Page 50 of Galaxy Gladiators Romance Box Set #11-19

Chapter Two

M aximus

Checking out takes longer than it should because the male at the register wants to sell me a pain/kill collar. I wore one of the abominable things for too many decades to ever want to touch one again. Besides, I’m a trained gladiator. I was on my way to becoming a pinnacle level. Why would I need to put the little human in a slave collar?

Before I can stop him, the auctioneer approaches and gives the female an injection in her neck.

“What the drack ?” I roar. Is he euthanizing her even though I bought her?

“I own this facility. I gave her an additional shot to keep her knocked out until you get to your destination. I want no lawsuits.”

“What did you give her?”

“Just a little concoction to keep her compliant. Awake? Asleep? It shouldn’t matter for what you have in mind.”

I control my urge to grab him by the throat and lift him off the floor. I can’t say his assumption is too far off the mark, but when I hear it come out of his mouth, it shakes me to my core.

Was I really considering having sex with the little human when she’s unconscious? Vartan was right, I lost my decency long ago.

As soon as the credit changes hands, the two guards who were keeping her vertical release her. I catch her before she crashes to the floor.

The hover-taxi driver’s mouth sags in disapproval when I enter his vehicle with a comatose female in my arms.

What the drack was I thinking? I shouldn’t have bought her, even if it was for only one credit. I tried to do a decent thing, save her from death, but what will I do with her? And I have no illusions about her—this one’s trouble.

Vartan and I checked into the hotel earlier, so I don’t have to stop at the reception desk. I stride to the elevators and carry her comatose body to my room. Once inside, I stand with my back to the door, rub the back of my neck with my palm, and try to think. No matter how I envision the next few days, this isn’t going to turn out well.

I tuck her into bed, not having to remove her shoes since she has none. After pulling up the covers, I comm my ship to talk to the captain.

“Beast,” I say when I get him on the comm. “I bought a female.” I wait for him to roar his angry response, but the other end is silent. Mated life must agree with him, he’s calmed since he’s been with Aerie.

“Vartan and I went to an auction. I know he’d spoken to you about buying gladiator-slaves and freeing them. He said you approved bringing them aboard if they wanted to join us.”

I consider mentioning that Vartan also returned from the auction with a female addition to the crew, but I’ll leave that to him.

“They were going to euthanize a human,” I emphasize her species since his mate is human, and I assume he has a soft spot for them. “I couldn’t let them do that. I rescued her.” Rescue? Is that what I did? Maybe I give myself too much credit. As Vartan was so quick to point out, I have nothing charitable in my soul. Until now, I’ve thought that whatever good there may have been was crushed out of me.

“Our ship has room. Does she want to join us?”

“I have no idea.”

After I explain the circumstances of the purchase, Beast says, “I won’t tolerate dissension on my ship. She’s welcome aboard if she will be a productive crew member. If she’s a troublemaker, she’ll have to go. Let’s not judge her. She bit the Bahranian who was purchasing her? She’ll probably fit right in.” He chuckles as he terminates our comm.

The female doesn’t look like she’s going to wake anytime soon, and there’s something I’ve been wanting to do since I checked in. Actually, I’ve wanted to do it for three decades.

Since I might be busy for quite some time, I grab two extra sheets from the top of the closet and use them to tie her wrists to the bed posts. I hate to do it, but if I’m not around and she wakes up I don’t want her running away.

Humans are usually taken straight to auction from the vessel they were abducted in. She probably has nowhere to run. If she darts out of the room barefoot in that thin gown, she’s going to wind up behind bars somewhere. This sounds like a safer course of action.

After double-checking her wrists to make sure they’re secured but not too tight, I peel my clothes off as I walk to the refresher.

I run the bath, then step into the water and settle my back against the cool metal tub. I close my eyes and enjoy the feeling.

I’ve only been in a tub a few times in three decades. I had a short vacation on the Pleasure Planet a few lunars ago where I took a few baths.

After being stolen from my homeworld at age five, I was placed in a ludus on a planet at the backend of the galaxy. They specialized in teaching children the art of fighting and barely let us shower. They certainly didn’t provide baths.

Teaching children, that’s an interesting way to describe what I went through.

