Page 31 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius

Diana stirs, her eyes fluttering open. “Good morning,” she murmurs, a sleepy smile spreading across her face.

Then her brow lowers in worry as she fully awakens. How do I know this woman so well that it’s as though I can read her mind? Perhaps it’s what she shared with me last night. She told me her secret fears, her insecurities. I would bet tendinariithat her first thought this morning will be to wonder if the morning sun has made me notice all her perceived imperfections.

“Good morning,” I reply, pulling her closer.

I want to tuck her tight, to kiss her hard, to set her blood on fire and awaken the fiery part of her I made love with last night. But first, I need to gentle her, reassure her.

“I have an urgent need.” Although I keep my gaze locked on her face, she doesn’t have the same amount of self-control. Instead, her gaze flicks to my cock, assuming my phallus is hard and ready again.

“Not that, my greedy lover.” I scold with humor. “I need to lick this.” I flick my tongue on the tiny imperfection that slices across her lips. “What if a sorceress replaced you in the middle of the night? Tried to trick me? I’ll always know you’re mine by this pretty silver line. Right here.”

I lap her scar, the one I barely noticed even when we first met, but that she thinks defines her. I kiss and lick and praise her. Instead of saying outlandish things, which my Diana will doubt—I know her so well—I give honest praises she can’t help but believe.

“My patient teacher.” I nip her earlobe. “So gentle… unless she’s riding me.”

When she gasps in shock at my bold statement, I take it as an invitation to say more blatant praises.

“How many times when we were riding horses did I lose all thought, forget where I was and what I was supposed to be doing because I was watching these beautifuluberabounce, your perfectpapillispoking out, teasing me?” To illustrate, I cup one of her breasts, then pluck the hardened nipple even though her translator told her my meaning.

Our lips meet in a soft, lazy kiss. There’s no urgency, no desperate passion—just a gentle affection that warms me from the inside out.

We lie here for a while, trading kisses and soft touches, neither of us speaking of love or the future. We don’t need to. The care we have for each other is evident in every caress, every shared smile.

Finally, Diana stretches, her back arching like a cat’s. “We should probably get up,” she says, though her tone suggests she’d rather do anything but that.

I nod, but make no move to leave the bed. “Or,” I suggest, “we could take the day off. I’m sure the horses won’t mind a break for one day.”

Diana laughs, the sound music to my ears. “And what would you do with your day off, oh mighty gladiator?”

The question stirs something in me. “Actually,” I say, sitting up, “I was thinking of training with the others today. I’d like to test myself physically, see what I remember.”

Diana’s eyes light up with interest. “Mind if I watch? I’d love to see you in action.”

“Perhaps it’s you who have the head injury. Wasn’t it just a few hours ago that you already saw me in action—several times?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“I don’t know what you mean. That didn’t translate.”

“Let me spell it out. You’re anasinus.” When I arch my brow at her, she explains, “The men all know what ‘fuck’ means. Well, I’ve learned one of your favorite Latin jibes—ass.

My response is to playfully slap her ass, then split her wide and ease myself inside her, since she’s already drenched and ready for me.

Later, I stand in the training yard, a wooden gladius in my hand. The weight feels odd, unfamiliar. Around me, the other gladiators stretch and warm up, their movements fluid andpracticed. I try to mimic them, but my body feels clumsy, uncooperative. I would have thought, now that my memories are returning, that the feel of a sword in my hands would be second nature.

Thrax approaches, his wooden sword raised. “Ready, Cassius?” There’s a friendly challenge in his voice.

I nod, trying to project more confidence than I feel. We square off, circling each other slowly. Thrax makes the first move, a quick thrust that I barely manage to parry. The impact jars my arm, nearly causing me to drop my weapon.

As we spar, I become increasingly frustrated even though it’s obvious Thrax is taking it easy on me. My body doesn’t respond the way I expect it to. Moves that should feel natural are awkward and forced. Thrax lands blow after blow, each one chipping away at my already fragile self-assurance.

After a particularly embarrassing fumble that leaves me sprawled in the dust, I hear Sulla’s voice cut through the air. “Stop!” His tone is that of a commandingludusmaster, brooking no argument as he strides from the barracks. “This isn’t right.”

I push myself to my feet, shame burning in my cheeks. But Sulla isn’t looking at me with disdain. Instead, his brow is furrowed in concentration.

He was theludusmaster to all my comrades, though I never met him before the day theFortunaset sail. This was the man who trained every one of my comrades. Out of all of them, he’sthe expert, even though we all agree he’s a fucker of the highest order.

“I never asked,” he says slowly, “what type of fighter you were, Cassius. Your arrival at the docks was so rushed. But looking at you now, your build… you’re not amurmillo. Not built to fight with a gladius.” His eyes light up with sudden understanding. “You’re aretiarius, aren’t you?”

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