Instead, his fingers found her jaw, and he gently tilted her face up to meet his. Her hands latched onto his shoulders, needing the support to stay balanced on her tiptoes. Oh yes, those shoulders were just as magnificent as she’d expected, muscled and warm and unyielding.
Her mouth opened for him, and then they were stumbling backward, until Velia’s back hit the wall. She was gloriously pinned between Ferox’s heated bulk and the brick building.
His hand delved into her hair, and tingles of awareness erupted over her scalp. He drew her head to the side, his lips blazing a path down her cheek to find the sensitive expanse of her neck. Her eyes fluttered shut, overcome by the sensation. The pull of his mouth sent a hungry throbbing straight to her core. Her hands slid down his chest, and she was rewarded with a catch in his breathing.
She arched her body against his, seeking more,more—and found what she was looking for in the stiff press of his arousal. Though the incident with the thief had unsettled her, now she felt true unsteadiness, as if she’d collapse in a molten pool of lust if not for his support.
With what little rational thought remained to her, she evaluated the prospect of allowing him to take her in the alley. Assuming he would go along with something like that—despite his evident ardor, he seemed to have a surprising sense of propriety, as evidenced by his near-refusal to look at the unclothed women at the brothel.
The Velia of a year ago wouldn’t have hesitated to ruck up her skirt, fumble his clothing aside, and urge him to sink into her then and there.
But the old Velia acted out of recklessness, out of a desire to escape and distract. She had responsibilities now, as did Ferox. She had to see him every day, and if things went sour between them, he could break their agreement, refuse to train Achilles, and then she’d have to start over.
So despite what the tease of his lips and the grasp of his hands were doing to her, despite the lust raging in every inch of her body, she drew back.
He seemed to sense the change in her posture immediately and did the same. She wished he were a bit less perceptive; she could have enjoyed a few more moments of the delight she found in his arms.
They stared at each other. Velia hadn’t noticed that the shoulder of her dress had slipped down until Ferox reached out, gently hooked a finger beneath the fabric, and drew it back into place.Even that brief contact sent another pang of longing through her, but she ignored it.
“We should get back, I think,” Velia finally said, trying not to let her reluctance show in her voice.
He nodded, glancing upward at the sky. “It’ll be dusk soon.”
They left the dingy alley. Once they were back on the street, Ferox lifted a hand to the level of Velia’s upper arm. He hesitated for a moment, then closed his hand around her arm, bringing her near to him once more as they made their way back to the ludus.
Velia couldn’t help smiling to herself as they walked, grateful he couldn’t see her face. If nothing else, she’d learned something very interesting today: the graffiti in Ferox’s bedroom was definitely, utterly, wholly a falsehood.
7
Assoonastheystepped within the walls of the ludus, Ferox released Velia. He hadn’t wanted to touch her again, not after that dizzying kiss, but it couldn’t be helped. He would not take any further risks with her safety. On the walk back, he glowered at anyone who came within an arm’s length of them, and everyone gave them a wide berth.
Even the simple clasp of his hand on her arm stirred up vexing, greedy feelings within him, and he let her go with relief once they returned. Velia nodded to him, then disappeared in the direction of her room. She hadn’t said a word on their walk back. It was unlike her to go that long without speaking. She must be regretting their kiss, trying to figure out how to warn him off.
She shouldn’t have worried. He had no intention of trying to repeat that encounter. She was his manager’s niece, which was reason enough to keep her at a distance. Lucullus surely wouldn’t want her dallying with his gladiators. And she was also paying him to train her novice. Things were too complicated between them.
It didn’t matter that her touch, her kiss, made him feel things he thought impossible. Yes, he had found comfort and pleasure in a woman’s embrace before, but only ever the night before a match.And the heat of those experiences now seemed like a flickering candle compared with the inferno that Velia had lit under his skin.
He retreated to his own room, latching the door behind him. Lust crept over him in a relentless itch. He could still feel her pressed against him, her small hands roving over his chest and shoulders. She was so slight that for a moment he’d worried about hurting her, before the desire burned through him and chased away those fears.
That was yet another reason he should keep his distance—he was sure to accidentally hurt her if they did anything further. Velia was too delicate for the likes of him. She deserved a gentler man: a scholar or an artist or someone like that. Not a gladiator whose only skills were fighting and killing.
But he couldn’t yet set aside his desire for her. Arousal simmered within him, flaring insistently as he recalled the softness of her lips, the heady taste of her skin.
He sat on the edge of his narrow bed. It creaked beneath his weight. An image rose in his mind: the story she’d told him of why she’d ended up at the ludus—how she’d been caught atop a man, mid-tumble.
Now, in his imagination, it wasn’t some faceless man beneath her. Instead, it was himself, feeling the clasp of her thighs around his hips, the press of his fingers into the flesh of her bottom, the grip and slide of her tight sheath around him.
He closed his eyes and thought of Velia—the way she felt in his arms, the way he imagined she’d feel taking him inside her. His hand found his arousal, and a groan hissed through his teeth at that first potent stroke.
It took only a few tight, quick passes of his hand for the pleasure to rise in a hot, rolling tide. He gritted his teeth, riding out the wave. When it left him, he collapsed backward, slumping against the graffitied wall behind his bed, breathless, his mind scrambled.
As the rapid hammering of his heart slowed, the silence settled over him. This was usually when he felt the presence of Hector’s ghost, when the memories of his friend’s death became impossible to ignore. But now, they felt more remote. Like a storm cloud that rumbled in the distance, rather than pelting him with rain overhead.
He dared to close his eyes, and all that came to him was Velia. Her saucy smile, the businesslike way she’d managed that mortifying encounter at the brothel, the blast of panic he’d felt when he thought the thief might have harmed her.
No, he shouldn’t be thinking of such things. It was just desire, simple lust, between him and Velia. Nothing so strange. Nothing that couldn’t be solved with some efficient self-pleasure. Nothing that need trouble him any further.
Velia woke early, her linen bedding tangled around her legs. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she gazed up at the plastered ceiling. Specters from her dream still loomed in her mind, seducing her with wanton images.
