Excerpt

Damon's Price

by Ali Katz

Chapter 1

Rated NC17

“Bless you, pater.” Claudia’s whispered benediction floated to the ceiling on curls of steam as she slowly sank into scented luxury. This private bath in the master suite had been her father’s one self-indulgence. Now it was hers, part of his legacy, and one of many things she loved about being mistress of her ancestral home, Dulcia—sweet indeed.

With her head resting on the edge of the tub, she lounged against the slanted back and let all the tension of the day drift away. The water, hot as she could bear, lapped at her sensitive breasts.

For the most part, widowhood agreed with her. Marcus was gone four years this month. She seldom missed him. Independence, another precious gift from her father, far outweighed any advantages she’d known as wife to a man who made his living at sea.

No matter how good the living, a life lived waiting for her man to return had worn thin very quickly.

Marcus had his good points, though. Fidelity being one she appreciated. In a time when a man’s loyalty to family, city, emperor was his greatest virtue, Marcus Portius Crassus was known from Tripoli to the Pillars of Hercules for extending his to his wife. A sailor with scruples, he was rumored to endure the good-natured ribbing with a knowing smile that earned his wife a reputation as the mysterious goddess who held him in thrall.

A wistful smile crept over her lips. The goddess, in turn, gave him no reason to let his eyes wander. Her body had been good to her in that respect—slow to show her age despite bearing three children for him. Her skin shivered to her touch as she let her hands graze over her body in the rising steam. Even at thirty-eight, her breasts were still firm, stomach tight, thighs smooth and slender.

What a waste.

Claudia had no delusions. What Marcus loved was fucking her and the enthusiasm with which she welcomed him. When he was home, and he seldom was, they’d enjoyed each other—especially the homecomings.

The last time, an eternity ago, he’d come to her from Hispania, if she remembered correctly. Rough, unshaven, he’d stormed into the house, swept her into his arms and to their bed without a word, right in front of the servants and children.

Claudia sighed, sinking into the memory. He’d been mad with lust, tearing at her clothes until she lay naked and moaning beneath him. Gods, he’d tried to devour her. The memory chased up her limbs, through her, and centered in her loins.

Tonight she missed him; her body missed him. The urgent roughness of his hands, the taste of his mouth flavored with the sour wine he preferred, the fullness as he plunged into her again and again. And his scent, oh, his scent—he’d smelled of the sea and the sweet balm he used in his bath. Even after four years, the memory of his scent would catch her unaware now and then. Like tonight. Every nerve in her body awakened. Her hips rocked, guiding her hand between her thighs, remembering.

A door closed. Claudia froze.

When her breath returned, she raised her head to find her secretary, Damon, standing just inside the room. He brought the correspondence from earlier in the day for her signature. The tablets trembled in his hands, but when she searched his eyes expecting fear, she saw fire.

“Let me help you, Era.” His voice was low, husky with arousal.

Bold. So very bold. A wave of lust swept over her. Claudia donned a disapproving expression and grabbed the towel from the stool beside the tub. She stood without shame.

“I should have you whipped for that,” she said, stepping from the bath.

“Yes, Era.” The words were meek enough, but nothing in his stance suggested he expected her to follow through.

A quick rubdown with the coarse fabric eased the tingling in her sensitive flesh. She should have him punished, but what reason would she give? He caught me masturbating and offered to help. A smile crept its way into her thoughts. That would keep the servants amused for months.

Let it go. After a lifetime of handling slaves, she was still hopelessly inept in the art of discipline.

Turning her back to him, she waved him toward the small desk on the other side of the room and grabbed the first garment at hand. A robe, a gift Marcus brought her from one of his last journeys. The wine-colored silk irritated her heated flesh as she wrapped it around her and cinched the belt tight.

Damon crossed the room to deposit the tablets and take his place beside the desk.

“I knocked,” he said.

“The right thing would have been to leave quietly and come back later,” she warned him coldly. She slid into the chair without looking in his direction.

“I didn’t want you to worry about who had tried the door.”

“Kind of you.” She should tell him to leave. He could wait elsewhere for the correspondence.

Instead, Claudia tried to focus on the first letter. Damon’s meticulous transcription decayed to a blur on the tablet. She needed all her concentration to control the trembling in her hands.

She heard a sharp intake of breath and glanced up to catch him staring at her breasts.

Her body’s instant reaction stunned her. Her nipples grew taut against the slick fabric of the robe. A warm, liquid rush dampened her sex.

The evidence of his arousal swelled behind the fabric of his tunic. She turned in the chair to face him. The robe didn’t turn with her. It slipped open, exposing her chest and all of one leg. She made no attempt to correct the problem.

With one hand gripping the back of her chair, she returned his scrutiny. The boy was certainly a pleasure to look at. She’d admired his form often enough, but always with the appreciation one might give to an especially fine marble likeness—almost always.

At the moment, there was no comparing him to any image carved from stone. His living heat radiated between them. She drank in his rugged charms—sweetly disheveled hair, black as night, worn longer than was fashionable, black brow, midnight eyes. The shadow of a beard darkened his face. He was slim but well fed and well muscled, and he was the most intelligent man she’d ever known.

Yes, man, she reminded herself.

“How 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 throat. She shouldn't allow this. She didn't know this man, not like this. He was loyal, but to whom? She'd moved in on him, usurping his position when she took over her inheritance. Until four months ago, he was in charge and she'd never considered he might resent her. Yet, here she was, considering it. Common sense warned her. This shouldn't happen. He could ruin her. She needed to stop.

But when his whispered endearments reached her ears, "…beautiful…Era mea…", and she felt his hot breath bathe her flesh, she knew there was no stopping. The tenderness in his voice drew her eyes. Even in the dim light, she could see the heat in his half-lidded gaze. He appraised her with something akin to worship. Right or wrong, she trusted him. No one could look at her like that and mean her harm.

