He was quick to remove her garment, spreading it across the jagged ground. Cyrus moved with urgency as he stretched out along the floor of the cave and pulled her down atop him.
She straddled his hips, the warmth of her pulsing against his swelling shaft until he imagined he would go mad if he did not bury himself inside her soon. He plunged one hand into her hair, at the same time he crushed his lips to hers.
Her mouth parted beneath the brutal onslaught of his kiss, taking every measure he gave her as she yielded sweetly.
With his other hand, he undid the leather bindings of his
braca
and curled his hand firmly around his engorged length to remove it from the confines of the garment. Heat throbbed through him, pulsing within his veins, between his legs, and Cyrus wrenched his lips from hers, his breath hot against her face as he stared into her heavy-lidded eyes.
Lust shimmered in their depths, and his belly furled tighter when her gaze drifted to his hardened flesh. She slid down his body to curl her hand around him, and he breathed out her name, his hips bucking off the ground as she pumped him slowly, gently at first, then rougher and faster.
A tiny droplet of his seed pearled at the tip, and when she dipped her head to swipe it away with her tongue, every measure of his control vanished.
He gripped her hips, dragging her along the length of his body until he held her wide and open above him, the crown of his manhood nudging against her opening.
She was wet and warm as he surged into her, plunging to her very depths.
He groaned out her name, hoarse and raw as she sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes sliding shut. He’d barely entered her before her tunnel began clutching and gripping him like a hot, tight fist.
She was beautiful as she rode him, her head thrown back, her lips parted as her fingers curled around his shoulders. Her nails pierced his flesh, but he ignored the pain, savoring only the pleasure, and the wondrous heat of her surrounding him.
The sensuous rocking of her body against his fanned the flames of desire within him until he was quivering and shaking with barely restrained passion. He palmed her breasts, massaging the soft weight until her nipples budded tight. Her body responded to the new sensations by drenching him and she impaled herself faster, harder upon his cock until she arched, crying out his name on a panting moan.
She shattered around him, pulsing and tightening with her release. He wanted to savor her climax, bask in it, but the demands of his body battered him from within until he was powerless against the sensations assaulting him. His voice became guttural, strained with passion as he pumped and thrust up into her, rocking his hips until he erupted like a volcano. He groaned low and deep, spurting within her channel until he was spent, until he had nothing left to give her.
When she collapsed atop his body, he held her to him, his hands roaming across her sweat slick back to keep her warm from the chill of the encroaching night. Silence hovered between them, the only sounds to be heard were the rolling of waves onto the sand and their steady breaths.
Cyrus knew, however, that the blissful silence was soon to end because Aurora was brimming with questions, and he could feel her entire body strained with tension.
He sighed when she lifted her head from his chest, his hand stilling against the small of her back.
“Will you now tell me what has you so upset?” she asked in a quiet voice.
He did not pretend ignorance, but neither did he open himself up and pour forth his soul.
He glanced away, drawing in a small breath. “Claudius is suspicious of you,” he said finally.
“Because of what happened at the senator’s home?”
He nodded. “And because of your timely arrival, who you are. He knows you are no common gladiator.”
Her brows lifted. “And what about you? What do you think?”
“You already know what I think,” he replied, “but it matters not. It only matters what Claudius thinks, which is why I am telling you this. I simply wish to caution you in your dealings with him
and
his wife.”
She looked closely at him, her eyes searing him to the deepest planes of his soul. “And what hand do you have in Claudius’ cause for suspicion?”
Cyrus froze beneath her, but he held her gaze. “Claudius is not a fool.”
And neither was she. He knew it did not go unnoticed to her that he’d not answered her question, but he was grateful when she did not probe further.
It was a mired and complicated situation in which he now found himself. Claudius held the key to his freedom, and until he’d met Aurora that was all he’d ever desired.
He did not wish to betray the man who’d promised to free him, but neither could he betray the woman he’d grown to care for so deeply. If Aurora were not plotting against Claudius then he would not have to betray either of them...
“Tell me truly that you are not involved in a plot against our
dominus.
”
“He is not
my dominus
.” Aurora’s eyes were now shadowed, her face devoid of any expression. “Besides, no matter what I say, you will believe what you will.” When he moved to protest, she silenced him with a single finger against his lips. “That does not upset me. You do not need to believe me in order to trust me.”
Her words puzzled him. “There can be no trust in the space of lies.”
“You are wrong, Cyrus. You do not need the truth in order to trust.”
Aurora smiled down at him. A man such as Cyrus could not fully comprehend one such as herself, a person who possessed a dual nature. Just as he could not also fully comprehend that trust and lies were not two facings upon the same coin.
She lied to him to protect him, but he could trust her. With his very life? He could if he did not stand in her way, and even then she was not certain she would have the heart to kill him.
Another tense silence found its way inside the cave as both of them retreated to the dark corners of their thoughts. No words were needed in order to gather what brewed inside their heads.
Cyrus knew she was not who she made herself out to be, but he would have to be the one to decide if his master’s life was more important than what the two of them now shared.
Aurora had her own decisions to make as well. She would not compromise her duty for anyone, but neither did she think she could take Cyrus’ life if he stood against her.
“Are you prepared for the games on the morrow?” Aurora asked, purposely steering their discussion into neutral waters.
