Page 61 of Thawed Gladiator: Varro

That thought pushes me into my own release as I erupt into her, taking so much joy in the action that I let her hear my joy by my growls of ecstasy. My body feels more pleasure than all the times I’ve watered our garden. Yet it’s my mind that feels the best. For the first time in my life, I’m fully present for this, fully allowing myself to feel the rapture, fully in union with another person. My woman. My love.

Chapter Fifty-One

Laura

We both kissed and stroked each other after we made love. There were so many things I wanted to say, questions I wanted to ask, yet we remained wordless as we cuddled and eventually fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Now that we’re awake, a question slips out before I can stop it. “Have you ever been in love?” My ridiculous query hangs in the air between us. Because I can’t suck the question back in, I do the next best thing—I graze my fingertips over the dark trail of hair arrowing toward his cock, hoping to distract him.

Varro gently grips my hand and brings it to his lips for a kiss as he considers my question. “Maybe?” he says slowly. “The only relationship I had that I consented to was with Decimus. I’m not sure that was love, though.”

I know our cultures are different. The term child abuse was coined in 1962, even though they had legislation against animal cruelty dating back to the 1600s. Children were considered fair game until relatively recently.

I’m certain Varro had no concept that the age gap between him and Decimus was, by today’s standards, abusive. He doesn’t haveto put a name on it, but I think it’s crucial he understands his consent was an illusion.

My heart clenches with affection for him as I ask, “How old were you when you met him?”

“Twelve,” Varro replies, his tone matter of fact. “He took me under his wing my first day in theludus.Might have saved my life; I was still so vulnerable.”

Exactly—naïve, innocent, yeah… vulnerable. Swallowing hard, I push gently. “And Decimus? How old was he?”

“In his twenties.” He’s wary, sensing by my tone that something’s not right.

Choosing my words carefully, I continue. “What was your relationship like? Did you feel you could say no to him?”

Varro’s eyes narrow and his brow lowers, uncertainty clouding his features. “He protected me, taught me things. He was… kinder than the others.”

“But did you have a choice?” I press softly. “If you didn’t want something, could you refuse?”

Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. Varro’s jaw clenches, his gaze fixed on the flames in the hearth. Slowly, realization dawns on that beautiful face, his chin tipping up. Numb awareness is followed by a flash of pain.

“By the Gods,” he whispers, voice rough. “I never… I never saw it that way before.”

Reaching out, my fingers brush his arm gently. “I’m so sorry, Varro. It’s lucky, really, that you didn’t feel forced. We all do what’s necessary to stay alive. But we see things through a different lens when we look from a distance.”

He turns to me, eyes searching mine. “What happened with Decimus wasn’t love. It was… what word did you use the otherday, transactional?”

He doesn’t want an answer, so I slip my hand in his and watch as his attention returns to the fire—he’s clearly sorting things out.

We sit in silence for long minutes until he turns to me and asks, “So, what is it? What is love supposed to be?”

As my mind whirls, dissecting my past relationships, parsing through false starts, betrayals, cruel breakups, and slow deaths, he says, “My parents loved me. Of that I’m sure. And oh, how I loved my sisters…” His tone is sweet and wistful and tinged with grief, even after all these years.

“I… Varro, I’m not sure I know how to define love,” I admit, brow furrowing.

“But you’ve felt it before, haven’t you?” Varro asks, his tone curious, his gaze burrowing into me.

A rueful smile tugs at my lips. “I thought I had, in the past. But now I’m not so sure.”

His eyebrow quirks up. “If you thought it was love then, what makes you now think it wasn’t?”

My heart thunders in my chest, my palms suddenly sweaty. This is it—the moment of truth. Taking a deep breath, I meet his gaze. “Because I never felt for them the way I feel about you.”

Time stands still as my pulse pounds, a vein leaping on my neck, my throat dry.

Varro’s eyes widen, a myriad of emotions flashing across his face—surprise, hope, fear, and something else, something warm and tender. He reaches out, cupping my cheek in his calloused palm.

“Laura,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “This is true? You… love me?”

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