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With a long exhale he withdrew and she flopped forward onto the table. Was that it? Was one act of penetration the sum total of his needs? What about his seed? She expected a few grunts and heavy breaths, some kind of sweaty exertion, but not this conclusion.
His cock nudged against her pussy. “Ready, slave?” He coiled her hair into his fist and held her in place. Her heart skipped a beat as he drew her head back, and her gaze came to rest on the figurine on the altar. “Then let’s fuck.”
He rammed his erection inside without pausing and this time she had no strength or ability to respond with a scream. She wordlessly absorbed his thrusts and held on to the edge of the table with her fingernails. Her feet lifted off the floor as he rocked against her bottom.
No grunts. No feeble panting. Felix wasn’t a weak old man who gave up after a couple of minutes. He was an athlete and energetic. He fucked her hard, maintaining a constant rhythm of arse-smacking thrusts. She hollered, moaned, and shrieked, alternating those noises as he pummelled. No sound slipped out of his mouth save the occasional sigh. If he paused, it was to mutter some beseeching words to the altar. She paid them no attention. All she wanted was to come, just as she did three times a day in the bathhouse on the tips of her fingers.
“Master!” Her voice quivered under his barrage of thrusts.
“Hold it!” he urged, his pace increasing as he glided in and out of her slippery hole. His unyielding hold of her hair stung her scalp, but the discomfort failed to distract her from the impending climax. Her nub, that secret mound she’d learnt to tease and please, erupted and was brought to a hasty orgasm by the combination of the tickling fur and the hard surface of the table. She stuffed her fingers in her mouth in an attempt to halt her embarrassing shrieks. They lasted as long as his last final thrust and the explosive heat of his seed spurting deep inside her pussy. Then, as he slowed the pace of his fucking, he demonstrated he was a mere man by panting breathlessly over her back. Bethan flopped across the table in a state of remarkable bliss and as she did, he released her hair and soothed her back with sweeping strokes of his palm.
“There,” he whispered. “There in you is my seed and the goddesses will know of its potency.”
So did Bethan; it trickled down her inner thighs and onto her feet.
He carried her to the bathhouse in his arms and placed her carefully on a sheepskin rug by the embers of the fire. He heated several stones and placed them in the cool pool; the villa lacked the sophisticated underfloor heating of grand residences like Atticus’s. Removing his greaves, the leather straps that criss-crossed his chest and the hurriedly replaced loincloth, he slipped into the water next to her and used his body to keep her warm as she bathed. She adored his nakedness. His cock, neither limp nor upright, rested against his thigh. She washed him, wiped the sweat from his brow and, as the cloth swept down his chest, she noted numerous scars: thin white lines or puckered marks that dotted his body. She kissed each one in turn and he combed her tangled hair with his fingers in reply.
“Were they painful?” she asked.
“Once, but not now. The exhilaration of fighting blinds me to pain.”
She thought sex had the same effect on her too; it seemed to push aside all resistance and while he fucked her, she was entranced by his power over her.
Kneeling in the water, which lapped around her neck and shoulders, she stayed there until he finished bathing. The water dripped off them as they stood facing each other by the small pool. The hunger in his dark eyes remained vivid. She half expected him to take her again, but he draped his cloak over his shoulders and once more scooped her up into his arms and carried her the length of the corridor, past her little room to Rufus’s chamber. The sleeping man was stretched out on the be
d. Her cries of passion had not stirred him from his slumber; he’d worked hard in the fields that day.
Felix laid her next to Rufus and stepped away.
“You’re his too. That is decided. Mine is for pleasure of the gods. His for his heart. Be good for him, as you were with me. He saved my life.”
She nodded silently, her eyelids drooping. She couldn’t sleep though. When Rufus stirred and turned toward her, she shimmied closer to his side. Slowly, his eyes flickered and opened.
She held her breath. Would he demand she left his bed? There were no clues on his sleepy face. He blinked a few times.
“You’re here. Felix has finished claiming you?” He propped his head up on his arm.
She nodded tentatively. “Yes, and thoroughly.” Would a jealous Rufus eschew her, see her as tainted by another man’s lust?
“Are you sore?”
“No,” she said sheepishly, her eyes lowered. She should be, perhaps.
He flicked a strand of her hair out of her eyes and tipped her chin up. He’d a searching expression, his lips pursed together and his eyes narrowing into slits. Was something wrong?
The feelings she had for Felix remained strong. He was her master and owned her body. She craved to know more about his mastery and the strength of will he possessed so boldly, because he’d used it to save himself in the arena and travel great distances through dangerous places. Rufus was different. What drew her to him was an intimacy born out of sensuality. Touch me, feel me, she whispered silently, hoping he could hear her thoughts.
Rufus sighed. His pensive face disheartened Bethan. “You don’t want me?” she asked.
“Oh, sweet girl, I do. More than you could imagine. But to be ravished twice in one evening would be too harsh. I will wait for the dawn. Sleep now in my arms and prepare to be woken by my ardent demands.”
“I will of course obey you.” She snuggled into his arms, content to have his warm skin cocoon her.
Now, she could sleep.
Chapter Ten
For the second time that night Rufus woke to find a beautiful woman lying next to him. In the dim morning light, he gazed upon her nubile form. Her raven hair was fanned out about her face, her body twisted about the waist with her legs to one side and her shoulders sunk into the feather pillow. He admired her breasts as they rose and fell in time with her soft breathing. Her lips were slightly parted, as if to invite him to kiss them, but her eyes were shut. She was asleep.
