Page 53 of Thawed Gladiator Thrax

“Tell me again,” Skye says softly, her eyes locked on mine. “Tell me you love me.” She looks younger, almost childlike with the raw need to hear me say the simplest words with the most complicated meaning.

“I love you,” I say, the words coming easily now. “I love you more than I ever thought possible. You are my heart, my home, my everything.”

She rises on her tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “And I love you, Thrax. With all that I am, with all that I’ll ever be. You’re my miracle, my love out of time.”

We stay by the fountain for what feels like hours, talking softly, exchanging kisses, simply basking in each other’s presence. The night air grows cooler, but I barely notice, warmed by Skye’s love and the joy bubbling in my chest.

As we finally turn to leave, I cast one last glance at the fountain. The legend Skye mentioned echoes in my mind—three coins for marriage. Slaves never married. It just… wasn’t done. I never considered it, never hoped for it. But now, the future stretches out before us, full of uncertainty but also brimming with promise.

“You know, Thrax, the last hour has been the most romantic of my life. As a girl, I used to dream of a pale imitation of this because I couldn’t imagine anything as sweet as what we just shared.” She steps close, shuts her eyes, and sniffs, as though she’s inhaling the most primitive part of me. “I want your love, yes. But right now, I want your body. In every way. We were waiting until it was the perfect time. I think this is it.”

Chapter Forty-Two

Skye

I remember running down the hallway from the cafeteria the last time we were so eager to make love. We were breathless and desperate and still so new to each other.

This time is different. We walk the streets of Rome for a few more minutes before we call a taxi. We’re touching hands, something we do all the time, but it feels different, more fraught with emotions, as we let our anticipation build. Although we both know what’s coming, we don’t mention it again. We just revel in each other’s presence. Our steps slow, as though we have all the time in the world.

Thrax turns up the heat in the taxi when he places his hand on my thigh. It’s near my knee, nothing overtly sexual, although the look in his eyes could scorch metal. I’m not surprised when his thumb slowly circles over my dress, not-so-subtly reminding me that soon that hand will be in the same spot when I’m naked and he yanks my thighs open.

I spread my knees, wondering if he’ll take the hint, but he just keeps circling, circling, knowing the pad of his thumb has my complete attention. When we arrive at the hotel, we don’t racethrough the lobby. Instead, Thrax decides it’s the perfect time for a little art tour.

We’ve been here for over a day and haven’t taken a glance at the oil paintings scattered throughout the lobby and main hallways. Today, my gladiator has become an art lover.

He keeps his arm around my waist as he leads me to one picture after another, all of them depictions of ancient Rome.

“Here.” He bends his mouth to my ear, even though he knows I can hear perfectly fine through the earbud. “A poor depiction. Pictures of the forum should be gritty, should let the viewer smell the stench. This is too…”

“Fanciful? Romantic?”

“Ah.” He nods, making sure his warm breath grazes the vulnerable column of my neck. “Yes. Romantic.”

He can be subtle when he wants, my gladiator. He uses his next step as an opportunity to change his grip just slightly. Just enough so his thumb presses the side of my breast. If it happened at another time, there would be nothing erotic about it. But because I know what’s coming next, it pulls my attention straight to my hardening nipples.

“And this one?” He uses his free hand to gesture at twoquadrigaein a race in the Circus Maximus. “If you listen closely, can you hear the hoofbeats, the cheers of the crowd?”

There was no reason for him to bend closer, to ease into my space, to place his lips so close to my ear that he made me shiver.

“You must have been very good in the arena,” I scold. “You have an instinct for…” I stop myself mid-sentence, not wanting to trigger any bad memories.

But he finishes the sentence for me. “Knowing right where tothrust?”

Oh, my God. Those words went right to the heart of me. No. Lower.

It’s late, and the hotel lobby is almost deserted except for the sleepy clerk behind the desk. Thrax drags me down an unused hallway where we find older, smaller paintings. He’s freer with his hands here, letting an elbow gently graze my puckered nipple, a palm rest on the small of my back, then drift downward to cup my ass.

Two can play his game. I clear my throat when he places his hand across both cheeks, one finger pressing far deeper than it needs to.

“My apologies.” Funny. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. Then he reaches to my hip and tugs me closer. When I don’t protest, he turns at my side to face me, making certain to swing his hips so his erection grazes my abdomen.

I’m burning for him now. It’s just that I don’t know if I’d rather continue this teasing game on our little art walk, or hurry to our bed.

“It must be a burden,” I say as I point out a little pub scene with a phallus carved above the door. “Having such a big phallus that it rubs against everything.”

“Yes. Some men just can’t keep their affections hidden.” He’s not even pretending to look at the picture.

The next painting we approach depicts a dimly lit banquet, the table laden with food.

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