Crimson and Steel (6 page)

“How came you to live alone like this?” she asked as she turned to look up into his gemstone eyes.

“You think me odd,” he replied in his mellow baritone, smirking down at her. “Am I a crazy hermit? Or a witch-man? A bit of both? Hmm?”

“Well, I’ll bet that mad hermits don’t fuck like you do,” she said coquettishly, giving his cock a tug under the roiling water. “And if you are a witch-man, I am not afraid. Tell me: How is it you live alone? I can tell you missed women. What else are you missing?”

“I do not miss that city,” he said. “That is a festering pot of stinking flesh. A man cannot breathe inside its walls. And do not trust a Roman. Liars and thieves, the lot of them.”

Asmin felt her protector tense as she rested in his lap. His voice rose, and his ire stirred like the water. She soothed her hands over his chest and shushed him softly. “It’s all right,” she comforted. “Tell me what happened.”

“I was hired on with other men of my tribe to travel far from the shores of Geatland, my home, and be warriors in the service of a Roman general. We donned the crimson and steel of the Empire and swore oaths to the praetor. I learned to march and to be a part of a unit and to accept the beating of a centurion when he felt it necessary. I suffered those indignities gladly, because I knew that I would make war on the German tribes if I stood with Rome. I would share in the plunder as well as take regular pay from the general.”

Asmin touched his face, frightened and entranced by the smoldering fury in his visage as he shared his past.

“War never came. The praetor marched us to field and positioned us, but we never engaged. All of our movements were but to force negotiations and the trading of hostages. What glory is in that? What honor is taken in that? I challenged the elders of my tribe who had traveled with me. I told them I wanted to go home, where I could live as a man and be free and have plunder with a war band. But they would not meet my gaze. They had changed. They had softened and become happy with a regular salary and a cot to sleep on.”

She looped a strand of wild hair behind his ear and noted that his anger was quickly turning to sadness.

“I called them cowards. I tried to shame them into returning home and being free. They fell in love with the city and all they could buy with their coin. I was the only one who wanted to leave. But I had taken an oath to the praetor. In the end I was the coward. I broke my oath. I left my gear behind and slipped out one night.”

“But why did you not go home?” she asked.

“And arrive alone? My people would know I abandoned my brothers. I have cut myself off from those I love. I cannot go home, and I will not return to the city. I hear I have been banished in my absence,” he finished, and then emitted a lamenting, scoffing laugh.

Asmin snuggled more deeply into his chest and squeezed his neck. Neither one of them had a place to be, a home. They were both outcasts. She kissed his neck and felt his arms come around her in an enveloping embrace. The silent moon watched them sit as such for a long while that night.

Eventually they returned to his den. After drying by the fire they curled around one another on his bed of padded furs. They lay together like spoons in a drawer with Ulf’s head tucked just above Asmin’s. Their legs tangled together as intimately and naturally as brambles in a thicket.

Chapter Six

Javad laid facedown on a silken divan and curled his toes in pleasure. Stripped to the waist, he relaxed his girth and sighed as a pair of soft hands massaged his hairy back with scented oils. Resting his sagging cheeks on folded hands, he took in the sights and sounds of the bathhouse. Spread before him was the opulent playground of the noble citizens of the city. The footprint of the pool was roughly the size of a small domicile, and it was lined with marble statues depicting Bacchus, Hercules, and satyrs. An effigy of Venus made into a fountain that poured water from an amphora stood at the far end. Aristocrats young and old frolicked in the tepid green water. Many were receiving massages around the pool as Javad was, or were having manicures or other health and beauty treatments performed. Wine was being consumed in abundance, and though late in the night, none seemed at all concerned with the time.

The pleasant serenity of the bath was interrupted as Braxus and a crew of his cronies mounted the steps and pushed their way into the main chamber.

“Javad,” the charioteer cried out. The thick silver chain around his neck swayed as he took purposeful strides toward the Easterner. “Javad, I want my property now.”

The slave master struggled to roll over as the masseuse scrambled away. He had just achieved a seated position when Braxus shoved him back down on the divan.

“Where is your man, you sniveling Persian pig?” He jabbed an iron finger into Javad’s flabby chest until he cried out in pain.

“Oh, leave him be, you jug-headed poltroon,” came a voice tinged with gentle mockery, echoing from the edge of the pool. Braxus spun to see a full-figured woman of forty looking up at him with hazel eyes, lips turned up in a smirk.

