Page 39 of Thawed Gladiator: Lucius
“My third professional fight. Against a retiarius—a gladiator from Gaul who fights with a weighted net, three-pointed trident, and dagger.”
Each scar tells a story of survival, of endurance. I learn them with my fingers, then my lips, mapping the history written on his body. When I reach the waistband of his underwear, I glance up, seeking final permission.
His nod contains both desire and trust, a gift more precious than mere physical surrender. Slowly, I remove the last barrier between us, then my own. Naked together in the moonlight, centuries of difference fade against the timeless language of skin against skin.
My exploration continues downward, hands and lips learning what brings him pleasure. When I take him in my mouth, his ragged inhale and the increased tension of his grip on my shoulders tell me more than words could.
The taste of him floods my senses—salt and musk and something uniquely him that makes me moan around his length. I start slowly, my tongue tracing delicate patterns around the sensitive head before taking him deeper into the wet heat of my mouth. His low groan encourages me, and I feel his thighs tremble beneath my touch as I establish a rhythm that has him gasping my name.
I pull back to swirl my tongue around the tip, savoring the way his hips lift involuntarily, seeking more contact. When I look up the length of his body, his pale eyes are slitted with desire, watching me with an intensity that sends molten desire pooling between my thighs. The knowledge that I’m unraveling this controlled, powerful man with just my mouth makes me bolder.
Taking him deeper, I hollow my cheeks and create a suction that tears a broken sound from his throat. His fingers thread through my hair, not guiding, but anchoring us together as I work him with deliberate care. Each time I draw back, I let my lips drag along his length before diving down again, varying the pressure and speed until he’s breathing in harsh pants.
“Rosemary,” he breathes, my name like a prayer falling from his lips. “Your mouth—gods, the way you take me—”
His English words dissolve into Latin phrases, the ancient language spilling from him as conscious control fractures. Thevulnerability in his voice, the way his powerful body trembles beneath my touch, makes me feel drunk on a heady combination of power and tenderness.
I reach between his legs to cup him gently, rolling the sensitive skin with careful fingers while my mouth continues its devoted attention. The dual sensation makes his back arch off the bed, a strangled cry escaping him that goes straight to my core. I can feel him growing harder, his breathing becoming more ragged as I push him toward the edge.
“I’m close,” he warns, voice strained with the effort of speech. “Rosemary, if you don’t want—”
But I don’t pull away. Instead, I increase my pace, taking him as deep as I can while my hand works in coordination with my mouth. I want to give him this complete surrender, to watch him lose himself in the pleasure I’m providing.
His release comes with my name torn from his throat, his essence flooding my mouth as his body goes rigid beneath me. I take everything he offers, the intimacy of the act binding us more deeply than I’d anticipated. The taste of him, the broken sounds he makes, the way his fingers tighten in my hair—all of it sears itself into my memory.
As the last tremors fade, I place gentle kisses along his softening length before moving up his body to meet his wondering gaze.
Our kiss holds new urgency. His hands are no longer hesitant as they explore the curves of my hips and then lodge at my waist. In one artful move, he flips me over and kneels between my thighs,his palms circling slowly as they inch from above my knees toward my core.
When his fingers find the wet heat between my legs, it’s my turn to gasp. The first contact sends a shock wave through me that has me arching off the bed. I cry out at the exquisite contact. He explores with reverent curiosity, circling that sensitive bundle of nerves until my hips rise to meet his touch.
“So wet,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice rough with wonder and desire. “So perfect.”
His fingers slide lower, testing my readiness before slowly entering me. The stretch and fullness make me arch against him, desperate for more. His fingers are both gentle and sure, circling and stroking with an intuitive understanding that makes my thighs tremble.
The slick evidence of my desire coats his fingers as he explores, and the raw masculine sound of satisfaction he makes at discovering how thoroughly I want him nearly undoes me completely.
For all his formal manners, he proves a quick study in this most intimate education. His fingers circle and stroke, applying varying pressure that makes coherent thought impossible. When he slides one finger inside me, then another, I cry out, my inner muscles clenching around him in greedy welcome. His touch is curious at first, then increasingly confident as he learns my responses.
“Show me,” he whispers against my ear. “Show me how to please you.”
The vulnerable request undoes me more than skilled technique ever could. I guide his hand, showing him the rhythm and pressure that builds pleasure. When his mouth leaves a trail of kisses down my body before replacing his fingers, I clutch at the sheets, overwhelmed by the sight of his pale head between my thighs.
“Like this?” he asks, tongue exploring tentatively.
“Yes,” I manage, barely recognizing my own voice, breathy and demanding all at once. “Just like—oh!”
Whatever hesitation he might have felt dissolves as he applies himself to this new knowledge with the same focus he brings to everything. My body responds with building tension, heat radiating outward from where his mouth works against me.
When release finally comes, it crashes through me with unexpected intensity. His name escapes my lips—not his arena name, not his title, but simply “Lucius,” the man himself rather than what he represents.
As I return to myself, I find him watching me with an expression of wonder and something deeper that I’m not ready to name. Reaching for him, I draw him up my body until we’re face to face once more.
“Stay with me tonight,” I whisper. “Not just in the same bed.Withme.”
The request’s multiple layers aren’t lost on him. His expression grows serious, though desire still darkens his eyes.
“Rosemary,” he begins, hesitation entering his voice. “There’s something we should discuss before…”
