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Chapter Four

A erie

The last time I spoke with Beast was two days ago when he apologized. Since then I haven’t seen him around. I could have found him, though. It wouldn’t have taken a genius to know he was spending every spare minute in the ludus .

I lied. Actually, I went there once, watched for about twenty seconds, and skedaddled out so fast there was no way he knew I’d been there.

What I saw literally stole my breath.

He had two swords—real metal ones this time—and was sparring with three of the gladiators at once. Dahlia wasn’t joking about the naked thing, all four of them were completely bare, as if the tiny rags they wear around their waists were too constricting.

Beast was moving at dizzying speeds, fighting them off one at a time to the accompaniment of clanging swords. He was sweating from his efforts and grunting as he successfully fought them.

You’d think seeing him fight so well would make me feel good, but it didn’t. It just put very vivid pictures in my mind of how many ways he could die in the arena. The three males he was fighting were all allies. The ones he’ll fight tomorrow will be enemies.

Even if he wins his first bout, how can he regain his energy and fight a second grueling battle a few minutes later? And I have to be there. I’ll see every gruesome minute of it.

I pull my thoughts to the present. I’m standing at the exit ramp holding the little backpack Dahlia lent to me.

I’m wearing my suit and ‘fancy-schmancy shoes’. They give me confidence. I’ve packed a dress Savannah loaned me for the intimate party tonight. I have no idea what to expect other than the visions of ancient Roman orgies swirling in my head.

“Aerie,” Beast says. “You’re ready?”

When I nod, he grabs my pack, slings it over a muscular shoulder, grasps my elbow, and powers down the ramp with me at his side.

“I should have urged you not to come,” he says, his head dipped to my ear. Shadow, Dax, and Stryker are all marching in lockstep with us—two are a few feet ahead of us, Stryker is behind. They’re our protection if anything gets out of hand. “Things might get dangerous.”

“How could anything possibly go wrong with a thousand pounds of gladiator muscle surrounding us?” They’re all wearing spiffy black strips of leather that make kickass-looking alien kilts. The Pinnacle, however, is still wearing the muslin rag loincloth that covers nothing but his sex.

“Ooh, paparazzi,” I mumble to myself when my feet hit the ground. We may be a billion miles from Earth, but you can tell what they are from a thousand paces.

This is the first time I’ve seen Beast show an emotion other than lust or calm. Even when we thought Marauders were about to invade our cell block and he was generously offering to snap my neck, he showed no emotion.

He grabs my shoulders and pulls me into the midst of our guards.

“If pictures of me get out and Plenum of Trent sees them, I won’t be allowed to fight. Or if I will, he’ll demand the purse. No pictures!”

I immediately understand how high the stakes are for him.

“Hi,” I say as I step out of the protective barrier of our wall of flesh. “I’m the Beast of Tramachor’s spokesperson.” I flash them the biggest smile my face can manage.

“The Beast has superstitions, as all great athletes do. Some never change their underwear, some sleep with their swords,” I just keep rattling on, making this shit up on the fly. “Beast can’t bear to be photographed.” I reward the press corp, luckily mostly male, with a simpering smile.

“Whoever will allow me to watch them remove all photographs from their equipment will be granted personal interviews after the matches.” I glance over to see Beast is safely ensconced in what must be our hover-limo. He’s behind tinted windows. The three gladiators are now surrounding me. How sweet.

“He’ll be dead after the matches,” one of them shouts.

“If that’s the case, you’ll be allowed into the morgue for the best, juiciest, most gruesome close-ups possible. Who’s first?” I ask cheerfully.

Without skipping a beat, every one of them allows me to corroborate that they’ve removed the evidence. I get all of their contact info, wondering how, if Beast somehow does live through the ordeal, we might be able to monetize this.

“Win or lose, I’ll be contacting each and every one of you immediately after the match,” I say as I ease into the limo.

“I hope you were well compensated in your job on Earth. You’re very good at what you do,” Shadow says while looking out the window for threats.

“I was very junior at my firm, but I was rising fast,” I inform him.

