Page 15 of The Tribune Temptation (Roman Heirs #1)

C rispina stared as Aelius tossed his tunic to the ground. Her face burned, but she refused to allow herself to look away as she had when he was in the bath. She valued knowledge and learning, after all. This was just one more thing for her to learn about.

But it was impossible to maintain that academic mindset when confronted with Aelius’s lithe, golden-skinned body. Her mouth went dry as her eyes skimmed from his chest down his stomach to his hips…and lingered on his cock.

She had seen them before on statues, of course, but this one was much more intriguing. It was already swelling and she hadn’t even touched him yet. A wave of dizziness passed over her, and she realized she’d forgotten to breathe.

Once her legs felt steady, she stood and approached him, needing to get closer. Maybe he wouldn’t look as good up close. Maybe he would have some imperfection that would shatter the illusion of his beauty.

But once she stood within arm’s length of him, he only became more compelling. There were imperfections: a mole on the left side of his collarbone, a thin scar across his shoulder, a light fur of hair that covered his muscled chest. But they merely made him seem real, a man of flesh and blood who was somehow, in this moment, all hers.

“Do you like what you see?” His voice was a quiet rumble. He stood calmly, no trace of modesty or embarrassment.

She envied his composure. She felt utterly discomfited, and she wasn’t even the naked one. “I refuse to say anything that would further inflate your ego.”

He reached for her hand and placed it on his chest. She closed her eyes for a moment at the warm, solid feel of him. Something smooth and metal brushed her hand. He was still wearing the silver armband which covered the brand on his wrist.

With gentle fingers, she grasped the edge of the armband to slide it from his wrist. He flinched back, pulling his arm from her grip.

“I’m sorry…” she faltered.

He let out a breath and shook his head. “It’s nothing.” He pulled the armband off and tossed it to the floor.

She knew he was self-conscious about his brand and what it represented, and his vulnerability in fully baring himself to her touched her heart. This was no longer just about seeing a naked man. Something deeper was brewing between them, the bubbles just barely breaking the surface.

She touched his chest again, first one hand, then another. Her hands roamed over his shoulders, pulling him closer. He felt so good to touch—like running her hands over a newly acquired book she was longing to read.

When her fingers brushed his throat, he cupped her face in his hands and bent to kiss her. His mouth was gentle on hers, almost hesitant, but the stiffness between his legs left no question of his desire. A thrill shot through her as he drew her closer. Was she really doing this—embracing a naked man, who somehow happened to be her husband?

A surge of boldness overtook her. She dropped her hand lower and took hold of him. He broke off from their kiss with a sharp gasp, which lengthened into a moan as she stroked him.

“I do know some things,” she murmured, satisfied at his reaction.

“I can see that,” he said, his voice strained.

Still stroking him, she drew back to put some distance between them so she could examine how her hand looked wrapped around him.

His breathing roughened. “Bed,” he gasped. She refused to release him as they stumbled over to the bed, keeping firm hold of his cock. He collapsed onto the mattress on his back, and Crispina perched on her knees at his side. In this position, she could look her fill at his entire body, could watch how his chest rose and fell with increasing speed, how his stomach muscles contracted and released as her hand moved over him, how his cock twitched as she stroked him.

“Am I doing it right?” she asked.

He reached down and placed his hand over hers, adjusting her grip and tweaking her rhythm.

“Gods below, that’s good,” he breathed when she got it.

“Tell me what it feels like.”

His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed as if concentrating hard to summon words. “Your hand is so warm. Soft and tight at the same time. It feels incredible.”

Heat blossomed in her core as her arm worked up and down. She experimented with slowing down, grazing her fingertips over him until he groaned with frustration. When he begged her not to stop, she relented and kept up a steady rhythm.

“I want to watch you come,” she murmured. She had never actually seen it happen, and she sensed it would be quite educational.

“Fuck, Crispina,” Aelius gasped. “When you talk like that—” The words turned into a strangled groan. His hips bucked into her hand, and shudders wracked his body as a silvery liquid exploded over her fingers.

His body went limp, his chest heaving. Crispina examined the fluid on her hand. So that was what Memmius was doing inside of her all those times. Educational, indeed. She rose from the bed, fetched a cloth and cleaned off her hand, then returned to sit beside him. His breathing had slowed, and he opened his eyes, his features relaxed in an expression of exhausted bliss.

She wasn’t quite sure what to say. “You, er…I suppose you enjoyed that?”

He let out a breathless chuckle. “Did you?”

She gave a shy nod. Enjoyed was an understatement. Working Aelius with her hand like that, watching him lose himself to pleasure—it caused a tingling heat to creep over her skin, and she wanted more. She just didn’t know exactly what.

