expect
it already.
Her lips parted, but before she could
speak, he lowered his mouth and kissed her hard. The cup fell from
his fingers, crashing to the marble floor, clay shards spinning in
all directions. He put both hands around her face, holding it
firm.
* * * *
Amanda Adams had never been kissed
like this. Had any girl of her time ever experienced
this?
It was hungry, demanding, rough. She
tasted wine on his tongue and the sweet honeyed fruit he'd eaten
for his last course. These were the same lips that had sucked her
nipples as she lay under him amid the dead leaves and tree roots of
the forest. There was nothing gentle about it, yet she'd always
thought of a kiss as something soft, romantic.
She could not describe his kiss in
those terms.
It took her breath, made her pulse
race, sent every nerve in her body into a wild, pagan
dance.
His kiss turned her into Axa, the
"feral princess".
She clung to his tunic, wishing he was
naked, his chest bared for her hands. It was a grinding need, a
white-hot desire that left her trembling. All that rippling power
under her palms, a hard body developed not on gym machines, but in
battle and the practice field. Muscle with purpose.
A man with purpose and
power.
And then he lifted her to his bed and
she thought, for one glorious moment, that he had changed his mind
about not "needing" her further tonight. She should be panicking,
trying to wake up from this...whatever it was. But she didn't want
to. She was on fire and it was too late for fright. The flames were
a part of her and she needed them — she needed him—to
breathe.
Was this what they called Stockholm
Syndrome? Achieving fondness for one's captor out of the need to
survive?
But Marcus did not proceed with
another kiss. Instead, he dropped her on his great bed, covered her
with a sheepskin and left her to sleep.
"Hey, where are you going?" she
exclaimed, sitting up, her lips still tingling.
He looked at her in surprise. "I have
my horse to settle for the night." From the way he immediately
shook his head, she guessed he didn't know why he answered her. He
seemed annoyed, but she suspected it was not all directed at
her.
"Don't you have grooms to do
that?"
"No centurion worth his salt leaves
his own horse to the care of a groom, Axa."
"Oh."
"Now sleep."
As if it was that easy! "Well, I can't
go anywhere, can I?" She pouted, motioning at her chain, which he'd
padlocked to the ring at the foot of his bed.
"No. You cannot." He grinned suddenly,
looking unbearably handsome. "But when I come back, if you are
good, I might take the collar off. For a little while." And then he
was gone, striding out through the door.
When he came back...he
might...
Amanda shivered and lay down again
under the warm sheepskin, but strongly suspected she would get no
sleep tonight.
Chrissy, you will never
believe where I am and who I'm with. You won't believe any of
this.
But she would be extremely jealous if
she got an eyeful of Marcus Cassius.
He was darkly gorgeous, rugged, with
black eyes that seemed to reach inside her soul. At first she
hadn't been able to look far beyond his scars and her own shock,
but once he was out of the armor and relaxed— and she'd reconciled
herself to the idea that this was all happening in her head— Amanda
realized her wayward imagination had created quite a
looker.
While she lay there, listening to the
fire crackling in the pit and the distant sounds of footsteps
crossing tile, she tried again to get it all straight in her head.
Thinking over the events of the night, Amanda was mortified by the
ease with which she'd fallen into her slave-girl role. She should
have resisted more than she did. Was her mind testing her somehow?
Seeing how far she would go?
Well, Marcus Cassius wasn't the sort
of man who enjoyed scintillating conversation, was he, she thought,
coming to her own defense. Her way into his protection and trust
was through sex. In any case, what should one talk about to
it already.
Her lips parted, but before she could
speak, he lowered his mouth and kissed her hard. The cup fell from
his fingers, crashing to the marble floor, clay shards spinning in
all directions. He put both hands around her face, holding it
firm.
* * * *
Amanda Adams had never been kissed
like this. Had any girl of her time ever experienced
this?
It was hungry, demanding, rough. She
tasted wine on his tongue and the sweet honeyed fruit he'd eaten
for his last course. These were the same lips that had sucked her
nipples as she lay under him amid the dead leaves and tree roots of
the forest. There was nothing gentle about it, yet she'd always
thought of a kiss as something soft, romantic.
She could not describe his kiss in
those terms.
It took her breath, made her pulse
race, sent every nerve in her body into a wild, pagan
dance.
His kiss turned her into Axa, the
"feral princess".
She clung to his tunic, wishing he was
naked, his chest bared for her hands. It was a grinding need, a
white-hot desire that left her trembling. All that rippling power
under her palms, a hard body developed not on gym machines, but in
battle and the practice field. Muscle with purpose.
A man with purpose and
power.
And then he lifted her to his bed and
she thought, for one glorious moment, that he had changed his mind
about not "needing" her further tonight. She should be panicking,
trying to wake up from this...whatever it was. But she didn't want
to. She was on fire and it was too late for fright. The flames were
a part of her and she needed them — she needed him—to
breathe.
Was this what they called Stockholm
Syndrome? Achieving fondness for one's captor out of the need to
survive?
But Marcus did not proceed with
another kiss. Instead, he dropped her on his great bed, covered her
with a sheepskin and left her to sleep.
"Hey, where are you going?" she
exclaimed, sitting up, her lips still tingling.
He looked at her in surprise. "I have
my horse to settle for the night." From the way he immediately
shook his head, she guessed he didn't know why he answered her. He
seemed annoyed, but she suspected it was not all directed at
her.
"Don't you have grooms to do
that?"
"No centurion worth his salt leaves
his own horse to the care of a groom, Axa."
"Oh."
"Now sleep."
As if it was that easy! "Well, I can't
go anywhere, can I?" She pouted, motioning at her chain, which he'd
padlocked to the ring at the foot of his bed.
"No. You cannot." He grinned suddenly,
looking unbearably handsome. "But when I come back, if you are
good, I might take the collar off. For a little while." And then he
was gone, striding out through the door.
When he came back...he
might...
Amanda shivered and lay down again
under the warm sheepskin, but strongly suspected she would get no
sleep tonight.
Chrissy, you will never
believe where I am and who I'm with. You won't believe any of
this.
But she would be extremely jealous if
she got an eyeful of Marcus Cassius.
He was darkly gorgeous, rugged, with
black eyes that seemed to reach inside her soul. At first she
hadn't been able to look far beyond his scars and her own shock,
but once he was out of the armor and relaxed— and she'd reconciled
herself to the idea that this was all happening in her head— Amanda
realized her wayward imagination had created quite a
looker.
While she lay there, listening to the
fire crackling in the pit and the distant sounds of footsteps
crossing tile, she tried again to get it all straight in her head.
Thinking over the events of the night, Amanda was mortified by the
ease with which she'd fallen into her slave-girl role. She should
have resisted more than she did. Was her mind testing her somehow?
Seeing how far she would go?
Well, Marcus Cassius wasn't the sort
of man who enjoyed scintillating conversation, was he, she thought,
coming to her own defense. Her way into his protection and trust
was through sex. In any case, what should one talk about to
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