Without so much as a “may I?” Stryker picks me up and nestles me near his other hip to get me away from the window. Four of us are in the rear seat with Beast and I in the middle, Shadow and Stryker flanking us. Dax is in the front seat with the driver.

I crane my neck to catch a view out the windshield. The word ‘shithole’ comes to mind. Everything seems to be beige. And dusty. A windy, dirty, khaki planet. Somehow that makes this fight even more ominous.

I glance up at Beast. His posture is perfect as always. His face is calm and emotionless. How does he do it? I’m ready to jump out of my skin and it’s not my life on the line tomorrow.

We touched down on the outskirts of the city in an industrial section. Now that we’re heading toward some tall buildings, I see little stretches with nicer buildings. My initial impression still stands, though—this planet’s a shithole.

“I did some research on our hostess,” Shadow says, his eyes still focused on the terrain whizzing by. “She’s Sabronese, a race known for their work ethic as well as their ruthlessness about money. Everything I found on the Intergalactic Database indicates she’s fair, though, and a female of her word.”

“Don’t worry,” Stryker says, “we’ll be with you every step of the way. We’re your guards. We take our jobs seriously.”

I look over at him. If I met the scarred, red humanoid male in a dark alley, I would shit my pants. We haven’t exchanged a whole lot of words, but he’s been nothing but nice in every interaction. I think he and Maddie, the chef, are an item. He looks at her like she hung the moon. None of the males are quite what they seem at first blush.

We’re hovering down a street full of mansions. I don’t know, is there a word for something bigger than a mansion? These things are palatial.

Because of the harsh environment, the houses don’t have green lawns like on Earth, yet their landscaping screams ostentatious wealth. Huge crystals, some five feet tall, some twice that high, grace these front yards. Some houses have the crystals in pleasing arrangements. Others incorporate water features that flow through the sculpture gardens.

The crystals glow in a rainbow of colors. I can’t discern whether these shining hues are natural or manmade. This display would be impressive on the grounds of presidents or kings. I guess money talks on whatever planet people live.

After we touch down, two uniformed males open our doors and offer to carry our luggage. I’m the only one who brought anything, and it’s a backpack, but they make quite a show of taking it from me.

They escort us inside and I feel like I did the first time I got off the train to New York from my group home in small-town Florida. I was eighteen and had earned a scholarship to Queen’s College. It’s surprising my head didn’t snap off my neck as I looked at all the tall buildings. I was so busy gawking, I turned my ankle stepping off a curb. Anyone within a hundred paces could tell it was my first time in a big city.

As we walk through the spacious foyer and well-appointed living area, I’m gaping at the finery displayed on every tabletop, shelf, and glassed-in armoire. I visited my New York boss’s house a few times for parties. He’s wealthy beyond belief. Tsing’s house makes his look like a sharecropper shack.

The two males, possibly ex-gladiators by their builds, escort us up the plushly-carpeted stairs and show us to our rooms. The three bodyguards will share one room, I’m in the middle room, and Beast is on the end.

Glancing at him, I can’t get a feel for what his emotions are. He’s hard to read. If he’s impressed by this show of wealth, I’d never know it. Perhaps he’s burrowed deep inside himself to keep thoughts of tomorrow’s life-and-death matches out of his thoughts.

Our escorts inform us dinner will be in three hours, recommend we take a nap, and tell me a female servant will arrive at my room in two-and-a-half hours to help me dress.

Despite the stress, the over-the-top opulence, and my anxiety, I manage to doze until a gentle knock wakes me.

A pretty, elf-like humanoid female enters with an armful of clothing. My little three-foot-tall gold visitor has vivid red lips and shining silver eyes that seem like they’re looking through me. Despite her unsettling visage, she treats me with extreme deference.

Half an hour later, I’m dressed in a pale peach dress that’s fitted around me like a toga. It’s edged in gold brocade fabric. When I glance in the mirror, I’m surprised by how good I look. Since Tsing most assuredly picked this outfit for me, I would have assumed she would want me as dumpy and dowdy as possible since she’s obviously interested in Beast. Instead, she’s dolled me up in a way that compliments my coloring and short blond hair.

