Page 17 of The Legionary Seduction (Roman Heirs #2)
V olusia fell asleep curled up next to Max’s warm, satisfied body. Despite the lumpy mattress and itchy blankets, she could not imagine a better sleeping arrangement.
She woke several hours later. Darkness had fallen, and the bed shifted as Max eased himself out from under her. She squinted groggily at his shadowy form as he went to the tub of water, which now must be cold, and washed himself. A blush rose to her cheeks as she realized she’d accosted him earlier before he’d even had a chance to bathe. From the moment she’d intercepted him staring at her when she undressed, she’d been powerless to resist him.
She had always loved the way he looked at her, even when they were seventeen: hungry yearning tempered with something tender, almost worshipful. He had touched her like that, too. She recalled the clasp of his hand around her breast, undeniably greedy, yet with a reverent softness.
Avitus had only ever regarded her body with mild distaste. Being looked at as Max looked at her, being desired as Max desired her was intoxicating. His reaction to her touch thrilled her. She had never felt so powerful as when he was shuddering and gasping beneath her hand.
The embers of desire that had been suppressed by exhaustion now burst back into flame. Volusia sat up in bed.
At her movement, Max looked up from scrubbing his hands. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s all right.” She ran a hand through her hair, combing out the tangles.
His gaze lingered on her. She wondered how much of her he could see in the darkness. “Sorry if I crowded you in the bed. I meant to offer to sleep on the floor earlier,” he said as he finished washing. “That would have been the polite thing.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Surely it’s clear by now that I don’t want politeness. I want you, Max.”
He dropped the cloths he’d been using to dry himself and came to the bed. His knees sank into the mattress as he climbed toward where she sat in the middle. Her gaze traveled down his long body. Gods, she hadn’t even touched him yet and his cock was already thickening. Was it truly possible for someone to want her that much?
An answering heat swelled between her legs. She rested a hand on his strong, warm shoulder, then slid her hand up to twine her fingers in his hair.
“I’ve wanted you since I was seventeen,” he said in a rough whisper, and lowered his head to capture her mouth in a long kiss.
“Then have me.” She allowed her body to relax beneath him, stretching out on the bed. His weight covered her, solid and heavy, reassuring rather than oppressive.
“Just one thing,” she breathed when his mouth finally broke from hers. “I don’t want to risk a child.”
“Understood,” he said, “but there’s some ground to cover before that becomes relevant.” He raised himself off of her and began to move down her body, dropping kisses on her collarbone, breasts, and stomach as he went.
“Ground…to cover?” Her voice rose to a squeak as his fingers delved between her legs. She was well-acquainted with the pleasures to be found there; nearly ten years of a solitary marriage had taught her not to rely on another for her own satisfaction.
But the stroke and tease of Max’s big, capable hands was like nothing she had ever felt. He touched her as delicately as if she was made of the thinnest glass, but every movement still sparked a rush of pleasure.
He explored her with his fingers for several blissful minutes. She gave an involuntary moan of disappointment when he took his hand away—only to break off in a gasp as he replaced it with his warm mouth. She had never imagined this as something a man might do to a woman, but Max’s imagination was clearly more expansive.
Her back arched, pressing herself closer to him, needing the slide of his wet tongue, the gentle suction of his lips on her most sensitive place. He slipped his hands beneath her hips, tilting her toward him as he buried his face between her legs.
Her thighs tightened around his head. She flung a hand down to grab his hair, using the pull of her fingers to encourage him in the movements and rhythm she liked. The pleasure built, and she gasped his name. His abbreviated name was better suited than most to cry in the throes of pleasure—one syllable, easy to choke out amid ragged, frantic breaths. She said it over and over again as the flick of his tongue and clasp of his lips urged her on to greater heights.
When she finally exploded, he growled against her in satisfaction. As the tremors subsided, she collapsed back onto the bed, every muscle weak and sated. Her thighs released their grip on his head, and he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth with an appreciative grin.
“I always wondered what ambrosia tasted like,” he said. “Now I know.”
Her cheeks, still flushed, heated even more. He lay down next to her, stretching his body alongside hers, and pulled her into his arms. Little shocks of pleasure sparked where he touched her. His arousal bumped her hip, and she reached down to take hold of it.
The rhythm of his breathing stuttered. She loved this effect she had on him, able to make him quiver with the lightest touch. She rolled onto her side, facing him, and lifted her knee to rest atop his thigh, opening herself to him.
“We can just go back to sleep if you like,” he whispered in her ear. “You must be tired still.”
She gave a light chuckle. “If you think I’m letting you go back to sleep at this moment, you’re sorely mistaken.” She gave him a long, lingering stroke.
In a fluid but forceful movement, he rolled her flat on her back and pinned her beneath him. Her thighs parted once more, her feet tracing a line up the back of his calves. He reached down to align their bodies. His cock pressed against her entrance, then his hips canted forward, and her slick folds welcomed him, offering no resistance as he buried himself deep. Her eyes fluttered closed as he filled her, her mind overwhelmed with the warm pleasure of him inside her.
He let out a low moan and lowered his head to rest in the curve of her neck and shoulder. He muttered something, almost certainly an obscenity, but his mouth was muffled against her body.
She drew her knees up and tilted her hips, urging him deeper. He braced his arms on either side of her head and began to thrust. His movements were slow and gentle, and she could tell he was holding back, afraid of hurting her.
She wrapped her legs around his waist. “Harder, Max,” she whispered. “Fuck me like you’ve been waiting ten years to do it.”
He let out an incoherent groan and obliged. By the gods, he obliged. The hard, fast thrusts drove every thought from her mind. Nothing remained but the feel of his body on top of her, inside her, and the rasp of his breath against her skin.
She even forgot about her request for him to take precautions—but he remembered. He withdrew from her and spilled himself over her stomach with a grunt. Then he collapsed on his back next to her, chest heaving, a glimmer of sweat on his forehead.
On unsteady legs, she raised herself out of bed and tottered over to grab a damp cloth, which she used to clean both of them. Then, she tossed it away and climbed back into bed, pulling the blanket up over both of them. He gathered her to his chest, and she let out a contented sigh.
Moments later, Max had fallen back to sleep, his arms slackening around her. She closed her eyes. A slight tug of melancholy pulled at her. This coupling with Max had laid bare the feelings that had been simmering under the surface since they were seventeen, but their future was so uncertain. They had the rest of their journey to spend with each other, yes, but what would happen once they reached Rome?
Her priorities needed to be bringing Petronax to justice and caring for her son, which would likely require making a strategic marriage to give him an influential stepfather. Max, for all his virtues, was not the sort of man who had the connections or influence to set Lucius up for a successful public career, and she had a feeling he wouldn’t relish the responsibilities that a life with her entailed. He sought a life of freedom, of adventure, and wouldn’t want to be tethered to Rome and its politics, or a stepchild.
Nevertheless, her heart ached as she thought of what he’d sacrificed for her. His military career, his beloved horse, and nearly his life. She vowed that if she was successful in bringing down Petronax, she’d ensure that Max was reinstated to his position in the army. That, at least, would begin to repay some of what she owed him.