Bee Among the Clover (107 page)

A
RON found it very difficult to catch Roman alone in the next several
days. The slave had an uncanny knack for knowing when he was about to approach and would either invent a chore that sent him scurrying off or
would involve himself in the company of others. It was frustrating. Aron
likened the experience to the time he’d tried to go eeling on the river with his brothers: a large amount of frustration with very little gain.
Their evenings were spent entertaining Wulfgar, so there was no chance to talk then. When they returned to their pallethen they returned to their pallet, they were alone, but Roman’s air of aloofness had kept him from speaking. This evening after they left Wulfgar’s bed, Aron was determined to breach that barrier Roman kept up.
Aron felt replete, his muscles languorous after the intense bout of
pleasure from that night’s passion. He watched Roman pretend to be asleep, but he could tell from the tense set of his shoulders he was
pretending.
Aron had come to the conclusion Roman was not going to offer to
teach him again, and if he wished to learn the warrior arts, he’d have to ask him. He’d taken the practice swords Roman had left behind and hidden them in a small cave near the tor, well wrapped in a blanket to keep
the damp from rotting the wood.
He missed holding Roman in the middle of the night. He missed
Roman’s naked body pressed against his own and the sweet scent of him when he’d turn his face into the slave’s neck and let it ease him off to
sleep, his strong arms cradling Roman close. He reached out, wrapping his
arm around Roman’s waist, and hauled him close. The slave’s soft gasp was almost lost amongst Wulfgar’s snores.
Aron splayed his hand on the other man’s taut, lean abdomen,
feeling how tense he was, the way he barely breathed. Sighing and leaning
in close, his mouth brushed against Roman’s ear so their whispers wouldn’t carry. “Be at ease, darkling. I have no intentions of hurting you.”

He smiled, and his tongue flicked out over the slave’s ear, making him shiver. “Or pleasing you.”

Roman’s eyes fluttered closed, and he didn’t dare to move, holding himself tense against Aron’s hard body, inundated with his scent, musky and spicy. He assured himself that Aron didn’t have a death wish. He wouldn’t try to accost Roman now, with Wulfgar barely three feet away in the bed. He said nothing, praying Aron would sleep now. Perhaps he just wanted to hold him while he slept. It had been a good while since he’d done that.

For a moment Aron was silent, breath warm and moist against Roman’s ear and neck, before he heard Aron sigh softly. “How long do you intend to ignore me, darkling? Must I put more effort into making you notice me?” Aron’s smile was wicked when Roman gave a sharp shake of his head and twisted his head around to look at him over his shoulder.

Roman pinned him with his gaze through the shadows. “I’m not ignoring you. I’m avoiding trouble,” he hissed, but Aron kept smiling and held him snugly back against him.

“Trouble, am I? Perhaps you’re right. Suppose I promise to be very, very good and keep my hands to myself?”
Roman arched a brow, glancing down at Aron’s hand his bare stomach. “I would say you’ve already broken your promise.” He shook his head, eyes flicking to the bed where the thane slept. “Just sleep, Aron, please.”
Aron shook his head. “Not until you keep your promise. I still have your swords.”
Roman regarded that with mixed emotions. He was very apprehensive at the thought of being alone with Aron. On the other hand, he had looked forward to the break in the routine he’d known for the last four years and the chance to revive his old skills. Finally, he nodded and said in a whisper, “We can meet on the tor in the morn, after you break your fast.” The broken rocks that dotted the hillside would help hide the sight and sounds of the mock battle.
“Agreed,” Aron replied, his grin telling Roman he was pleased that Roman hadn’t tried to argue with him on that score.
Roman closed his eyes, intimately aware of Aron’s hot breath on the nape of his neck, stirring the fine hairs. Fingers stroked Roman’s stomach, and he trembled in response, wondering if Aron intended on keeping up this torment all night long or if he would eventually leave him alone and go to sleep. At least when they started training he could keep Aron so occupied that he had no time for mischief making. Besides, learning a warrior’s skills was Aron’s passion. Once his mind was engaged with that, perhaps he’d be inclined to forego his power war with Wulfgar.
Roman trembled and then tensed at the feel of Aron’s body responding, a hard cock pressing against his back. The gentle kiss to the skin behind his ear didn’t ease the tension at all.
His breath hissed through his teeth, and he whispered, “Don’t, Aron….”
Aron gave a low sound of frustration. “Then don’t lay there trembling so sweetly, darkling. How am I to resist you when your body tells me how much you desire my touch?”
Roman gave a soft, derisive sound. “You mistake training and human reaction for desire, Aron.” And whatever his body wanted, it mattered not. He had long since come to terms with that, with taking what he was given and being, if not happy, at the least content. Aron, however, did not seem inclined to do the same. He took what he was given and demanded more. Roman wondered if Aron ever found any real satisfaction, or if there was always something better just over the next rise.
Aron’s brows furrowed. He was curious if Roman believed the nonsense he was spouting. A sudden niggling sense of self-doubt assailed him. What if Roman was telling the truth? Aron wished that he could read his mind. Roman’s body might react one way, but the majority of the time, Roman’s dark eyes were unreadable, his face closed to him. He hated the idea that Roman might be pining for Wulfgar, wishing he still shared the thane’s bed all night instead of returning to the pallet with him. Aron knew that Roman felt his position was threatened by Aron’s arrival. He just wished to know how deep the slave’s jealousy ran.
One of these days, Aron was going to hear Roman beg for
him
. He was going to hear Roman admit how he was really feeling when Aron was touching him. He was going to hear Roman say that he belonged to him. The thought struck Aron like a punch to the gut, and he tugged Roman closer to him, turning his face into the slave’s neck.
Roman tensed, but when Aron didn’t do anything further, he gradually relaxed back against him. It didn’t take long for Aron to begin to fall into sleep, holding the slave close to him and breathing in his scent, hearing the soft sound of his breathing. He’d forgotten how restful it was to hold Roman as he slept and was determined to maintain the practice from then on.

“YOU’RE not paying attention, Aron. Focus!” Roman’s voice was sharp,

firm, and Aron braced himself as the slave circled him, Roman’s muscles fluid as he moved, dodging Aron’s next attack with ease. Roman shook his head. “You’re too hasty. Slow down, pay attention to nuances. The sound of a twig snapping beneath my feet will tell you where I’ve placed my weight and in turn where I intend to move. It’s not all barreling about swinging at anything that moves, despite what it may appear when watching the others spar.”

Aron growled in frustration, cloak long since tossed to the ground along with Roman’s, a fine sheen of sweat marking them both despite the frigid temperatures and the snow crunching beneath their feet. His pride took another blow as, despite his attempts to do as instructed, he found himself with the wooden sword tip pressed to his throat and Roman shaking his head, again.