Page 39 of Thawed Gladiator: Quintus
For a moment, we just breathe together, foreheads touching, his exhale syncing with mine. This isn’t just physical release—it’s… it sounds so corny, but it’s a soul connection. I tug him tighter, breathing in his scent and flicking my tongue against his pec just to taste the salty essence of him.
“Incredible,” he breathes, kissing me deeply while I’m still shaking from the aftershocks. “I could watch you come apart in my hands forever.”
The words should terrify me. Forever. Instead, they make me want to give him exactly that—every orgasm, every moment of vulnerability, every piece of myself I’ve been too scared to share.
“I want everything.” The declaration tumbles out as we stumble toward his bed, still clutching each other like we might drown if we let go. “All the things I fantasized about but never dared ask for.”
His eyes darken with understanding and promise. “Everything?”
“Everything.” I push him down onto the mattress, straddling his hips with newfound boldness. “I want to explore. To discover what I like when I’m not worried about someone else’s ego or schedule or petty judgment.”
For twenty-five years, sex was something that happenedtome. Scott’s routine, Scott’s preferences, Scott’s timeline. But this—this ismine. My choice, my pace, my pleasure to claim and give.
I slide down his body with deliberate intent, pressing kisses to his chest, his stomach, the sharp cut of his hipbones. When I reach my destination, I look up to find him watching me with an expression of reverent anticipation.
“Are you certain?” he asks, even though his body betrays how much he wants this. The tip of his cock is leaking pearly pre-cum.
“Are you crazy? I’ve dreamed of this so often, I’m desperate for it.”
Taking him into my mouth is a revelation. Not just the taste of him—salt and musk and his singular masculine taste—but the power I wield. Every sound I draw from his throat, every ripple of strain beneath his skin, every whispered plea for more or for mercy—it’s all under my control.
“Goddess, your mouth,” he gasps, his hand tangling gently in my hair. “You’re incredible. Take more of me.”
I do, experimenting with pressure and rhythm, learning what makes him groan and what makes him curse in Latin. The knowledge that I can reduce this strong, competent man to sheer desperation fills me with confidence I never possessed before.
But this isn’t about taking from Quintus—it’s about finally being free to share everything I have without fear. He’s the first man who’s made me feel safe enough to want boldly, to revel in pleasure without shame. With him, my desire feels like a gift between us, not a theft or a burden.
“I love this,” I confess, pulling back to catch my breath. “Love the taste of you, the sounds you make. Love feeling powerful.”
“Youarepowerful. Beautiful. Fierce. Mine.” His voice is strained with the effort of control. “Fortuna herself would envy you.”
Before I can respond, he flips our positions with fluid grace, settling between my thighs with clear intent.
“My turn to worship,” he murmurs, and then his mouth is on me with devastating skill.
His mastery of my body is confident, every movement designed to drive me higher. He uses techniques I’ve only read about in books, creating sensations I never imagined my body was capableof. This isn’t our first time together. Was he really holding all of this back until I was ready?
“This is different,” I gasp, back arching off the bed. “More intense. Like you’re claiming every part of me.”
He pauses just long enough to meet my eyes, his expression fierce. “Because you needed someone who cares about your pleasure. Someone who understands that your satisfaction is the point, not an afterthought.”
The words hit as hard as his skilled mouth, and when he resumes his attention, I shatter completely. This orgasm is different from the desperate release against the door—deeper, more intense, rolling through me in waves that seem to last forever.
“I want you to take control,” I tell him when I can finally speak again. “Tell me what you want.”
His intensity flickers in his dark eyes, but it isn’t threatening—it’s the disciplined attention of a gladiator who survived because he never gave less than everything to what mattered. Now his lethal concentration is aimed entirely at my pleasure.
“In the arena, absolute focus meant survival,” he says, his voice dropping to a commanding rumble. “In bed, it means ecstasy. Do you trust me to show you the difference between a man who takes and one who worships until you surrender willingly?”
I’m speechless at the command in his voice. All I can do is nod slowly.
Something feral flickers in his dark eyes. “Are you certain? Because once I start, I might not be gentle.”
The promise sends heat spiraling through me. “I’m tired of gentle. I want to feel claimed by you.”
His answering growl is low and rough. “Not claimed. Treasured. Utterly. But I’ll take you hard if that’s what you want.”
With a single motion, he lifts me into his arms as though I weigh nothing, my legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. Thesudden strength of it steals my breath—and excites me in ways I never imagined. He presses me back against the rough log wall, the wood cool against my spine, grounding me even as his warmth surrounds me.