The toga exposes one arm and shoulder and dips almost to my breasts. She’s loaned me a gold and ruby necklace with matching dangly earrings.

She’s even provided shoes—flat sandals. I’m certain they go well with the outfit. However, whether it’s by accident or design, she’s discovered my kryptonite. I’d rather be wearing my six-inch stilettos.

As if perfectly orchestrated, I enter the hallway at the same time as the four males. The three bodyguards are wearing the black leather kilts they arrived in. Beast is wearing a short toga in sapphire blue. The color looks amazing against his skin, making the metallic green almost shimmer.

His face is on lockdown. I can’t read him at all.

We’re escorted into a large dining room. It’s sumptuously appointed, with blood-red and gold brocade fabric on the walls and plush chairs. The chandelier is dripping with crystals, perhaps the same kind sprinkled all over the yard, that cast sparkling colors on every surface in the room. A large ornately carved crystal fireplace dominates one wall.

Three of Tsing’s staff are there, each wearing a sword at one hip and a dagger at the other. Shadow, Stryker, and Dax are similarly equipped.

Although the room could accommodate a banquet of fifty, there’s only a small table in the middle of the room, set for three.

The six guards, three of ours, three of hers, take up positions around the periphery as Beast and I are seated. It’s only now that Tsing enters.

I hadn’t noticed when we were on comms, but she’s tall, well over six feet. She carries herself like a queen, wearing a toga similar to mine. Hers is a shimmering golden fabric that deepens the tone of her opalescent skin.

“Good evening. I hope you enjoyed your naps. Let’s begin our dinner, shall we? I can’t wait for the after-dinner entertainment.” Her brows rise, her eyes open wider, and her lips pull into an animalistic smile. She’s waiting for the private dance she’s paying 40,000 credits for.

Servants ply us with course after course of sumptuous food. I only pick at it, and Beast eats even less. I don’t know what Tsing’s game is, but I don’t think poison is on the agenda. She’s too keen on getting her lap dance. Besides, if Beast is too ill—or dead—to fight tomorrow, it will cost her big time.

“You don’t like your food?” she asks after I wave the server away for the third dish in a row.

“Delish. I’m just full.”

“I don’t blame you. We wouldn’t want to be uncomfortable during the upcoming festivities, would we?” There’s that lascivious smile again.

What upcoming festivities? I figure Beast will be dancing naked. She made no secret of her interest in his cock, but what part does she think I’m going to play? I didn’t sign on for any lap dances, although the way she’s eyeing me, I think she’d be more than happy to pay me 40,000 credits to dance naked for her.

“I have a suggestion,” she says, her voice raised so all the armed males in the room can hear. “I’ll give my males the rest of the night off if you do as well. I’ll be outnumbered here. One Pinnacle gladiator and this tiny female alone in the room with just me. I think they’ll be safe, don’t you?” She directs this at Shadow who’s taken the lead on the bodyguard duties.

“I’ll have the room cleared of cutlery, just to ensure everyone’s safety,” she cocks a mocking eyebrow.

“If it’s all the same to you, we’ll stay,” Shadow says, standing even taller and spearing her gaze with his.

“Why don’t you go?” Beast asks, his tone leaving no doubt this is more of an order than a suggestion. “You can stay near the doorways if you wish. I think we’ll be fine in here.”

I doubt he wants his fellow gladiators to witness his upcoming humiliating exhibition.

Shadow pauses for a long moment, assessing the situation, then nods his head. All six gladiators exit.

“There, better already,” Tsing croons. “I assumed you wouldn’t want a large crowd for your performance, so I canceled the musicians I’d engaged and decided to use recorded music.”

I’m not sure why I’m here. I’d suggested Zar be the third party so he could intervene if things got weird. Well . . . weirder. But I won’t be of much help if things go south, and I’m certain Beast doesn’t want me to witness this degradation.

“Maybe I should leave,” I suggest.

“No!” both Beast and Tsing protest at the same moment.

Tsing claps and two servants appear. She instructs them to remove the dinner table, pulls her chair even with mine, and settles in to watch the show.

