Seduced by the Gladiator(80)

Unable to move as the shudders ceased, I leaned back against the wall. Every inch of my body was on fire. When I found myself capable of moving again, I opened my eyes cautiously, wincing slightly at even the soft glow of the candle that Christus had lit while I was tending to Viola. Still on his knees before me, he was watching me with an expression like that of a hungry animal. My gaze traveled lower, seeking the hardness of his erection, which tented the front of his toga.

“I want to see you.” I slid forward until my feet again touched the floor. Before the skirt of my own toga could fall, I clasped it in fingers that were suddenly clammy, pulling it up and over my head.

It was liberating to be free of the garment that held the taint of Gaius. I stood before Christus, naked, and basked in the reverence that his face showed as he knelt before me.

He pressed a soft kiss to my belly before pulling me down to the floor with him. Taking his hands off of me only long enough to tear his own toga from his body, he pressed me down to the floor, arranging himself on top of me.

“I have not had my fill of you yet.” I shivered as I realized his intentions. When he was done arranging me, I was lying on my back, with his cock hovering above my mouth, the satiny head damp with his own desire. His weight was braced on his arms, and the muscles of his biceps stood out in sharp relief.

Then he again placed his mouth on my cunt, and my world became bright again. He wasn’t licking delicately this time, and as I writhed beneath him, I reached up, clasped the base of his cock in my hand, and swallowed down as much of his length as I could.

I could not pay as much attention to his cock as I would have liked, for every time his teeth bit down on my clit, I felt a flicker of pain that soothed quickly into pleasure. Pain, then pleasure, pain, then pleasure—over and over again, until I wanted to scream.

I could not scream, because my mouth was full of his hard, salty cock. Spit gathered in my mouth, running down my cheeks, as I tried to bring him as much pleasure as he was giving to me. Finally forgoing finesse, I was simply sucking—sucking away at the thick length in my mouth. I was squeezing the membranes of my cheeks together, my tongue flicking at the underside of his shaft. From the grunts he made when I sucked extra hard, he seemed to be enjoying the sensations.

A short, hard climax rocked through me, and through the brightness of it I kept sucking, trying to pull his essence into my body. Though his thighs tensed above me, a sign that I had learned meant he was close to his own release, he pulled out instead, and swiveled so that our faces were once again aligned.

Then he kissed me. Softly at first, as if we had never kissed before—just the meeting of lips, pressing them together. Knowing that I had found a man who enjoyed the simple act of pressing his lips against my own, I began to relax into the kiss, instead of seeing it as just a prelude to other activities. When his tongue tentatively sought mine, I answered eagerly, nipping at his lower lip.

I felt . . . special. Cherished.

If I had not known before, I would have understood in that moment that he truly did love me.

His long, beautiful hands kneaded at my neck, softly at first, then more firmly. He found little knots of tension I had not even been aware of, working them out. Each time those clever, probing fingers found a new, hard little lump, they pressed hard, and it hurt, before the tension flowed away and the new softness in the muscles warmed and spread outward, like melted butter.

It was as if he was working away the tension from the games, from every time that I had been in the arena. In Christus’ hands, I was not a fierce gladiator—I was simply Lilia, the woman.

He began to work his way down, paying attention to every single bit of my body. My shoulders were kissed and teased lightly with delicate scrapings of pearly teeth. My breasts were rubbed, licked, and admired; the pink-hued nipples were sampled as if they were sweet as ripe fruit.

As he rained kisses over my inner thighs, I fisted my hands into his hair.

“Please,” I begged. “I cannot.” I could not imagine what I would do if he placed his mouth on me again. I needed more.

He was close enough to the juncture of my thighs that he must have been able to smell the scent of my arousal. I lifted my hips, urging him to slide up my body and slide into me—to thrust, to enjoy. Slide up he did, but instead of sheathing himself in my waiting cunt, he looked into my eyes again, and I could not help but smile up at him.

Bending, Christus nipped at my ear and whispered, “You are beautiful, my love.”

My lips curved in the start of a laugh—with bruises and cuts over my cheeks, my forehead, I suspected that I was anything but. But just as his own wounds did not detract from his appearance for me, I knew that he did not see my marks as a part of me.