“Don’t you start, Kallista,” he warned, stepping toward her. “I’ve no time to suffer your insults this night.” Patrons began easing away, and many had already snuck out of the building entirely.

“Insults…from me?” She feigned surprise, luxuriating in the tepid water. “I would never cast barbs at someone as powerful and…vigorous…as you, arena champion.” Her eyes devoured him from calves to curly hair. She wrinkled her freckled nose and took a sip of wine, feeling a familiar tingle between her thighs.

“I’ll deal with you later,” he said with a growl rumbling at the back of his throat and pointing a finger toward her. He then spun on his heels to face Javad, but he had disappeared from the divan. A quick glance revealed that he had donned his orange robe and was attempting to hide behind a statue of Mercury. Kallista tittered and covered her mouth when she saw how his belly protruded from the trim figure of the messenger deity.

“You!” Braxus snarled and stomped after him as Javad tried to run on his stubby legs. The charioteer gripped him by his shoulders and spun him around. Shaking him, he again yelled, “Where is your man? Where is my woman? I want her, fat man. You will give her to me,
and
you will return my money.”

“Please, Lord, please,” Javad said pleadingly. “You have not given me time. The praetor said by morning. My man will find her by then and bring her back. Patience, Lord, patience; I beg of you, patience.”

“He’s not going to find her in the dark, fat man. Why should I wait? Why not kill you now?” Braxus pressed his forehead to Javad’s and gripped the hilt of his poniard. The muscles in his jaw clenched and flexed.

“Because I will slay you where you stand,” resounded an answer. Marcus and four of his Nordic guards stood at the entrance, fully armed and armored. “Stand down, Braxus. That is an order.”

Braxus turned to face the praetor, some twenty feet away. He scowled and took a step back, but he left his hand on his dagger. Nostrils flaring, the fire in his gut compelled him to fight on. “He has my property, Praetor,” said Braxus, glowering over lowered brows. “I want it back.”

“You others, out,” Marcus ordered. Braxus’s comrades hesitated, and this caused fury to explode behind the general’s eyes, a throbbing sensation emanating from the core of his skull. He gave a curt nod to his guards. The Northmen fell on the bullies and dragged them out of the bathhouse, clubbing them with balled fists. Braxus stood amid the tumult, wary as a jungle cat, fist still clenching his sheathed knife. While the guards were busy with the ruffians in the street, Marcus stepped toward Javad and the charioteer in the suddenly empty bath.

“You know you want to draw your knife,” he said in a low voice. “Do so. I am armed. There will be no dishonor. I would love nothing more than to rid my city of trouble-causing vermin.”

“Ha! The people love me.” Braxus circled about on the balls of his feet as Marcus stalked him.

The praetor rested his fingertips lightly on the pommel of his
gladius
. “The people? No, the mob loves you. More precisely, they love blood, and you give it to them. Other people’s blood, that is. How about if I gave them your blood right now? Hmm?”

Braxus scoffed. “They would rise up at my murder. Their hero slain by a jealous old man in the middle of the night? Your life would be forfeit.”

“Such conceit,” Marcus said with a sly smile. He savored the taste of the younger man’s hubris as though it were a roasted meat he could roll about in his mouth, sucking out the juices. “I hope I am there the day you die. If I am not the one to slay you, I will envy the man who does.”

Upon intoning that last word the Nordic guard reappeared and flanked their master. “Take him into custody,” he commanded, glowering at Braxus with menace.

The arena champion laughed. “The mayor will release me in the morning, you old failure of a field commander. You accomplish nothing by this. Nothing!” Burly legionaries clamped his wrists in manacles as a red-bearded giant boxed his ear. Braxus was dragged from the bath in silence, his ear ringing.

“And you, Javad.” Marcus sighed, turning to face the cowering slaver. “What am I to do with you?”

“Mercy, Lord, mercy,” the Persian said pitifully. “I still have time by your terms, Lord. My man will return in the morning with the girl.”

“Stop. Just stop,” he spat out impatiently. “This is what is going to happen: In the morning the mayor is going to hear that his pet charioteer is in jail. He will release him forthwith. You will be waiting for him at the gate of the jailhouse. You will refund him all of his gold coin. If your man has not returned by then with the runaway, you will ride with him on the road to meet him on his way back into the city. You see, you will refund his coin, and he will still receive the property. Then you will leave here, and you will never return. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Lord. Thank you, Lord.” Javad clasped his hands in thanks and bowed in obeisance.

