The Roman’s Revenge. Caroline Storer

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СКАЧАТЬ hair falling forward as she scooped water over the long strands. She had slipped her gown off her shoulders so it rested rather precariously, he saw, on the fullness of her breasts. Breasts, that were full and ripe, and quivered with her movements as she lifted her hands and rinsed out her hair.

      It was such an intimate act, he felt guilty watching her, like a youth caught up in the first flush of desire, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was mesmerising. She was the embodiment of every male fantasy. Beautiful, cultured, a living breathing goddess. And one which was driving him mad with longing.

      He swallowed hard, as he stared at her in mute fascination, as he fought the urge to go over to her. She seemed to be taking an awful long time to wash her hair. It was obvious she was enjoying the moment, relishing the act of cleaning her hair, and Metellus couldn’t blame her. They hadn’t washed in clean water since the night of the storm, and it was obvious she was making up for lost time.

      He didn’t know how long he stood there watching her, and it was only when she flung her head back, the water spraying into the air like a spring shower, that he started, swallowing a lump of raw emotion when he saw her smile with unbridled joy at doing so. He realised, in amazement, he’d never seen her smile before. And he realised he liked it. It lit up her face, made him want to go over to her and skim his fingers over the fullness of her mouth, to tease the full bottom lip with his teeth and delve his tongue into the sweetness within.

      But the illusion was shattered when she opened her eyes and saw him standing there watching her. In an instant her smile disappeared, and he saw her stiffen as she watched him, wariness evident in the hazel depths of her eyes. For some inexplicable reason Metellus mourned the loss of her happiness, and he couldn’t help feeling annoyed with himself that he had spoiled her fun. Tension flowed between them, but not before he saw her swallow and turn bright red, trying to readjust her gown. He could see her fingers were trembling and she wasn’t doing a very good job at securing it. Perhaps he could-

      “I…I thought you had gone hunting, would be away for hours…I didn’t-” She said interrupting his wicked thoughts. She stopped speaking, her head nodding at the trap he held in his hand, communicating what she was trying to say to him. The trap had been provided with their supplies, as Metellus had been told there were plenty of rabbits on the island, having been introduced by the lepers to provide a plentiful source of meat.

      “I did,” he said lifting his other hand which had been hidden behind his back, holding aloft two dead rabbits. “Eukrete, the Elder of the colony was right, there are so many rabbits on this island that we won’t go short on meat.” Metellus stopped talking, when he realised he was babbling, and an uneasy silence fell between the two of them. He never babbled. Not in all the twenty four years he had lived on this earth. Well not until today…

      And why? The answer was in front of him. A woman so beautiful, she took his breath away, knelt before him, her wet gown clinging to her breasts. Breasts, he could see, which were in immediate danger of popping out of the front of her gown.

      “Err. Your gown,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat as he felt colour suffuse his face. It was an experience he hadn’t felt for many a year, not since he had been a callow youth.

      He saw Livia look down, then back up at him, her mouth forming a small “O” of surprise, before she turned away from him and readjusted her gown.

      Realising she needed some privacy, he turned away and walked into the cave. Once inside he exhaled with a heavy breath. By the gods, life was going to be hard in the next few weeks until the ship arrived. He smiled at the irony of his words as he felt the fullness of his hard arousal demanding release. But there was nothing he could do about it, not if he didn’t want to lose his sanity. Turning, he went to sit on one of the wooden chairs and started on the unpleasant task of skinning, and gutting, the rabbits. The chore should at least take his mind off Livia’s vivid presence.

      Well he hoped it would.

      “That was delicious. Thank you.”

      The words were the first to be spoken since the hair washing incident earlier that morning. Metellus looked up to see Livia sucking the residue of the roasted rabbit off her fingers as she smiled her thanks across at him. Once again he felt heat pool in his stomach at her smile. He couldn’t help but think it was rather unsettling that with only a smile in his direction, she seemed to have so much power over his emotions.

      It seemed everything she did enticed him. The way she looked at him, smiled at him, the way she flicked her hair, the gesture of her hands, the small clicking noises she made with her mouth when she was deep in thought. Everything! Every nuance of her being made him want her so much, and it would be so easy to pick her up and throw her on the bed, seduce her until she begged for him never to stop. He wanted to make love to her until his lust was stated, and he could rid himself of his feelings for her.

      Feeling vulnerable, and annoyed, with both himself, and her, he grunted a response to her compliment saying nothing. It was best to keep things neutral between them. There was no way he could become involved with her, no matter how many times his body screamed at him to do so.

      Livia looked up into Metellus’s closed face, and bit back the words she was going to say in support of his cooking skills.

      For some reason he looked to be in a foul mood, and not sure why, she kept quiet. As quiet as she had been, since he had seen her washing her hair earlier.

      It wasn’t her fault he had returned early. And, she was entitled to wash her hair, she thought angrily. Not understanding him at all, she stood up and took her plate outside to where a wooden bucket was being utilised as a makeshift bowl for washing. Scrubbing away at the grime gave her a vent for the frustration she was feeling towards him, and the situation she found herself in.

      She just prayed something would happen to take her mind off him, as the constant physical attraction she felt for him was driving her mad.

      Mad with desire. Wanting him, needing him. Feelings she had never experienced in her whole life. And never would, if she were to marry Sextus Calpurnius Pullus.

      Just thinking about Pullus made her shiver, not with desire like she felt for Metellus, but with revulsion, and dread. The thought of Pullus as her husband, touching her, making love to her, effectively his chattel, filled her with such horror she couldn’t help her sob of anguish. And what, if as the result of making love to her she should become pregnant? Her own mother had died giving birth to her. What if she were die too? Who would look after the child-?

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