Page 29 of Thawed Gladiator: Varro

Never before have I been in an equal relationship.

Laura doesn’t own me, nor do I hold power over her. Although she may or may not be a virgin, I almost feel like one because this experience is so new. Our connection, so innocent yet passionate, is a revelation, giving more joy than our abandoned dancing.

She steps closer until our bodies press together. The feel of her soft breasts and the hard buttons of her nipples make me yearn to yank off her tunic and explore flesh I know will be smooth and warm. That can wait, though. I’m enjoying this kiss too much.

As our lips meet again, I drown in the warmth of her mouth, the softness of her pink, plump bottom lip. Her taste reminds me of the grapes I used to tend in Hispania. Moaning softly into her mouth, I deepen the kiss, needing more of this newfound ecstasy.

Our tongues slide together slowly, tentatively at first, then with increasing confidence as we both realize how right this feels. Her palms glide up and down my back, sending erotic jolts of need through all my bodily humors. Laura’s mouth tastes like a combination of home and new adventure. I could drown in this.

Wrapping one hand around her waist, I tug her closer, testing her response as my pulsing phallus presses against her soft belly. She doesn’t shy from me but isn’t so bold as to reach into my loincloth and grip me. The give and take of our encounter is perfect.

She pulls away far enough to say, “This is…” Her gaze holds mine,but her words falter.

“I know.” Though I may not know exactly what she was going to say, I know a thousand things. I know this is as thunderous for her as it is for me. I know neither of us wants this to end. I know I never expected this powerful connection. And I know one more thing. I deserve something wonderful and this just might be it.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Laura

Although I haven’t had many lovers, in my limited experience, kissing has always seemed like a perfunctory box that needed to be ticked before moving on to the next step in a sexual encounter. It’s like an appetizer, an optional choice before the entrée.

This? This is as good as a main course—hearty and delicious.

I can’t keep my hands off him. When I tire of roaming my palms over his naked back, my fingertips skimming over his glistening skin and hard-as-granite muscles, I card them through the dark hair that hangs partially down his back.

Am I crazy? Because I break this magical kiss to tuck my nose into his neck and take a deep breath of him. He’s warm and smells like man—testosterone-surging, pheromone-pumping man—it’s mouth-watering.

With my palms on his cheeks, I tip his head slightly so I can better explore his mouth. Never have I so desperately needed to map a partner before, to know the cavern of their mouth, the ridges on its roof, the sharpness of their teeth. But I urgently need to know not only all his intimate spaces; in the back of my mind, I’m claiming them all.

His hard ridge is rubbing against me. If I let this go on much longer, he might expect things I’m not ready to give. There are two thousand years between us. I don’t understand his ancient customs. I should let him know I don’t intend to do more than kiss right now. It’s just that I’m too greedy to stop. I’m already addicted to his rasping breaths, the tightening grip of his hands as he pulls me even closer, his grunting moans as he takes his pleasure from this kiss.

Pulling back, I leave our lips touching as I press my forehead to his. We’re both panting, clutching each other. Though we’re slightly separated above the waist, our pelvises are melded together. Erotic.

His intense brown eyes shutter slowly, as though his vision is blurry and he’s having trouble focusing. He told me he’d been used sexually, so I imagine this man knows more about sex than theKama Sutra. Why is he looking baffled and disoriented, as though this was his first kiss?

I stroke his burred cheek with my palm, our gazes still locked though our mouths have parted.

“That kiss wasmirabile.” It means amazing. It’s such a beautiful word, all four syllables.

“Fantastic,” he says, not knowing that the word translates perfectly into English.

Ancient Romans were smaller than people are today. Five feet to five and a half. But Varro is pushing six feet, and despite all those years in the water, he’s still built as hard and big as Mr. Universe. But the tender way this huge man is looking at me is making me melt. When he trails a calloused fingertip along my jawline, it not only makes me shiver, it liquifies me.

As he leans in to start the next round of kisses, I back away.

“Varro, I-I’m afraid I don’t…”

With his fingers on the hinge of my jaw, he swipes his thumb tenderly across my lips as he says, “No more today,Dulcis.” Sweet. He called me sweet. He gives a rueful laugh. “Time is one thing we have plenty of.”

I like this man more with every passing minute. This gladiator could take what he wants, yet he steps back, graciously accepting that my no means no. It makes sense. I guess he, more than anyone, should understand the value of consent.

After crawling into my sleeping bag, I press my calming-music playlist. I would have thought things would be awkward between us, but it’s relaxed, comfortable, as we say our goodnights.

For a moment, I consider reaching out to hold his hand. I even imagine turning on my side and being the big spoon behind him despite our size differences. But I turn away from him and try to drift to sleep.

The more he tosses and turns, the quieter I become, feigning sleep as I wonder if he’s changed his mind and is gearing up to pressure me for sex. But I soon realize that’s not what’s causing all the rustling on his bed. He must have reached into his pants, because I’m pretty sure he’s stroking himself. There’s something about the rhythmic movement of the bedclothes and the uneven hitching of his breath.

His tempo becomes more frantic, and it’s impossible to imagine he’s doing anything other than pleasuring himself. My face flames with embarrassment. I conduct an internal debate on whether I should interrupt him and say something. Shame spikes through me as I picture what he’s doing just one foot away from me. I visualize him, his head thrown back, his Adam’s apple outlined in profile as he takes his pleasure.

---