“If you vary from this plan I will allow Braxus to gut you in the forum in broad daylight,” Marcus said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Do not fail me.”

Chapter Seven

Kell slumbered while her master was away. She drifted in and out of consciousness, the cool night air bathing her body. Nestling her head into a satiny pillow, she drew the sheets over her oiled skin and curled up. Never had she slept on so comfortable a mattress. The stuffing seemed to mold to her weight, and was somehow soft and firm at the same moment. She inhaled deeply and smiled. Marcus’s scent was on her pillow.

She woke from her light sleep to the sound of sandaled feet sliding on the flagstones of the corridor leading to the chamber. Kell sat up and pulled the flimsy bed dressing around her, holding her breath. The door eased in slowly, as though the opener wished to do so silently. A lit taper flickered as it was held into the room, guttering in a brass candlestick. The face of the praetor was illuminated by the luteous, coruscating flame.

Kell released her pent-up air in a great sigh. “Lord, it is you.”

“I have roused you.” He set the candle before the mirror to light the room more fully.

“I was awake, waiting for you to return,” Kell replied, lying but a little.

Marcus sat on the foot of the bed and bent to unlace the leather thongs of his hobnailed sandals from his calves. She moved to kneel behind him, letting the linens fall away from her. Still nude from their earlier lovemaking, Kell placed her slender fingers on his tense shoulders and ran her hands over his back and neck.

“Best not to wait on me when I leave in the night,” he said. “Many nights I will not return. If there is unrest in the city or danger on the frontier I must be gone until the trouble has passed.”

Kell nodded in understanding as she kneaded his muscles. He had been languid when he left their bed, and now he was all knots and distress. She leaned in and kissed his nape and smoothed her palms down his arms, squeezing his biceps and triceps. Kell felt his tension loosen under her touch, and he turned his head to look at her.

He then reached up to cup the back of her head, tangled his fingers in her hair, and drew her in to sup from her. Their lips met, and he angled his over hers so that he could slide his tongue into her mouth.

“Javad is going to get his killing done,” he said softly as he broke away.

“Why say you so?” she asked, hugging him from behind and resting her chin on his shoulder. They looked on one another in the mirror as they spoke softly in the night.

“He has upset a brutal man with influential friends. He will most likely die in the woods tomorrow, unless his man finds the runaway. Better there than in my streets,” he stated pragmatically, as though such murder were the most banal thing in his world.

Kell leaned in and pecked him on the cheek as she listened. She then nibbled on his lobe and exhaled hotly into his ear through her nostrils. Marcus let out a rumbling moan and leaned into her ministrations. Her deft hands slid down his scarlet tunic and clutched at his cock, tugging it free of the fabric. She rolled the skin along the shaft and felt his prick swell with blood. The veins filled and bulged as she strummed her thumb over the head and bit at his neck. She teased him relentlessly with her steaming purrs.

Marcus stood and disrobed in one movement. He turned to face his woman, passion lining his visage. Like a baby bird awaiting a meal, Kell leaned forward, opened her mouth, and gobbled his cock as it waggled to and fro. He tangled his fingers in her flaxen hair as she bobbed her head up and down.

She pursed her lips and hollowed her cheeks, humming gently on his prick. Twisting her mouth and swirling her tongue, she sank down to the base of his cock and back to the head over and over again. With one hand she raked her nails across his ass, and the other palmed and tugged at his balls. She gave a firm dig at the flesh between his sac and rear with her middle digit, and a thick drop of hot liquid coursed across her pink tongue. Marcus held her head in place and thrust his hips, fucking her face, forcing his cock into the back of her throat until she gagged and choked. She spit his prick out in a long, slick movement and drew a rasping inhale, tears streaming down her face.

Fingers still laced in her tresses, Marcus pulled her up and savaged her with a kiss. His mouth slid over hers, and their tongues danced, sparring and tangling as serpents between their mouths. He then slid his paws down to her hips and tossed her into the middle of the bed without warning. Kell laughed with surprise and bounced, so easily manhandled by her new master. Marcus crawled after her, his shoulder muscles straining and defined in the nacreous half-light. He smoothed his hard hands down her thighs, spreading them wide. Her inner lips parted as she moved, leaking nectar. Nostrils flaring in anticipation, he snuggled his nose lightly against her clit and inhaled her scent. Kell gripped his hair in her talons and pawed at her breast, lost in sensation. Sizzling heat emanated from her molten core.

