“God, Livia,” I said, pulling her against me and wrapping my arms tight around her. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.”
This time I kissed her with all the feelings I’d been holding back. The heat between us ignited like kindling touched by flame. Her hands slid beneath my tunic, palms pressing against my bare skin, tracing the familiar map of scars I’d carried from the arena. Each touch blazed a trail of desire that drove rational thought from my mind.
I backed her toward the bed, our lips never parting, her soft gasps swallowed by my mouth. When her legs hit the edge, she pulled me down with her, our bodies collapsing together onto the thin mattress.
“Are you certain?” I whispered against her throat, even as my hands found the ties of her dress.
Her answer was to arch against me, fingers tangling in my hair, pulling my mouth back to hers with a ferocity that matched anything we’d shown in combat. This was Livia — not the frightened woman who’d appeared at my door, but the warrior I’d fought beside, trained with, dreamed of.
“I’ve never been more certain of anything,” she breathed, reaching down to pull her tunic up and over her head. The undergarments she wore were twisted and ripped, and fury burned inside me for a moment.
My fingers traced the torn fabric, and I felt her tense beneath me.
“Don’t,” she whispered, covering my hand with hers. “Don't think about him. Just think about us.”
I nodded, lowering my mouth to her collarbone, trailing kisses along the delicate line of it. She fumbled with my tunic, her usual grace momentarily abandoned in her urgency. I helped her, pulling it over my head and tossing it aside. When our bare skin met, she gasped, her eyes fluttering closed.
“Marcus,” she breathed, my name a prayer on her lips. I’d imagined this countless times during lonely nights — Livia beneath me, her warrior’s body yielding to mine — but reality eclipsed memory. The softness of her breasts against my chest, the strength in her thighs as they wrapped around my waist, the way her fingers dug into my shoulders as if anchoring herself to me.
“You’re beautiful,” I whispered, pressing my lips to a long scar that curved beneath her breast.
She laughed, the sound half-broken. “I’m marked.”
“Yes,” I agreed, moving up to capture her mouth again. “Like the finest blade. Forged in fire, tested in battle.”
Her fingers fumbled with my belt, impatient now. “I don’t need poetry, Marcus.”
“What do you need?” I asked, pulling back to study her face, to be certain.
Her eyes, dark as midnight and just as deep, held mine without flinching. “You. Inside me. Now.”
The raw honesty of it sent heat surging through me. I shed my remaining clothes quickly, and she reached for me, wrapping her hand around my length with a boldness that made me groan. Her touch was both tender and demanding, drawing me closer to the edge before we’d even truly begun.
“Marcus,” she breathed, her voice breaking as my hand slid between her thighs. “Please.”
I found her wet and ready, and the knowledge that she wanted me as desperately as I wanted her nearly undid me. Her hips rocked against my hand, seeking more pressure, more friction. I watched her face as pleasure overtook her — the slight furrow between her brows, the parting of her lips, the flush spreading across her cheeks. Gods but I loved seeing her like this. The vulnerability under the warrior. The real her.
“Marcus please,” she begged.
“You’re not ready,” I said, sliding a finger inside her tight heat.
“I don’t care. I need you so badly, please…”
I couldn’t resist her any longer. Positioning myself between her thighs, I pressed forward slowly, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. Her eyes widened, lips parting on a silent gasp as I entered her. The sensation was overwhelming — tight heat enveloping me, her hands clutching at my shoulders, nails digging crescents into my skin.
“Gods,” I breathed, forcing myself to remain still, to give her time to adjust. “Livia…”
She shifted beneath me, wrapping one leg around my waist to draw me deeper. “Don’t stop,” she commanded, voice husky with need. “Don’t you dare stop now.”
I began to move, slowly at first, watching as pleasure transformed her features.
“More,” she pleaded. “Stop treating me like I’ll break. I won’t shatter, Marcus.”
Something inside me broke loose at her words. I captured her mouth in a bruising kiss and drove into her with a force that made the rickety bed frame creak in protest. She gasped against my lips, her body arching to meet mine. The careful restraint I’d maintained dissolved as her nails raked down my back, urging me on. The pain only heightened my pleasure, reminding me that this was Livia — my equal, my match in every way.
“Yes,” she breathed, “like that.”
I answered her plea by driving deeper, harder, breaking whatever restraint I’d been clinging to. Livia’s head fell back, exposing the vulnerable line of her throat, and I claimed it with my mouth, tasting salt and sweetness. Her moans filled the small room, each one urging me on.