Cyrus looked curiously at her. “You are the first to ask me that.” He smiled and it was as if secrets and deception did not still linger between them. It was as if their discussion had not just been fraught with tension. Aurora could not help herself. She smiled with him.
“My bout is a celebratory reenactment of Scipio’s defeat of Hannibal at Zama.”
Aurora bristled at his statement. “Romans and their insipid reenactments. Well, I hope the gladiators fighting as Carthaginians defeat you then.”
His gaze wavered between feigned indignation and amusement. “I do not relish taking the Roman position, but I would not wager upon a Carthaginian victory if I were you.” His eyes sobered then, sending Aurora’s good spirits plummeting because she knew what was soon to come.
“As much as it is appreciated, I think your concern is misplaced. You have long been absent from the arena, and now you find yourself the main draw. I worry more for you.”
Aurora fought the urge to look away. As well he should worry, she thought. She shared his concerns.
“I am frightened,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. She questioned what had compelled her to reveal such vulnerability to him, but immediately acknowledged she already knew. She trusted Cyrus, and when she looked into his eyes she found only kindness. She felt safe when she was within his arms. She felt as if she could tell him
almost
anything.
His arms tightened around her. “You will not fail,” he whispered against her brow when she rested her head atop his chest.
“I believe that. I promised myself long ago that I would never draw my last breath within an arena, and I shall not. But I am not the champion I once was. I fear I will disappoint the crowds—Claudius—
you.
”
“You could never disappoint me. And you need only to win over the crowds, and you shall secure Claudius’ favor.”
“And what if I do not? What if I perform horribly? What if I lose?”
“You
cannot
lose Aurora and hope to keep the promise you made to yourself. Claudius is blood thirsty when it comes to the arena. If you fail him there, then he will fail you. I watched many promising gladiators lose their lives because one man was displeased.”
His arms around her clenched tighter, as if he could hold her to him forever, but he could not.
“You will not fail, Aurora,” he whispered. “Because you simply
cannot
afford to lose.”
Chapter Eight
With Cornelia at his side, Claudius settled into his seat overlooking the expansive arena. Senator Vibius sat beside Cornelia, and Claudius nodded, greeting the man for whom the games honored very coolly.
If he’d had a choice, Claudius would not have attended, and certainly not presented his gladiators. Yet, despite all of what transpired at the senator’s home, not to hold the already planned games, would have been considered an unforgivable offense among those far more esteemed than Claudius who valued Senator Vibius. To slight the senator so publicly would have earned Claudius nothing but disdain from the nobility. He would have been ostracized, his gladiators no longer welcome at
any
of the most favored games.
It was no secret that he still did not entirely believe the senator’s protests of innocence. He had no idea why Vibius would wish him dead, for he had nothing the senator would want.
His villa was not larger, the province he resided over not particularly strategic, and his chests did not possess greater
denarii
than that of the senator’s. He glanced at his wife, dismissing the thought before it had barely formed. Cornelia was indeed a great beauty, but a man as even-tempered as Vibius would never take her as a lover. Claudius could think of few men who would. As a wife? Yes—because her dowry was a small fortune—but not a lover. Cornelia’s oscillating moods that, within a single heartbeat, swung from raving madness to calculating coldness were well known throughout The Empire. No man would choose to spend time within her company, unless they were
obligated
to do so.
Claudius could not determine what reason Vibius would have for orchestrating his demise, but he no longer trusted the man. He trusted no one. He had many enemies—in the senate, in Rome, within the province of Capena and the lands beyond. Even now, as he sat there, someone plotted to kill him for spies in Rome and Capena had been paid generously to confirm his suspicions.
Claudius hardly trusted Cyrus, despite his unswerving loyalty. He knew Cyrus’ freedom meant more to him, than Claudius’ life. That was why he’d promised Cyrus he would have it if he delivered the information Claudius sought. Cyrus would do anything to return to his homeland, even risk his life to protect the man who held him captive.
As if he’d conjured him, the trumpets of the arena sounded loud and strong while flutes and horns began to play. The heavy iron gates swung open, slowly revealing the large figure of a man, his arms and legs shielded with armor, his face obscured by a shimmering bronze helmet. His torso was bare, massive, and with each step he took, muscles rippled beneath sun darkened flesh.
Cyrus.
His champion gladiator.
The champion of Capena.
The crowds roared to life when he removed his helmet and they could all gaze upon his face. Flowers and garments were hurled into the arena, littering the sand about his feet.
The mob loved him, adored him.
The rumble of the crowd was deafening, pounding against Claudius’ ears. The arena was full to bursting with people clamoring to get another glimpse of him.
What foolishness had prompted him to offer the gladiator his freedom?
He could not give it.
Not as yet,
he decided. Claudius looked around the arena, the frenzy of the people. He could not free Cyrus until the favor of the people turned to another, until he was defeated within the arena. And even then, he would not give Cyrus his freedom, at least not the freedom his champion sought.
Upon his defeat, Cyrus’ death would send the crowd into a fury. The games would be sold out for many months after that in anticipation of seeing the champion who’d defeated the mighty beast of Thrace—
Cyrus.
No, he could not give Cyrus his freedom. Not yet, not ever.
* * * *
If these were anything like the arena games Aurora was accustomed to, they were typically an all-day spectacle. The town criers would begin heralding the matches at dawn, and the crowds would descend upon the city in droves.