Page 11 of City of Secrets and Shadows (Empire of Vengeance #2)

11

F or a long moment, neither of us moved. The air crackled between us, charged with challenge and desire.

“Do it,” Livia whispered, her voice a dare wrapped in velvet.

I tightened my grip on the fabric and yanked. The sound of tearing cloth was loud in the quiet room, followed by Livia’s sharp intake of breath. The blue-and-silver uniform split down the middle, revealing a strip of golden skin and the simple binding cloth beneath.

“That was academy property,” she said, but there was no anger in her voice — only a breathless quality that made my blood run hotter.

“Send them the bill,” I growled, tearing the fabric further until it fell away from her shoulders. The binding cloth wrapped around her breasts was utilitarian, meant for combat rather than seduction, but the thin fabric did little to conceal the curves beneath — the swell of her breasts, the hardened peaks of her nipples. Years of training had sculpted her body into a weapon, all lean muscle and coiled strength, but there was softness too, femininity that no amount of combat could erase.

“Your turn,” she said, reaching for my tunic.

I caught her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand. “You don’t give the orders here.”

“Neither do you,” she countered, but didn’t struggle against my grip.

“No?” I traced a finger along the edge of her binding cloth, feeling her shiver beneath my touch. “Your body seems to disagree.”

“My body responds to stimulation. That’s biology, not submission.”

I laughed, the sound low and dark. “Still fighting, Livia. Always fighting.”

“Always,” she whispered, but there was a tremor in her voice that betrayed her.

I lowered my head, brushing my lips against the edge of her binding cloth. “What would happen if you stopped fighting, just for a moment? If you surrendered to this?”

“I wouldn’t know,” she said. “I’ve never surrendered to anything in my life.”

“Then perhaps it’s time you learned.” I released her wrists, sliding my hand down to the binding cloth. With practiced fingers, I found the end of the fabric and began to unwrap it, each rotation revealing more of her golden skin. “Sometimes surrender is its own victory.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly as the last of the binding fell away. I sat back on my heels, drinking in the sight of her warm brown skin. Battle scars marked her ribs, her shoulders — badges of honour in our world. Her breasts were smaller than those of court ladies who’d never lifted anything heavier than a wine cup, but perfect—high and firm, tipped with dusky nipples that hardened further under my gaze.

“You’re staring,” she said, a hint of vulnerability creeping into her voice.

“I’ve earned the right.” I traced the line of a scar that curved beneath her left breast. “How many years have I watched you, trained with you, imagined this moment?”

“You never showed it.” Her voice was accusatory. “Not once.”

“Because I knew where it would lead.” I lowered my head to follow the path my finger had traced, my tongue replacing the touch with wet heat. Her back arched slightly, involuntarily. “Here. To this moment. Where I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

She gasped as my mouth found her nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh before my tongue soothed the sting. Her hands, now free, tangled in my hair — not pushing me away but holding me there, her body contradicting whatever protests might still form on her lips.

“Septimus,” she breathed, my name half curse, half plea.

I moved to her other breast, lavishing the same attention, feeling her writhe beneath me. My hand slid down her stomach to the waistband of her subligaculum, fingers dipping just beneath the fabric.

“Tell me you want this,” I demanded against her skin. “I need to hear you say it.”

She tensed, that stubborn pride warring with desire. “Why? Your ego needs stroking along with everything else?”

I bit down on her nipple, hard enough to make her cry out. “Not my ego.” My hand stopped its downward path. !Your choice. Say it, or this ends now.”

Her eyes flashed, defiance warring with desire. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m waiting,” I murmured against her skin, my breath hot against her dampened nipple. I stayed perfectly still, though every muscle in my body strained for movement.

Livia’s chest heaved beneath me. “Fine,” she hissed. “I want this. I want you. Is that what you needed to hear?”

I smiled against her skin. “Want what, exactly?”

Fire flashed in her eyes. “You really are a bastard.”

“Tell me what you want, Livia.” I trailed my fingers along the edge of her subligaculum, close enough to torment but not enough to satisfy. “Be specific.”

Her jaw clenched, a muscle ticking beneath the smooth skin. “I want you to touch me.”

“I am touching you.” My fingers skimmed her inner thigh, deliberately missing where she needed me most.

She made a sound of frustration, hips lifting involuntarily. “You know what I mean.”

“Say it.” I nipped at the underside of her breast. “Or we stop right now.”

Livia closed her eyes, a flush spreading across her cheeks. When she spoke, her voice was low, almost a growl. “I want your fingers inside me. Your mouth on me. I want you to make me come.”