The word ‘abuse’ circles my mind, but I shake my head to force that thought out. I learned early in life not to focus on the pain or anger or shame, it only makes things worse.

I blank my mind and pay attention to my physical self. This technique has been my friend for decades. I don’t allow any thoughts to float through my mind, I just think about my body. I start with my toes as I have a thousand times before. No matter how badly abused I’ve been, my toes almost never hurt.

I wiggle them, settling farther into my body. I’m just toes, toes swishing through water. Then calves and thighs and fingers and arms.

I allow the water to soothe me and soon all the memories and pain are forced out of my mind. I can even enjoy my bath.

Raine

I’m on fire. What’s going on? Pain is burning every nerve and synapse in my body. My lids flare open and I assess where I am.

The first thing I see is a metal door, immediately reminding me I’m in space. I was abducted!

The events at the auction house flash through my mind. Oh my God, that ugly male kissed me! He was more hideous up close than when I saw him from the stage.

There are certain things built into our DNA, housed in the insular cortex, that most humans have in common. We’re repulsed by rotting food and putrid flesh. It’s evolutionary, to keep the bloodlines going strong. No matter what the consequences, I couldn’t let that asshole touch me. Bile rises in my throat at the mere thought of it.

The last thing I remember is biting him—hard. My mouth was filled with the grossest thing I’ve ever tasted. Before I could spit it out, the worst pain I’ve ever felt jolted through me from both sides, and then I woke up here in almost the same level of pain. What happened? Where am I?

I move to get comfortable only to find my hands are tied. Oh my God! I wiggle my legs. I’m relieved to find I’m not spread-eagled but that is little comfort.

Thrashing my head from side to side, I look to see where I am. It’s a nondescript room. With a few minor changes, it could be a Sheraton in any city in the United States. I’m on a wide bed, there’s a table and two chairs in the corner, a sleek mahogany-color dresser, and what looks like a TV hanging on the wall. That’s probably a bathroom door on the wall to my right.

And no aliens in sight.

I’m tied to the bed, though, and I’m in agony. Hot waves of pain roll through my body, then stop, then undulate. One of the questions we’re taught to ask our patients is what number they are on the zero to ten pain scale. Right now I’d say eight, edging toward nine.

If I were at home, I’d be calling out to my roommate Caroline for help. As it is, I don’t want to alert my captor—or captors—that I’m awake.

I pull against my bindings but immediately realize my folly. I may be restrained with two bedsheets, but whoever tied me did a good job.

Craning my head, I search for anything I can use as a weapon when someone unties me. The best I can come up with is to grab a drawer and bash them with it. It may not be a good plan, but it’s my only plan.

It’s folly to wonder what I’ll do if I manage to fight my way out of this room. I’m in space. Where, exactly, do I think I’m going? I’ll worry about that later. One thing at a time.

Rolling waves of pain spike through me. I’m solidly in ‘nine’ territory now. I can’t control my little mewls of misery.

I wonder if there are hidden cameras, if someone is watching me writhe in agony, taking pleasure from my pain. Is that why I’m not four-pointed to the bed? So they can see my muscles twist in torment?

A hot poker of pain spears through me. In fact, I think I’m spiking a fever. Within a minute, large drops of sweat roll from my hairline and drip onto the bed-sheet.

Did I think I was at a nine before? I’m two points up from there, grunting in pain. The mewls from the back of my throat are history. I’m moaning. Even though I forbade myself to do it, I cry out for help, my voice weak and helpless to my ears.

The bathroom door bursts open and a huge naked male barges out. He’s not the disgusting male who bought me. I didn’t see this guy at the auction.

He’s well over six feet tall with gunmetal gray skin and black hair with a shock of gold near his face. He’s dripping wet, his eyes wide in surprise as he looks at me. His body is the perfect ‘v’ every bodybuilder strives for. Wide shoulders, trim hips, and rippling muscle from neck to feet. His face is symmetrical with generous lips, framed by a neatly trimmed black moustache and beard. But it’s the eyes that command the most attention. They’re piercing amber, blazing as if they’re lit from within.

“Help?” I whisper through dry lips.