I’m already squirming in my seat, assuming Beast doesn’t want me here and wondering why he told me to stay. When I look up, I see that Tsing has rearranged her toga and exposed her breasts, the shimmering fabric pooled around her trim waist. She has the coloring of a fire opal—pale blue skin with a scarlet glow shining through, especially between her breasts.

“Like what you see?” she asks when she catches me looking.

My gaze flies to my hands jammed in my lap.

“Where did you say you were from?” she asks. “You negotiated like a warrior, now you act like a shy virgin. You’re intriguing.”

I don’t lift my eyes to hers, instead I inspect my cuticles. When I finally gather the nerve to glance up, she sticks out the tip of her tongue, licks the pad of one finger with slow deliberation, and moistens one of her nipples with it. Her finger lazily circles the tight crimson bud while her gaze locks with mine.

“Your shy manner is adorable, my dear. You’d be so fun to play with in bed. Care to join the Beast of Tramachor and I tonight?”

Wait! What? Were the words ‘private dance’ secret intergalactic code for fucking? Did he sell himself for forty grand? What did I miss?

She laughs from deep in her throat, flicks her wrist-comm, and music streams through hidden speakers. I’ve never heard anything like it before. It has a driving beat, something akin to techno, but there are flutes and strings that soften the music and make it even more sensual.

“Your turn,” she says to Beast and cocks her head. After scooting closer, she grabs my hand from my lap and holds it in hers. My gaze flies to her, and I have to admit I feel skittish. I’ve never been with a woman before, and it’s not on my bucket list for the future, either.

“Don’t worry,” she leans closer and almost whispers. “Your lack of interest is clear. I can hold your hand though, can’t I?”

“Uh, yeah?” I feel twelve years old, but she keeps to her word. She does nothing more than twine her fingers in mine, then focus on the ‘show’ which at this point is nonexistent.

When he’s got both our attention, Beast begins swaying his hips to the driving beat. His eyes drift closed, and I watch as he sinks into the music.

The stern look that has adorned his features since the moment I met him disappears. It’s the only expression he’s shown other than pure lust that night in my bedroom. Well, that and the moment of self-loathing after he called that bitch’s name when I was going down on him.

Now, though, his face gives the expression of liberation. I’d thought he would get through this experience by sheer will and determination. He made a better choice—he’s going to enjoy himself.

Since he’s going to have fun during his performance, I decide I will too.

His hips slide from side to side as he dips deeper into whatever trance he’s dropping into. The movement changes, and now his hips are moving in lazy circles. A long series of clockwise, and then counterclockwise circuits.

Perhaps he’s fully where his mind needs to be, because he opens his eyes and looks straight at me. His emerald gaze is sexy, heavy-lidded. Tsing may be paying a fortune for this little performance, but he’s acting as if it’s all for me.

His hands move to span the back of his head, so the half of his chest that’s exposed above his toga stands in stark relief, showing every muscle and ripple of his bared pec as his body gyrates to the pounding beat.

Has he watched videos of Chippendale dancers? Because he’s using all their moves. Now he’s thrusting his cock back and forth, toward us and away.

Even though his clothes are still on, my mouth is already dry from desire. Swirling energy pools in my pelvis.

Tsing’s grip presses my hand more tightly, but I don’t glance to see her facial expression—I can’t tear my eyes from Beast.

Here we go, his fingers are on the sapphire fabric. He undoes the knot at his shoulder, but holds the garment right where it is. He’s enjoying teasing us. There’s a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

How odd that the first sign of mirth I’ve seen from him is when he’s doing a striptease.

“I can’t wait for him to take it off,” Tsing whispers to me, “but I think giving direction at this moment will not be well received.”

He removes the fabric from his shoulder, then ties it around his waist. Putting his hands behind his neck, he does something with his abs that makes every muscle in his chest dance for us. I can’t stifle my groan, so I pretend I just cleared my throat.

“Delicious, isn’t it?” Tsing asks. “I’m glad none of us ate too much at dinner. Maybe you’ll relent and join us after his performance.”

