She chuckled. “I like knowing I made you this way.”
He made another little noise, low and desperate, so she kept talking. He seemed to like it when she talked. Her inhibitions had vanished, and the words came easily now. “Me, on my knees, helpless, letting you do all sorts of wicked things to me. What was your favorite? What pleased you the most?”
His breath came fast now, ragged and unsteady. “Gods, Lea, the sounds you made when I—when I slapped you…I thought I was going to lose control.”
His panted words made fresh pleasure flare inside her. “I liked letting you hurt me there,” she whispered. “It felt…wrong, and dark, and delicious.” She moistened her lips, and when his gaze snapped to the movement, another idea occurred to her—a different way to bring him pleasure. “Do you want me to use my mouth?”
“I’m already enjoying the way you’re using it right now.”
She grinned. “Perhaps next time I’m on my knees for you, we can try that. I bet you’d like that.”
“Yes,” he sighed. “I’d like it very much.”
“Maybe you could even bind my hands again. I bet that would make it feel even better for you.” Her own breath was coming faster, wrapped up in the fantasy she was creating. It should be embarrassing to say things like this, but it was impossible to feel abashed when Kallias was shuddering beneath her hand, an agony of lust in the tight planes of his face.
He groaned an unintelligible phrase in Greek, then his hips bucked, and his seed bathed her hand. She kept stroking him,slow and steady, until the tremors eased and he grasped her hand to move it away.
He flung an arm over his face, chest heaving. Lea surveyed him with a smile of satisfaction. He looked undone, shattered—just as she’d been earlier.
She rose and took the liberty of rifling through his chest of drawers until she found a rag, which she used to clean them both up. Then, she curled herself beside him, and he slid his arms around her.
“This is a much more pleasant sleeping arrangement than the last time you were here,” he murmured against her cheek, his voice slurred. “Just please try not to kick me in the stomach when you wake up.”
She gave a weary chuckle. “I’ll do my best.”
21
KalliaswokebeforeLeain the morning. Cool grayish light spilled over her body, turning her skin to silver. He raised his torso onto the pillow behind him to better appreciate the sight of her. She lay on her stomach, an arm beneath her head. Her dark hair cascaded over her back. Beneath the sable tendrils, he glimpsed the marks that had pulled him up short last night—the unmistakable ghost of a brutal beating.
His stomach clenched at the sight. Kallias had been lucky enough to escape that level of violence in his past, but he saw similar marks often enough on those he treated among the palace staff.
Lea stirred, rolling onto her back. His gaze traveled over her elegant collarbones, the tempting swell of her breasts, and her taut, strong abdomen. This side of her body bore other wounds, some of which he’d noticed before: a puckered scar on her shoulder, several healed slices on her stomach, and a jagged mark on her lower left leg. He slid a hand over that one gently, noticing a slight crookedness to the bone beneath—the remnants of a broken leg. Whoever set it had done an excellent job.
Her arm flopped out, catching him in the chest. The unexpected sensation must have roused her, for her eyes slowly opened. He braced himself.
This time, she didn’t greet him with a kick to the stomach. Instead, she curled her body into his with a pleased hum.
His heart felt like it was going to burst with delight at the warm feel of her in his arms. Gods, if he could wake this way every day—he wouldn’t even mind spending the rest of his life working for the emperor.
But that was impossible. Lea had a life she was beholden to, as did he…at least until he trained Sextus into a suitable replacement, which was years away at this point.
He stroked a hand slowly up and down her back, fingers feeling the slight unevenness left by the scarring. He recalled the forty thousand sestertii she needed to secure her freedom.
If he had that sum to hand, it would have been hers without a thought.
Then he realized—he might not have that amount now, but Gaius paid him a generous wage, remitted monthly. Sometimes Kallias forgot he actually earned money now. In a year, he might save up forty thousand. He could give it to her.
You’ve spent one night with this woman and you’re already plotting to give her all your money? What is wrong with you?
He discarded such ridiculous thoughts and murmured a morning greeting to her.
She propped herself up on an elbow, running a lazy hand through her hair to clear the tangles. “Good morning. Why were you touching my leg? You have a liking for women’s shins, do you?”
The unexpected question made him snort. “Not particularly. Though yours are quite pleasing.” Her legs as a whole were magnificent—lean, powerful, and sculpted with muscle. “No, Iwas…” He hesitated, embarrassed to admit the detail in which he’d been examining her. “I couldn’t help looking at your scars. I thought your leg might have been broken. It was, wasn’t it?”
She nodded. “Years ago.” She gave a rueful, crooked smile. “Looking at my scars must have kept you busy for a while.” She grasped a corner of the blanket and pulled it up to cover herself. “I’m sorry if they bother you. Maybe—that is, if we—ever again—” Her words were becoming choppy and tangled, and he struggled to follow. “We could make sure it’s dark,” she finally said.
He blinked at her. She thought he was repelled by the marks her body bore? “That’s not what I want.” He cast aside the blanket and ran a reverent hand down one of the whitened lines on her stomach. “You think you’re anything less than perfect to me?”
