Page 22 of Thawed Gladiator Thrax

Her words unleash something in me, and our mouths collide. Our sweet kisses and soft murmuring are just a memory as our kiss turns urgent. I worry that I’m pressing too hard, but when I ease up, she spans the distance and continues what we started. She eases closer, licking my lips, then barging inside my mouth as though tasting me is the most urgent thing on earth.

Little does she know that as she tastes me, I can delight in capturing her sweet taste on my tongue. Like honey from the sweetest orange blossoms, but lighter, unique.

Oh, so many things I want to tell her, to whisper of my longings, to muse that perhaps I dreamed of her in those long years of slumber under the sea. But I don’t want my lips engaged in anything but this.

Our tongues dance together as though they’ve practiced this rhythm and these steps for an eternity. Everything about this moment seems perfect, as though I’ve been waiting all these years like a package to be unwrapped.

The feel of her hip under my palm. The soft fall of her hair as I slide my fingers through it. Her quiet little groans of pleasure that are so soft they’re meant only for me.

I ease away, reluctantly leaving the warmth of her mouth to explore her further. I kiss and lick and nip along her perfect jaw. Does it tickle? She shivers, then bends her neck to give me better access to do it again. I lap at her earlobe, then suck it into my mouth. This makes her dance, like an eager horse at the starting gate of a chariot race.

This woman is perfect. Perfect for me. Every hollow, every swell, every responsive part of her. I will tell her all of this… someday. Not now. Now I dive back into another kiss, touching, exploring, tasting… memorizing.

Her palms press my cheeks, so gentle, yet their movement commands my attention.

“We should… we should stop.”

This would kill me if it wasn’t so obvious this is killing her as well.

“You’ve had a long day and…” She cuts herself off and dives harder into my embrace, whispering in my ear, “That was amazing, Thrax, but I don’t think today’s the perfect day for this. Do you?”

“No. Skye. And you deserve it to be perfect.”

She eases back, but I can’t let it end on this note.

“But I need to tell you that was the best moment of my life.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Skye

It’s the day of Thrax’s surgery, and my body is thrumming with nervous energy. I’ve barely slept. Instead, I was up most of the night reading up on surgery statistics. Early morning light filters through the hospital windows as I make my way to Thrax’s room, my heart fluttering with each step.

Varro and Laura are already there when I arrive, having returned just yesterday from their extended trip to Missouri. They’d been scouting for property, driven by the optimistic belief that all the gladiators will be successfully revived and will then need a sheltered place to live. The trip got delayed because her dad had a health scare, but she assures me everything is fine.

I’m glad they’re back. Their presence adds an extra layer of support and familiarity for Thrax.

Knocking softly, I enter to find Thrax sitting on the edge of his bed, his hands clasped tightly in his lap, his knees jiggling restlessly. Despite his imposing size, he looks almost vulnerable in the pale blue hospital gown.

“Hey,” I say softly, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “How are you feeling?”

Thrax looks up, his dark gaze meeting mine. “Nervous,” he admits, his voice low. “My memories of visiting themedicusat theludusare not pleasant. I would have to be dragged half dead to that butcher. But I know this will be different. You’ll be with me. I am… ready.”

Dr. Schmid, the surgeon brought in from another hospital for this procedure, enters the room. None of our regular team was qualified to perform this specialized surgery, so his expertise—and patient confidentiality—was crucial.

“Good morning, everyone,” Dr. Schmid greets us warmly. “Thrax, do you have any last-minute questions before we proceed?”

Thrax shakes his head, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. I reach out and take his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve got this,” I whisper, though the translator is the same volume as usual. “And I’ll be right here, every step of the way.”

A small smile tugs at his lips, and he nods. “Thank you. For everything.”

As the nurses come to wheel Thrax to the operating room, I can’t help but smile when he tries to sit up on the gurney and accidentally rips his paper gown. He looks so nervous and innocent. I walk alongside, our hands still linked. Varro and Laura follow, offering words of encouragement. At the doors where we’re not allowed to follow, I lean in and press a soft kiss to Thrax’s cheek.

“I’ll see you soon,” I promise. “You’ll do great.”

The wait during surgery is agonizing. I pace the waiting room with Varro and Laura, alternating between scrolling mindlessly through my phone and staring at the clock on the wall. I’m too nervous to word vomit, which tells me something about the extent of my feelings for the man who is becoming more important to me every day. I’veneverbeen too nervous to blather before. Every time the door opens, my head snaps up, hoping for news.

“So…” Laura says with a devilish smirk. “You and Thrax…”

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