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Chapter Twelve

D ahlia

We’re living together. And if I thought the old Dax was a horndog, well this Dax wants to have sex ten times more. But we’re not. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Well, who am I kidding? If I let my hormones dictate, we’d never leave the bed.

But I don’t let them dictate. I realized from the start that having sex without love with Dax would eviscerate me. If he walks away, decides he doesn’t want me, it will break me. I won’t be able to handle it. Just those few hours where I thought I’d lost him made me insane.

And trust me, he wasn’t happy about the no-sex decision. He says he still doesn’t understand it, although I’m certain he does. I offered to sleep in my room, but he asked me to stay. So there’s enough sexual tension between us to cut with a knife.

I explained the concept of dating to the big guy, which was met with a disgusted ‘harrumph’. I think the negativity was more in response to the no-sex rule than dissatisfaction with the actual dating idea.

His headache is gone, so he’s back in the ludus every day —lifting weights. Dr. Drayke forbade any sparring for another few days.

He’s in the middle of three different projects in the cargo hold at the moment and loves when I join him to help.

“I’ve only made you one pair of shoes, Dahlia? For a male who loved you, I was very lazy.”

Right now he’s designed a beautiful pair of fur and suede mukluks. When we overthrew our slave masters, there was a cornucopia of contraband in the hold including illegal, protected hides and furs.

I figure what the heck, those animals are dead already, might as well have him make me something fabulous with them.

“So Dax, these boots will be amazing when you finish. Where, exactly, do you envision me wearing them?”“You never know Dahlia. It’s always good to be prepared.”

Kneeling, he has one knee on the floor, one foot on the floor. He looks up at me from using his awl to make holes to stitch by hand. Maybe it’s the light, or the angle of his head, but that look just melted me. It was almost as if he likes me.

“I never asked, but where did you learn how to do this?”

“Gladiators are the lowest of the low. We fend for ourselves most of the time. If we don’t learn how to sew and cook and make things, we’d never have clothes, shoes, or food. Come here, take your shoes off.”

He puts the leather sole on the floor near him and has me step on it, making certain it will fit me perfectly.

“Here.” He puts the other sole on his bent thigh where he’s squatting and motions for me to put my foot on it. His rough hands slide down my foot from toes to heel, then encircle my ankle. He caresses my calf so slowly, so tenderly it captures my full attention.

I let my eyelids flutter closed as I focus on his simple touch through my leggings. He pauses at my knee, waiting, I assume, for me to tell him to stop. When no scold escapes my lips, his hands roam higher, up my thigh.

One hand rests on my hip, the other is half an inch from my core, which is already dripping from his proximity.

“I remember how you taste, Dahlia,” his voice rumbles with lust. In my mind I order his hand to move an inch to the left. I wait for him to cup my sex. I’m so amped up and ready to go I think I could come with the slightest pressure. But he’s waiting for me to ask, or give permission, or, God help me, beg —because I’m considering it.

Then I shake my head out of my lust-induced haze, open my eyes and lean back. That was all the message he needed to stop, chastely slide his hands back toward my feet and break the tension by saying, “ Abrax Confit merits a very close second place —in taste.”

If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was my Dax. The old Dax who knew me and loved me and shared his soul with me. But this is the new Dax who likes me and is making me a pair of mukluks I will never wear. This Dax didn’t recite the Thracian Love Poem to me in front of his friends, or in a dungeon full of snakes for that matter.

“How’s your other project going?” I pretend nonchalance, as if he can’t tell my pulse is pounding in my nether regions, as if he can’t smell my arousal.

“I’ve glued the remains of many wooden pallets together and planed them down. Now comes the hard part. I have to draw the design and start carving.”

“Can I see?”

“Nope.” He shakes his head. “Wouldn’t be fair. It’s a present for everyone on board. A surprise. You’ll have to be surprised along with everyone else.”

“Okay, so don’t show me, but tell me. What is it?”

“There will be a big unveiling when I’m done. It’s kind of a thank you for coming back for me on the Gaming Station and for allowing me to stay on board.”

His brown head is bent over the boot he’s sewing, so he doesn’t see me launch at him. I squat next to him, on my knees, my ass sitting on my heels. Reaching out, I grab his face and pull it toward mine.

“Don’t you dare, Dax. Just because you don’t remember how you helped in the revolt, or all you’ve done since then, don’t you dare disbelieve it really happened. You helped overthrow our masters. You fought dangerous matches to earn the credits to keep us flying. You belong here as much as anyone. You don’t have to earn your place. You’ve already earned it.”

Dax

Her eyes are sparkling. She’s passionate, passionate about me. I’ve never had anyone care before. This can’t be faked, it’s real. I want to repay her. Let her know I appreciate her feelings. The only way I know how to do that is to let my cock do the talking. And she’s told me she doesn’t want that —not from me.

