Page 49 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius (Awakened From the Ice #3)

Chapter Forty-Nine

C assius

Diana’s kiss awakens the warrior within me, the predator that once dominated the arena. My body remembers what it means to conquer, to claim.

Her fingers trace fire across my bare skin as she presses closer. The sweet taste of her, the soft sounds she makes as I deepen the kiss—it’s intoxicating. Better than the finest Falernian wine, more potent than any gladiatorial victory.

My body thrums with barely contained desire, every instinct demanding I claim what’s mine, but through the haze of passion, I hear voices in the hallway, the familiar sounds of my fellow gladiators returning from dinner. With immense effort, I break the kiss, resting my forehead against hers as we both catch our breath.

“I’ve imagined this moment a thousand times,” I whisper, cradling her face in my hands. “A sweet reunion. But never like this. Never here, with thin walls and curious ears.” I brush my thumb across her lower lip, still swollen from our kisses. “You deserve better than a rushed encounter in the barracks.”

Her eyes, dark with desire, meet mine. “I don’t care where we are,” she breathes. “I just want you. I’ve waited too long.”

The raw honesty in her voice nearly breaks my resolve. “Are you sure? About this? About us?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been about anything.”

I press a gentle kiss to her forehead, then her nose, then her lips—soft and sweet. “Then come home with me.”

She pulls back, confusion clouding her features. “But we’re in your—” Understanding dawns, and her smile is radiant. “Your home is with me?”

“My home is wherever you are,” I confirm. “Perhaps tonight it can be your cabin?”

Her laugh is bright and joyous as she tugs me toward the door. “Yes. God, yes.”

The night air hits my bare chest like Venus’s breath in winter, but I barely notice. Diana tries to slow our pace, insisting I should put on shoes, a shirt, something against the cold. But I can’t wait, can’t bear to waste precious seconds on such trivial concerns.

“I’ve faced a winter campaign in Gaul,” I remind her, though the memory is hazy. “A short run through Missouri winter won’t kill me.”

We start walking quickly, then jogging, then running as desire and urgency override dignity. My feet barely feel the gravel path, my skin steaming in the cool air. Diana’s hand is warm in mine as we race through the darkness, our breath coming in white puffs, matching our hurried steps.

A few lights still burn in Varro and Laura’s house, but we avoid them, taking the longer route through the woods. The horses nicker softly from nearby, perhaps smelling our passage and wondering why their usually sensible caretakers are running like love-struck youths in the night.

When we finally reach her cabin, we’re both breathing hard, though not entirely from exertion. I catch her as she fumbles with the key, pressing soft kisses to her neck that make her hands shake.

“Not helping,” she gasps, but she tilts her head to give me better access to the vulnerable column of her neck.

Finally, the door swings open. It strikes me that I’ve waited over two millennia for this moment.