This male is built like a professional wrestler—only taller and bigger in every way. It’s obvious he’s the one who tied me to the bed. Am I stupid enough to ask for rescue from the very person who imprisoned me?

“What’s wrong?”

“Pain.” It’s all I can husk through dry lips.

As he approaches the bed, my agony flares. My body heat seems to rise ten degrees. If this gets much worse, it could kill me. Before I pass out, I manage, “Bathtub.”

Swift fingers untie my bonds, then he scoops me into his arms and stalks to the door he barged out of. He tears off my clothes with swift precision and then slips me into water that’s probably tepid, but against my skin feels like an ice bath.

I’m so parched, so fatigued, and the horrid taste of that melty guy is still in my mouth. I think nothing of dipping my head and lapping at the soapy water until he says, “No.” A moment later he lifts a glass of cool, fresh water to my lips.

I don’t know who this male is. He might rape me as soon as I’m not on the precipice of death. But right this moment, I believe this is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.

The rolling waves of heat inside my body are now cramping every muscle. I contort with a cry, my body balling into the fetal position.

“What’s happening?” My voice sounds foreign to my ears. It’s tiny, like a little girl’s.

“You just got to Hyperion? Maybe you’re allergic to something,” his voice is calm. In a different circumstance, it would be soothing. Nothing is soothing now. My pain is at fifteen.

The cramps subside for a moment, giving me mobility. I sigh in relief although the agony hasn’t abated. Immersing everything from my chin down in the cooling water, I try to gain relief, but I get none.

All at once, the pain changes. It’s still hot, but it quits rolling through my body in waves. It begins to travel to one place—my pelvis. Within a minute, the effect is clear. The heat is pooling in my sex organs.

It’s not just heat now, though. It’s arousal. Stimulation beyond anything I’ve felt before. It’s not one or two notches up from what I’ve felt with a boyfriend before. No. It’s times a hundred, times a thousand.

Things like this don’t just happen. We may be in space on planet Hyperion, but this isn’t an allergic reaction. Have I been given the space equivalent of a roofie?

“What did you do to me?”

“Nothing.”

Look at him. Under different circumstances, his alien face would be handsome, but this male is an asshole. He drugged me.

I find the strength to lever myself to a sitting position even though my muscles are tight and cramping. Gripping my hands around his neck, which is thick as my thigh, I try to choke the motherfucker.

He easily bats my hands away.

“I did nothing to hurt you,” he insists as he grasps my wrists to keep them away from his throat. Despite what I just did to him—or tried to do—he’s surprisingly gentle.

My arousal is ramping. I need relief and I need it now.

I fight the urge for a minute more, possibly even less, then my meager willpower evaporates. Pulling my knees up, my soles on the floor of the tub, I widen my legs, pull my hands from his grasp, and circle my clit. I don’t ask permission or even request he avert his gaze. I do this without fanfare or preliminaries. I’m desperate to relieve my sexual tension. It’s a biological imperative.

It takes me less than ten seconds to come. The orgasm is puny, one of those little ones that make you wonder if you even came. It provides no relief. Within seconds my need just ramps higher.

“Motherfucker,” I say, then sag forward, panting. “You fucking roofied me.”

I hunch over myself and attack my clit again. The result is the same as a moment ago—a quick release, but no lasting relief.

“Roofie?” he asks, his voice deep, his piercing amber gaze focused on me.

“Aphrodisiac,” I say as I begin round three.

“I gave you nothing,” he protests after my weak orgasm sputters to an end. “I bought you because they were going to euthanize you.”

“Euthanize? Did that translate correctly?”

“If no one bought you they were going to kill you.”

“Oh.” The word came out as a word, but quickly morphed into a moan that sounded more like, “Oww!”

Even if he did save my life, that didn’t give him permission to roofie me.

“You’re getting satisfaction?” he asks, his face sincere.

“Not enough. I’m on fire.” I rub myself again with no true relief.

“Can I help?”

It hits me like a ton of bricks that I’m in space, on another planet, less than a foot away from an alien who’s watched my masturbation session with detached curiosity. And I’ve allowed it, almost unconcerned about the complete violation of privacy.