The raw honesty of her words sent heat coursing through me. “Good girl,” I murmured. I claimed her mouth again, more deliberately this time, drinking in her surrender like the finest wine. My hand resumed its downward path, sliding beneath her subligaculum to find her hot and slick.

“Already so wet for me,” I murmured against her lips, circling her entrance with my fingertips. “Was it the fighting that did this to you? Or have you been wanting this as long as I have?”

She bit my lower lip in response, hard enough to sting. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

I slid one finger inside her, feeling her clench around me. “No? Then why are you dripping for me, Livia?” I added a second finger, curling them to find the spot that made her gasp. “Why does your body welcome me so eagerly?”

Her eyes fluttered closed as I worked my fingers deeper, her hips rising to meet my touch. “Physical... reaction,” she managed, but the breathlessness in her voice betrayed her.

“Is that what we’re calling it?” I twisted my wrist, changing the angle of my thrust, and was rewarded with a sharp gasp. “Open your eyes. Look at me when I’m inside you.”

She obeyed, her gaze locking with mine, pupils blown wide with desire. The vulnerability there, mixed with defiance, nearly undid me.

“I hate you,” she whispered, but her body contradicted her words, her inner muscles clenching greedily around my fingers.

“No, you don’t.” I lowered my head to trace my tongue along the shell of her ear. “You hate that you want me. You hate that I know exactly how to touch you.” I curled my fingers again, pressing against that sensitive spot inside her. “You hate that I can make you come apart.”

Her nails dug into my shoulders, hard enough to leave marks. “Shut up and do it then.”

I laughed against her neck. “So demanding.” I withdrew my fingers, ignoring her sound of protest, and moved down her body. “But I think I’ll take my time.”

I peeled the subligaculum down her legs, tossing it aside. She lay completely bare before me now, her skin flushed with desire, her thighs already parting in anticipation. I settled between her legs, lifting her thighs to rest on my shoulders. The scent of her arousal made my mouth water. I pressed my lips to her inner thigh, enjoying the way she tensed in anticipation. But instead of giving her what she wanted, I traced a path with my tongue along the crease where thigh met hip, deliberately avoiding her centre.

“Septimus,” she warned, voice tight with frustration.

“Patience,” I murmured against her skin. “You’ve waited years for this. What’s a few more minutes?”

“I will kill you,” she threatened, but the effect was ruined by the breathless quality of her voice.

“Not before I make you scream.” I moved to her other thigh, biting down gently on the sensitive flesh, leaving a mark that would remind her tomorrow who had been between her legs tonight.

“Gods,” she gasped, her hands fisting in my hair.

“Still hate me?”

“Yess…” she hissed.

“Good.” I smiled against her skin, feeling her thighs tremble beneath my hands. “Hate me all you want, as long as you come for me.”

Without further warning, I dragged my tongue through her folds, finally tasting what I’d hungered for. She bucked against my mouth, a strangled cry escaping her lips. I gripped her hips firmly, holding her in place as I explored her with deliberate strokes — circling her clit, dipping inside her, learning what made her breath catch and her muscles tense.

“Fuck,” she gasped, her fingers tightening in my hair. “Septimus—”

I lowered my head again, this time focusing my attention precisely where she needed it most. Her back arched off the bed when my tongue found her clit, circling the sensitive bud before sucking gently. The sound she made — half gasp, half moan — sent a surge of satisfaction through me. I slid two fingers inside her again, curling them in rhythm with the movements of my tongue.

“Oh gods,” she breathed, her thighs trembling against my shoulders. “Just like that.”

I could feel her tightening around my fingers, her body climbing toward release. Her breathing quickened, shallow and desperate. I increased my pace, driving her higher, wanting to watch her shatter beneath my touch.

“I’m close,” she gasped, the admission torn from her as if against her will. “Septimus, I’m—”

I felt her teetering on the edge and suddenly withdrew, pulling back just enough to deny her release. Her eyes flew open, outrage blazing in their depths.

“What are you—” she began, but I cut her off.

“Tell me who you belong to” I demanded, my voice rough with desire. My fingers remained inside her, not moving, just enough pressure to keep her on the precipice without letting her fall.

Fury and need warred on her face. “You bastard.”

“Tell me,” I repeated, curling my fingers just enough to make her gasp. “Say it, Livia.”

“No one,” she gritted out. “I belong to no one.”

I smiled, admiring her defiance even as I planned to shatter it. “Wrong answer.” I lowered my head again, licking a slow, deliberate path that had her trembling, only to stop before she could find release.

“Septimus!” Her voice was ragged now, desperate.

“Tell me,” I whispered against her heated flesh. “Who do you belong to?”

