old are you, Damon?” she asked.
“Twenty-six, Era .”
Titus, her son, would soon be twenty-three.
“Why would you suggest such a thing? What do you expect in return?”
The question clearly insulted him. He cast his gaze aside, but not fast enough to hide a spark of anger.
“To watch your pleasure,” he said.
As simple as that? Not likely. She read no dissemblance in his face, however.
Against her better judgment, Claudia continued her examination of his beautiful body. She was playing with fire, but the fire in her loins and in his eyes compelled her. Without diverting her interest from the breadth of his shoulders beneath the loose fitting tunic, she amazed herself by asking, “If I said yes, what would you do?”
A sudden gasp stopped the rise and fall of his chest. The quick glance with which she’d intended to judge his reaction became a prolonged gaze into his eyes when she recognized in them something she had not seen in a very long time. This beautiful young man lusted for her—for her, a woman twelve years his senior.
“What would you do?” she whispered.
His full lips parted for a sigh. “First, I would take down your hair.” His hand twitched. “Do you know how beautiful your hair is? How it shines in the sun? Why do you hide it in a knot behind your head?”
“This is how matrons wear their hair.”
“You’re no matron.”
“I am a matron with two grown children, Damon. I’ve outlived a husband and a son.” Her words did not have the sobering effect she’d expected—on either of them. “Tell me, what do you want?”
His gaze traveled over her exposed throat and chest. A little groan escaped him.
“I want to feel your flesh quiver under my touch.” Again, his lips parted. His tongue slipped between to wet them. “I want the weight of your breasts in my palms. I want to drown in the sounds of your pleasure.”
Every hair on her body stood on end. She shivered, as much at the sound of his voice as at the words he spoke. It was madness to encourage him. Death came to mind. Rome did not look lightly on her women having sex with slaves.
“What you’re suggesting might be quite costly for either of us. Both, more likely.” Yet everyone knew the practice was as common as a man taking a mistress.
“I have a mouth for your pleasure,” Damon said. “No one will know. I’ve longed to taste you from the first moment I saw you.”
His breathy baritone purred over her skin, raising goose flesh. Once the possibility took root, it would not be wrenched free.
Too far, she thought. I’ve let this go too far . She had invited him to seduce her and had willingly succumbed.
“Show me,” she breathed.
Before the words passed her lips, Damon moved in to straddle her knees. He swept the band from her hair, letting the steam-dampened curls shiver down her back. His long, slender fingers combed through the curls, tugging slightly, smoothing them.
Claudia’s eyes drifted closed. Fingertips grazed the length of her neck and nudged the robe past her shoulders. The soft fabric whispered to her waist.
He knew just where to touch, how hard, how fast. His hands fluttered over her back and shoulders. Her flesh quivered beneath their callused surface. These were not a scribe’s hands, but the hands of a man used to sharing in the planting, pruning, harvesting, hauling—hard labor their business required. Labor he was not obligated to do.
Those wonderful hands trailed fire wherever they fell. The rough pads of his thumbs brushed her aching nipples. Claudia bit her lip, willing herself to silence. Though her rooms had their own wing, she couldn’t take the chance any of the servants might hear. Her breath came in silent gasps.
One knee insinuated itself between her legs. Without volition, they opened to him and he knelt on the floor in front of her, tugging at the knot of her robe until the fabric fell away and the reality of what they were doing sank in.
Her breath seized in her
“Twenty-six, Era .”
Titus, her son, would soon be twenty-three.
“Why would you suggest such a thing? What do you expect in return?”
The question clearly insulted him. He cast his gaze aside, but not fast enough to hide a spark of anger.
“To watch your pleasure,” he said.
As simple as that? Not likely. She read no dissemblance in his face, however.
Against her better judgment, Claudia continued her examination of his beautiful body. She was playing with fire, but the fire in her loins and in his eyes compelled her. Without diverting her interest from the breadth of his shoulders beneath the loose fitting tunic, she amazed herself by asking, “If I said yes, what would you do?”
A sudden gasp stopped the rise and fall of his chest. The quick glance with which she’d intended to judge his reaction became a prolonged gaze into his eyes when she recognized in them something she had not seen in a very long time. This beautiful young man lusted for her—for her, a woman twelve years his senior.
“What would you do?” she whispered.
His full lips parted for a sigh. “First, I would take down your hair.” His hand twitched. “Do you know how beautiful your hair is? How it shines in the sun? Why do you hide it in a knot behind your head?”
“This is how matrons wear their hair.”
“You’re no matron.”
“I am a matron with two grown children, Damon. I’ve outlived a husband and a son.” Her words did not have the sobering effect she’d expected—on either of them. “Tell me, what do you want?”
His gaze traveled over her exposed throat and chest. A little groan escaped him.
“I want to feel your flesh quiver under my touch.” Again, his lips parted. His tongue slipped between to wet them. “I want the weight of your breasts in my palms. I want to drown in the sounds of your pleasure.”
Every hair on her body stood on end. She shivered, as much at the sound of his voice as at the words he spoke. It was madness to encourage him. Death came to mind. Rome did not look lightly on her women having sex with slaves.
“What you’re suggesting might be quite costly for either of us. Both, more likely.” Yet everyone knew the practice was as common as a man taking a mistress.
“I have a mouth for your pleasure,” Damon said. “No one will know. I’ve longed to taste you from the first moment I saw you.”
His breathy baritone purred over her skin, raising goose flesh. Once the possibility took root, it would not be wrenched free.
Too far, she thought. I’ve let this go too far . She had invited him to seduce her and had willingly succumbed.
“Show me,” she breathed.
Before the words passed her lips, Damon moved in to straddle her knees. He swept the band from her hair, letting the steam-dampened curls shiver down her back. His long, slender fingers combed through the curls, tugging slightly, smoothing them.
Claudia’s eyes drifted closed. Fingertips grazed the length of her neck and nudged the robe past her shoulders. The soft fabric whispered to her waist.
He knew just where to touch, how hard, how fast. His hands fluttered over her back and shoulders. Her flesh quivered beneath their callused surface. These were not a scribe’s hands, but the hands of a man used to sharing in the planting, pruning, harvesting, hauling—hard labor their business required. Labor he was not obligated to do.
Those wonderful hands trailed fire wherever they fell. The rough pads of his thumbs brushed her aching nipples. Claudia bit her lip, willing herself to silence. Though her rooms had their own wing, she couldn’t take the chance any of the servants might hear. Her breath came in silent gasps.
One knee insinuated itself between her legs. Without volition, they opened to him and he knelt on the floor in front of her, tugging at the knot of her robe until the fabric fell away and the reality of what they were doing sank in.
Her breath seized in her
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