But how would she forget that look in the morning?

Without warning, Damon dug his fingers into her sides and yanked her toward him. The coarse shadow of his beard rasped over her skin as he covered her breast with his mouth and sucked.

Claudia stifled a moan and leaned into him, encouraging him. The smooth surface of his tongue stroked the sensitive nipple. Her sex throbbed to his rhythm, seizing now and then, hinting of things to come.

Damon shuddered. His kisses moved north, alternately nipping and kissing in a line to her shoulder and neck, nuzzling his way to her ear. His lips brushed her cheek and over her lips, just a breath.

Fire surged through her. All thought of consequence melted in the heat. Like an infant seeking sustenance, she turned into the caress, chasing the gentle kiss. She needed that kiss, a real kiss. But his lips didn't part for her when she captured his mouth, though his breath quickened and his heart pounded beneath her palm which had somehow found its way to his chest. A desperate, painful longing burst inside her. She drew away.

He removed her hand. "Best you don't touch me," he whispered, his voice full of gravel. He stood, lifting her from the chair, his hands cradling her ass as he carried her to the bed and laid her atop the woolen covers.

His erection beneath the tunic brushed her thigh, once.

At the single glancing contact, a surging need to wrap her legs around him, to have him buried deep inside her threatened, and she panicked. She couldn't allow this. She wasn't in control. She tried to roll away.

"Shhh, shhh, trust me, Era." He murmured soft reassurance, kissing down her body while his hands stroked her thighs, loosening and spreading them. She yielded to him as his kisses and his caresses approached their goal. His fingers traced the crease where her leg met her body then parted her labia and plunged into her well. At the same moment, his mouth found her clit.

Claudia's hips rose from the bed, her body taking on a will of its own. She writhed with each stroke of his tongue, each thrust of his fingers into her depths. Somehow, her lack of control seemed meaningless when his hand slipped beneath her, raising her slightly from the bed to complete his possession.

Madness gripped her. Her fingers twined themselves in his hair. She ground her pelvis against his face. Damon didn't protest. Instead, his moans sent sweet vibrations through her. He held her like an offering, aiding her efforts to bury him with her cunt, and ran his tongue up her cleft, flicking at her clit. A knot formed in her, tightening around the tiny nub. He sucked it into his mouth.

The breath rushed out of her as the knot at her core exploded. Tension built from years of neglect burst away. Somewhere in her mind, enough caution remained to force her mouth to close against the cries battering her throat.

A third finger stretched her, giving her muscles something to clutch. Damon covered her with his mouth. His rhythmic moans and gentle sucking drew wave after wave of pleasure from the center of her being until she thought she would happily die if he, oh gods, please, didn't stop.

Too soon, her body went limp. Damon kept his face pressed to her until the waning spasms finally ceased. Then he kissed her thighs, belly and breasts, and pulled himself to his feet. His hands stroked her sides, gently massaging.

Her body hummed. She stretched like a cat right down to her toes and glanced up to catch him admiring his handiwork with triumph in his eyes and a grimace of pain furrowing his brow.

Such self-control. Too much. Why should he be allowed what she didn't have? Claudia rose to a seat. She snaked her hand to the back of his neck and pulled him into the forbidden kiss. This time, he didn't deny her.

Gently, she sipped at his lips. Her tongue probed. He tasted of her. Her scent clung to him and filled her head with the memory of what he'd done to her. Her body responded with a shudder.

His lips parted. Their tongues joined, tentative at first. Then, more boldly, he slipped beyond her teeth, testing her reaction before covering her mouth in a deep, probing kiss.

Perhaps the kiss distracted him from noticing when she pulled at the hem of his tunic, raised it and tucked it into his belt. But when she slid her hand over the tight bulge behind the subligar he wore, his breathing grew frantic. Still, he didn't stop her. She tugged the knot at his waist and the garment came away easily. His cock fell heavily into her waiting hand.

Damon grunted into her mouth. His hand clamped down on her wrist as though he meant to pull her away, but his hips pressed his swollen cock against her palm. She explored the length of him with light fingers. His balls were so tight she wondered how he hadn't exploded already. Wrapping her hand around him, she began to stroke. Squeeze up…letting her thumb slide over the silky head, capturing the sticky wetness…slide down. Again. Slowly at first, then faster until Damon took over, thrusting through the circle of her fingers and groaning into her mouth.

She captured the cries that erupted from him and thrilled to feel the sound of her name echo against the back of her throat. She stroked his tongue to the rhythm of his thrusts. His member pulsed violently and his thick, hot seed splashed against the skin of her belly. When his spasms quieted, she continued to fondle him gently until he was limp and quiescent in her hand.

The kiss turned soft and passionate. He took her mouth with a breathless intensity. Every sense she owned responded. Her head filled with his taste and his scent, with the warmth of his breath against her cheek and the sound of his pulse beating in time with her heart. The kiss affected her as all that had come before had not. Her body melted. Her heart swelled.

When he pulled away, a part of her went with him.

His thighs quivered as he stood before her and adjusted his clothing with his eyes averted. He walked to the end of the bed, picked up the towel she'd discarded earlier from the floor and returned to wipe his cream from her belly.

Claudia lifted her hand to his cheek and forced him to face her. He had a haunted look until he corrected it and turned to kiss her palm. Something was amiss, but his silence warned her not to ask.

Without a word, he went to the desk and gathered up the tablets he'd carried in for her signatures. She knew he might need them to justify his presence in her room. They would get around to finishing them tomorrow.

Tomorrow, Claudia thought. What would their morning be like?

Damon gave a slight bow, his usual goodbye, and left her wondering.