I don’t know what makes her think she and Beast are an ‘us’, but I decide not to worry about it right this minute because he’s slowly rotating away from us. Is he going to do a three-sixty just to flaunt that gorgeous body?

The way he tied the toga around his waist, it covers his junk from the front, but it exposes most of his ass from the back.

He is not! I’m shocked when the quiet Beast from Tramachor waggles his butt at us. Doubling down, he bends at the waist, giving us a better view of those perfect glutes. He tightens his buttocks, first one, then the other, in time with the music.

My core clenches in response, mimicking the same rhythm.

He finishes his slow circle and faces us again. After untying the fabric, he holds it out to his sides, waist-high. I can’t see a thing below his waist, but just knowing he’s naked under there ratchets up my arousal.

By the way Tsing is grasping my hand, she must be as excited as I am. I know he can smell female arousal. I absently wonder if he can tell our scents apart.

He’s intimately acquainted with mine. His tongue was lodged as far up my channel as it could reach. He has to know I’m on fire for him over here.

He sweeps the fabric from side to side, making me wonder when it will slip from his fingers or fall to the floor, but he just keeps teasing. He begins another three-sixty, his movements slow, almost writhing, and I try to catch a glimpse of his dangly bits between his meaty thighs.

Finally, he faces us, smiles directly at me, and lets the rich blue cloth whisper to the floor. Tsing’s harsh intake of breath drowns out the sound of my own soft, horny gasp.

I hadn’t realized, but he had a skimpy blue loincloth under his toga. His bulging package is wrapped up like a present for us.

Now he starts dancing like no one is watching. Here’s a male specimen in perfect shape, and he’s pulled out all the stops. The music’s compelling rhythm increases, compounding the primitive feeling in this room despite the sophisticated surroundings.

He stalks to the fireplace across the room, grabs the poker, and uses it as a mock sword. Swishing it through the air, his face gorgeous in a serious scowl, he returns to us.

He puts the ‘weapon’ through its paces mere inches from us. His shimmering skin stretched tightly over bulky muscle. With him this close, I can see every tendon, tissue, and fiber slide under that luscious green skin.

When he’s done with his weapons display, he slides the poker along the floor toward the fireplace, then stabs me with a sharp gaze. If that glance could talk, I think it would invite me to join him in bed.

Directly in front of us again, he thrusts and whirls and dips to the floor on his knees. After piercing me with his gaze, reminding me of our connection, he stands again. He doesn’t grace the opal woman at my side with so much as a sideways glance even though her pert crimson-nippled breasts are on full display. His full attention is on me and me alone.

I don’t try to interpret what this performance means. Until ten minutes ago, I’d assumed he barely tolerated me. Right now, though, I think if we were alone and I was willing, he’d rut me right here on the polished stone floor.

He walks to the side of the room where he set his chair before his performance, then pulls it in front of us. He’s perhaps six feet away. I can see every inch of his shimmering, metallic green skin. Well, almost every inch.

He jumps onto the seat of the sturdy wooden chair and begins dancing in earnest. First, he faces us, rotating his hips, then he changes his movement and rhythm. Now he’s thrusting, deliberately mimicking the act of intercourse. The moves he’s using are as realistic as if he was inside me right this minute.

I haven't blinked in long minutes. I can’t tear my eyes away. As much as I’m loving the full-on frontal view, I’m wondering what that meaty ass looks like as he pumps an imaginary female from behind.

As if he read my mind, he gives a quick hop and a twirl, and I’m now treated to the spectacle of that talented, rhythmic thrusting ass.

Why aren’t there gladiatorial events for this? This right here would have me tossing every dollar I have at this gorgeous male’s feet.

I can feel him inside me. I never knew my imagination was so vivid, but I swear I can feel his thick cock sliding in and out of me in rhythm with his thrusts up on that chair.

His body is covered with a thin sheen of sweat. Not only can I imagine every pull and push of him inside my channel, but I can imagine my palms urging him on as they press into the hollows on the sides of that sweet ass.

If this goes on much longer I might be the one who yanks him off his chair, throws him down, and ruts him on the shiny stone floor.