Marcus extended his tongue and lapped at her pussy, licking into her furrow, parting her petals. He dug his deep into her sheath and closed his mouth on her sex. His chin pressed firmly into her soft rear as he angled his lips over her sex, sucking her pussy into his mouth and running his tongue over the tender folds. Honey gushed from her core as she writhed against him. Jaw glistening, he leaned back a few inches and placed three thick fingers on her sex. He rubbed her cunt in slow circles, smearing her juices over her inflamed petals. Marcus teased and taunted her clit, only caressing it now and again as his digits made their circuit.

She cooed and clenched at this attention and then cried out as he swatted her throbbing clit. Bucking in the sweet chaos of pleasure and pain, she balled her fists in the sheets. He struck her once more, and she lifted her hips from the bed. Her form half-twisted, she forced herself down, only to be struck before her ass rested on the bed. She flushed and her breath caught in her throat. Unable to control her body’s spasms, she quaked.

Marcus pulled her legs over his shoulders even as she quivered. He sheathed his throbbing root into her gushing pussy while her orgasm still coursed through her. The general was merciless in his thrusting. He placed a hand on either side of his slave girl and widened his knees for balance. His seed sac slapped wetly against her ass as he pounded into her. Every bit of her cunt was stretched wide as he plumbed deeply. Kell struggled to catch her breath, pinned down as she was. The rocking motion of his thrusts caused her breasts to sway back and forth on her chest. Even the bed shuddered and lurched under his assault.

The general paused in his attack and panted, perspiration glazing his flesh. He rolled to his back and pulled his woman with him, remaining sheathed as he moved. Marcus drew in a full breath and let his hands wander over her body, cupping her teardrop-shaped breasts and dragging his fingertips down her sides.

Kell smiled at her master and circled her hips. She splayed her fingers on his chest and gyrated her hips, his cock embedded in her womb. Now and again she gave his prick a squeeze with her inner muscles, her sapphire gaze peering into his coal black one. She then began to rise and fall on his cock, lifting herself on her knees and languidly resheathing on his vein-covered root. As she humped him she never stilled in the orbital movement of her hips or the clenching of her pussy. When she had as much of his cock in her as she could take, she ground her mound against him and felt a delicious sensation in the back of her neck, a warm fondness coupled with physical lust. Up and down, back and forth she fucked him, squeezing and clenching, grinding down, her soft hands caressing his chest and belly.

Marcus set his jaw and rose. He pulled his slave girl into his desired position quickly and with purpose. Kell looked up after being put into place and saw her reflection staring back at her. She was on her hands and knees. The candle that he had brought with him was still guttering and limning the room as it rested before the lion-crested mirror. Marcus knelt behind her and easily sheathed into her sopping pussy. She pressed back eagerly, laying her head to the side so she could watch as her master took her.

The general gripped his woman by her waist and plunged his prick deep into her womb. He caressed her elegant back, fingers spread. She lay before him in supplication, her golden hair frayed and tangled from lovemaking. He dug his root firmly into her pussy, bucking his hips and clenching his ass. His balls rocked back and forth and then slapped against her. Kell pressed back against him, meeting his thrusts.

She rose to her elbows and looked over her shoulder at him, unsatisfied with the hazy reflection of the polished bronze. Her ardor boiled over, and she groaned, wriggling her ass as she humped back. How lucky she was to have a master of such high station, as well as a generous and disciplined lover. She clenched her sheath and reached between her thighs, rolling her clit between her fingers.

Marcus began to thrust awkwardly, and his sac drew tight up against his shaft. He managed three more bucks before he embedded his cock deeply into her and exploded. A fountain of cum streamed into her clenching pussy. Kell felt his thick semen jetting against her inner walls and that sent her into yet another orgasm. She milked his pulsing cock from every ounce of his seed, pressing back hard to ensure he stayed sheathed. Ribbons of hot cum filled her to overflowing until his white cream dribbled down the backs of her thighs. Even after his essence was spent and his sac was drained, his cock throbbed, urging more, but there was none. Panting, he ran his hands over his woman’s ass for a long while before withdrawing.