Seduced by the Gladiator(11)

“Where are you, whore?” The drunken howl could belong to only one man—a man who might have left me alone had Christus not opened that damned door, all but inviting him in.

The bull of a man came charging, his drunkenness making his approach ring off the stone walls. I tensed, ready to fling hot wax and flame into his face.

Bavarius never reached me.

With the sickening sound of bone meeting flesh, Christus ploughed a tight fist into the other man’s eye, followed quickly by one to his jaw, and another to his gut. Bavarius doubled over, screaming his pain, though I knew he had suffered much worse in the arena.

“Though I do not expect an apology from the likes of you,” Christus said, standing tall, proud, a god with a peasant at his feet, “you will not call Lilia such names again. You will not darken her door. You will leave her alone. Even if she were not a woman, she outranks you in this brotherhood, and you owe her that.”

With heat shooting from those blue eyes, stars streaming through the night sky, Christus backed away from the man, closing the door in Bavarius’ face.

I was stunned silent by the sight, frozen in the middle of the room, the candle in my hand.

“He will come back.” Afraid of dropping the candle, I moved to place it on the small table that crowded the room. “He always comes back.” I cursed myself the moment the words had left my mouth.

What if this stranger repeated them to Bavarius? The beast would then know that I still feared him, and would use it to his advantage.

“He can try to come back. He will not succeed.” I watched Christus’ actions, fascinated. Tearing a strip off his subligaculum, he fashioned some sort of knot over the latch of the door, testing it with long, strong fingers.

He glanced at me once as he moved across the room to the door from which he had entered, treating it in the same manner. We both heard the drunken curses of Bavarius, making his way back down the hall, away from these quarters.

Christus’ lashes were black and hid what he was truly thinking, but I knew.

He understood my uneasiness, understood where it came from. And he cared enough, was kind enough, to make moves toward putting me at ease.

“What if it does not hold?” There was no point in playing dumb, in pretending that he had not worked out my situation.

This time he looked right at me, and I saw frustration and anger in those deep blue eyes. I somehow sensed that the anger wasn’t at me.

“My father was a fisherman. I have tied knots since I could hold the string. It will hold.” With those words he moved to his bedroll, stretching out on the thin mattress with a sigh.

I tried not to notice the tension that seemed to drain from his own body as our breaths mingled in the close air of the room. I felt poorly for focusing so strongly on my own fears and not realizing that, as a new man in the ludus, he was at risk as well.

“The rest are likely too far in their cups to make nuisance of themselves tonight. And none will make a move without Bavarius leading them on.” I spoke after a long moment, a moment in which my tension began, at last, to drain from my limbs. I would have had such a reaction to any man in my intimate space, and I still did not care for it, but I felt that I was at least safe for this night.

Safer than I had been before Christus, with his new locks on the doors.

“Hmm.” I saw that his eyes were open, watching me as I pulled my own bedroll farther across the room. But he did not speak, instead watching me, measuring me, I felt.

I was not accustomed to being scrutinized in such a manner. Suddenly self-conscious, I stooped to blow out the candle that was burning on the low, rough wooden table.

I felt more than heard the intake of his breath, but could not help but see the rise of his cock in his leathers.

Inside I felt a mixture of disappointment that he was like the rest of them, and excitement to cause this reaction in this puzzling man.

He did not make a move toward me, did not seem to expect any sexual favors, not even after his actions toward Bavarius. In the entire time in which he had been in this chamber, he had given me no reason at all to fear him. In fact, I somehow thought that he knew my fear, understood it.

After a long hesitation, I stood straight, planting my naked feet on the floor and letting the candlelight shine through the sheer fabric of my sleep toga. I knew that through it my dark nipples would be visible, as would the curve of my bare waist, the shadows between my thighs.

Let him look, I thought. Let him look and get it over with. Perhaps we would come together after all, a reaction to the events that had just transpired. We would fuck and be done with it.

The thought of touching that skin, that body, made my skin flush all over.

I did not have a figure that most Romans would consider attractive—I was far too lean for that—but most gladiators were denied women beyond the occasional whore. Suddenly unsure, I wondered if, when he saw that my frame was not lush with promise, perhaps his attention would wane.