It strikes me that she’s in love with two males she can never have. Larry is a million milles away. She can’t have him. She’ll never see him again. And Dax is dead. The Dax she loves is dead. He’s gone and I don’t know how to retrieve him.

I realize down to the depths of my soul that she’ll never want me like she wanted him. She’ll never love me like she loved him. I’ll always be second best. My chest feels hollow.

I want someone looking at me like this —the way she’s looking at me right now. But I want it to be genuine. With her it’s a sham. I’m just a replica of the male she really loves.

How do I tell her I want her to move back into her own cabin? She just made such a sweet, passionate speech, she’ll never understand my rejection. Bad timing.

This has to stop. She wants me to be a dead man, and the closer we become, the more this will wind up hurting us both.

I’ll wait. Now is not the time, today might not be the day. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll explain the folly of her plan and escort her back to her cabin and begin sparring in the ludus .

Free males can fight in gladiator games. I could make living arrangements, set up some matches and leave the ship so my presence doesn’t torture her. She can make a shrine to the real Dax, the one she loves. She doesn’t love me.

Dahlia

We’re eating in the dining hall. Our new ship is so much better than the one we had. Even though we repeatedly changed our call letters and re-painted our name —which costs a freaking fortune by the way —we’d been busted several times.

Thanks to Dax and a few others, we earned enough credits for this new ship. It’s not as well-armed, but it’s bigger and a lot nicer. The other ship had bad vibes. We had all been imprisoned in cells down below. There’s nothing here but a blank slate. We can create new memories.

Dax is next to me, shoveling in his food. He hasn’t said much since that sexual moment in the hold. I’m thinking maybe I want to rescind my ‘no-sex’ edict. I really like him. And, as he already so tactfully mentioned, he knows how I taste.

He gets up to leave and when I give him a questioning look he says, “Headache,” and leaves.

“Wait, I’ll go with you.” I scrape my plate and stride down the hallway after him. He’s hustling fast and staying ten steps ahead. I can see this has nothing to do with a headache.

When we’re behind our closed door I waste no time asking, “What’s this really about? Not your head, right?”

Jaw tensing, he shakes his head but says nothing.

I retrace what happened and realize this is about that sexual scene in the hold. He’s a lusty, horny guy and we’ve been sleeping in the same bed under a touch prohibition. He might have been hurrying to have a moment alone with his hand in his own bathroom.

“Dax.” I close the few steps between us and put my palm to his cheek. My sex ban seems ridiculous and instead of making things better, it’s made things worse. It wouldn’t exactly be torture to make love.

I breach the distance between us and brush his lips with mine. It’s an offer, an invitation. He can reject it if he wants.

He stands, paralyzed, his eyes focused on the corner of the ceiling; he’s obviously deep in thought.

“What do you want?” Does he sound hurt? God, I’ve messed this up.

I sink onto the edge of the bed, not certain my legs can hold me, and put my face in my hands. Good question, what do I want?

I want the old Dax, the one who looked at me like I hung the moon. The male who braved derision from his friends just to let me know he was interested.

I remember that moment in Asher’s dungeon when water was pouring into our cell. He put me on his shoulders to keep me breathing, then apologized that he couldn’t help me after he drowned. He was sad he couldn’t help me after he was dead!

And I want the look in his eyes. The one that said he cherished me.

I glance over at Dax and see he hasn’t moved a muscle. He’s simply staring at me, waiting for my answer. This male always had so much patience with me.

“If I told you I like you, and I want to fall in love with you, but we couldn’t have sex for a year, what would you say?” I ask.

It’s his time to think. He closes his eyes for a long moment, dips his head, and scrubs his face with his hand.

“I’d say I’ll wait.” His face is tight. “But I wouldn’t relish it.”

I laugh. It’s so Dax.

Then a darkly evil thought flies through my brain and lands; it won’t go away, just nags and taunts until I blurt it out.

“If I asked you to get on your knees, right there,” I point to the floor at my feet, “what would you say?”

He doesn’t hesitate, he complies, his gaze never leaving mine.

Holy mother of God, it feels like he plucked my clit.

“Why did you do that?”

“You asked me to.”

“Yeah, but why? You wouldn’t do it if Zar asked.”

“I want to please you.”

Another pull down below and my core clutches itself in a frenzy of need.

“Would you recite the Thracian Love Poem again, in front of everyone?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve mentioned it several times. It’s obviously important to you.”

I look into his eyes. It’s not exactly the same as it was before, but the poor guy’s only known me a handful of days. Dax is in there. This is my Dax, only a slightly different version —Dax 2.0. I love this guy!

And he’s kneeling in front of me, and my body’s humming with arousal, and I don’t want to wait another minute to feel him inside me. Well, maybe a few minutes.

“If I asked you to put your hands behind your head?”