He steps off the chair only long enough to move it even closer to Tsing and I. He’s close enough to reach out and touch. Tsing, who’s been holding my hand this whole time, loosens her grip on me. I have a feeling she’s going to quit fantasizing about touching him. I think the moment he pulls that loincloth off she’s going to snake her palm around his cock.

This thought makes me feel like I have lost my mind. I’m incapable of cogent thought for a moment, unable to think in words—only pictures.

I imagine myself choking her until her blue coloring turns the color of black mold. If she touches my male I will kill her.

My eyes flare wide at this thought. Really, Aerie? ‘My male’? Did that thought actually fly through my brain? Kill her?

Oh my God. I have feelings for him. I want to kill another female because I fantasized that she touched his cock. I’ve lost my mind.

He slows down, moving only once to every two beats of the pounding music. He spears me with a serious look. It speaks volumes. If I could read minds, this is what it would say.

‘I can smell you Aerie. I can almost taste your need. Every spin and twirl and thrust up here was to turn you on. This was an apology and an attempt to put us far away from what happened in your room the other night. This is a new beginning.’

And if that’s true? If I’m a mind reader? It doesn’t matter , some logical Aerie in the back of my brain screams. He’ll be dead in twenty-four hours.

At any other time, this thought alone would have sobered me. But it gets buried under the onslaught of lust as he begins to slowly unwind the rectangle of blue fabric he’s artfully twined around his hips and sex.

So slowly.

All the while he doesn’t remove his gaze from mine. Tsing paid 40,000 credits for this, and what does she get for her troubles? Spurned. His full attention is on me.

When there’s one more twist, one more turn before his cock is freed from its sapphire prison, his hand stills. The corners of his mouth tip into an approximation of a smile, then he pulls the scrap of fabric free and lets it flutter to the floor.

He lifts his arms slowly from his sides until they point to the ceiling. I can almost hear the accolades drifting in from ten thousand people in the stands of the arena. He acts as if he just slew six opponents on the buff-colored sand.

Lowering his eyes from the heavens, he spears Tsing with his gaze for the first time since the music began. He grabs his meaty cock and begins to stroke from base to tip.

She reaches a hand out tentatively, unable to refrain from touching, but his lips firm into a straight line as he shakes his head no. Pulling her hand back, she returns to observe-only mode.

He’s slow and firm and deliberate as he works himself. He acts as if he has all night to bring himself to climax.

He fondles his balls, then works the shaft, all with a light touch. His eyelids shutter down and he strokes himself harder, focusing farther up his shaft.

It’s mesmerizing. The look of pleasure on his face. The way his facial muscles tighten and his abdominals contract. He’s breathing harder, little muffled groans escaping him until finally, as if he’s racing to the finish, he leans forward, still standing on the chair only inches from us.

He moans soft as a sigh as he releases onto Tsing’s breasts. His luminescent green come spatters first on one breast, then another.

Even after his orgasm, he continues to stroke himself, slower now, as he watches the Sabron female’s reaction. His eyes, almost savage, don’t leave her.

I’m on high alert. Is she going to take this as an assault? Call her guards?

No. A feral smile lights her face and she purrs with . . . pleasure?

With the pad of her finger, she scoops some of his come off her right breast. A red light, glowing from within her rib cage, shines brighter. Catching his gaze, she sticks out the tip of her robin’s egg blue tongue and licks every drop, then collects some more and sticks her entire finger into her mouth, one millimeter at a time.

“The Beast of Tramachor is a naughty boy,” she scolds as Beast caresses himself with gentle tugs. “I take it you won’t take me up on my offer to join me later in my chambers?”

He shakes his head.

“Very well, you earned your 40,000 credits. I must admit, it pains me that you’re going to waste your obvious talents on this skittish, pale female.” She swipes the light green liquid off her chest once more, sucks it off her finger with a popping sound, and waves us off dismissively.

Beast

I leave the clothing Tsing provided me lying on the floor where I tossed it, leap from the chair to the floor, reach my hand out to help Aerie to her feet, and stride toward the door.

Aerie and I lead the way upstairs, followed by our three gladiator protectors. By the curious looks on their faces, I can tell they’re dying to ask questions, but I give them a quelling stare. I’m not in the mood to speak.

