Chapter 16
Velia woke before Ferox in the morning. The blanket had fallen off them in the night, but the heat of Ferox’s body rendered it entirely superfluous. She’d spent the night enveloped in his arms, her head pillowed on his chest.
Her eyes caught the riot of color spread over the floor. She smiled. He was right about the rugs; they were hideous in daylight, all clashing patterns and incongruous colors. But she loved the chaotic disorder for what it represented.
She squinted up at the small window high in the wall. The sky was still gray, as if just past dawn. That meant if Ferox roused himself in good time, they could squeeze in another coupling before having to rise.
She gave a luxurious stretch, allowing her bottom to make contact with his hips. He stirred, and the arm that lay over her waist tightened. She loved the way he held her, as if she was so precious that he needed to keep her with him even in sleep.
Behind her, she felt his cock beginning to thicken. She slid a hand back to help it along. A sleepy shudder ran through him as she took hold of it, and his hips pressed forward, giving even more of him to her touch.
The rhythm of his breathing changed, and his hand skimmed from her waist to find her bare breasts, fingertips grazing her nipples.
“Did I wake you?” she asked innocently.
He let out a rumbly groan. His breath caught as he reached full arousal, filling her hand with warm stiffness. The place between her legs throbbed, not satisfied for long even after last night’s intense climax.
“You want me again?” he murmured in her ear.
She nodded eagerly. “Quickly, though,” she said, eyeing the increasing lightness of the sky.
“That won’t be a problem.” From behind, his hand palmed between her thighs. He made a low, hungry noise when his fingers slipped in the wetness that had already gathered. He stroked her gently, fingers testing and exploring. “Is there pain?”
“No.” She grinned, though he couldn’t see her face. “You were very gentle last night.”
“Not like I had a choice,” he growled. His thumb found the spot that made her shudder, and he circled it slowly. Pleasure flared at his touch, and she bent her knee forward, opening herself to him.
“Take me like this,” she said breathlessly.
He considered for a moment as he stroked her with the flat of his broad thumb. “Like this?” He moved his hand to her hip, holding her in place. His cock slid between her thighs and nudged against her sex.
“Yes,” she breathed.
He moved against her again. Though he wasn’t penetrating her, heat still kindled at the blunt, warm press of him. His bottom arm slid beneath her torso, elbow bent to splay his hand over her chest in a possessive grasp.
She waited expectantly for him to enter her, but he only kept up that maddening slide against her. She arched her back, hoping to guide him where she wanted, but he evaded her movements. That was when she realized he was doing this on purpose—retaliation for how she’d toyed with him last night.
“I want you inside me,” she purred, trying to make the words sound as seductive as possible. Surely, few men could resist hearing something like that.
He chuckled in her ear. “That wouldn’t be very gentle, would it?”
Apparently, Ferox was one of the few. “I don’t care about gentle!” she protested.
“I do.” His hips rocked against her bottom, the friction of his cock slick and delicious. “You were adamant that you needed to be treated more delicately.”
“I never said that.” She arched against him once more, to no avail.
“In any case…” His hand slid between her legs, pinning his cock even tighter against her. The increased pressure made her squirm, and he let out a groan. “This is”—his breath hitched—“enough.”
“Not for me,” she complained, though she loved that her body could bring him pleasure without him even being inside her.
“Velia, if I go inside you, I’m going to spill immediately,” he warned. “And I don’t think you want that.”
She huffed. He was right; the risk of pregnancy was too great, despite her stockpile of helpful herbs. She realized there might be more to his devious teasing than the desire to torment her. He was trying to be as prudent as possible in their encounters.
“Fine,” she conceded.
“Good girl,” he murmured. The words sent a dark spiral of pleasure through her, only heightening her need. “Why don’t you touch yourself for me?”
She stretched a hand down, her fingers quickly finding her most sensitive spot. Desire mounted as she stroked, and her muscles tensed. He kept up his rhythmic movements against her, and each thrust wound her tighter, drove her higher.
“Is this what you do when you think of me?” His voice was unsteady, hoarse. “Is this how you touch yourself?”
“Well, there’s not usually a man behind me, sliding his cock between my legs,” she answered with as much wryness as she could muster.
He let out a short laugh, a burst of heat on her neck. “I should hope not.”
“This is better,” she clarified, in case there was any doubt. “Much better.” She rocked with him, the feeling different from when he was inside her. It was gentler, softer, but the sensation had a pull to it, a keenness that tugged her inexorably toward climax.
A tremor rippled through her. The tight ball of need contracted. She moaned, the sound high and desperate.
“Come for me, Velia,” he growled, and she shattered. His arm tightened around her chest, holding her in place as she quaked and writhed. Her head flung back, making contact with his shoulder, and incoherent noises burst from her mouth.
Behind her, he shuddered, breath hissing through his teeth. His hips bucked against her, rough and wild, and then he groaned.
He fell back a moment later, finally releasing his hold on her.
She allowed herself to collapse backward as well, sprawling over his body.
