Page 63 of Faithless
“It’s not that you’re incapable.” His voice went lower, and I found myself leaning closer to hear him. “It’s just not your role here. I serve you. Not the other way around.”
“You do more than enough for others already,” I shot back. “Let me do this one small thing for you, please.”
Santos took a sharp inhale, looking away for a moment. He licked his lips and…fuck, I swore I even saw him biting his lower one. Could he possibly be enjoying this as much as me? Why was this back-and-forth arguing such a turn-on? My core was pulsing, and every inch of my skin was alight and eager for his touch.
“What if I told you…” He paused, drawing out the moment. Teasing me like this really was foreplay. “That I genuinely enjoy serving you? Not because that is my duty at this resort, but because it pleases me, as a man, to do something foryou,Aurora.”
It took all my focus to not let my eyelids flutter half-closed when he said my name like that, all seductive with his rolling Rs.
“Then you are welcome to serve me when you’re no longer a gladiator,” I said. “But when you’re in a position where you can’t say no…I can’t let you do that. It feels wrong.”
That slow feline smile returned, and God damn it all, it almost made me whimper with need. It became achingly clear in that moment how long ago I’d been touched by a man. Months, coming up on a year almost. I desperately wanted Santos to touch me, but only if this fucking enslavement situation wasn’t a factor. Fuck, it was hard to remember that annoying little detail right then.
“That’s a tall promise, to even speculate about a future in which I’m not a gladiator.” His gaze flicked once to my lips. “That kind of hope sends men to early graves. I’ve seen it happen many times.”
“I’m not trying to make promises I can’t keep.” My skin became prickly, uncomfortable. “I just…don’t want to exploit you.”
A long pause stretched on after that, and I couldn’t shake the fear that it widened the distance between us, like the mouth of a canyon.
“You’re not exploiting me, Rori.” He went for the glass in my hand, but I swung it out of his reach.
Our eyes met again, and the playfulness there drained all the tension from the room. The two of us stood frozen like statues for a second, then I jumped into action. “You’ll have to catch me if you want this!” I yelled, running away.
Santos’ laugh was gorgeous, deep and musical. I felt it in my ear moments later, because he caught me easily with an arm around my waist, lifting me off the floor. His hold on me was loose though, probably in an effort to not hurt me. I was able to wriggle free to his frustrated cursing and started another lap around the furniture.
I made it to the back of the couch, and he faced me off from the front. We must have looked ridiculous, feet wide, giggling as we stared at each other, feinting to the left and right to throw each other off.
After a stand-off for nearly a minute, the victory went to the gladiator. Santos made a convincing dive to the right, then bounced back the other way before I could change my direction.
“Damnit!” I laughed when he caught me by the waist again, lifting me up like I was a dainty little thing that was closer to five feet tall than six.
“And now my prize.” Santos held me pinned against him with one arm, holding his palm out expectantly with the other.
I hesitated a long time before placing the glass in his waiting hand. Both because I was a sore loser who hated admitting defeat, and because of the fact that I enjoyed the firm heat of his chest against my back. Maybe too much.
Likewise, Santos seemed hesitant to let me go. His arm unwrapped slowly from around my waist, fingers trailing along much like how I imagined they would when I touched myself.
“All that just to pour a girl a drink, huh?” I said, panting slightly.
“Not just a girl,” he corrected, unscrewing the whiskey bottle. He poured two fingers in the glass and then held it out to me. “For you. The dove to my jaguar.”
“There you go, being sweet again.” I accepted the drink. “Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure.” He turned to me, all smoldering and sexy. “And I truly mean that.”
“Santos…”
There was so much I wanted to say, much of which didn’t seem appropriate, considering this was only our second time meeting. I wanted to promise him that he wouldn’t die a gladiator, that I would do everything in my power to give him and the others normal lives again. Not just the fighters, but those like my maid, Paige. Talk about giving a dangerous amount of hope. What could I do? I only had Torr to help, and barely, at that.
If only I were my father, Reaper. With a single command, he had not only an entire motorcycle club, but an army behind him. Back in his day, I figure he had the firepower to torch this whole resort until there was nothing left but rubble and ash.
“Yes, Rori?” Santos answered his own name with my own, an eagerness to his voice that was delicious and tempting. But our time was limited, and he needed to be a free man yesterday.
“Can you tell me what Tezcatlipoca has told you?” I asked. “About what’s coming? What steps you should take?”
His chin lifted with surprise. “Back to serious business, huh?”
“Yeah.” I returned to the couch and sat down. “We need to figure out what the gods want us to do. How we’re supposed to…” I paused for a breath, feeling the weight of my words before I spoke them. “Free everyone and shut this whole fucking place down.”