They peel off to enter their room, leaving Aerie and I outside her door.

Her chest is heaving, just as it was in the dining room while she watched me. The intervening minimas since my performance have done nothing to diminish the pure desire on her face or the aroma of arousal blasting off of her.

“That was . . . spectacular, Beast.” Her gaze doesn’t shy from mine.

I nod once in thanks.

“I know tonight, more than any night in your lifetime, you need to get a good night’s sleep. But this place is creepy, I’d bet my life savings—if I had any—that there’s a camera in my room, and I don’t want to sleep alone. Can I join you? Just to sleep?”

She’s right, I do need my sleep. When she was blathering to the reporters earlier today about athletes’ superstitions, she wasn’t too far off the mark. I have my own superstitions and rituals. I never spill my seed the night before a match.

I know, it’s an outdated belief, but it works for me. I’ve already jinxed myself by coming on Tsing. I have no desire to repeat the performance.

I probably won’t be sleeping at all tomorrow night. Odds are good that I’ll be dead. What harm is there in sharing my bed with the pretty little human?

I nod. “Sleep only, Aerie.”

She smiles and orders, “Wait here. I won’t be a minute.”

Less than one minima later, she pops out of her room wearing a cloth shirt that hangs almost to her knees. She wordlessly follows me next door and into my room.

She climbs into the bed as I enter the bathroom to take a shower.

Resting one hand on the mosaic-tiled wall, I let the warm water sluice over my body. I shake my head as the water runs over my hair. I’ve never danced before. It’s not something gladiator slaves have the opportunity to do. I have no idea why I danced like that .

Actually, I do know, I realize as I soap under my arms. I am at a crossroads. I may die in the arena tomorrow. If I’m to believe anyone who’s had the balls to offer an opinion, I’m a walking dead male right this minima .

If I do live, my life will be completely different after tomorrow. I’ll be a free male for the first time in my life. Either way, I wasn’t going to dance for that Sabron cunt for her pleasure. I decided to take my own pleasure from the experience.

It didn’t take me long to realize my dance was arousing little Aerie. I took pleasure from that, too.

Now she’s in my bed waiting for me. Why did I let her join me? I’ve never slept with a female before. Even Emmannee. My master let me lie with her, share my seed, but we were never allowed even one night together.

After turning off the shower, I towel dry and am about to leave the bathroom naked when I halt. I’m not certain I like the little human, but my cock is more than a little interested. I need to lock him down before I crawl into bed.

Stalking out of the bathroom, I grab a loincloth from my belongings, put it on, then climb onto the mattress.

She’s almost hanging off her side of the bed, facing the wall. It’s good to know she has the ability to be true to her word.

Lying on my back, palms under my head, I observe the ceiling in the scant light that seeps under the bathroom door. Although I try not to, I find myself choreographing possible moves against three opponents tomorrow.

They say your muscles can learn from picturing things in your mind. I’m not sure how that works, but orchestrating a thousand ways I can win tomorrow isn’t a bad method to put myself to sleep.

When I finally close my eyes, I notice little Aerie is tossing and turning on her side of the bed. Perhaps twice a minima she shifts from one hip to the other.

As soon as I turn my attention from tomorrow’s matches to the activities in this room, I understand what’s going on. The aroma of Aerie’s arousal is pungent enough to wake the dead.

I hardly took my eyes from her during my performance. Nor did she remove her gaze from me. Her chest was heaving with excitement, the tight buds of her nipples showed plainly through the thin fabric of her toga, and the scent of her interest perfumed the air.

I’ve always loved the sound of a crowd chanting my name, obviously excited and enthusiastic about my performance. Tonight I discovered the thrill of having a female enthralled by a different type of presentation.

I try to yank my thoughts from the pretty female a mere fierto from me in my bed, but her constant wiggling and twisting demand my attention.

“Aerie, you promised to sleep,” I gently scold.

“Sorry. I don’t know why I can’t drift off.” She turns away from me, plumps her pillow, sighs, and stays still for no more than a minima until she turns again.

