to be the last. The possessive urge overwhelmed him for a moment. His fingers tightened where he gripped her thighs, pulling her closer. Mine.
But just for tonight. Velia was only doing this because of his fight tomorrow—because, for some reason he still couldn’t decipher, she objected to the idea of him visiting a brothel. This would be a onetime pleasure, so he’d better savor it.
He continued working her with his tongue, searching for what she liked best. She was responsive and uninhibited with her reactions, not hesitating to move his head where she wanted it.
His cock throbbed, an insistent, demanding pulse between his legs. He ached to wrap his fist around himself, but feared his desire would get the better of him.
So he found another use for his hand. He circled a finger at her entrance. She was now thoroughly soaked, and his finger slipped inside without resistance. Dis, she was tight. She might not be a maiden, but he’d still need to go slowly so as not to hurt her.
“Can you take another?” he murmured.