My response is a defeated moan when this time the feeble orgasm provides no relief at all.

“No, you can’t help. I’ll manage.”

I may be preoccupied and self-absorbed, but I’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to notice my companion has an erection. The big slate gray alien is on his knees, his ass resting on his heels, with his stiff cock pointing at me with interest.

It’s big. Certainly the biggest I’ve ever seen, and the head is a dark, angry black. The bumps circling his cock catch my attention as I wonder what they would feel like sliding into me.

I can’t blame him for being aroused. If I were sitting less than a foot from a naked masturbating male, I imagine my panties would be moist if not dripping.

I try to climb out of the bathtub. Without asking, he lifts me with gentle, calloused hands. When he tries to help me to my feet, I shake my head. Instead, I kneel on the bathmat, hunch over myself, and see if this position might grant more relief. If anything, this posture is worse.

“Would my . . . would my cock help?”

“How? How could your cock help?” I ask as I pant like a pregnant woman in Lamaze class.

“I don’t know, but what you’re doing isn’t working.”

I would hate this male pure and simple if the look on his face wasn’t full of sincere generosity.

As I hesitate, my gaze flicking from him to the floor, another wave of hot desire squeezes my pelvis in uncomfortable cramps.

I haven’t had sex in a while, but unless I was in stasis for years on my transport here, my birth control implant hasn’t expired. With that objection out of the way, I can’t think of one reason why I shouldn’t take him up on his offer. What have I got to lose?

“Yes,” I say on a groan.

He lifts me in the bridal position and strides to the bed. I must be burning up because his hands feel cool on my skin.

He rips the covers off so just the fitted sheet covers the bed, then sets me down and joins me.

In another lifetime, back on Earth, this would be awkward as hell. I’ve never had a one-night stand, certainly never had sex with a man whose name I didn’t know. Right now, though, all of that seems like unnecessary trappings. Nothing matters other than getting his penis into my vagina.

I lose any semblance of decorum when I urge, “Hurry!”

He reaches between my legs, I presume to ensure I’m sufficiently wet. Ridiculous. If I hadn’t been soaking in a tub of water, my fluids would have leaked down my thighs to my ankles. What his gesture does do, however, is give me a little orgasm.

“That was . . .?” he asks.

“Yeah. Not enough. Fuck me. Hurry.”

He surrounds me with his huge, cool body, lifts my legs to spread me open, and places his cock at my entrance. This male is big. His palm is twice as big as mine. He’s football player size. His cock is, too. Good. Maybe this will do the trick.

He nudges the head of his cock in and my core quivers in appreciation.

I think he’s trying to take it slow, make it easy on me. If anything, his considerate actions are making things worse. I thrust up while pressing his ass toward me, effectively impaling myself on his impressive equipment.

“Oh, yes,” I sigh as my hungry body spasms around him. The orgasm goes on and on, rewarding me for following its directive to have intercourse.

For the first time since this started, I take a full breath.

“Oh my God,” I say as I roll out from under him. “I’m glad that’s over. You need to tell me what you did to me.”

“Nothing. Nothing other than buying you from the auction to keep them from euthanizing you. The auctioneer was angry at you for ruining the sale.”

“Sorry, not sorry,” I say. “I wouldn’t have bitten that guy if no one had abducted me from my bed and taken me to outer space! ” I’ll admit, those last words were loud. And angry.

He fiddles with his watch, and a moment later he’s talking to someone, demanding to speak with the auctioneer.

When he gets the male on his comm, he says, “I bought the last female, the one from Earth,” he says.

“The biter?”

“Yes. She’s . . . ill. Do you have a record of anything wrong with her?”

“Is she aroused?” The male on the other end sneers.

“Yes.”

“It was that last shot I gave her. I didn’t want her disappointing you and winding up back at my door. She’s bad for business. That shot should keep her docile and compliant for a while.”

He sounds so smug I want to reach through the line and strangle him.

“How long will it last?”

“No idea. I gave her twice the dose I’d give to an average female. I don’t know how it will affect the human.”

The auctioneer terminates the comm, but by now I’m not concerned with either of the males. All I can pay attention to is my body—the desperate, hot, achy demands of my core to be exact.