“You’re aroused,” I announce without judgment.

Silence from her side of the bed. Then more twisting and turning, accompanied by one long sigh.

“Admit it,” I urge, not knowing what I’m going to do with the information once she shares it.

“Um, maybe.” She turns away from me again.

I don’t want to spill my seed again tonight. Once was one time too many. But I can relieve her so I can get some sleep.

“I can ease you,” my tone is soft, tempting.

She flips toward me and inspects my face. I’m uncertain what she’s looking for.

“Are you fucking with me?”

“No. I don’t do that before a match, but I will relieve you so we can both get to sleep.”

She searches my face again, her own face revealing a dozen different emotions. “Okay.”

I know many ways to pleasure a female, they all involve a great deal of pleasure for me as well. The last thing I need is to ramp up my own desires. My need for sleep is becoming more desperate as each minima passes. I decide on the least arousing technique I can think of.

I pull her shirt over her head, then order her, “Turn toward the wall.” She immediately complies, but not before I see her blue eyes flare wide in surprise.

She’s bare except for tiny white panties that cover her sex. The globes of her bottom are pointed at me, with only a thin stretch of fabric lodged in the crack of her ass.

Drack , my cock can’t help but sit up and take notice. I need to proceed as fast as possible.

I order my body not to ince closer as I reach around, grab the top of her panties from the front and the waistband in the back with the other hand. Then I pull, putting pressure on all her private places.

She sucks in a sharp breath, so I pull harder until she releases a little moan. Then I rock the fabric forward and back, picturing what it’s doing to her little pleasure-button.

I don’t have to imagine too hard, she lifts her knee and thrusts her ass back so I have better access to her.

I hadn’t thought it would be this easy. I’d thought that at some point I’d have to touch her, but perhaps the little human can find release with just this gentle rocking movement.

“Beast,” she moans, then presses herself against the fabric. Her movements become more powerful, her noises grow louder. She’s close.

Then her panties snap, and I’m gripping two scraps of fabric inces from her body.

Impatient, she grabs one of my hands, drags it over her hip and presses my fingers into her drenched opening. My cock jerks in excitement, not understanding that he’s to get no action until after the fight tomorrow.

Aerie flips onto her back, opens herself wide to me and whispers, “Please,” her knees pressed to the bed.

Without thinking, I’m on my knees, lodged between hers, slamming two fingers into her channel. The moment my thumb circles her little button, her moaning rises an octave.

She slides down, impaling herself more fully on my fingers, and writhes on my hand. She meets every thrust with one of her own. Soon, she comes with a long, low, keening scream that goes on for lingering moments as I feel her inner muscles spasm around my fingers.

Drack! My cock is drooling, desperate to get into the action. After I remove my fingers, I snap my cock hard enough to kill my erection, lie down facing away from her, and close my eyes. I could stay up all night cursing myself for my insanity, but that would defeat the purpose.

“Beast.” She’s still panting, drifting down from her release. “Sorry.”

I can tell she wants to say something else. I don’t think I want to hear it.

“Thank you,” she says. “Get some sleep.”

Aerie

What just happened? My mind is blown. This entire day has been beyond belief. Who am I kidding? I left the realm of normal a couple weeks ago when I was stolen from my home and thrown into a stasis pod.

I’ve been attracted to Beast since the moment we wound up in that bunk together on the slave ship. Him calling out his girlfriend’s name did little to dampen my desire.

That dance I just witnessed? Chalk that up to the hottest freaking thing I’ve ever seen. Bar none. And this? Having a gladiator barbarian practically make me come using nothing other than my panties? That should probably be in the Guinness Book of World Records .

All of a sudden my brain catches up with my endorphins. I remember that twenty-four hours from now I’ll be on the Fool’s Errand and he’ll be lying dead in a morgue on planet Galgon.

More than a buzz kill.

I think I’ve developed feelings for him. So. Not. Good.

His breathing is slow and even. He’s probably gotten to sleep. Good. He needs to be at his best tomorrow afternoon when he fights six males for his life.

Feeling like Scarlett O’Hara, I decide to worry about this another day.