Page 72 of Thawed Gladiator: Varro

His hips snap, making sure he grinds my clit on every thrust as he spills the most filthy string of words into the air. They’re all in Latin now—his passion has spiked too far to speak English. Some aren’t even words, only fragments, but I translate them easily enough.

“Sweet… fuck!… too good… slick glove… lose my mind… love.”

His chest grazes my nipples on every pass as I breathe in the sweet scent of his breath. He’s groaning with every thrust now, forcing me higher.

“Come, Laura. Let go for me.”

And I do. Pleasure bursts through my pelvis, then darts like shooting stars to the depth and breadth of me. I love this part, where I’m flying, untethered from my body. Then I love the return even more when I come back to Earth, muscles still pulsing, my channel gripping him, to remember I’m here in his arms.

It’s only when I’m back with him, our gazes locked, that he lets himself go. I love feeling his warmth bathe me, love hearing his pants and grunts and moans and praises as he pulses into me.

He only releases my gaze when he dips his head to press his forehead to mine, as though to try to merge our minds as well as our bodies.

“Fuck!” He rolls us both over onto our sides, still connected. Both of us are still panting as we laugh at his pronouncement, as though the word fuck explained everything he’s thinking and feeling and is, in itself, the highest praise.

“Fuck!” I echo, laughing even harder. “Incredible.”

As we lie entwined, I trace lazy patterns on Varro’s chest, then stretch to trace one of his thickest scars with my tongue. “Thank you,” I whisper.

He quirks an eyebrow. “For what? The great sex? I’m not sure that was the greatest. What about that time near the hot springs?” He waggles his eyebrows. “Don’t forget the rabbit, or was that just the greatest for me?”

I flick his shoulder. “I kind of like thanking you for the great sex, gladiator. But what I meant to thank you for was for being here. For facing this crazy new world with me. For being a person I can count on. For… everything.”

Varro pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, Laura. Whatever comes next, I’ll be at your side.”

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Marcus Fabius Varro

The cold spray of the Norwegian Sea stings my face as our boat cuts through the choppy waters. Because of the millennia I spent in this very sea, frozen in time, my inner turmoil reflects the rippling unrest of the water. Laura stands beside me, her face a mask of authority as she confers with the dive team leader.

“We’re approaching the coordinates now,” the captain calls out, his voice barely audible over the wind and waves.

Laura squeezes my hand, her eyes meeting mine. “You look uneasy. Don’t tell me a world traveler like yourself is seasick. You’ve spent a lot of time in the water.” She winks at me with a fond look, similar to when she’s thinking of tearing off my clothes.

I nod, swallowing hard. “TheFortunawent down in seas like this.”

“That’s why we’re wearing life jackets. And I imagine this craft is slightly more seaworthy than your old boat.”

She’s right. Besides, I’ve been in competition in the arena against three men at once. I can certainly tolerate a boat ride.

Still, my mind can’t help drifting back to that fateful trip where we were blown off course, then fought the cold for weeks until we were struck by lightning and went down.

Suddenly, I’m back in that ship as it lurches violently, sending me stumbling across the deck. Cold spray stings my face as I grab onto the railing to steady myself. The sky above is an angry mass of swirling gray clouds, punctuated by flashes of lightning.

“Hold fast, men!” Captain Zakur bellows from the helm, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. “We’ll weather this storm yet!”

A harsh laugh escapes me. We’ve been ‘weathering’ this storm for weeks, blown far off course into unfamiliar waters as the temperature continues to plummet. Zakur’s optimism rings hollow—evenhemust realize how dire our situation is by now.

“Quit sniveling, you dogs!” Sulla barks. “Are you men or boys?”

My body is so fatigued from the effort of keeping my balance on the rolling deck that I can barely muster any hate for the male.

Thrax appears at my side, his hulking frame providing some shelter from the relentless wind. Though not conventionally handsome, there’s a quiet strength to him that I’ve come to admire over our long journey.

“How are the others holding up?” I shout to be heard over the maelstrom.

Thrax’s normally stoic expression is grim. “Not well. Flavius took a bad fall earlier when the ship lurched and he was thrown against the hull. He might have broken his arm. And Cassius…” He trails off, shaking his head.

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