Aelius pulled himself into a sitting position with a sigh of effort. He touched her cheek, gazed into her eyes. “Thank you,” he murmured, then pulled her close to kiss her.

Her heat flared like sparks catching fresh tinder. It roared into a full blaze as his hand slid down to cup her breast. His fingers were gentle, almost reverent. She let out a soft moan against his neck as his thumb swiped across her nipple.

“Take off your dress.” The words hovered between a request and command.

Crispina hesitated, wondering how far to let this go. She had already satisfied him, what more could he want?

“Why?”

“Because I’ve longed to see your body since the first moment I ever saw you. Because even a glimpse of your bare shoulder makes me ache.” He brushed his lips across her collarbone. “Because I want to pleasure you until you forget your own name.”

Her breath caught. She stole a glance at his cock, which had now softened. Whatever he had in mind, it seemed unlikely to include that.

And she desperately wanted to find out what he had in mind, so she struggled out of her dress. He helped her tug the fabric over her head, then tossed it in a ball onto the floor.

Cool air rushed over her skin. She watched Aelius’s face, searching for any hint of displeasure or disappointment. She found only rapture in his gaze.

“You’re a fucking goddess.” His voice, usually so smooth and charming, turned rough and hungry as he gazed at her.

He grazed a fingertip over her nipple so lightly it felt like the brush of a feather. She leaned into him, needing more. He squeezed harder, then gently laid her back on the bed. His hand covered one breast, his mouth the other one. Her back arched at the feeling of his fingers and tongue sliding over her nipples. His other hand slid down her stomach, caressing the curve of her hip, then lingered on her thigh.

She sensed what he was waiting for and parted her legs just a bit. His hand slipped between them, fingers heading straight for the spot where all her desire centered.

“Oh!” Heat flared at his touch. She grabbed his shoulders, overcome by the rush of sensation.

He paused. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head. “I…it…" Her mind couldn’t seem to form words.

He let out a low chuckle. He stroked her in a gentle, firm motion. “What does it feel like?”

She dug her nails into his shoulders, needing something to anchor herself in the sea of pleasure. “I-I can’t think.”

“I’m making you feel so amazing you can’t think?” A roguish grin lit his face, and his fingers moved faster.

“Arrogant ass,” she gasped.

“I won’t tolerate insults while I’m in the midst of pleasuring you, so if you want to talk, you’re going to have to say something useful.” He withdrew his hand. Her body immediately ached with need at the absence of his touch. He leaned in to speak close to her ear, his breath tickling her hair. “I want you to…” He deliberated for a moment, until a wicked gleam lit his hazel eyes. “Recite the Iliad . I know you know it.”

“What? That’s ridiculous.”

His fingers drew tantalizing circles on the inside of her thigh. “That’s my price. I want to hear your voice, stammering and breathless, until you forget the words altogether.”

Her cheeks burned. This was humiliating, and she should put a stop to it at once, but her body was still crying out for his touch, and playing along seemed the easiest way to get him to put his hands back. “All right,” she muttered.

He slid his hand between her legs.

“Sing, muse, of the wrath of—”

He pulled his hand away, frowning at her like a displeased teacher. “In Greek, Crispina.”

She rolled her eyes but obeyed, reciting the words she’d memorized as a child. Aelius touched her as she spoke, his fingers rekindling delicious pleasure between her legs. Any time she paused for more than a breath, he stopped touching her, so she had to keep the words coming. As her pleasure mounted, she spoke quicker and quicker—butchering the poetic meter. Achilles’ wrath and the might of Greek armies had never seemed so sensual.

The words became garbled and unintelligible, but she kept talking. At one point, she forgot the next line, so she started over from the beginning. Aelius didn’t seem to notice; he didn’t even know Greek, after all. His focus remained intent, the circular movements of his fingers steady and firm.

The poetry became nothing but gasps and moans as her yearning rose higher and higher. Finally, the pleasure crested in a hot, rolling wave that racked her body in spasms that felt endless.

The sensation left her in a rush, and she collapsed back onto the bed, finally silent. Aelius grinned at her, looking much too pleased with himself. He lay next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She turned onto her side, seeking the brush of his warm skin on hers.

He skimmed a hand down her back, then settled his hand in the curve of her waist. She nestled her head into his chest. Being held in a naked man’s arms, while just as naked herself, was novel, but somehow the way Aelius held her felt familiar, as if they’d been doing this every night since their wedding. The sense that she belonged here soothed her breathing into a slow rhythm, and she allowed it to lull her to sleep.