Her body trembled beneath me, hovering on the edge of pleasure. I could feel her internal muscles clenching around my fingers, desperate for the release I was denying her. Sweat glistened on her skin, her chest heaving with each ragged breath.

“I can keep you like this for hours,” I murmured against her inner thigh, nipping the sensitive skin. “On the edge, desperate, begging.”

“I don’t beg,” she growled, but her voice broke on the last word as I flicked my tongue lightly over her clit.

She writhed beneath me, tension coiled in every muscle, her pride battling with her desperate need for release. I held her there, suspended on the knife-edge of pleasure, watching the conflict play across her face.

“You,” she finally gasped, the word torn from her throat. “Gods damn you, Septimus. You.”

Victory surged through me, sweeter than any I’d claimed in the arena. “Say it properly,” I commanded, my thumb brushing lightly over her clit, enough to stoke the fire without granting relief.

Her eyes blazed with a mixture of hatred and desire. “I belong to you,” she hissed. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“It’s what I needed to hear,” I corrected, and lowered my head once more, rewarding her surrender with the full force of my attention.

This time, I didn’t hold back. I devoured her with single-minded intensity, my tongue circling her clit as my fingers curled inside her, finding that spot that made her back arch off the bed. Her thighs trembled against my shoulders, her hands fisted in my hair, pulling almost painfully as she ground herself against my mouth.

“Yes,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “Don’t stop — please don’t stop—”

A sharp knock at the door froze us both.

“Livia?” Octavia’s voice called from the sitting room. “Are you in there? The welcome feast begins in an hour.”

“I’ll be right out,” Livia called, her nails digging sharply into my shoulders as I continued my attentions.

“Are you well?” called Octavia. “You sound strange.”

Livia’s hips bucked and her inner muscles clenched around my fingers, her body silently begging for what I was denying her.

“I’m… fine. I was sleeping. I’ll be right in.”

I could feel Livia trembling beneath me, her body taut with frustrated need. I kept my fingers buried inside her, deliberately still, watching her struggle to control her breathing. The way her chest heaved, the flush spreading across her skin, the dampness at her temples – all of it revealed how close she’d been.

“Don’t you dare stop now,” she hissed, voice barely above a whisper.

“Why not?” I murmured against her inner thigh. “Octavia needs you. The feast awaits. Your duties as a noble…”

Her fingers tightened painfully in my hair. “Finish what you started, Septimus, or I swear by all the gods—”

“Or what?” I taunted, curling my fingers just enough to make her gasp. “What will you do, Livia?”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I’ll find someone who will.”

The possessive rage that surged through me was instantaneous and overwhelming. I growled against her flesh, no longer teasing but devouring, my mouth claiming her sweet pussy with bruising intensity. Her back arched off the bed as I sucked her clit between my lips, my fingers pumping into her with renewed purpose. Her reaction was immediate — thighs tensing around my head, a choked gasp torn from her throat.

I drove her relentlessly toward release, feeling her inner muscles clench around my fingers as she approached the precipice. This time, I wouldn’t deny her. This time, I wanted to watch her shatter.

I felt the precise moment when she surrendered to it — her body going rigid, inner muscles clamping down on my fingers as waves of pleasure crashed through her. She bit down on her own fist to muffle her cries, her other hand gripping my hair painfully tight as she rode out her release against my mouth. My cock twitched rock hard as the flood of sweetness went in my mouth. Fuck, but I loved the taste of her pussy. I didn’t want to stop, I wanted to devour her over and over again.

Livia’s fingers untangled from my hair, pushing at my shoulders. “Septimus, stop—”

With a growl of frustration, I pressed one last kiss to her centre, drawing a stifled gasp from her lips before I pulled away. “This isn’t finished,” I murmured, my voice a dark promise as I rose from between her thighs and left the room, leaving her panting and trembling on her bed. I’d be back.

I closed the bedroom door behind me, my body still thrumming with arousal, the taste of Livia lingering on my lips. The satisfaction of claiming her, of hearing her admit she belonged to me, battled with the frustration of our interrupted encounter. My cock strained painfully against my trousers, demanding relief I couldn’t yet grant it.

“Septimus.” The deep voice cut through my thoughts like a blade.

Tarshi stood by the window, arms crossed over his chest, his unnerving black eyes narrowed in suspicion.

The half-breed gladiator’s presence in our quarters was unwelcome at the best of times. Now, it was infuriating.

“Where’s Octavia?” I asked, making no attempt to hide my irritation.

“She’s gone to find some thread to fix a hem in the stola for tonight.” His gaze dropped deliberately to the obvious bulge in my trousers, then back up to my face. His lip curled slightly. “I stayed behind to ensure Livia wouldn’t be alone.”

