“It’s rude to wear a weapon in another man’s house.”
He handed it over with a frown, already feeling naked again.
Inside the villa, the sights that met his eyes were almost overwhelming. Men and women lounged on chaises, eating and drinking from vessels of silver or gold. Slaves picked their way among the guests, pouring wine, bringing platters with new delicacies. In the corner, musicians played on lute and flute and drum, while in the center of the room, dancers clothed only in wisps of fabric that concealed nothing writhed in artistic ecstasy.
They were hardly more erotic than the guests themselves. Some talked. He heard snatches of gossip. But others fondled each other openly, kissing, squeezing. Not only men and women, but three in both combinations lounged on chaises as big as beds and touched one another in the most private places. No one seemed to notice or to care, except when a couple beckoned a third to join, or awoman broke off with one man to embrace another. Barbaric!
And yet the flesh exposed, the flushed, inward expression of the revelers, was … intoxicating. He glanced to his owner. She seemed to take no notice of the outrageous behavior. Did she behave this way? He felt a surge of … something he couldn’t name. She bent to kiss one man, and it was a lingering embrace. The brute was attractive in a feminine sort of way, Jergan supposed, with his shaved face and short hair. Jergan itched to send the fellow packing until she moved on with a smile and a few gracious words.
“Have you eaten, Livia Quintus Lucellus?” A large, florid-faced man, whose toga looked more like a tent, descended upon them. “Here, take this chaise.” He handed her to lounge across an upholstered bench provided with many pillows. She curled like a cat, her curves obvious beneath her translucent robes. How had Jergan not noticed that her toenails, revealed by her dainty sandals, were painted with gilt? The ruddy man clapped his hands and slaves appeared with plates of food. Jergan went to stand behind her as she selected tidbits from the offered plates. His stomach rumbled. He had not eaten yet tonight.
“Is this a new slave?” the host asked, eyeing Jergan frankly.
“Yes. One of the spoils from the northern front.”
The man chuckled. “I’ll wager you’re having a jolly time breaking this one in.”
“Yes,” she said shortly. She glanced up at Jergan. Did he imagine her blush?
The man took Jergan’s chin to turn his face to the light. He had to reach to do it. It was all Jergan could do to allow it. Don’t cause trouble , he recited to himself. Don’t attract attention. She doesn’t want a scene. A scene would endanger her.
“Exotic, but on the whole, attractive. I take it he is as well built everywhere?”
“Oh yes.” Her lashes brushed her cheeks. It was almost demure—an act, of course.
The florid man smirked. “You always had a taste for the outrageous, Livia Quintus.” A slave came up and murmured to him. He bowed to Jergan’s owner. “I must attend to the wine.” And he departed.
Several couples approached to invite her to join them. She politely declined, saying she had not yet eaten. Both men and women eyed not only his owner, but Jergan, too. He noticed that some male or female slaves were entirely naked except perhaps for gold rings piercing their flesh, or gilded nipples and elaborate braided girdles at their hips that shook with bells or metal disks. Several were openly copulating with guests in dim, secluded niches. His eyes widened.
“Shocked, Jergan?” his owner asked. “The Celts, I understand, are not so open about satisfying their sexual needs.” She beckoned to him. He crouched beside her on his haunches. She handed him a drumstick from her plate. He hated to admit it, but that was thoughtful of her.
“I expect no more of Romans,” he growled under his breath so only she could hear him over the chatter.
She laughed. “I suppose I deserved that.” She eyed
He handed it over with a frown, already feeling naked again.
Inside the villa, the sights that met his eyes were almost overwhelming. Men and women lounged on chaises, eating and drinking from vessels of silver or gold. Slaves picked their way among the guests, pouring wine, bringing platters with new delicacies. In the corner, musicians played on lute and flute and drum, while in the center of the room, dancers clothed only in wisps of fabric that concealed nothing writhed in artistic ecstasy.
They were hardly more erotic than the guests themselves. Some talked. He heard snatches of gossip. But others fondled each other openly, kissing, squeezing. Not only men and women, but three in both combinations lounged on chaises as big as beds and touched one another in the most private places. No one seemed to notice or to care, except when a couple beckoned a third to join, or awoman broke off with one man to embrace another. Barbaric!
And yet the flesh exposed, the flushed, inward expression of the revelers, was … intoxicating. He glanced to his owner. She seemed to take no notice of the outrageous behavior. Did she behave this way? He felt a surge of … something he couldn’t name. She bent to kiss one man, and it was a lingering embrace. The brute was attractive in a feminine sort of way, Jergan supposed, with his shaved face and short hair. Jergan itched to send the fellow packing until she moved on with a smile and a few gracious words.
“Have you eaten, Livia Quintus Lucellus?” A large, florid-faced man, whose toga looked more like a tent, descended upon them. “Here, take this chaise.” He handed her to lounge across an upholstered bench provided with many pillows. She curled like a cat, her curves obvious beneath her translucent robes. How had Jergan not noticed that her toenails, revealed by her dainty sandals, were painted with gilt? The ruddy man clapped his hands and slaves appeared with plates of food. Jergan went to stand behind her as she selected tidbits from the offered plates. His stomach rumbled. He had not eaten yet tonight.
“Is this a new slave?” the host asked, eyeing Jergan frankly.
“Yes. One of the spoils from the northern front.”
The man chuckled. “I’ll wager you’re having a jolly time breaking this one in.”
“Yes,” she said shortly. She glanced up at Jergan. Did he imagine her blush?
The man took Jergan’s chin to turn his face to the light. He had to reach to do it. It was all Jergan could do to allow it. Don’t cause trouble , he recited to himself. Don’t attract attention. She doesn’t want a scene. A scene would endanger her.
“Exotic, but on the whole, attractive. I take it he is as well built everywhere?”
“Oh yes.” Her lashes brushed her cheeks. It was almost demure—an act, of course.
The florid man smirked. “You always had a taste for the outrageous, Livia Quintus.” A slave came up and murmured to him. He bowed to Jergan’s owner. “I must attend to the wine.” And he departed.
Several couples approached to invite her to join them. She politely declined, saying she had not yet eaten. Both men and women eyed not only his owner, but Jergan, too. He noticed that some male or female slaves were entirely naked except perhaps for gold rings piercing their flesh, or gilded nipples and elaborate braided girdles at their hips that shook with bells or metal disks. Several were openly copulating with guests in dim, secluded niches. His eyes widened.
“Shocked, Jergan?” his owner asked. “The Celts, I understand, are not so open about satisfying their sexual needs.” She beckoned to him. He crouched beside her on his haunches. She handed him a drumstick from her plate. He hated to admit it, but that was thoughtful of her.
“I expect no more of Romans,” he growled under his breath so only she could hear him over the chatter.
She laughed. “I suppose I deserved that.” She eyed
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