I don’t want to be needy or demanding. I’ve always prided myself on being self-sufficient. So I start rubbing myself.

“Does that work?” he asks, his head tilted as he spears me with a questioning look.

“Not as well as your cock,” I say, barely embarrassed at the blatantly sexual invitation.

After his huge paw bats my hand out of the way, he rolls on top of me and slips into me in one long, slick slide.

“Your xyzca is so hot, so tight,” he hisses, his eyes closed in pleasure.

This time it takes more than one thrust to bring me relief. He gets three pumps in before I come. I have the vague realization that I’ve come many times today, and he’s still hard as stone.

My compassionate mind deserted me somewhere on the trip from Earth to Hyperion. I’m strictly in selfish territory now. As long as he stays hard, he can give me what I need. I hope he never comes.

For now, the fire has abated and I push against his chest. “It’s got to be over now, right?”

He immediately rolls off me with a groan.

I lay, panting, as my body stands down. My temperature slides back toward normal and my calves fully relax from their excruciating cramps.

I must have dozed for a while, but I wake up feeling like I’ve fallen into a heating vent. The short respite is history and I need relief again.

When I look over, I see my companion is asleep. I guess we both decided to catch a nap during our downtime. Although I didn’t want to wake him, when I begin furiously working myself his eyes pop open.

“You know that doesn’t work,” he gently scolds. “Next time wake me when you need me.”

His mission is accomplished less than one minute later.

My body is giving me a breather and I’m not sleepy. I wonder what my response would be if positions were reversed. What if he needed me desperately, would I be as generous? I would hope so.

Now seems to be a good time for introductions.

“I’m Raine,” I say.

“Maximus.”

“On Earth, that means the biggest or the best.”

“That’s me,” he chuckles.

“You have a big head,” I mock-scold.

He puts his palms to his temples and asks, “I do?” If I didn’t hate both him and my circumstances I’d consider him adorable.

“It’s a saying. It means you have a big ego.”

He says nothing, but even in the low light, I can tell my words broke the lighthearted moment.

“I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“It’s not an insult. As a gladiator, you need a big ego. If you don’t believe in yourself, you’d never walk out of the arena alive.”

“You’re a gladiator?”

He nods.

“I don’t know how long ago I was abducted, but the last thing I remember before waking at the auction house was sleeping in my bed on Earth. I know nothing about this new world I’ve been catapulted into other than slavery is legal . . . and apparently gladiators fight to the death.”

Over the next several hours, between bouts of quick sex and periods of reprieve from my body’s demands, Maximus fills me in on the ways of the galaxy.

“It sounds like a scary place,” I say after hearing about the unfeeling Feds and the powerful cartels. They have a penchant for abducting any species that’s in demand. It appears Maximus’s race makes good gladiators and mine makes good breeders and bed-slaves. Lucky us.

At one point, after a short nap and a quick sexual release, Maximus carries me to the bathroom. I’d begun to wonder if maybe spacemen don’t have orgasms. I don’t believe he’s come yet. My suspicions are confirmed when he sets me down in the shower and nothing trickles down my leg. I’ll have to ask about that.

I almost sag to the floor when he sets me on my feet. My muscles are spent from cramping and coming.

He turns on the cool, refreshing water and joins me. With soapy hands, he washes me. He’s gentle and efficient.

The situation is surreal. We’ve exchanged bodily fluids over a dozen times since we’ve met. Well, I’ve exchanged body fluids, he’s . . . held back for some reason. He’s explained a few things about this galaxy I’ve been dumped into. Yet I know nothing about him.

Nothing except the silken feel of his skin under my fingers and the slide of his thick cock in my core.

I feel stronger. The water has invigorated me. When Maximus is done washing me, I turn him toward the rear of the shower and soap his back.

I’ve watched hundreds of sci-fi movies that featured dozens of alien races. I never imagined one with such broad shoulders or sinewy thighs. I must have been in a drug-induced haze not to have noticed the steel-corded muscles under his skin.

I turn him toward me and soap his chest.

