Page 35 of Thawed Gladiator: Varro

He grabs my attention with kisses that drift from the point of my chin, up my jaw, to that magic spot behind my ear. His chuckle is low, devilish, as I squirm in ticklish arousal, my hardened nipples grazing his naked chest.

It’s as though he’s trying to be in stealth mode as he keeps my focus on those magical kisses and caresses and strategic in-breaths in the channel of my ear. Because I’m so focused on that, I barely notice when he twirls mearound to face the door.

The wood is rough against my cheek and smells musty, which is good. Without a physical reminder that I’m here on Earth, I’d think I’d been plucked right up to heaven.

Varro gently lifts my hair off my neck as he attacks my nape with sucking kisses and gentle nips of blunted teeth. I gasp with the pleasure of it as arousal zings from my neck to my clit as though they’re connected with an electrical circuit.

Pressing his lips to my ear, he husks, “What do you want,Flos?”

It takes a moment for me to register his words—Flos means flower—because his cock is pressing at the small of my back, his hips thrusting in an obscene rhythm.

“Hmm? Do you want my cock?”

Did I think his tongue thrusts in my mouth were filthy a moment ago? Now he’s alternating circling motions with the thrusts of his rigid cock. If he weren’t clutching my shoulders, I think my weakened knees would collapse, and I’d sink to the ground.

“My tongue? Do you like long, slow licks from one hole to the other?”

Kill me now. I’m hypnotized, mesmerized, so crazy in lust that I shiver.

“Or do you like it likethis?”

To illustrate, he nuzzles his nose in that narrow space between the back of my ear and my hair, then flicks the tip of his tongue in a frenzy of movement. It’s so well-executed, performed with such precision and gusto, that it almost feels as though his tongue is on my clit—just as he hinted.

“Varro.” I’m not proud that it’s the only word I can utter, or that I’m breathless with wanton need.

“Do you want my fingers?”

Slowly he slides the flat of his hands down my chest, pausing at my breasts, circling his palms on my pebbled nipples. Lower, keeping his hands over my jeans, he ghosts over my zipper andthen cups between my thighs, his thumb pressed firmly on my clit as if beckoned there by a homing device.

“You want me inside you? Hmm?”

Jeans are thick, especially at the seam between the legs. How, then, does his touch manage to set me on fire as he circles outside my channel?

“You’re wet, Flos. Wet for your gladiator.”

His voice sounds unlike any time I’ve heard it before. I can’t put my finger on what has changed, but something is different about the rough cadence. Is it the level of his arousal? Whatever it is, the gravelly rumble ratchets my desire up a notch.

He nips my earlobe and continues, his voice seductive as he asks, “Would you like it in here?” He applies more pressure right where I’m desperate for it. “Or here?” He moves farther back between my legs to circle my back hole.

When I shake my head, he croons, “I see. But you need it here,Flos?”

He increases his pressure as his fingers quickly circle directly over my channel and the heel of his hand pulses against my clit. This feels so amazing, I absently wonder if I could come like this. Then I shrug the thought away. With a man this talented, I won’t be limited to only one release.

“Tell me. Do you like a little pain with your pleasure?” He tugs my hair. Though no one has ever done this to me before, I can imagine it might be arousing. Except something is off. Bells are ringing in the back of my head, hinting that something is wrong, very wrong.

“Do you like that? Or maybe you want to givemepain?”

He grips my hand and places it on his head, waiting for me to pull his hair. This is when it hits me. His voice has lost that sexy, goading rasp that started this encounter. Now it’s strained, forced.

A cold dread washes over me, dousing the fire of passion in an instant. The change is subtle, but to me, it’s as jarring as if a stranger suddenly replaced the man I’ve come to know. My throat tightens as I realize what’s happening.

“Try it, Flos. Do you want to hurt your strong gladiator? Tell him what to do? Order him around?”

Fuck! This is a script. I’m sure of it. If I had to guess, this is what he says to women who have bought him for the night. I imagine he has a different, equally effective script for men. If I hadn’t spent every waking hour with him since he thawed, I wouldn’t have noticed the difference between how he’s talking now and when we started this encounter a few minutes ago.

But I do.

Varro left our exchange shortly after pressing me against the wall and nipping my nape. In his place is a robot trained to be present when he drifts to a safe place in his mind.It’s not Varro anymore, but a persona he’s crafted for survival. The realization breaks my heart.

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