I’ve been rewarded with women for wins in the arena. I’ve been kissed before, but never like this. Never with this combination of skill and raw hunger, never by someone who kisses like it’s the only thing that matters in the world.
He tilts his head, changing the angle, and the kiss changes with it—deeper, more possessive. I step closer, rising up on my toes to get more, to get everything. My hands slide up to grip his shoulders, his neck, into his hair. The muscle under my palms is firm, solid, perfect. He makes a sound—a groan that rumbles through his chest into mine—when my fingers curl into the short strands of his hair and tug.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to mutter something in Latin, “Dea mea,Sophia, tu me…” His words are rough and heated and completely incomprehensible because I’m not wearing my translator. I have no time to think before his mouth is back on mine, harder this time, more demanding.
I arch into him without thinking. My back hits the stable wall—when did we move?—and suddenly he’s pressing against me, pinning me there with his body, and I’ve never felt anything so good in my life.
His thigh slides between mine, and the pressure steals air from my lungs. He freezes for a fraction of a second, clearly worried he’s pushed too far, but I arch into it, and the guttural groan he makes is absolutely wrecked.
“Sophia,” he groans against my mouth, and my name sounds like a prayer, like a curse. “Sophia, we should—”
“Don’t you dare,” I manage, barely steady. “Don’t you dare stop.”
His hand on my waist tightens, slides lower to my hip, pulling me even more firmly against him. I can feel him—all of him—hard and wanting, and the knowledge that I’m doing this to him, that he wants me this much, sends a bolt of heat straight through me.
I make a sound I’ve never made before—needy and desperate and absolutely shameless.
His laugh is strained, breathless. “Was going to say we should slow. Before I forget where we are. Before I—” He breaks off, his forehead dropping to my shoulder. His breath is hot against my neck, and when he speaks again, his voice is absolutely shredded. “Before I forget I am supposed to be… gentle man.”
“I don’t want you to slow down.” My hands are still in his hair, keeping him close. “I don’t want you to be a gentleman right now.”
“Dea,” he mutters against my neck, and I feel him shudder. “You are killing me. You are—” He pulls back just enough to look at me, and his eyes are absolutely wild. “You are destroy me.”
“Good,” I whisper. “Because you’ve been destroying me for three days.”
He makes a sound that’s half laugh, half groan, and then he’s kissing me again—my mouth, my jaw, the sensitive spot just below my ear that makes me shudder and arch against him.
“Flavius—” His name comes out broken, desperate.
“Tell me,” he murmurs against my skin. “Tell me what you want.”
“You,” I gasp. “Just you. More of you. All of…”
He kisses me again to swallow the words, but this time he does slow down. Gentles it. Eases back from the edge we were both racing toward, though I can feel how much it costs him in the way his hands shake slightly against me, the way his breathing is still ragged.
Somewhere behind us, Apollo whickers, loud and impatient, and stamps a hoof against the stall floor.
The sound breaks through the haze. Flavius pulls back with visible effort, breathing hard. We’re both unsteady.
“Apollo,” he says, voice rough and unsteady, “is not yet finished being brushed.”
A slightly hysterical laugh bubbles up from my chest. “We’re being judged by a horse.”
Flavius traces his thumb along my jaw, as if he can’t quite stop touching me even though we’ve separated. “Maybe he is right. We should…” He swallows. “Should slow. Before I forget where we are.”
“Before we scandalize the livestock?” I’m still trying to catch my breath, my hands still resting on his chest where I can feel his heart hammering as hard as mine.
“Before I embarrass myself,” he corrects quietly. There’s something vulnerable in his voice—and something very physical in the way he’s still pressed against me—that makes my breath go shallow and my face burn.
We stand here for a moment longer, foreheads touching, both of us trying to remember how to breathe like normal people instead of like we’ve just run a marathon.
“That was…” I start, and I’m amazed I can form words at all.
His thumb strokes my cheek, his voice a low rasp. “Whatever you think… yes. For me also.”
The heat still spiking through me has nothing to do with the kiss and everything to do with the way he’s looking at me. I take a moment to really see him—the faint swell of his lips, the color high on his cheeks, his hair mussed from my hands, his chest still heaving. And there’s a hunger in his eyes that matches the one still burning through me. And the evidence of exactly how much he wants me is still very, very obvious.
My face burns hotter. He notices where my gaze flicked and makes a rough sound.
