Page 77 of Enslaved
Her fingers were buried in his thick hair, urging him on to devour her. From beneath languorous eyelids she watched his black head between her legs and realized with a deep sexual thrill, it was the most exciting, intimate thing a man could do to a woman. She could contain her climax no longer and arched into his mouth with a piercing cry of pleasure.
Marcus immediately moved over her body so that his mouth could capture her cries. She tasted herself on his lips and it immediately began a new cycle of desire, only hotter and fiercer, that no teasing tongue could assuage.
The urgency of her need paled in comparison to his. He drove into her savagely, the powerful force of his penetration moving her dangerously close to the fire. She became so wantonly greedy with lust that she opened her legs wider and arched herself higher to take every fraction of his hard length inside her.
Marcus was ravenous as he drove into her voluptuous body with all the power of a virile male body at the peak of its strength. Yet still, Diana craved more, demanded more. Finally she lifted her legs high enough so that her ankles lay against his broad shoulders and she was wide open to him. He thudded into her over and over, endlessly, until they were love drunk, then love mad. The sensations each of them experienced were so heightened in intensity, their cries began a full half-hour before the volcanic eruptions of their orgasms began.
When coitus was finally complete, they collapsed together, spent in mind and body and emotion. They lay motionless for long minutes while the world stopped spinning and righted itself. Then some devil provoked Marcus to whisper, “Can you take more?” She was utterly slaked and knew he, too, was completely spent from the ferocity of their lovemaking. She couldn’t yet speak, so slowly shook her head.
“Neither can I,” he admitted, with a deep sigh of pure satisfaction. The same devil now pricked Diana and smiled her secret smile.
“That’s too bad, Marcus darling,” she whispered, “for I suddenly have a craving for the taste of almonds.” She sat up in one fluid motion and appraised his male beauty from beneath eyelids heavy from passion. With alarm, he watched her hand reach for the flacon of oil. He knew he could not achieve another erection without a protracted rest.
She knelt above him and trickled the oil into his navel, then with delicate hands, spread it downward across his ridged belly and onto his muscled thighs. With wicked fingers she stroked his flaccid member, which lay peacefully slumbering after its labors, and to his amazement it awoke immediately. It did not stir sleepily, but sprang to life with a vengeance, ready for any assault.
She dipped her head, running her tongue over her lips in anticipation as she said, “I want to play slave girl again.” She started at the base and ran her tongue up the entire length of him. When she reached the head, she licked delicately, then swirled her tongue beneath the crest, then dipped the tip of her tongue into the tiny opening to taste the drops of clear juice that flowed upward so readily. Then she repeated the sequence, managing to do it more erotically each time.
Her tongue slithered about him like a sensual snake, making him pulse and quiver in ecstasy. Marcus closed his eyes and opened his mouth to emit the sounds of pleasure that built in his throat. When she took him inside her hot mouth, he cried a warning to her. “I’ll come.”
She lifted her mouth from him only long enough to give him back his own words. “My will prevails. I will finish you when I am ready.”
When they awoke in the morning, they lay entangled before the ashes of the fire. Diana blushed profusely as Marcus murmured, “We didn’t even make it to the bed last night.” He kissed her nose. “I adore you.” He loved it when she blushed, and she always did when she thought their lovemaking had been erotically wicked.
A message came that Marcus Magnus was needed urgently at the fort. When he saw Diana’s worried frown, he said lightly, “This is our last day. I’ll soon dispose of the problem, whatever it is.” On his arrival at the fort, he realized the problem could not be disposed of so quickly. His first cohort centurion awaited him with disquieting news.
“General, your brother, Petrius, rode in early and fell unconscious from his horse. He was carried to the valetudinarium to have his wounds tended.”
Marcus rushed to the hospital, fearing the worst, but when he arrived he found Petrius conscious, telling the procurator of his misfortunes.
“Where are you wounded?” Marcus asked with deep concern.
The physician who attended him spoke up. “A fractured arm I am about to set. We thought his shoulder was broken also, but it was just dislocated. His head was drenched in blood, but when it was washed, it proved only a minor scalp wound.”
“What in Hades are you doing back here?” Marcus demanded.
Julius spoke up. “It’s an outrage. He was left for dead. When he regained consciousness, the army was long gone. Paullinus is a piss-poor leader of men!”
Marcus looked at Petrius with disbelief. Why hadn’t his own men tended him? At last Petrius spoke up. “Paullinus is a swine. He ordered the wounded legionaries put to the sword so it wouldn’t slow down his army.”
Marcus had served under Paullinus, and though he detested the man, he knew the things his brother said were untrue. Paullinus would only put a legionary to the sword to put him out of his misery, if naught could be done to save him, as Marcus himself would do. Paullinus brought his wounded back to Aquae Sulis. It was highly unlikely a soldier would be left for dead, especially a cohort centurion. Marcus suspected his brother had deserted, but since the penalty for such cowardice was death, he kept his mouth shut.
As the physician set the broken bone in Petrius’ arm, Julius said, “Why don’t we take him to Rome with us? One more advocate for ridding Britannia of Paullinus can’t hurt our cause, and unfortunately your brother’s fighting days are over for a while.”
When he saw the wild look of hope on Petrius’ face, Marcus did not disclose that Petrius was left-handed.
“Rome? You’re going home?” Petrius asked joyfully.
“Since the procurator thinks you might aid his cause, I will sign you out of combat on sick leave. Get some rest. We sail tomorrow at dawn.”
The general visited his corps of engineers to make sure the bridge across the river would be built as planned in his absence. Once he was away from Petrius, he chided himself on his uncharitable suspicions. What was it about the handsome young devil that made him think his brother was less than honorable? He set aside his misgivings, thinking how happy their father would be to have them both beneath his roof at the same time.
In the late afternoon Marcus arrived at the villa with the ten legionary guards who would accompany them to Rome. They took the trunks and baggage to load on the barge that would take them to the coast, where they would board the ship for the voyage to Rome.
Marcus wanted to put off telling Diana about his brother’s return. Though she had never said anything to disparage Petrius, Marcus knew she had a dislike for him. The only alternative was to tell her tonight and that might ruin her evening and his as well, so he slipped his hand over hers and drew her out to the garden.
Thinking he wanted to be private so they could exchange kisses and love words, she warned, “One kiss only. You know that once we start, we cannot stop, and I still have a dozen things to do.”
He looked down at her tenderly, lifted her hand to his mouth, deposited a kiss within her palm, and closed her fingers about it. “Diana, my brother Petrius has returned with a broken arm. Since he cannot fight until it heals, Julius asked him to accompany us to Rome.”
