Page 60 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius

And as the window reflects the last light fading from the sky, as Cassius pulls me closer and kisses me deeper, I know with absolute certainty that this is our real second chance—not just at love, but at building something beautiful together.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Cassius

Diana’s kiss awakens the warrior within me, the predator that once dominated the arena. My body remembers what it means to conquer, to claim.

Her fingers trace fire across my bare skin as she presses closer. The sweet taste of her, the soft sounds she makes as I deepen the kiss—it’s intoxicating. Better than the finest Falernian wine, more potent than any gladiatorial victory.

My body thrums with barely contained desire, every instinct demanding I claim what’s mine, but through the haze of passion, I hear voices in the hallway, the familiar sounds of my fellow gladiators returning from dinner. With immense effort, I break the kiss, resting my forehead against hers as we both catch our breath.

“I’ve imagined this moment a thousand times,” I whisper, cradling her face in my hands. “A sweet reunion. But never like this. Never here, with thin walls and curious ears.” I brush my thumb across her lower lip, still swollen from our kisses. “You deserve better than a rushed encounter in the barracks.”

Her eyes, dark with desire, meet mine. “I don’t care where we are,” she breathes. “I just want you. I’ve waited too long.”

The raw honesty in her voice nearly breaks my resolve. “Are you sure? About this? About us?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been about anything.”

I press a gentle kiss to her forehead, then her nose, then her lips—soft and sweet. “Then come home with me.”

She pulls back, confusion clouding her features. “But we’re in your—” Understanding dawns, and her smile is radiant. “Your home is with me?”

“My home is wherever you are,” I confirm. “Perhaps tonight it can be your cabin?”

Her laugh is bright and joyous as she tugs me toward the door. “Yes. God, yes.”

The night air hits my bare chest like Venus’s breath in winter, but I barely notice. Diana tries to slow our pace, insisting I should put on shoes, a shirt, something against the cold. But I can’t wait, can’t bear to waste precious seconds on such trivial concerns.

“I’ve faced a winter campaign in Gaul,” I remind her, though the memory is hazy. “A short run through Missouri winter won’t kill me.”

We start walking quickly, then jogging, then running as desire and urgency override dignity. My feet barely feel the gravel path, my skin steaming in the cool air. Diana’s hand is warm in mine as we race through the darkness, our breath coming in white puffs, matching our hurried steps.

A few lights still burn in Varro and Laura’s house, but we avoid them, taking the longer route through the woods. The horses nicker softly from nearby, perhaps smelling our passage and wondering why their usually sensible caretakers are running like love-struck youths in the night.

When we finally reach her cabin, we’re both breathing hard, though not entirely from exertion. I catch her as she fumbles with the key, pressing soft kisses to her neck that make her hands shake.

“Not helping,” she gasps, but she tilts her head to give me better access to the vulnerable column of her neck.

Finally, the door swings open. It strikes me that I’ve waited over two millennia for this moment.

Chapter Fifty

Diana

We’ve tumbled inside the cabin, a tangle of limbs and desperate breaths, leaving only Cassius and me in this moment. His arms wrap around me, strong and sure, pulling me against him as his mouth captures mine in a kiss that steals my breath away.

This kiss is different from our others—deeper, hungrier, filled with a promise that spikes desire through my system. It’s a kiss that speaks of passion and longing, of a love that has weathered storms and come out stronger. I can taste it on his lips, feel it in the way his body presses against mine, hard and unyielding.

“Diana,” he breathes against my lips, his voice a low rumble that sends a thrill through me. He lifts a strand of my hair as though it’s precious. “Goddess of the moon.”

To compare me to a goddess? And the way he looks at me, his gaze filled with sparks of love and lust? I’m already dripping for him.

My answer is to kiss him harder, to pour all my emotions into this kiss. I’ve missed him, missed this. The scent of him—clean and masculine—fills my senses, making me dizzy with desire. His hands roam my body, tracing curves and igniting fires, each touch a brand that marks me as his.

He walks us backward, never breaking the kiss, until my back hits the wall. I gasp at the sudden coolness against my heated skin and he takes advantage, deepening the kiss, his tongue barging inside my mouth, exploring with a thoroughness that leaves me wrecked.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, trailing kisses down my jaw, my neck, each press of his lips a spark that sets my skin ablaze. “Missed this. Missed us.”

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