When he told me earlier he was a gladiator, I wondered if he was lying. It’s hard to comprehend the odd juxtaposition of space travel and gladiatorial fights. One is so futuristic and the other is barbaric. But in the dim light of the shower, my fingertips can trace the truth of his statement. There are long thin scars and short thick ones that mar his back and chest like a roadmap of pain.

I was in med school. Most of the men I dated were guys I met in class, that’s how college tends to work. Not that everyone was quite as geeky as me, but no one was spending hours in the gym every day, either. I’ve never touched a male body like this. The hard strands of muscle under his soft, dark skin are sexy.

“What is your race?”

“Addai.”

“Do Addais not orgasm? Ejaculate?” I ask as I dip my head to avoid his scrutiny.

“We do.”

“Did I miss something? I could swear you haven’t come yet.”

“No. After two or three times I need a waiting period. I held back because I wanted to be available to you.”

Really? This guy’s been humping me for hours, probably desperate for release, and didn’t allow himself to come so he could attend to my needs? Although this whole situation is ridiculous, his consideration and sacrifice are real. Suddenly, I want to reward him.

Placing my hands on his pecs, I hold them there as I gaze into his almost-glowing golden eyes. I flick his flat male nipples with the pads of my index fingers and watch his response. Big Maximus stands still as a statue, giving away nothing, except the almost imperceptible flare of his nostrils.

I scrape his little nipples with my thumbnails and get rewarded with another nostril flare. My gladiator doesn’t like to give anything away—he’s a male of secrets. I decide my mission is to see his eyes shutter in desire and hear him moan in pleasure.

My desperate need made me selfish over the last several hours. I vow to rectify my bad manners. I hope my body gives me enough of a respite that I can take my time before I’m frenzied again.

I palm his flesh from the muscular dents near his shoulders, down the hills and valleys of his arms. When he swallows hard, I feel as if I’ve won a prize.

“I’m not stopping until you make a noise of pleasure,” I whisper so quietly I’m assured my words are washed away by the rush of the water.

Stepping closer, I reach behind and skate my fingers over his slick back to the sexy divots on the sides of his beefy ass. I rest my palms there for a moment, then slip them to his front and slide up, stopping where I began, at his pecs.

His body hasn’t moved. He continues to stand tall and pretend I’m not affecting him in the slightest. Except his jaw is slack and his golden eyes are heavy-lidded.

I lick up from his pec to his collarbone, then flick the hard line of his jaw. The water’s pelting so hard it’s difficult to tell, but I think his pectoral muscle quivered. I like this hard-willed gladiator. He’s making this a conquest, and I’ve always been a competitive person. It’s my personal goal to hear him moan, but I won’t tell him. I have a feeling if I do, he’ll go to his deathbed without giving me that.

Licking my way down, I stop and flick my tongue against his nipple until his breathing increases. He’s fighting me, but I’m going to win. And when I win, he will too.

“Mouth or xyzca , Maximus? Where do you want to come?” I ask boldly, using his alien term for my core. He’s tended me for hours, not to mention saving me from euthanasia, the least I can do is work my hardest to give him something memorable.

His gaze flicks to my mouth, but he says nothing.

I sink to my knees at his feet. I’m shielded from the pelting water because he’s standing between me and the spray. I grip his hard-muscled ass and open my mouth near the head of his shaft.

Perhaps it’s the position I’m in or my proximity to his pulsing cock. Maybe it’s the pearl of glowing golden essence oozing from his tip, but waves of heat eddy through my body. Warmth swirls in my core. If things progress like they have been all day, I’ll have to hurry. Too bad. I wanted to give him my full attention.

I lick the bead of pre-cum that was hanging tantalizingly on the head of his cock, then flick the inverted ‘v’ at the front of his crown. His knees dip when I do that. Just the tiniest bit, but he’s letting me know he likes this. I lick again, then take him all the way inside me. As far as I can go.

He releases a soft sound, somewhere between a grunt and a moan. Yeah, Maximus likes this. So do I. It feels good to reward the male who saved my life. And I’ve earned his moan. He’s not holding back anymore.

I press my lips tightly around him and proceed to suck. He’s warm and hard and so big he fills me. He tastes clean and good. Up and down his shaft, my pace quickens. All at once, his restraint is abandoned. He grips my head and thrusts, taking care not to press deeper than I’ve allowed.

