Page 19

F elix lay awake in the small bed next to Lucretia. Night had long since fallen, and noise from the tavern below had slowed hours ago. The room was nearly pitch black, only a sliver of moonlight filtering through clouds and the tiny window.

He had never shared a bed with someone, and he couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that it was Lucretia here in bed with him. Lucretia, his greatest rival and deepest desire. Lucretia, who had made him an extremely salacious—and tempting—offer but a few hours ago.

For a moment, he considered reneging on his stubbornness and taking the floor, as she’d wanted him to do.

Being in a bed with her, after everything that happened earlier, was torture.

His fingers remembered what it felt like to sink into the softness of her hips.

And his cock certainly remembered being pressed tight against that warm, round bottom of hers.

Lucretia finally knew of his longstanding desire for her, the fact that she was the only woman he’d ever truly wanted. She hadn’t reacted with the disgust he’d once anticipated. She’d merely been surprised—possibly shocked—at the extent of his inexperience.

She rolled over in the bed next to him, bumping him with her leg. He froze, worried the contact would wake her, but she only let out a little sigh and relaxed against him.

He envied her comfort. But she’d spent the majority of her adult life sharing a bed with her husband, so this probably felt normal to her.

On the other hand, he felt as out of his depth as an elephant in the Alps.

Even the dull, accidental touch of her leg against his made his cock twitch and harden.

He took a deep breath, willing the desire to dissipate.

He was no stranger to self-pleasure, but it seemed ill-advised to take himself in hand while sharing a bed with her.

He forced his mind to think of anything but the woman slumbering next to him.

He latched on to the image of the broken bodies on the shore earlier.

The gruesome scene did help dispel his ardor, but it also made him think of Lucretia’s reaction.

She had been truly affected by the loss of those men, and they weren’t even her sailors.

She had a good heart. Unlike himself, whose first instinct had been to think of the denarii and sestertii lost today.

She moved again in the bed, inching closer to him. Then a soft, warm arm flung out, catching him across the shoulders. Her fingers grasped onto him, and her head nestled against his chest.

Felix exhaled a long, slow breath, debating whether he should wake her or try to move her.

He settled for the latter option and gently slipped a hand beneath the arm that stretched over his body, attempting to disentangle her grip. Her limp fingers gave way easily, and then he only had to slide his shoulder and arm out from beneath her head.

As he did so, she shifted, and he paused.

The position left her head cradled in the crook of his arm, the way he imagined one lover might hold another.

Propped on his forearm, he stared down at her face, trying to assess if she was about to wake.

In the dark, he could hardly make out her features, but he knew them well.

Delicate nose, round cheeks, full lips. Long neck, elegant collarbones…

He stopped himself before his assessment ventured lower.

A shadow lay across her cheek and lip, and he realized it was a curl of hair, escaped from the braid she’d bound her auburn locks in before bed.

With his free hand, he dared to brush the curl out of the way.

His fingertip grazed the skin of her cheek, softer than the silk he imported from Serica.

He couldn’t resist brushing the back of his fingers over her cheek.

She was beautiful even in the dark, when all he could discern of her was the feel of her skin, the gentle sound of her breathing, and the warmth of her body.

For the umpteenth time in the last few hours, he cursed himself for refusing her proposal. If he had only agreed, he could have had her three times over by now. He could finally know what it would feel like to slide into the tight embrace of her body, to lose himself inside her.

He had refused for two reasons. Firstly, the cost of agreeing to a truce was too high. He wouldn’t abandon his ambitions simply for the sake of a—likely explosive—tryst or three.

Secondly, he meant what he said to her: he wanted her freely, or not at all. He didn’t want to feel like she was only lying with him to get something in return. He wanted her to want him, as much as he wanted her.

She stirred again, and something warm covered his hand where it still rested on her cheek. When he realized it was her fingers clasping his, he froze. The rhythm of her breathing changed, and her now-open eyes glinted, catching whatever scrap of light hid in the dark room.

“Felix,” she breathed, voice slurred with sleep.

“Forgive me,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you. You were moving in your sleep.” He wanted to untangle himself from her, but her hand was still holding his against her face.

“Yes, I do that,” she said with a sleepy laugh. “It used to annoy Cornelius to no end. Now do you wish you’d slept on the floor?”

“No.”

She chuckled. “You are so stubborn.” She moved to sit up, and he dropped his hand from her face, straightening up as well.

He could sense her in front of him, but in the dark couldn’t tell how close she was.

Until she put her hands on his shoulders. He twitched at her touch, instinctively moving away, but her fingers tightened on him. Then, something warm and soft pressed against his mouth.

Her lips, he realized, with a jolt of bewilderment that nearly toppled him.

This time, he succeeded in jerking away. He was breathing hard, shock and desire coursing through his body in equal measure. “My earlier decision is not open to being persuaded.”

“I’m not trying to persuade you.” Her voice was deliciously husky, as pleasurable to his ears as her touch was to his body. “I just wanted to kiss you.”

“Oh.” His mind went blank, like a wax tablet rubbed free of writing.

“May I?”

“Well—yes, I suppose.”

Her warm mouth covered his again, and an aching fire spread over him. He wound his arms around her waist, drawing her body flush against his. She leaned back, bringing him with her, as she lowered them both to the bed.

This had to be a dream, he decided as his body settled over hers. But the lumpy mattress, rickety bed, and mouse scratching in the corner were not the stuff of dreams. She was all too real beneath him, solid and warm, her knee hiking up to make room for him between her thighs.

He knew he must be a clumsy kisser, so he let her take the lead, tentatively matching the movement of his lips to hers. She twined her fingers in his hair and opened her mouth, allowing her tongue to trace over his bottom lip.

His hand gripped her thigh, and his hips angled against hers of their own accord.

“Oh!” she gasped, mouth breaking away from his. “Felix, you have no idea how good that feels.”

He moved against her in the same way, and heat licked up his spine. “I think I do.”

“Don’t stop.” Her voice was low, urgent.

He obeyed, his cock throbbing and hard as marble.

He rocked against her, and she let out a breathy moan, clasping her legs around his hips.

Sensation built and tightened, sharp even through the layers of fabric separating them.

Finding pleasure against her this way felt wilder, fiercer than when he was alone in his bed with his hand, a summer tempest in comparison to a spring rain.

She was moving too, squirming her hips against his as she matched his rhythm. Her breathing turned harsh and unsteady. “Don’t stop,” she said again, this time a desperate plea rather than an instruction.

He was far past the point of stopping. He pressed into her even harder, following the instinct of his body. “Lucretia,” he gasped. “I’m going to—”

And then she was moaning, nails digging into his shoulders as her body writhed beneath him.

Fuck . He wasn’t entirely sure what a woman’s climax looked like, but by the gods he hoped that was it, because he had no choice but to follow her over the edge.