Handsome Bastard (3 page)

What was wrong with her? She’d never felt this way about anyone. A harsh life of training to kill demons had taught her that lovemaking wasn’t something to be savored, but a weapon used to serve her faction. Those who carried the secrets of We Who Serve Humanity weren’t allowed a normal life of marriage, lovers and children who could grow up untainted by the duty of their forefathers.

It seemed Cyprian Augustus was more powerful than she’d realized. Somehow he had infiltrated her thoughts, though Leotine was one of the few mortals with a firm grasp of mind control.

“Please,” she continued, thrusting aside her carnal fantasies and steeling herself to continue the charade until his beautiful, demonic eyes closed forever. “What will you do with me?”

“That depends on you. You may go or you may stay.”

“As a slave?”

“As a very personal slave.”

Leotine’s mouth went dry and her heart fluttered. Other than her annoying lust for him, this was going well. Too well. Was this some sort of trap? Though he seemed kind, historical records of his life said otherwise. He was cunning, this blood-drinker, so she must remain cautious.

“Personal?” she asked, keeping her expression guileless. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I think you do.” He ran his hand up her arm, his fingertips stroking in a feather-light but oh-so-stimulating manner. His fingers curved around her elbow and his thumb traced tender circles over her inner arm, his touch soothing yet arousing. Little ripples of pleasure darted through her. “Still let me explain. I have slaves who run my stables, Leotine. Slaves who cook and wash and tend the gardens. I have slaves who make wine and others who do the marketing. Then I have slaves who see to my more important needs.”

“What could be more important than…” Her voice faded as he leaned closer until his lips almost touched hers. Those bewitching eyes blinked slowly, seductively. She felt the heat of his body. All she had to do was raise her hand the slightest bit to touch him.

“There are. Believe me.”

“I would think a man like you wouldn’t need slaves to fulfill such duties. You could have a wife, lovers.”

“Hassles. You will find me to be a generous master, Leotine.”

“If I refuse, what will you do? Beat me as my last master did? Perhaps return me to him so he can finish what he started?”

“Courageous words from a woman in your position.”

Leotine lowered her gaze, concentrating on keeping her breathing slow and steady. It had been stupid to bait him in any way. She was supposed to play the part of a meek, abused slave faced with scratching out a living on the streets of Rome.

“I admire bravery in women and men alike,” he continued. “And I will grant you a reply to your rather imprudent question. I will not beat you nor will I return you to Julius Titus. You will be free to go. However, I will point out that staying is to your benefit. My personal slaves are treated very, very well.” He edged even closer.

Certain he was going to kiss her, Leotine lowered her eyelids halfway, her nipples hard and aching for his touch.

To her surprise, he straightened. Her eyes flew completely open and she stared at him, her lips parted, while he watched her with an irritating smirk.

“What shall it be, Leotine? The streets of Rome or my bed, which you seem to find so comfortable already?”

“I’ll take your bed,” she replied, her voice just above a whisper.

He nodded, his broad chest expanding as he drew a deep breath and released it slowly. “Are you well enough to begin your duties immediately or do you require more time to recover after your ordeal?”

Immediately
. Have his big, warm body possess hers
immediately
. Have his sensual lips and wet tongue devour her nipples
immediately
.

“I’m a bit sore, but not in any place that should hinder us,” she replied, gazing at him through her lashes.

“I will be gentle with you until the bruises fade. Then we can explore other forms of pleasure.”

“Other forms? You enjoy…pain, Master?”

“Not pain. Pleasure to the extreme, shall we say. You will learn. And don’t fear, Leotine. I have no interest in forcing a woman, slave or not, into anything from which she gains no pleasure.” He ran a fingertip over her lower lip, then traced her neck and collarbone. “When a woman’s heart pounds, nipples ache and cunt is slick with lustful heat, that is when I want her. Her pleasure becomes mine. Her very essence is mine. Then, if she is loyal, if she proves worthy of my affection, I will make it possible for us to devour each other.”

“Devour?” Oh gods, was he talking about the blood sharing? Openly referring to it? Perhaps this had been a bad idea after all. What if he forcibly made her a blood-drinker? According to his history, he had never done such a thing but only changed those completely devoted to him. Still her faction didn’t know
everything
about him.

“All in good time, Leotine,” he said. “For now I will send a slave to see to your needs while I engage in daily exercise. When I’m finished I will summon you to the bath where your duties will begin.”

“Yes, Master.”

Leotine watched him go, relishing the play of muscles in his back and arms before he disappeared from view. The thought of making love with him already had her wet and trembling. It was strange, but for the first time she would gain pleasure from a creature she was sworn to kill.

* * * * *

Though years of practicing to conceal her emotions allowed Leotine to maintain a calm appearance, excitement coiled tightly inside her on her way to Cyprian’s private bath. Within moments she would be making love with the most sensual man she had ever known.

But he’s not a man. He’s a monster.

The young female slave who had guided her to the bath paused and pointed to an archway.

“Through there.” The woman rested a gentle hand on Leotine’s arm. “Don’t be afraid. He is a kind master to those who please him.”

“And those who don’t?” Leotine asked quietly.

The slave’s lips parted as she drew a long breath, glanced away and returned to the kitchen where she worked.

