Page 38 of Thawed Gladiator Thrax

He removes his clothes with a growl, the low sound reverberating through the room.

“Get rid of that,” he commands, pointing to my bra, his tone thick and commanding.

“Yes, Sir.”

Our gazes snap to each other as that last word slipped from my lips. There was something about it that touched some latent, untapped desire in me, awakening a primal instinct that must have lain dormant. By the look of unfettered lust in his eyes, I think my immediate deference had the same effect on him.

I’ve been so focused on the way my channel clenched, the deep, aching need building within as my already-hardened nipples strained against the cool air, that I forgot to remove my bra. Hot with desire, I can barely process the meaning of his harsh, “Now!”

It doubles the effect of a moment ago, electrifying the air and heightening every sensation coursing through me. My hands, almost on autopilot, fly to the clasp, unhooking my bra with trembling fingers before it flutters to the floor.

“Fuck, Skye.” He discovered the word weeks ago, relishing its delicious harshness when he spoke it, but it’s never carried this lusty, gravelly tone before—this tone that echoes the urgency of our moment. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he adds for good measure, and I feel it vibrate through me like a melody. “You’re so beautiful.”

This pause in the action provides my first chance to take in the sight before me—his cock, thick and veined and inviting, points directly at me. I’d worried that the people who tortured him had done something horrible to his cock, but they left it alone. Lucky me, because it’s, “Magnificent,” I breathe, the word tumbling out like an offering to his Goddess Fortuna, a prayer for our encounters yet to come.

My praise barely registers, however, as he’s consumed by the sight of me. He’s devouring me with his gaze, indulging in the moment. I marvel at the intensity of it. Then, without telegraphing his next move, Thrax joins me on the bed with a sudden shift, pulling me on top of him. A relieved moan escapes me, almost a sigh of relief. It feels like I’ve wanted to be naked with him forever, and here we are, skin to skin.

A delightful rush of warmth floods through every inch of my body that connects with his. My breasts, full and vulnerable, are smashed against his rock-hard chest, the heat radiating from him making my skin tingle.

My little nipples poke against his hot flesh, tiny buds begging for attention. My body needs no instruction; it reacts instinctively. I widen my thighs, straddling his pelvis, my knees sinking onto the plush mattress near his hips. His cock, like a heat-seeking missile, nestles between my slick lips.

Our gazes collide as the intimacy of the position strikes us both. We moan in unison and it’s all I can do to keep my eyes from rolling back in my head.

For a moment, I wonder if we’re going to skip directly to the good part, the culmination of every stolen glance, every heated brush of skin. I imagine we’ve both been desperate for this for a long time, our hearts and bodies aching for the connection that time itself seems to have arranged.

But Thrax is having none of that.

With a swift motion, he rolls us, a not-so-subtle reminder of this man’s strength. He reverses our positions with surprising gentleness. Then, in an almost playful scuffle, he jostles me, the sheets sliding beneath us, and jams a wad of bedding between us, corralling his cock away from my eager, waiting pussy. I never took him for a “delay gratification” kind of guy, but I guess he’s going to surprise me a dozen times tonight.

With our desperate alter egos now under control—just barely—this man, this gargantuan man, this tower of lusty muscle, leans to kiss me with such slow sweetness it brings tears to my eyes. It’s impossibly tender, yet deeply powerful, and I want to bask in this moment forever.

His kiss is languorous and affectionate, accompanied by a noise that is part growl, part moan, part praise, part prayer. He pulls himself away just far enough to whisper in my ear, the heat of his breath sending chills racing down my spine. He may think he’s telling secrets my phone can’t pick up to translate, but I’ve been listening to him talk for weeks. I can pick out a few words;mirabilis—wonderful;donum ab ipsa Fortunae—a gift from Fortuna herself;sum felix homo—I’m a lucky man.

Each phrase is a testament to his ardor, spoken with a reverence that touches something deep inside me.

And then he’s kissing me again, his lips crashing against mine with an urgency that feels electric. The moment we separate is only fleeting, yet it heightens the desperation coursing through us both. Our teeth clack together, a collision of passion that pulls a laugh from both of us, but it’s quickly drowned out by the fervor of his tongue invading my mouth.

He explores as though he’s on a mission, mapping every ridge and outcropping. His taste is addictive—a combination of warmth and spice that makes me wonder if I could ever be satisfied with just one sampling. I want to bottle his essence, to carry it with me always, capturing the sweetness that blooms like wildflowers confined in a jar. I can’t get enough of him, the way he ignites my senses, every kiss burying me deeper into this heady haze of desire.

My hands roam the expanse of his back. The thick cords of muscles ripple beneath my fingertips, and I feel the rough bumps and strands, the scars and gouges that mark him—remnants of his pain-filled past and the battles he fought. Another day, when we’re not engaged in ecstasy, I promise myself I’ll take the time to use the tip of my tongue to trace every inch of that damage. If I could, I would heal this man—body and soul, piece by piece, breath by breath.

His mouth soon slides down my body, lavishing my nipples with attention, and I lose myself in the intoxicating rhythm of his lips. He sucks and plucks, rolling them between his fingers with a mix of passion and reverence, sending shockwaves that render me completely vulnerable. Every touch sends fire racing through me and I can’t suppress the moan that escapes my lips as my legs instinctively scissor against the mattress.

When I finally gather the courage to open my eyes, I find him watching me, his gaze filled with delight yet laden with something deeper that leaves me breathless.

He’s lighting every inch of me on fire, kindling a conflagration of need that has built up over days and weeks and is now bursting into a roaring inferno.

Keeping his voice loud enough for the phone to translate, he leans closer, his lips brushing against my ear, igniting sparks that dance along my spine. “I don’t understand all your ways. I don’t want to offend,” he murmurs, each word laced with earnest passion. “But Skye, I wonder if perhaps I’ll die if I can’t thrust my tongue between your legs and taste you.”

The desperation in his voice tugs at something deep within me, awakening desires I’ve been tamping down since shortly afterwe met. It makes my breath hitch, my body lean toward his like a flower seeking sunlight.

Then he dives between my legs, hooks his arms around my thighs, and pulls them farther apart until I doubt I can stretch any wider. Just as he requested, he goes for the gold, his tongue delving inside my drenched channel, then pulling back just enough to lap my juices like a jungle cat. The sensation jolts arousal through me, making every nerve ending burn with electric warmth. I find it impossible to suppress the low moan that escapes my lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated desire.

In my experience, men avoid going downtown if possible; they treat it like a chore meant to be done as quickly as humanly possible. Those who do make the obligatory attempt have never managed to rock my world. After a few begrudging minutes of lackluster effort, they move on to the penis-in-vagina action—the quick route to their real goal.

But the way Thrax is attacking me is nothing short of astonishing. It’s as though this is his favorite part of sex—his favorite thing in the whole world. He laps at my entrance with determined ferocity, sampling my essence with an enthusiasm that sends my senses into a frenzy. The heat pooling in my belly intensifies as he uses his lip-covered teeth to gently pluck at my clit—each flick and tug drawing me deeper into a world I never want to leave.

Then it’s no-holds-barred as he flicks and sucks my clit with what feels like an insatiable hunger, a need that he’s only just beginning to sate. A moment ago, I was going to warn him that no man has ever gotten me there with his mouth, but I think in about a minute, that’s going to be a lie. My muscles are tensing, my legs quivering in response, and I’m moaning in a timbre I’ve never reached before, the sound an echo of ecstasy that fills the room.

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