Alyssa Morgan - Gladiator Heart

“Do you mock me?” He clenched his jaw, suppressing his growing rage.

“No,” she rushed out, flipping her startled gaze to him. “That’s not what I—”

Tristan pulled her to her feet, spilling the water basin on the ground. She dropped the towel as he dragged her to the foot of the bed. “I’ve had enough of your Roman tricks.”

He wrestled her to the ground, and she struggled with the little amount of fight she had left in her, but he got the shackle closed around her ankle. He rested on top of her for a moment, indulging in the feel of her soft curves pressed against him. He breathed in the sweet scent of her hair, let the softness of it tickle his nose. He went instantly hard. If he didn’t get up, he was going to take her and nothing would stop him from doing it.

He left her chained to his bed and spent hours walking around the camp alone. It was ridiculous for him to behave like this, for him to avoid going back to his tent because of a mere woman. But he knew if he went back in his agitated state he was either going to wring her slender little neck, or throw her down and have his way with her.

Valeria was just a prisoner. A Roman. She meant absolutely nothing to him.

Lying to himself wasn’t going to change the fact that he did care about her, and he didn’t want to fight his feelings any longer. Her beautiful face haunted his every waking moment, and taunted him in dreams. If he didn’t do something about this burning desire, this insatiable need he’d developed for her, he was absolutely going to lose his mind.

Valeria remained awake, waiting for Tristan to return. Why couldn’t she tell him she admired him? Because she wasn’t supposed to admire him. He was keeping her prisoner, shackled to the foot of his bed.

He could have done worse to her, like let those men rape her, or rape her himself, but he hadn’t. Tristan was different from other men. She’d known there was something special about him from the very beginning.

What was she supposed to do? Everything inside of her rebelled at the idea of letting him make her a slave. He wouldn’t let her go, and they couldn’t exactly become friends. Valeria didn’t belong here, in a war camp with her enemy, shackled in his tent. Something would have to be done with her. She could either let Tristan decide what it would be, or she could keep trying to escape and hope she was eventually successful.

Tristan came back into the tent, bringing a gust of cold night air with him. He ripped off his fur and flung it to the ground. He didn’t look at her as he stormed over to the bed and removed the sword from his waist, laying it next to the bed. He sat and pulled his boots off, then drew his tunic over his head and tossed it to the ground.

Valeria watched his every movement from where she rested on her pile of furs on the ground. The tense silence hanging in the air had her fidgety and nervous.

“Tomorrow I’ll move you with the rest of the prisoners,” he finally said without looking at her. “We’ll be trading for supplies in the next day or two.”

Valeria shot up from the furs to look at him in disbelief. “I’m to be traded with the other prisoners?” Now she’d really done it. She never should have tried to escape.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said. “What did you think would happen?”

She couldn’t stop the tears that ran down her face. What a fool she was to think this man was any different from the barbarians he led into battle. She hated him.

He shot her a cold look, his brows furrowed. “Don’t waste your tears on me.”

“I hate you!” she cried.

In the quickest of movements he was over to her and pulling her to her feet, curling one of his muscular arms around her waist and drawing her upward along his body so they were eye to eye, their noses almost touching. “I’d expect no more from you.”

“Let me go,” Valeria railed at him, letting her sobs come freely as she pounded her fists against the solid muscles of his chest.

He circled his strong arms around her, holding her tight against his hard body with one hand at her back and the other at her waist so she couldn’t move to strike him. The heat of his skin warmed her through the thin material of her tunic and her breasts ached as they smashed against his hard chest. His musky, manly scent swirled around her and she breathed it in even deeper, not certain why she liked the way he smelled. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet his, and stilled as his grey eyes stared back at her. He held her even tighter, pulling her closer.

She couldn’t say what it was or when it happened, but something formed between them. Desire, warm and palpable, drew them closer and closer, until his lips were almost brushing hers. Valeria took a shallow breath and let her body soften in his strong hold, sagging against him. The thin, angry line of his lips parted and then he closed his mouth over hers.

Heat raced through her as his lips slid against hers, kissing her with hungry impatience. She’d expected to dislike his kiss, and instead found a burning temptation. She eagerly returned his kisses, opening her mouth for him when he slipped his tongue inside and bracing her hands on his shoulders to pull herself closer to his hard body. He forced her back down to the bed beneath his heavy weight, but her shackles tightened and stopped him from getting her right where he wanted her.

He was quick to retrieve the key from his boot and she watched him as he removed her chains, panting heavily to catch her breath. He slid back up her body and stretched out over her, pushing her all the way back on the bed beneath his heavy weight. He settled his hips between her legs and began grinding himself against her while taking her mouth in another sweeping kiss that left her dizzy.

Why did it feel so good to have Tristan touch her this way? She didn’t know what he was making her feel, and it was confusing, frightening. Completely surrounded by his body, his warmth, his scent, she was in the enemy’s arms, and she wanted even more of him. Did she desire him out of fear, hoping he might change his mind about what to do with her, or was there something else making her want this man?

It was desire, plain and simple, and it was impossible for Valeria to deny her feelings any longer. But could she really surrender to Tristan’s taking of her? She’d never been intimate with a man. She knew how it worked, that a man entered a woman’s body, but she’d never been brave enough to explore such relations. It could be that none had ever sparked the flames of her passion as Tristan did, and she wanted to explore these new sensations she was feeling. His passionate assault was like nothing she’d ever experienced and it might be her only chance to know something this consuming. Tristan was taking her on a voyage into the unknown, and she eagerly thirsted for the special knowledge that only this man, who was her enemy, could give her.

He continued to kiss her, his lips hard and searching, his wet tongue tracing her lips. Valeria parted her lips and he slipped his tongue inside, eagerly exploring her mouth. His kisses turned more intense, more devouring, and waves of pleasure surged through her, making it easy to forget she was a Roman and Tristan was a northerner. Driven by her own rising passion, she found the courage to return his plundering kisses, imitating his actions and getting a quick study in the art of kissing.

His hand slid under her tunic and caressed the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. A warm, needy ache blossomed in her center. With every teasing brush of his fingers he came closer and closer to touching the secret flesh between her legs. Tristan was going to make love to her and there was nothing she could do to stop him. Did she want to stop him? Would he stop if she wanted him to? All the modesty Rome had spent years ingraining into her person made her think of how shameful it would be to allow him to do this, but she liked his touch, had never felt anything more perfect, and there couldn’t be anything shameful in that.