Page 37 of City of Secrets and Shadows
I exhaled slowly, knowing we were crossing a threshold from which there would be no return. “The other part is that I can’t imagine being anywhere else. Not while you’re here, in danger.”
Something softened in her expression. “What about Marcus?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “He and I… we’re still…”
“I’m aware,” I said, unable to keep the edge from my voice.
“Does that matter to you?” Her question was direct, her gaze unflinching.
“More than it should.” I ran a hand through my hair, frustration building again. “When we were in the arena, I knew there couldn’t be anything between us. Tarus would have killed me for touching you if he was alive, and even so long after his death, it felt like betraying his trust.”
“And now?” she asked, her voice soft but insistent.
I looked at her — really looked at her — allowing myself to see not just the gladiator I’d trained with, not just Tarus’s little sister, but the woman she had become. Strong, determined, fierce in her loyalties and her hatreds alike.
“I’m not a good man, Livia. I’ve never been. Tarus was noble, honourable — everything I’m not.” I stepped closer, backing her against the wall, my arms caging her in. “I will never break my vow to protect you, but Tarus’s ghost can damn me to Inferi for what I’m about to do.”
My hand slid up to grasp her throat, not squeezing but asserting dominance in a way we both understood from the arena. “You’ve been mine since the moment I saw you fight. Mine to train, mine to protect, and now—” I leaned in until my lips brushed her ear, feeling her pulse race beneath myfingers. “Mine to claim. I’ve watched Marcus touch you, comfort you, while I stood in the shadows, and I won’t deny you that tenderness if it’s what you need.”
I pulled back just enough to lock eyes with her, letting her see the dark hunger I’d kept leashed for years. “But understand this — you belong to me now. I’ll share you with him if I must, but you will come to my bed. You will know my hands, my mouth, my body. This isn’t a request, Livia. This isn’t a question.” I pressed my body against hers, hard enough that she could feel exactly what she did to me. “This is me telling you how it’s going to be.”
I pressed my forehead against hers, our breathing synchronized in the heavy silence. Her skin burned beneath my fingers, her body rigid with the same terrible want that coursed through mine.
“Say something,” I demanded, my voice rough.
Livia’s eyes darkened, pupils dilated with desire and something else — anger, perhaps, or rebellion. She’d never accepted my authority easily. “You don’t command me, Septimus. Not here. Not like this.”
“Don’t I?” I slid my hand higher along her throat, feeling her swallow against my palm. “Your body says otherwise.”
“My body doesn’t speak for me.” Yet even as she defied me with words, her hands fisted in my tunic, neither pushing me away nor pulling me closer — suspended in her own indecision.
“Then what does?” I asked, trailing my fingers down the column of her neck to the hollow at the base of her throat where her pulse hammered. “Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you haven’t thought about it.”
She exhaled sharply. “Of course I’ve thought about it. I’ve also thought about gutting you on more than one occasion.”
I laughed, the sound low and harsh in the quiet room. “Always the fighter.”
“Always,” she agreed, but she lifted her hand to slide into my hair.
“I’m not a patient man. Not when it comes to things I want.”
“And you want me.” It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway.
“More than I’ve wanted anything since freedom.” I caught her wrist, bringing her hand down to press it flat against my hard cock. “Feel that? This is what you do to me. This is what you’ve always done.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “Septimus—”
“No more talk,” I growled, releasing her wrist to tangle my fingers in her hair, tilting her head back. “No more pretending.”
I claimed her mouth with savage intensity, years of denied desire breaking through the dam of my control. For a heartbeat, she remained still, surprised perhaps by the force of my need. Then she responded with equal ferocity, her teeth nipping my lower lip hard enough to draw blood, her hands clawing at my shoulders.
This wasn’t a kiss of tenderness or affection. This was combat by another name — a struggle for dominance we both understood. I pressed her harder against the wall, lifting her until her legs wrapped around my waist, our bodies aligned in a mockery of the battle stance I’d taught her years ago.
“Gods,” she gasped when I finally tore my mouth from hers to taste the salt of her skin, tracing the tendon in her neck with my tongue. “We can’t — we shouldn’t—”
“We are,” I corrected, biting gently at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, feeling her shudder in response. “We will.”
Her head fell back against the wall, exposing more of her throat to my exploration. “Marcus—”
I bit down harder, silencing her with a sharp sting that made her gasp. “Don’t speak his name. Not now.” My hands slid beneath her training tunic, finding the warm flesh beneath,cupping her breast through the thin fabric of her undertunic. Her nipple hardened instantly against my palm. “Not while I’m touching you.”