A shiver rippled down Leotine’s spine. Just as she thought. He wasn’t nearly as harmless as he would like her to believe. But what Roman man was? Many ruled their households with violence and Cyprian had double the capacity for cruelty. He was both a man and a blood-drinker.

Bound by duty and lured by drives of her body that she loathed admitting to, Leotine stepped into the bath. Her gaze fixed on Cyprian, she nearly forgot to breathe and her nipples tightened with uncontrolled desire.

Naked, he stood by the pool, his back to her. Beautifully developed muscles rippled beneath flesh gleaming with sweat. His firm yet well-rounded bottom made her ache to touch it and squeeze the taut spheres.

He glanced over his shoulder at her and blinked slowly, almost lazily in spite of the lust glistening in his eyes.

Across the room, Sextus cleared his throat. Leotine glanced in his direction. She had noticed him from the corner of her eye when she’d entered but had been far more interested in Cyprian Augustus’ perfect body.

The slave, also naked and sweat-drenched, carried two swords they had obviously been practicing with.

“I will leave you now,” Sextus stated, placing the swords aside only to cover himself with a toga.

The servant went to pick up the weapons, but Cyprian said, “You may leave mine.”

Sextus nodded and strode out of the room.

Once they were alone, Leotine walked to the sword and ran her fingertip over its handle. “Did you ask him to leave it so you could perhaps use it on me?”

Cyprian approached with long, slow strides, staring at her with those predatory eyes. “Of course not. Why would I do that? I have another sword, one of flesh, on which I intend to impale you. Painlessly, of course.”

“Yet no less deadly?” she murmured.

He tilted his head slightly to one side, studying her.

Leotine resisted the urge to wrap her hand around the sword and attempt to destroy him then and there, before he could twist her emotions any further, yet that would be foolish. The chances of her taking him by surprise and fending him off were next to impossible. To ensure his demise, she must first earn his trust. Not only that, why had he asked the slave to leave his weapon behind? Why was he giving her a chance to use it on him? Did he suspect she wasn’t what she claimed to be? Was he baiting her? There were far too many unanswered questions for her to risk acting on impulse. Not with a man like Cyprian Augustus.

“It’s time for you to fulfill your duty,” he stated, his hand closing over hers around the sword.

“What?” Leotine glanced into his eyes, momentarily startled. He did know what she’d come to…

A smile flirting with his lips, he slowly guided her hand away from the sword and tugged her to where a lovely engraved container of oil and a strigil rested beside the bath. Relief washed over her. He merely wanted her to clean and massage him.

Once again staring at his powerful, naked body, she swallowed hard.
Merely
clean and massage. What had she been thinking? There was no way she could endure touching him without surrendering to at least some of the emotions battling inside her.

Chapter Two

Cyprian sat on a thick towel spread on the floor and Leotine knelt beside him. After uncovering the container, she dipped her fingers inside then rubbed the oil between her hands, warming it before she spread it over his broad shoulders.

By the gods, it was the most arousing experience of her life. His flesh was very warm from his exercise, the muscles beneath hard and sculpted as marble. She ran her hands down his back and over his ribs, relishing the sensations. He bore several scars, probably sustained during his mortal life.

Cyprian extended one long arm and she covered it with oil, running her fingertips along the alluring vein that ran down his thick biceps. She took his hand and stroked every inch of it, tracing the shape of each long, slender finger. His hands were absolutely beautiful. Sensitive yet strong. Those hands could bring crushing pain or unsurpassed pleasure. She longed to feel the latter.

Leotine moved to his other arm, her heart pounding with anticipation as she refrained from working on his chest until she could scarcely wait to touch it.

Taking more oil, she considered the best way to reach the front of his torso. Before she could decide for herself, Cyprian grasped her by the waist and hauled her atop him. She straddled him. His legs stretched out in front of him as he leaned back on his elbows, supporting himself while she oiled his chest. The tip of her tongue moistened her lips and she drew a steadying breath. She ran both hands over the broad expanse of his chest and curled her fingers in the dark hair before again caressing with her palms. Pausing a moment, she felt his heart beating slow and steady. Powerful. A blood-drinker’s heart, yet unquestionably
alive
. As she and her faction had learned long ago, these were not creatures resurrected from the dead, but a living, breathing race. Yet they were not of the mortal world. Tainted by evil, they weren’t fit to exist among men. They were killers who sucked the blood of her people. Like any decent mortal, the idea of blood sharing had always sickened her. Yet here and now with Cyprian, the thought of nourishing him with her blood increased her desire.

This was wrong.

His gaze flickered toward hers, once again reminding her of the part she must play. But was it still a part? Her body’s reaction to him was not forced, but instead beyond her control. She ached for him, the delicate flesh between her legs desperate for his touch. She was wet for him. So ready. His cock, thick and aroused, pressed between her legs. Resisting the urge to rock against it, she continued working on his torso. Her hands swept his chest, her thumbs swirling over his nipples before she spread the oil over his flat stomach.

She moved to his feet and oiled him from ankle to hip. Breathing deeply, her body trembling slightly with need, she gazed at his cock. It was thick and had grown so long that part of the shaft and the bulbous head protruded past the foreskin. She longed to stroke it, learn its contours, roll her tongue over it and taste the first droplets of his essence.