Page 34 of Thawed Gladiator: Varro

I glance down at her, taking in the way the fading light catches in her hair, the way her eyes shine with pride and satisfaction. “Yes,” I agree softly, my gaze never wavering from hers. “We do.”

For a moment, we just stand here, shoulder to shoulder, basking in the glow of a job well done. When she slides her hand in mine, her palm soft against my callouses, I wonder what she wants. Though it’s hard to read this woman, I’ll let her take the lead.

“Although you’ve been working all day in the hot sun and I’ve mostly been standing here, I think today was harder on me than it was on you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I’ve been dying as I watch you work. I’ve been desperate to kiss you for hours.”

The memory of last night’s kiss flies through me, arrowing to my cock, which stands up and takes immediate notice.

Chapter Thirty-One

Laura

Just because I’ve been thinking of little other than kissing Varro all day doesn’t mean I should have blurted that out. But here it is; my brazen offer is pulsing between us like a living thing. Between one second and the next, I think the temperature rose ten degrees, and the way Varro’s gaze heated, then arrowed to my lips tells me he’ll be happy to oblige me.

My heart races with excitement. I know I’m giving him mixed messages, and a small voice in the back of my mind warns me to be careful. But the pull toward him is magnetic, irresistible. Last night I shut things down so abruptly it probably felt like a door slamming in his face. Now I’m asking for an instant replay.

He doesn’t look confused, though, because he wastes no time stepping closer, his body radiating heat from the day’s exertion. The scent of him, a heady mix of sweat, sun, and salt from the sea, envelops me, making me want to lick his skin to see if he tastes exactly like he smells. The intensity of my desire frightens me a little, but I push my fear aside.

He reaches out, his knuckles brushing my cheek with a gentleness that belies all his gladiatorial power. I lean into his touch, my eyes fluttering closed as I savor the sensation.

“Dulcis.” His voice, low and rough, awakens dormant parts of me as he uses the endearment, sweet. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

But I don’t want him to stop. I want him closer, want to lick his plush lips, to feel them on mine. Opening my eyes, I meet his gaze to see my own longing reflected back at me.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper, my lips aching to feel his warmth, his firm pressure.

That’s all the invitation he needs. He leans in, his lips brushing mine in a feather-light caress that leaves me craving more. I tangle my fingers in his long, windswept hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

His mouth is hot and hungry against mine, his tongue sweeping across my lower lip, seeking entrance. I grant it willingly, parting my lips and letting him in. His hot, salty taste fills my senses, making me dizzy with need.

We explore each other slowly, languidly, our tongues tangling in a sensual dance. Varro’s hands roam my body, skimming along my sides, my back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. I arch into his touch, hungering for more, desperate to feel his skin against mine as I cup my palms on his nape.

He pulls me flush against him, and I can feel the hard planes of his body, the coiled strength in his muscles. The evidence of his desire presses against my stomach, sending a thrill of anticipation through me.

We kiss for long moments, lost in the sensation, the connection. The world narrows to this moment, to the feel of Varro’s lips on mine, his hands on my skin. Nothing else matters—not the uncertain future, not the challenges we face. Only this, only us.

When we finally break apart, both of us are breathing hard, our chests heaving. Varro rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed, his breath mingling with mine.

“Laura.” His voice rasps with emotion. “I don’t want to rush this, rush you. You deserve better than a quick tumble on the ground.”

I freeze as I engage in a quick internal debate. But I knew what I wanted when I asked for this kiss and I refuse to back out now despite all the red flags flying and warning buzzers clanging in my head.

“Then don’t take me on the ground, gladiator. Up against the wall is fine.”

His mouth pops open in surprise, but he doesn’t hesitate as he lifts me around the waist and dances with me to pin me against the closed wooden door.

Though I thought our kiss was passionate a moment ago, it’s ten times hotter now with the back of my head pressed against the time-weathered wood. Since I have nowhere to retreat to, he commands the kiss, his thumbs on the hinges of my jaw, his fingers gripping my skull.

His tongue spears into me, then retreats, making no secret that he wants to continue this same movement below my waist.

He stops long enough to murmur, “Dulcis, Dulcis,”then barges back inside my mouth for more.

I can’t keep my hands off him. They roam along the sculpted muscles of his back, then sneak below the waistband of his borrowed sweats. I’m assessing the lay of the land.

The gray pants will be easy to pull off his body. The loincloth he wears under them will be hard work, though. It will be no easy feat to unravel the intricate series of twists and ties that keep the rectangular piece of a torn white sheet in place.

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