He had not touched me. Instead he had pulled his red-haired companion to the floor, had taken her from behind viciously. He had in turn made the woman impaled on his cock lick at the cunt of the other, all while he watched me with hunger playing over his face.
Only after he had climaxed, shooting great streams over the ass of the woman, had I been granted permission to leave. I had not stayed long enough even to dress, wanting—needing—to be removed from the cesspool of debauchery as quickly as possible.
I could only be thankful that it was night, and the men were asleep. Never before had I felt so weak, so unable to take care of myself. It was not something that I wanted anyone to see.
When the heaving had stopped, I knelt on the sand for a long moment, shivering as the cool predawn breeze brushed against my naked skin. I fisted my fingers in the sand, then watched it trickle out in a pale stream.
I had finally accepted something, it seemed. No matter how much of a pet I was, no matter how much fame and coin and glory that I managed to amass, I was a slave. I had no free will.
I had survived this night by choosing the lesser of two evils. But what did Gaius have in store for me in his arena games?
Unsteady, heavy, weighed down by the realization, I struggled to my feet, staggered the few remaining steps to the door of my chamber. It was closed, but I knew that Christus would never have tied the leather locks in place if I was not inside the room with him.
I barely had the strength to push on the wood hard enough to open the door. I wondered fleetingly how I would be feeling if I had not been granted a choice upstairs. If Gaius had sucked so much of my energy away without even touching me, how weak would I feel if he had gotten his way?
I stood in the doorway, letting my eyes adjust to the dim light within. As soon as I found Christus, I felt something indescribable well up inside of me.
I did not cry—my eyes remained dry. Still, a sound that was part anguished scream, part wail emitted from the depths of my belly, and I hugged my arms to my naked chest, letting the new leathers that I had dragged down the steps with me fall to the floor.
“What has happened?” Moving faster than it seemed possible, Christus was at my side in an instant. I stared at him wordlessly, my eyes big and staring. Once the noise of anguish had escaped me, it seemed that I now had nothing left to say.
“Fuck.” Cursing low, Christus scooped me into his arms as if I weighed no more than a child. I felt his muscles tense against my weight as he carried me to the bed, and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to absorb some of his strength, for I needed it desperately.
I expected him to place me on the bed himself, but he sat down with his arms still holding me, and pulled me in close. I froze for a moment, still unused to close embraces. Bit by bit, though, I felt my muscles relax as the heat of his body melted into my own. The scent that was uniquely his own enveloped me, branded me, hiding all traces of Gaius’ taint.
Once I relaxed against him, Christus shifted so that I had to look into his face. Though I knew that I should not, I felt shame.
“What was done to you?” The edge in his voice warned me not to lie. I stared back at him, my lips twisted as they tried to open and yet would not.
“Lilia. Were you raped?” Gently he trailed a hand down my spine, the touch comforting and uniquely his.
The words still stuck in my throat, I shook my head.
“Were you beaten?” Again, I shook my head. How was I to describe what had happened, the humiliation of it?
“Lilia. Tell me.” There was so much anger, barely suppressed, in Christus’ voice. Instead of feeling smothered by his reaction, I finally felt some of his strength seeping into me.
It had been a long time since someone had cared enough for me to want to help carry my burdens.
“It . . . it is likely not what you think.” Haltingly, I recounted the events of the sin-laden party that I had been an unwilling participant in. Though I felt Christus’ body tense beneath me, he did not do as I would have done—that is, he did not rush up to pound on the gate that separated the gladiators’ quarters from the main house. Where I would have screamed for vengeance, he was quiet, absorbing all that I said.
“Here.” Christus picked me up as he spoke. I protested when he removed me from his lap and placed me beside him on the bed. Sluggish with fatigue now, I watched through half-closed eyes as Christus lit the fat white taper that sat on the table, and as he gathered a cloth and the jug of water that were kept fresh by the house slaves.
Returning to me, he pressed his balm gently against my collarbone, urging me to lie down on my back.
“What are you doing?” I furrowed my brow as he dipped the cloth in the water, then wrung out the excess.