Caroline Storer - The Roman’s Revenge

“I can’t. But it is a gamble we have to take if we are to survive.”

When she said nothing more he carried on, “We will break camp in the morning.” He then walked over to one of the wooden chests, and took out some black twisted strips.

“Here,” he said, handing over one of the strips. “Eat.”

Livia took what he handed to her, a frown of confusion on her face, for some reason loathe to take the offensive looking substance off him. Wrinkling her nose she asked, “What is it?”

“Salted meat.”

Her face screwed up with displeasure, but before she could say anything more Metellus bit out, “I realise that it is not what you are used too. But we are not at one of your father’s elaborate banquets now. You haven’t eaten for days. So do you eat it, or do I have to force it down your throat?”

Livia bristled at his sarcastic tone, and her small jaw clamped shut. Reaching out her hand she snatched the salted beef out of his hand, biting a small piece off, her mouth twisting at the sour taste of it, but she refused to look away from him, her eyes defiant. His, she noticed, were still unreadable as he watched her.

“When you’ve finished, you will need to sleep, as we will be leaving early in the morning.”

Effecting a mocking salute at him, she retorted, “Yes sir!”

Livia realised she’d gone one step too far, when he strode across to her and grabbed her hand, pulling her upwards so she fell against him. Hard. He then sat down on one of the barrels, and Livia couldn’t stop the yelp of surprise as she tumbled full length onto his lap, instantly aware of her softness colliding with the hardness of his body.

“This is no joke, Livia,” he snapped. “This is survival, yours and mine. If you don’t want to live, then stay here, but I am leaving tomorrow. But if you decide to come with me, you will have to carry your fair share of equipment. I will not tolerate any feminine antics from you. Do you understand?”

Livia nodded, refusing to answer him, but her nod of acquiescence was enough to appease Metellus, as his face softened and he continued speaking, “If I tell you to do something, you will do it. This place is not going to lift up its hands in supplication and make things easier for you, just because you are the daughter of a Roman Senator. We have to be constantly on our guard. It’s going to be tough, and we may not survive anyway. Do you understand?”

For some reason, Livia felt like crying, hurt by his words, but she bit her lip. Was she that selfish? That shallow?

Not wanting him to see her tears, she turned away, trying to pull her hand out of his grip. But he didn’t let go, and if anything his grip tightened, giving Livia no choice but to look up at him.

“Do you understand?” He repeated, his tone demanding an answer.

“Yes.” She whispered, trying once again to break free.

But still he refused to let go of her hand, and she looked up at him, his inscrutable gaze once again bearing down on her. For several long seconds their eyes battled with each other, until hers widened in alarm when she saw his head lower, as inch, by slow inch, his mouth came closer until it met the softness of hers.

“Oh!” She gasped, her eyes closing, as his firm lips pressed against hers. It was a kiss like no other. And when his free hand lifted to cup the soft skin of her jaw, he exerted enough pressure she had no choice but to open her mouth. She sighed as his mouth took hers, with a hunger which frightened her with its intensity.

It was everything she’d ever imagined a kiss would be, and her heart soared, her other hand lifting and gripping his broad shoulder. The movement bought her closer to his body, and her softness moulded to the hardness of his. It reminded her of the time aboard the ship when they had been as close as they were now. Then it had been about survival, but now it was about pleasure. Their pleasure.

She felt an unfamiliar, but powerful pull of attraction for this man as his tongue demanded entrance to the softness of her mouth, and she acquiesced, allowing it to enter, to mate with hers, unable to stop her low moan of desire. Never in all her life had she been kissed with such passion, and she opened her mouth wider, glorying in the pleasure his mouth and tongue was bringing her, and as the kiss deepened in its intensity, this time it was his moan of desire she heard.

His hand loosened its hold on hers, and settled on the full curve of her hip, pulling her forward. She clung to him, as if she’d somehow lost the ability to stand, feeling every hard plane of his body imprinted against hers.

Her breasts pressed against his chest, her stomach moulded the hardness of his lower groin, making her painfully aware of his erection. Heat pooled in her lower belly, causing a melting sensation to flood through her when his hands slid further around her back moving downwards to cup the softness of her buttocks.

She didn’t know how long the kiss lasted - a minute, an hour, eternity - but she only became aware of its ending when Metellus pulled away, and her hands; hands which had somehow entwined themselves in the crisp dark hair at the nape of his neck, fell away.

“Oh!” She said again, whether from disappointment, or shock, she couldn’t say, and she blinked, trying to adjust to the present as she watched him move away, his bearing now stiff and rigid.

“That shouldn’t have happened. Rest assured madam, it won’t again.”

The words were harsh, guttural, insulting even, and before Livia could say anything, Metellus strode off towards the seashore.

She stared after him, a frown of frustration creasing her brow as she worried her lower lip, aware it throbbed from the force of his kiss. She knew, if she were able to see them, they would be kiss ravaged, red, full, wet and glistening. As she stood there watching him walk away from her – again – she had to bite back the urge to shout after him; to demand he return and explain what had just happened between them.

But she didn’t. Instead, she watched as he walked away from her wondering how on earth she was going to cope for the next few days – weeks even. Cope, not only with his ever changing moods, but rather worryingly with the growing desire she felt for him. This stranger who had rescued her, a man whom she knew nothing about, but with every instinct she possessed screaming at her, telling her that he seemed to know an awful lot about her, and her family. And what he did know, he didn’t like, or trust, one bit.

Dawn couldn’t come soon enough, Livia thought, as she lay there watching the black night turn to a dusty pink, bringing with it another day.

A new day in which they would head out, and try and survive the unknown perils inflicted on them by this remote island. She turned, and bit back a small groan as her muscles protested in anger at the hardness of the sand beneath her thin cloak.

She’d hardly slept at all last night, tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable position, lying there, hour after hour listening to the alien sound of another person sleeping next to her. It had guaranteed a sleepless night. Metellus, on the other hand had slept the whole night through if his deep, even breathing was any indication!

“Are you awake?”

His words startled her, and her eyes swivelled to where he lay on his makeshift bed. She couldn’t see his features, because he still lay on his back. How on earth did he know she was awake? Was the man cursed with some sort of magical powers? She was tempted to ignore him, but she remembered his orders yesterday, about their survival, and how she had to obey his commands, so she thought better of it. “Yes. Yes I am.”