It’s an interesting dance. An exchange of power. At times, I set the pace, then he takes over, guiding me with his hands, his body. I like when he takes control, then enjoy it even more when he loses it—thrusting with abandon, allowing me to hear his pleasure over the pelting water.

I cup his heavy balls, loving the weight of them, the heft, the sheer masculinity. He rewards me by saying my name.

“Raine.”

His knees bend, his body dipped as if he’s going to spring forward, instead, he releases into me, his fluid bathing my mouth.

His fingers tighten in my hair, his ass cheeks clench and release, and he groans long and loud, the sound reverberating in the small space.

I roll his essence on my tongue, memorizing the thick, viscous feel of it, the warmth, and the taste, which vaguely reminds me of lemon meringue.

He lifts me, not just to standing, but holds me in his arms, one hand around my back, one under my bent knees.

“I . . .” He maintains eye contact, those golden eyes glowing as if he’s trying to peer into my soul. He doesn’t share his thoughts, though.

I’ll breach the silence, even if he won’t.

“I wanted to hate you, Maximus. I wanted to blame you for kidnapping and drugging me. You didn’t. You’re saving me.”

It suddenly strikes me that the white heat that had been building in my pelvis has stopped. I think my lust can be sated by two things—his cock and his sperm. I don’t understand how this aphrodisiac works, but I’m figuring out how to tame it.

He steps out of the shower and dries me, then himself.

“Think you can eat?” he asks as he carries me to bed.

Poor guy. I’ve been so self-absorbed I’ve barely given a thought to his needs.

“Yes. Room service?” I hope he’s not planning on leaving this room with or without me. I’d hate to get a ticket for public indecency and I don’t think I can go more than twenty minutes without being penetrated.

Moments later he finishes ordering on his wrist-comm.

“I didn’t ask what you’d like. You won’t know what anything is anyway,” he explains.

When the food arrives, I realize I’m famished. I guess I haven’t eaten in days, maybe longer. How long was the journey here, I wonder.

Two of the dishes taste like ass, two are okay, and two are delicious. My unspoken questions about why two people needed six dishes are answered when I watch the big boy eat. He’s shoveling it in at a steady pace, his hand making swift movements from plate to face, his hand curled around his fork like an inmate in a prison movie.

I’m certain he’s hungry, we’ve been locked in this room a while, but it’s more than that. I picture him eating in some gladiator barracks. There was probably limited food. I imagine the fastest eaters got the best nutrition.

“How old were you when you were abducted?” I ask.

“Five.”

“They put you in gladiator school at five?”

He nods, still shoveling.

“You lived in a barracks?”

He nods, this time removing his gaze from his plate long enough to flick it toward me. I think that was his subtle cue that I should change the subject.

I try to envision being abducted as a child. If I thought what happened to me was disorienting, what must it have been like as a kid? And then thrown into a barracks and forced to train, with the mentality that to the victor go the spoils. I can’t imagine how it must feel to live in his head.

He probably hasn’t been on the receiving end of a lot of kindness. My mind flashes to the roadmap of scars on his back. We’re both still naked, sitting at the table in our room. I guess we both knew we might need to race to the bed to take care of my needs at any moment.

My thoughts flick to the aftereffects of my own abduction. I haven’t had a moment to consider, but I imagine my absence is still fresh enough that my family and friends are still mourning me. I picture their attempts to find me, xeroxed pictures of my face with desperate pleas for information stapled to every telephone pole in town.

It hits me like a ton of bricks that no matter how shitty my new life is up here in space, they’ll always have a raw, empty spot in their chests when they think of me. At least I know what happened—they’ll never get closure. Sadness consumes me for a moment as I realize I am powerless to make this better. I can’t contact them. I force back the grief threatening to overwhelm me. I’ll need to deal with this one day at a time.

Maximus is about to spoon the last of the food onto his plate, but stops, then glances at me. “You get enough?”

“Go for it,” I gesture at the plate he was about to scrape clean.

He may not have gotten a lot of kindness in his life, but he’s been generous with me.

“Thanks for . . .” What do I say? Thanks for buying me? For fucking me? My life is surreal.