Page 57 of Thawed Gladiator: Lucius
“Herbs consecrated to Pluto,” he explains, his voice rough. “Substances that heighten every sensation, that blur the line between bliss and transcendence. Combined with… other elements.”
“Other elements?”
His smile is wicked as he captures my nipple between painted fingers, rolling and pinching until I cry out with pleasure. “My essence. Mixed with the anointed oils. The binding requires it.”
The thought of his cum painted on my skin makes me moan, my hips grinding forward seeking friction that isn’t there yet. “You’re mixing magic with sex.”
“The Romans saw no distinction,” he says, moving to paint matching symbols on my right breast. “Sacred ecstasy was the highest form of worship. And you, Rosemary, are about to become my most devoted offering to the gods.”
He continues his work, painting symbols down my torso, across my hips, along my inner thighs. The mixture seems to vibrate with its own heartbeat, making every inch of painted skin hypersensitive. By the time he reaches the apex of my thighs, I’m trembling and soaked with need.
I whimper as his fingers circle dangerously close to where I need him most. “I’m burning for your touch.”
“The ritual must be completed properly,” he says firmly, though I can see his cock straining against his pants. “Lie down. On the bed.”
I comply on shaking legs, wondering where the calm, often priestly Lucius went and who this dominant man is. As I lie down, the cool sheets are a stark contrast to my overheated skin. Above me, Lucius strips with efficient movements, revealing the full glory of his marked body. The paint covering his torso and arms seems to glow in the lamplight, making him look like some primitive fertility god.
“Now,” he says, voice carrying the authority of centuries, “we complete the binding.”
He kneels between my spread thighs, hands running up my legs with reverent appreciation. When his fingers finally reach my soaked pussy, I arch off the bed with a broken cry.
“So wet for me already,” he murmurs approvingly, his thumb circling my swollen clit. “The herbs are working. You can feel how your body responds differently, can’t you?”
He’s right—every touch feels magnified tenfold, pleasure sparking through nerve endings I didn’t know existed. When he slides two fingers inside me, I nearly come from that alone.
“Lucius!” I gasp, my hands fisting in the sheets.
“Not yet,” he warns, his fingers moving with maddening precision. “In the temple, we believed that peak pleasure could transport the soul beyond physical boundaries. But you must earn your release, little death-walker.”
He adds a third finger, stretching me deliciously while his thumb continues its relentless assault on my clit. The painted symbols on my skin pulse with each thrust of his hand, creating feedback loops of sensation that have me sobbing with need.
“Please,” I beg, my hips bucking against his hand. “I need to come. I need—”
“You need to be claimed,” he corrects, withdrawing his fingers just as I reach the edge. “Properly. Completely.”
He positions himself at my entrance, the broad head of his cock nudging against my slick opening. The sight of him—painted in divine sigils, eyes blazing with possession—makes me clench with desperate need.
“Look at me,” he commands, one hand gripping my hip while the other tilts my chin up. “I want to watch your face when I make you mine.”
He enters me in one powerful thrust, stretching me to the point of exquisite pain. The herb-laced paint seems to make every nerve ending sing, the sensation of being filled so completely almost too intense to bear.
“Fuck,” I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders. “You’re so big, so deep—”
“Perfect,” he groans, holding still to let me adjust. “You take me so beautifully. Like you were made for my phallus.”
When he begins to move, it’s with deliberate, measured strokes that hit every sensitive spot inside me. The painted symbols on our skin seem to vibrate in time with our joining, creating waves of sensation that build with each thrust.
“I can feel you everywhere,” I gasp, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him deeper. “Not just inside me, but in my soul. What did you do to me?”
“Bound you to me,” he answers, his pace increasing. “Body, mind, and spirit. The old ways recognize no half-measures.”
He reaches between us to circle my clit with fingers slick with my arousal, and the combination of his cock filling me and his thumb on my most sensitive spot sends me spiraling toward the edge again.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice strained with his own approaching release. “Let me feel you come around my cock. Give me your surrender.”
The command, combined with a particularly deep thrust that hits my G-spot perfectly, finally pushes me over. My orgasm tears through me like a force of nature, my pussy clamping down on him as pleasure radiates through every painted symbol on my skin.
“Lucius!” I scream, my back arching as waves of sensation crash over me. The herbs make it feel like my soul is separating from my body, transcending physical boundaries just as he promised.
