Page 21 of Thawed Gladiator: Quintus
“Good. We can figure it out together?”
Together. The word lodges in my chest like a promise. For the first time in years, I’m being invited to be human with another person.
The prospect is terrifying. And exhilarating.
Chapter Eleven
Nicole
My hands shake as I unlock my door, aware of Quintus following behind me. The moment seems alive with possibility, and despite my brazen behavior, I’m terrified.
“Are you certain?” he asks as I fumble with the key, his voice low and careful.
I turn to face him, taking in his weathered features softened with concern in the dim lighting. This is the man who sang to the Missouri night,who puts things right without making me feel small, who looks at me like I’m something precious rather than a burden to be tolerated.
“I’m certain I want to find out what this is,” I manage, finally getting the door open.
The small room feels transformed by intention. The lamp casts everything in warm golden light, and suddenly the narrow bed that’s been perfectly adequate for sleeping seems to dominate the entire space. My heart hammers against my ribs as I set my key on the dresser, buying myself a moment to breathe.
I’ve never been this nervous in my life—not as a bride, not as a mother, not even when I walked away from everything I knew. This trembling feels different. Anticipation tangled with terror and want.
He’s too far away, standing near the door like he’s ready to bolt if I change my mind. The careful distance feels wrong after the charged energy that’s been building between us all evening.
“Come here,” I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds.
He crosses the room slowly, as if he’s giving me time to reconsider. When he stops just within arm’s reach, I can smell his scent—clean soap with a whiff of leather that makes my stomach flutter.
“Tell me what you want,” he says softly.
His formal phrasing, even in passion, reminds me he’s from another time—when words carried weight and intention, when even desire was expressed with reverence.
The question catches me off guard. No one’s ever asked me that. Not really.
“I want to feel beautiful,” I whisper, the words slipping out before I can censor them. Another part of me screams that this is reckless. Dangerous.
His expression transforms, something fierce and tender kindling in his silver eyes. “Youarebeautiful. Let me show you.”
When he reaches to touch my face, his calloused fingers trace my cheekbone with a reverence that makes my breath catch.
This feels like… worship. Dangerous worship, the kind that could undo me.
“May I kiss you?” Quintus asks, and the fact that he’s asking permission does something dangerous to my resolve to keep this simple.
I nod, not trusting my voice. When his lips brush mine, it’s nothing like I expected. Gentle at first, questioning rather than demanding. Testing, learning, waiting.
But the moment I sigh against his mouth, something shifts—hunger flares like a spark catching dry tinder. His smilecurves against my lips as he deepens the kiss, no longer tentative but purposeful, coaxing me to open, to yield, to take.
His tongue teases mine, and heat blooms low and deep, racing through me until my knees threaten to give out.
“Mine to savor,” he breathes against my lips, as if the words themselves taste of possession and wonder.
My fingers clutch at his shoulders before I can stop them, needing the solid strength of him to keep me grounded as the world tilts around this kiss. I make a helpless sound into his mouth, and his answer is a low, pleased rumble that I feel all the way to my toes.
The slow burn catches fast, hunger sparking into something hotter than I expected. Every brush of his mouth demands more until I’m clinging to him, tasting salt and heat and inevitability.
“So sweet,” he murmurs against my lips, and I believe him because everything about his touch speaks truth.
My laugh is shaky. “I’m forty-five and out of practice.”
