Page 13 of Thawed Gladiator: Quintus (Awakened From the Ice #6)

Chapter Twelve

Nicole

Morning light spills across my sheets, and I stretch with a wince of delicious soreness.

Every ache is a reminder of last night—his hands, his voice, the way my body came alive under his touch.

The sheets still smell faintly of him, and the memory is so vivid I can almost feel his weight pressed over me.

Already, I know last night won’t be the only time.

The way he touched me, the way I let him—it feels inevitable now, like the sun rising.

But before the afterglow can root too deep, the rational voice in my head starts nagging. This was supposed to be simple. Casual. A way to claim my body back. Nothing about Quintus feels simple. Which means I need to be careful.

A soft knock interrupts my spiraling. I clutch the sheet around me, crack the door—and nearly melt at the sight of Quintus holding two steaming mugs of coffee. His expression is controlled, but his eyes are warm.

“Good morning,” he says, offering me one. “I thought you might need this.”

That’s all it takes—one thoughtful gesture, exactly what I wanted before I even knew it—and warmth swells in my chest. This man could make falling terrifyingly easy.

“Thank you.” I inhale the rich scent before taking a sip. “Last night was…” I falter, because beautiful feels too raw. “Incredible.”

“It was.” His voice has that same cadence that first caught my attention—low and melodic, like it carries more meaning than the words themselves. Just hearing it makes heat coil low in my belly again.

I force myself to meet his eyes. “I want to be clear about what this is. Casual. Fun. No strings.”

Something flickers across his face before he reins it in. Disappointment? Hurt? But he only nods. “I understand.”

“I’m not looking for a relationship. I just found myself again, and I can’t lose that in someone else’s expectations.

” The words tumble out too quickly, as though if I say them fast enough, they’ll feel true.

But even as I speak them, I see how they land on him—like I’ve reduced last night to little more than physical relief.

Guilt twists in my stomach. This man brought me coffee without being asked, touched me like I was sacred, and I’m brushing him off as if he’s expendable.

“This is about me learning to trust myself again,” I add, softer. “I know that’s not fair to you.”

“You do not need to explain,” he says, voice steady. “What you give is enough.”

The graciousness only makes it worse. Maybe the most dangerous men aren’t the ones who push against your boundaries, but the ones who respect them so thoroughly you want to hand them the keys.

“Good. As long as we’re on the same page.”

He finishes his coffee and sets the mug aside. “I should let you get ready for training.”

“Quintus?” He pauses at the door. I blurt the only thing that feels safe. “Thank you. For last night. For this. For… understanding.”

He inclines his head. “Thank you for trusting me with your pleasure. I hope you know how extraordinary you are.”

Then he’s gone, leaving me in the doorway with my sheet slipping down and my coffee cooling in my hands.

Extraordinary. The word echoes through me, both terrifying and intoxicating.

During training, the afterglow has turned into a distraction.

Maya calls us to attention, but I’m only half-present, my body still tuned to the memory of his mouth, his hands.

Every time Quintus steps into my line of sight, I flush like a teenager.

When his fingers adjust my elbow during a drill, the brush is too brief, too professional—and yet awareness sparks through me as if he’d caressed me.

“Better,” he murmurs, his breath warm at my ear. “Trust your instincts.”

Trusting my instincts is the problem. They’re screaming at me to drag him into the nearest empty room.

Karen, my sparring partner, catches my distracted expression and smirks. “You look… relaxed today.”

“Do I?”

“Thoroughly.” Her grin is wicked.

I cut her off before she can say more, but the heat in my cheeks gives me away. And when Elena actually winks at me across the mat, I know I’m not fooling anyone.

By lunch, I need grounding. The universe obliges in the form of Flavius, who drops into our group like a one-man circus act. He launches into a story about this morning’s weapons demonstration, complete with sound effects and hand flourishes.

Once, I might have laughed outright. Today, I manage a polite smile. His energy is infectious, his charisma undeniable—but next to Quintus’s quiet steadiness, it feels like too much for me.

That doesn’t mean he isn’t appealing. Just not to me. Some woman will love being swept up in his spotlight. I’ve realized I prefer the steady glow of a flame that warms rather than dazzles.

Later, my laptop pings with my midterm grade. I blink at the screen and reread it three times just to be sure.

A+. Exceptional analysis with innovative applications. Your grasp of nonprofit leadership is both sophisticated and original.

From the woman Scott once said was “lucky community college would even take.”

My throat tightens as I screenshot the feedback and send it to Michael, David, and Ava. Their replies flood in within minutes—Michael’s quiet pride, David’s emojis, Ava’s exuberant joy.

The best part? Having someone to share it with. Not just my kids. Quintus.

Last week, when Professor Muransky praised my “graduate-level thinking,” I’d rushed to tell him. We’d been lingering after dinner, and I couldn’t hide my excitement.

“She said my strategies show graduate-level thinking,” I’d told him, almost sheepish.

His answer had been immediate, simple, certain: “That does not surprise me. I’ve seen your understanding in the way you speak about the sanctuary programs. You see beyond surfaces—you see the deep work of healing.”

I’d laughed nervously, unsure how to take such conviction. But he hadn’t mocked or diminished me. He’d asked questions, let me think through my ideas out loud, treated my half-formed thoughts like seeds worth nurturing.

“You believe I could actually do this,” I’d whispered.

“I believe you could do anything you set your mind to,” he’d said, like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

No one has ever celebrated me that way. Not Scott. Not anyone.

Now, staring at the glowing screen and the words exceptional analysis, I realize how much I crave that—being seen, not just as a body but as a mind. Having someone to talk to who doesn’t clip my wings.

That night, I call Ava. She takes one look at me through the phone camera and grins.

“You’re glowing, Mom.”

“It’s just the exercise program,” I hedge.

“Right.” She folds her arms. “Spill.”

“Maybe there’s more, but it’s nothing serious.”

“Why not? You deserve happiness.”

“I’m making my own happiness. That’s the point. I’m finally figuring out who I am when I’m not bending myself into someone else’s expectations.”

“But being whole doesn’t mean you can’t share that wholeness,” Ava says, her voice sharp with wisdom that humbles me. “Dad made you smaller. Maybe this person makes you bigger.”

The words land deep. Quintus doesn’t ask me to shrink. If anything, he makes me feel more like myself than I’ve been in years.

“It’s complicated,” I murmur.

“The best things usually are.” She softens. “Promise me you’ll stay open to possibilities, okay?”

After we hang up, I stare at my reflection in the darkened glass. The woman gazing back is someone new—confident, sensual, lit from within.

This is what it feels like to be seen.

I tell myself again that this is only temporary. Casual. Safe. But as I climb into bed, coffee mug still on the nightstand and Quintus’s voice still in my head, I know the truth.

The most dangerous thing about Quintus isn’t the way he touches me.

It’s the way he makes me want more.