They were both breathing hard, and Velia felt sweat on her forehead despite the coolness of the morning.
She stared up at the blank white ceiling as Ferox lazily stroked her hair.
Soon, his movements became more purposeful, and she realized he wasn’t stroking her hair, but braiding it to prepare for the day.
She sighed, half in pleasure at his touch and half in resignation at the thought of removing herself from his bed.
With him, she felt spoiled, cared for, cherished in a way she never had, and that blissful sensation would evaporate as soon as she got up.
But noises—footsteps, the clatter of doors opening and closing—already sounded from outside, so the day would have to begin.
Ferox eyed Velia as they watched Achilles’s third fight.
Watching her was almost more exciting than the match itself.
She alternately jumped up and down, clenched her fists, chewed her nails, and shouted unintelligibly at the combatants.
Her antics were quite entertaining, but Ferox dragged his focus back to the fight.
At some point in this match, Achilles would attempt a maneuver they’d been practicing for the past week, and Ferox was eager to see if it would pay off in a win.
He wanted to give Velia the victory she craved.
Achilles’s greatest strength, for now, was his left-handedness, but they hadn’t been exploiting it to maximum effect.
Achilles wasn’t yet well-known among the other combatants, so Ferox had decided to employ the element of surprise.
He’d taught Achilles to begin the match with his sword in his right hand, and lull his opponent into a false sense of security with a clumsy start.
Then, at the proper moment, he’d swap sword and shield, putting the sword in his left hand, and take the offensive.
It was risky; if Achilles fumbled the switch, he could find himself disarmed and unprotected. In some similar instances, the official would pause the match and allow a fighter to reset his equipment, but it could just as easily lead to a loss, possibly with a serious injury.
So Ferox had drilled Achilles over and over again on the swap until he was fairly sure the novice could execute it in his sleep.
Ferox kept his gaze on Achilles, sensing it would happen soon. He prayed the novice wouldn’t lose his nerve and try to conduct the whole fight with his right hand. That would surely herald a disastrous loss.
When his opponent stumbled, Achilles darted backward a step instead of pressing forward. Ferox held his breath. Sunlight flashed on the blade of Achilles’s sword, and when Ferox blinked, the weapon was in the novice’s left hand, the shield in his right.
Ferox let out his breath. Achilles had done it as perfectly as he’d ever done it in practice. The crowd roared at the daring maneuver. Even the emperor was paying attention, leaning forward against the balustrade in his section.
This trick would only work once, but if it secured Achilles’s first victory, it would be worth it.
Achilles’s opponent was flustered by the switch, and struggled to defend against the unexpected angle of attack. Achilles drove the man backward, shoving him off balance with a sideways thrust of his shield.
Velia shrieked. “Come on! This is it!”
The opponent staggered. In trying to catch himself, he lost his grip on his shield, which thumped to the sand. Achilles’s sword flashed out, its tip at the opponent’s throat.
The other fighter dropped his sword and raised his hands in surrender. The crowd thundered with cheers and applause.
“Yes!” Velia screeched, jumping up and down. She threw herself into Ferox’s arms, hugging him with rib-crushing force. “You did it!”
He allowed himself to return the embrace, lifting her off her feet. Her joy seemed to diffuse into him, and for a moment he wanted nothing more than to give her a thousand victories.
But their time was limited, he reminded himself as he set her back down. The games were nearly half over. Ferox would fight his second match the week after next, and then there would only be a month remaining.
One more month with Velia. Far too little.
He wondered if Hector’s ghost was getting irritated at being unable to haunt him when he spent each night with Velia.
Ferox still wasn’t sure what sort of power she had, but it hadn’t waned.
Maybe the ghost would lose interest and move on.
Or maybe Hector was getting angrier and angrier at being deprived of a mind to torment.
Maybe he’d be so angry he’d follow Ferox wherever he went after this.
The thought made dread creep down his spine, but Ferox forced himself to return his attention to the arena.
Achilles was now strutting around the sand, sword raised, as he soaked up the cheers of the spectators.
He pulled off his helmet, exposing his flame-red hair, which somehow drove the cheers even higher.
Ferox rolled his eyes. “He wins one match and thinks he’s Mars himself. He’s going to be insufferable after this.”
“Oh, let him enjoy it,” Velia said. “He deserves it. Some gladiators actually enjoy their fame, you know.”
Ferox grunted. He didn’t want to admit it, but witnessing Achilles’s first victory gave him a strange gratification. The emperor was entertained, the crowd was cheering, Velia was thrilled—all because of the days and weeks Ferox had devoted to training the novice.
His mind turned again to what would happen after the games were over, the quiet life he’d seek in Hispania, far from the ghosts of the ludus.
Would anything in that life give him this feeling of proud satisfaction?
And what about Velia? Would he spend the rest of his days missing her touch, her laugh, even her constantly disintegrating braid?
It doesn’t matter. Velia might make his present circumstances bearable, enjoyable even, but that was as far as it went. When the time came, he would leave her behind.
No matter how much it hurt.