Page 57 of Thawed Gladiator Thrax

“I want to whisper in your ear and hear you gasp. Maybe you’ll even say my name.”

He grips his cock, notches it against me, and rubs back and forth, getting himself slick to make it easier for me to take that gorgeous, giant gladiator cock. Then he slides in. Oh, I love this part, that first entry, when you have to breathe deeply to take the stretch.

But he isn’t going for the gold, isn’t in a race. He’s slow as the sunrise peeking over the horizon, watching every micro movement on my face as I take him. I thought only women got emotional at times like this, but my man, my big, strong man has nothing to prove to anybody. He lets me see him, see his vulnerability and joy and ecstasy as he does something he never dared dream he’d do—make love to a woman who thinks he hung the sun and moon and stars.

He finally hits bottom, is in all the way to the hilt. We’re both startled when we hear the quiet slap of flesh on flesh.

“Perfect, Thrax from Thrace.”

“Perfect, Skye from America.”

He doesn’t move, and I want to cry because the moment is so beautiful. Our gazes connect as we share the unexpected gift we’ve been given. Then he nods his head and begins to move. I watch it all on his face—his pleasure, his awe, his wonder, his appreciation, his love. It’s so beautiful I could die happy after seeing it.

He speeds up, canting his hips, watching my face, listening closely, and when he gets the angle just right, I reward him with a surprised little “oh!” as my eyes flash wide. He grins, lowers his body closer to mine, and goes to town.

With every thrust, every withdrawal, he glides along my clit with that thick, veined cock, massaging my channel. I’m clutching his back, feeling the remnants of his scars, losing my focus for a minute as I ache for him, for his pain. Then I picture his tattoo instead. His Goddess, the story of his life—the ups and downs of the Wheel of Fortune, and now his reward—us.

I clutch his meaty ass, helping him press against me even harder as we race to the finish line. He speeds up and hammers into me. Perfect. I’m about to fall over the edge but have to tell him everything I can manage to say even though my brain isn’t fully online.

“Thrax. I love you. You’re—” My body takes over as I come with the force of a thunderclap. I can’t breathe for a moment, thengasp in a gulp of air as every muscle in my body spasms and releases. I gasp again as my hands clench, my toes tighten, and all I can do is scream as my lids clamp so tightly closed that tears burst from my eyes.

Thrax thrusts harder. Once, twice, three times and then he grunts his pleasure, his hips stuttering as he releases inside me.

“Beloved.” How he managed words through that orgasm is beyond me, but he held my gaze as he said it.

He falls to the bed at my side and kisses me. Dozens of kisses are exchanged as we fight to be the giver, then allow ourselves to be the receiver. Back and forth, we conduct our wordless power exchange as to who can give the most kisses.

Soon, we’re laughing and rolling in the remaining sheets—most have already fallen on the floor.

“You’re the best!” I tell him, hoping people three floors up can hear me. They may not know who’s saying it now, but if they see us in the lobby tomorrow, shit-eating grins on our faces, they’ll know.

“No. You’re the best!” He says in English as he presses my shoulders to the mattress and kisses and nips me until I’m gasping.

Then, as if by prearranged signal, we both get serious and simply gaze into each other’s eyes.

“Do I really get this, Skye? Get you? Get happiness?”

What exactly is he asking? We just said our first I love yous a few hours ago. Is he asking for forever? I can’t! It’s too soon. But… why not?

“No, Thrax. You don’t get this.” He looks so hurt that I’m quick to finish my sentence. “Weget this. We get this for as long as we want.”

I don’t say the word forever, but I’m damn sure thinking it.

Chapter Forty-Five

Thrax

The sliver of light peeking through the gap in the drapes is pink. Although I haven’t been a gladiator for two thousand years, I still wake at sunrise.

After lying here for long minutes, memorizing every inch of Skye’s pretty face, and playing with one of her springy curls, my lover is still asleep. I’m restless, worried about visiting the Colosseum today.

I’ve looked at pictures of it, and although we decided not to go to any ruins yesterday, it was impossible not to notice the arena watching over the city, despite having crumbled over the millennia.

I ease out of bed, needing something to keep me busy. After my shower, I peek out at Skye, but she’s still asleep. I smirk, knowing that it was I who tired her out last night, giving her more pleasure than her perfect body could take.

With a smug expression on my face, I turn back to the bathroom and Skye’s hair product catches my eye. Is that what makes her curls spring to life? My hair isn’t as long as hers, but I wonder what I would look like with curly hair.

I grab the can of cream Varro gave me to use with thenovacila… razor, shake it as he instructed, and apply it to my hair as I’ve seen Skye do with her product. When my hair doesn’t curl, I apply more foam, but all that does is make thick, white peaks in my hair.

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