Page 36 of Thawed Gladiator: Varro

Memories flood my mind—the nightmares that wake him in cold sweats, the flinches at unexpected touches, the guarded look in his eyes when he speaks of his past. How could I have been so blind?

“Do it, Flos. Pull my hair, or do you want to scratch me with your nails? I can handle it. I’ve endured so much worse in the arena.”

Flos. That should have tipped me off. He calls meDulcis. Sweet. I imagine Flos is his generic name for the women who bought him with coins for hispeculium.Women he didn’t want to remember. Women whose names he didn’t even want to know.

I crane my neck to look at him, to make sure my guess is right, but I can’t see him clearly at this angle, so I twist in his grip so we’re face to face. His words and tone feigned passion, but his face is vacant, with no more expression than a mannequin. It’s as though a fist grips my heart.

The contrast between the passionate man from moments ago and this empty shell before me is devastating. My chest aches with a pain that’s more than emotional. It’s physical.

He lifts me, still in his self-induced trance, so my back is pressed against the wood, his hands gripping my hips, easily holding me at the same height as him.

“Varro.” I cup his cheeks with my palms, willing him to look at me. Overcoming my urge to raise my voice, I lower it. “Varro. Marcus Fabius Varro, extraordinary gladiator, owner of Invictus, man who defied time itself. Talk to me.”

My voice trembles slightly, filled with a desperate need to bring him back, to reconnect with the man I’ve come to care for so deeply.

He blinks and shakes his head, struggling to return to his senses. Just as I suspected, it’s as though he’s returning from a stupor.

I watch as awareness slowly seeps back into his eyes. The vacant look is replaced by confusion, then dawning horror as he realizes what’s happened. My heart breaks for him all over again.

Though I want to lean my forehead against his, to breathe his air and let him breathe mine, I don’t. I don’t because he’ll just kiss me again, return to his trance, and try to seduce me as he’s programmed himself to do. Instead, I press the sweetest kiss to his forehead and can’t control my urge to call himDulcis.

This pulls a faint chuckle from him. “I’m far from sweet, Laura.”

“And I’m not your Flos.”

The words come out softer than I intended, laden with all the emotions I can’t fully express—sadness, frustration, and an overwhelming desire to somehow heal the wounds that run so deep within him.

As I meet his gaze, I see a vulnerability there that calls to me. I make a silent vow to be patient, to be understanding, to be whatever he needs me to be. But we can’t do this again, can’t act on our physical attraction because he can’t be intimatewith someone he has feelings for, and I can’t be intimate with someone who doesn’t have deep affection for me.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Marcus Fabius Varro

My head swims, a fog settling over my thoughts as though I’ve drunk too much wine. I blink, trying to clear the haze, but it clings stubbornly.

Emotions roll off Laura in waves, a tempest I can’t quite decipher. Anger, sadness, and… pity? The combination makes no sense. We were just sharing passion, weren’t we? My phallus is still hard, dripping pre-cum, so I couldn’t have disappointed her there.

I ease her feet to the ground and let her see my confusion.

“I’ve angered you.” My rough voice is filled with an unspoken question. When she doesn’t explain herself, I ask, “Did I miss some of your cues? I asked you to tell me to stop if you got uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to…”

The anger and pity drain from her face, leaving only a sadness so intense I can almost feel it under my skin. Her lower lip trembles, and I fight the urge to pull her close, to soothe away whatever pain I’ve inadvertently caused. Except by her expression, it’s clear she doesn’t want me closer. If anything she wishes I’d move farther away.

“Tell meDulcis,” I plead, balling my hands into fists to keep from gripping her face. I want to tip her head up, compel her to look at me and explain what I did wrong. But I hold back, knowing this isn’t the moment for force.

Laura’s lips clamp together, her eyes filling with tears. My heart clenches, the world around me turning gray. The depth of my despair surprises me, a stark reminder of how important she’s become in such a short time.

“Umm…” She squeezes her eyes shut, as if steeling herself for something unpleasant. Every moment that passes tightens the fist squeezing my heart.

Finally, she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s not a secret our cultures are different. The way I was brought up, the way I feel—strongly—is that sex should happen with someone I have a connection with. Not only is it important for me to feel affection for you, but I need for you to feel affection for me.”

Is she declaring her love? Asking me to do the same? We’ve only known each other a few handfuls of days. I open my mouth to respond, but she cuts me off.

“Just now, you… kind of left.” She peers at me intently.

“Left?”

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