“How thoughtful,” I said, moving to the washbasin in the corner. I splashed cold water on my face, trying to regain some semblance of control. “As you can see, I have the situation well in hand.”

“Do you?” Tarshi’s voice was dangerously soft as he approached. “Is that what you have in hand, Septimus?”

I straightened, turning to face him. “Careful, half-breed. You forget your place.”

“And you forget yours.” He stepped closer, invading my space with deliberate provocation.

“What happens between Livia and me is none of your concern.”

“It becomes my concern when it endangers our mission.” Another step closer. “When it endangers her.”

I could smell him now — leather and sword oil and something that spiked my senses in an annoying way.

The proximity should have been threatening. Instead, it sent another pulse of heat to my already aching cock. I hated my body’s betrayal, hated that I noticed how his tunic clung to the muscled planes of his chest, how his lips formed words with such precise disdain.

“Nothing endangers Livia more than her own recklessness,” I countered, refusing to step back despite the uncomfortable awareness growing between us. “I’m simply ensuring she has... proper motivation to be cautious.”

Tarshi’s eyes flashed with anger. “Is that what you call it? You were in her bedroom. You still reek of her.”

The possessive fury in his voice confirmed what I’d long suspected. “Jealous, Tarshi?” I taunted, a cruel smile curving my lips.

His hand shot out, gripping my throat with enough pressure to warn but not harm. The sudden contact sent another unwanted surge of heat through my body. “I have something you will never have, Septimus,” he growled, his accent thickening with emotion. “Honour.”

I laughed, the sound strained against his grip. “Honor doesn’t warm your bed at night.”

His gaze dropped again to my still-evident arousal, his lip curling in disgust that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Or yours, by the looks of things. Maybe you’ve swapped sexual service from Drusus to Livia, and she has no desire to tend to your discomfort.” He grinned. “Or maybe it excites you to have my hand around your throat?”

“What excites me,” I said, deliberately pressing forward against his grip, “is knowing she chose me. That even now, she’s lying in that bed, her thighs still wet from my mouth, thinking about when I’ll return to finish what we started.”

Something dangerous flashed in Tarshi’s eyes. His fingers tightened momentarily around my throat, then released as he stepped back, as if touching me had suddenly become intolerable. “You don’t deserve her.”

“Perhaps not,” I agreed, rubbing my throat where his fingers had been. “But I have her nonetheless. She belongs to me now, Tarshi. She said so herself.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Livia belongs to no one.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” I leaned in, deliberately provocative. “She’s mine. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

For a moment, I thought he might strike me. His hands clenched into fists, his breathing quickened, and I found myself hoping he would. The tension between us had transformed into something electric, dangerous — a current of antagonism charged with something I refused to name.

“You speak of her like property,” he said, his voice tight with controlled rage.

“I speak of her like what she is.” I reached out, straightening the collar of his tunic with deliberate condescension. “Mine to protect. Mine to pleasure. Mine to command.”

His hand caught my wrist in a grip tight enough to bruise. “She will never truly submit to you,” he hissed. “Not Livia. She gives you the illusion of surrender because it serves her purpose.”

The certainty in his voice stirred an uncomfortable doubt. “You sound very sure of that.”

Something shifted in his expression, a fleeting smugness quickly masked. “I know her better than you think.”

An odd suspicion formed in my mind, but I dismissed it. Livia would never lower herself to bed a half-breed, no matter how comely. “You know nothing,” I said, twisting my wrist free of his grip. “Now get out. Livia needs to prepare for the feast.”

Tarshi held my gaze for a long moment, then stepped back with deliberate slowness. “This isn’t finished, Septimus.”

Before I could respond, he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.

I stood motionless in the centre of the room, my arousal undiminished despite the confrontation — or perhaps because of it. The tension between Tarshi and me had always been complex, layered with mutual respect as fighters and deep antipathy as men. Now it had acquired a new dimension, one I refused to acknowledge even to myself.

I told myself the lingering heat in my blood was solely from my encounter with Livia, not from the dangerous proximity of a man I despised. I told myself the slight tremor in my hands was anger, not something more complicated.

Livia was mine now. I had marked her, tasted her, heard her confession from her own lips. Whatever game Tarshi thought he was playing, he had already lost.

I adjusted myself in my trousers, willing my persistent arousal to subside. The feast awaited, and with it, the next phase of our dangerous deception. Tonight, after the obligations were fulfilled and the performances complete, I would return to Livia’s bed and finish what we had started.

And the half-breed would be left with nothing but his hollow honour and the knowledge that, once again, I had taken what he coveted most.