treated
well, their every need seen to, and Marcus was the most popular of them all.
Nadia parted the silks, her skin like burnished gold as the
flames from the oil tapers played over the curves of her bare body. Her full
breasts rose proudly, topped with nipples as ripe as pomegranates. The heady
smell of jasmine filled the room as a slight breeze from the open patio stirred
the silk drapes.
Nadia smiled invitingly as she moved her body over him, her
lips brushing softly over his as his arousal hardened against her. He opened
his lips for her darting tongue, her exploration building a fire in his belly.
He stroked her long, black hair away from her face. Her dark eyes were free of
any kohl liner, her full lips tasted of honey. He was compelled to taste
deeper as his tongue dueled with hers. Her small, elegant hand stroked down
his chest until she held him in her palm. A groan rumbled in Marcus’s chest,
his hips moving with the rhythm she set. She broke the kiss, nibbling her way
down his jaw to his neck, the scrape of her teeth sharp as she dragged them
against the pulsing vein.
Her warm body shifted away from him, replaced with the cold
prick of steel against his chest.
Marcus struggled harder to free himself, knowing what
would come next, what always came next. Thrashing against his sheets,
fighting against the inevitable turn, his dream continued ruthlessly onward.
Grey stone walls. The air cold and damp against his fevered
skin. He hung from thick chains wrapped around his wrists and anchored into
the ceiling. His arms were dislocated, compliments of the many beatings he had
suffered at the hands of his captors. His back and chest were flayed to the bone.
Blood oozed sluggishly from the vicious wounds. His body throbbed with agony
in time to his weakening pulse. Soon it would be over.
He had lost count of how many days of torture he had endured.
His only focus now was on death and the end of his torment. He heard the sound
of footsteps approaching and raised his battered face to the door. His
eyesight was gone, he had been blinded, but his other senses were still sharp. Marcus
could tell by the clean smell that his captor approached.
The door squeaked on rusted hinges and Marcus tracked the
swishing sound of expensive cloth moving against sandaled feet. He stayed
silent, waiting for the next torture his captor had planned for him.
“Marcus Valerian, Rome’s greatest gladiator. How the mighty
have fallen. You must be curious as to why this has befallen you?”
Marcus remained silent, he had already figured out that his
popularity was the reason for the hell he currently found himself in.
His captor sounded irritated as he came nearer to Marcus.
“I will tell you anyway. The Roman Senate cannot allow any
possibility of a Spartan going free. What kind of society would we be to let
an animal such as you loose upon the populace? Yet I am not without some
mercy. It will not be said that I let a man go to his God without honor.”
“Honor?” Marcus ground out. “Leave me to die in peace, you
pompous buffoon.”
“You would do well not to anger me. I can make your death
much more painful than it needs to be,” he whispered close to Marcus’s ear.
The sound of the door creaking open alerted him that they
were not alone.
The creaking turned into a buzzing sound, waking Marcus from his
dream. For a moment he didn’t recognize his surroundings, then slowly his
memories faded into the past. He reached for his cell on the night table and flipped
it open, stopping the irritating ring.
“Marcus here, what is it?” he demanded as he squinted through the
window at the long shadows covering the expanse of desert. Marcus guessed it
was late afternoon, not too long since he had finally dropped off to sleep.
“I see you still wake up grouchy.” Amusement filled the voice on
the other end of the
well, their every need seen to, and Marcus was the most popular of them all.
Nadia parted the silks, her skin like burnished gold as the
flames from the oil tapers played over the curves of her bare body. Her full
breasts rose proudly, topped with nipples as ripe as pomegranates. The heady
smell of jasmine filled the room as a slight breeze from the open patio stirred
the silk drapes.
Nadia smiled invitingly as she moved her body over him, her
lips brushing softly over his as his arousal hardened against her. He opened
his lips for her darting tongue, her exploration building a fire in his belly.
He stroked her long, black hair away from her face. Her dark eyes were free of
any kohl liner, her full lips tasted of honey. He was compelled to taste
deeper as his tongue dueled with hers. Her small, elegant hand stroked down
his chest until she held him in her palm. A groan rumbled in Marcus’s chest,
his hips moving with the rhythm she set. She broke the kiss, nibbling her way
down his jaw to his neck, the scrape of her teeth sharp as she dragged them
against the pulsing vein.
Her warm body shifted away from him, replaced with the cold
prick of steel against his chest.
Marcus struggled harder to free himself, knowing what
would come next, what always came next. Thrashing against his sheets,
fighting against the inevitable turn, his dream continued ruthlessly onward.
Grey stone walls. The air cold and damp against his fevered
skin. He hung from thick chains wrapped around his wrists and anchored into
the ceiling. His arms were dislocated, compliments of the many beatings he had
suffered at the hands of his captors. His back and chest were flayed to the bone.
Blood oozed sluggishly from the vicious wounds. His body throbbed with agony
in time to his weakening pulse. Soon it would be over.
He had lost count of how many days of torture he had endured.
His only focus now was on death and the end of his torment. He heard the sound
of footsteps approaching and raised his battered face to the door. His
eyesight was gone, he had been blinded, but his other senses were still sharp. Marcus
could tell by the clean smell that his captor approached.
The door squeaked on rusted hinges and Marcus tracked the
swishing sound of expensive cloth moving against sandaled feet. He stayed
silent, waiting for the next torture his captor had planned for him.
“Marcus Valerian, Rome’s greatest gladiator. How the mighty
have fallen. You must be curious as to why this has befallen you?”
Marcus remained silent, he had already figured out that his
popularity was the reason for the hell he currently found himself in.
His captor sounded irritated as he came nearer to Marcus.
“I will tell you anyway. The Roman Senate cannot allow any
possibility of a Spartan going free. What kind of society would we be to let
an animal such as you loose upon the populace? Yet I am not without some
mercy. It will not be said that I let a man go to his God without honor.”
“Honor?” Marcus ground out. “Leave me to die in peace, you
pompous buffoon.”
“You would do well not to anger me. I can make your death
much more painful than it needs to be,” he whispered close to Marcus’s ear.
The sound of the door creaking open alerted him that they
were not alone.
The creaking turned into a buzzing sound, waking Marcus from his
dream. For a moment he didn’t recognize his surroundings, then slowly his
memories faded into the past. He reached for his cell on the night table and flipped
it open, stopping the irritating ring.
“Marcus here, what is it?” he demanded as he squinted through the
window at the long shadows covering the expanse of desert. Marcus guessed it
was late afternoon, not too long since he had finally dropped off to sleep.
“I see you still wake up grouchy.” Amusement filled the voice on
the other end of the
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