The slowest, sexiest —no make that dirtiest —smile widens on his face as his hands inch upward. It takes a full minute for those sexy, hard-muscled arms to move from his sides until they’re planted on the back of his head.

Now I can relate to historical romances that use the word ‘swoon’. I actually feel weak with need. I’m panting in little gasps. Even I, with my human sense of smell, am aware of my scent filling the air. He’s barely hiding his smug smile. I guess he should be proud he can evoke such a response from me.

My fingers itch to trace his bronze skin, pulled tight over the biggest, strongest muscles I’ve ever seen. As my gaze darts to his chest, I notice his breathing has quickened. Then all I can pay attention to are his washboard abs, his male nipples, and the scattering of hair that arrows under his loincloth in the direction of his magnificent package.

My mouth is dry, I clench my hands. I almost abandon all my rules and beg him to fuck me. But slow is good, right?

“If I told you to free your cock?”

“You told me to keep my hands like this.”

Oh boy, we’re playing. He all but called me ‘Mistress’ even though he doesn’t remember our game.

“You have my permission to do so, then put your hands back,” I command, stepping back into the role that both confuses me and makes my blood pound.

I catch the corners of his mouth tip up slightly. His green eyes are so lovely.

I watch every muscle glide under his skin as he moves a millimeter at a time, his arms finally arriving at his loincloth. The binding fabric is a complicated series of twists and turns and he takes his own sweet time unwrapping himself, like a present, for me, all the while never tearing his gaze from mine.

He tosses the cloth on the floor and sits with hands on hips for my inspection. His cock is gorgeous. The same deep tan as his skin, the head a bit darker. It’s pulsing, the head weeping a drop of liquid. I want it in my mouth. No, I want it stretching me wide. Crap, I want it all.

His hands are back behind his head, his beautiful cock is pointing at me, begging for attention, and he’s waiting, looking at me. That’s it! It’s Dax’s look. These are Dax’s beautiful leaf-green eyes, and they’re filled with… love.

I slide off the bed onto the floor, my knees next to his and throw my arms around him. Peppering him with kisses, I sling my arms around his neck. He’s still in the position! God, I love this guy.

Leaning back, I ask, “Tell me what you feel.” Oh no. Did I just stick a pin in my own balloon? Did I ask how he feels about me so he can stammer and backtrack and hedge?

His arms sweep around and pull me closer. One hand cradles the back of my head and his tongue invades my mouth hard and swift and possessive.

“I can’t tell you I love you, Dahlia, that would… cheapen the word. When I tell you I love you, I want it to be genuine. I want the depth and breadth of it to fill you up —I want you to believe it. I’ve only known you a handful of days —what I feel can’t be love.

“What I can tell you is that I like everything I know about you. I like your voice. I like your body.” His hand roams down my back to the swell of my bottom. “I like your sweet sense of humor, and your concern when I was ill. I admire how you talk about Larry. It would be easy to disrespect him in front of me, but you’re still loyal to him in your own way. It makes my heart swell, knowing you’ll give me the same respect.

“I can tell you I want to love you, Dahlia.” His hands gently cup my cheeks. “But I want you to love me back. Love me .” He thumps his chest hard. “I want you to love this Dax who never recited that dracking poem to you, who didn’t save you from the snakes and the rats and the swirling, filthy waters in that dungeon.

“That male is gone, Dahlia and we can’t count on him coming back. I want to love you, but I want you to love me back. I’ve come too far to accept second best.”

I tug him close and tuck my head under his chin. “You’re absolutely right, Dax. You’re a person, an individual. I need to get to know you better. But I’ll tell you a secret.” I pull away and tip my face toward his. “I’m falling for you, Dax, and it has nothing to do with a fucking poem.”

The corners of his lips tilt up. “Maybe this will work if we give it time.”

I realize he’s pulled me close and my legging-covered core is riding his marble-hard cock. My nipples are pebbled into hard peaks. I think I love him, and I know I want him.

“I was selfish when I asked you to stay in my room,” his voice rumbles in my ear. “I’m going to respectfully ask you to sleep in your own cabin. Things will be sweeter when we finally get together.”

Crash. Every cell in my body literally stops working for a moment. My brain freezes, my heart stops beating, the muscles in my face slacken, and my jaw hangs open. I allow myself one minute to take this as rejection, then I’m jubilant.

This is Dax, my Dax, and he said he wants to love me. He doesn’t want to pretend or cheat the system even to get some pussy. He wants us to have something real, and I totally respect that.

I kiss him once on the lips —hard. I smile at him with all the promise and attraction and desire I can cram into my expression. I let him follow my lusty gaze as it travels from his eyes, down his muscled chest to his pulsing cock.

“It’s no wonder why I like you, Dax,” I say as I stand, then walk out the door without a backward glance.