The Roman’s Revenge

When she looked away from the fort she saw Metellus looking at her with an odd expression on his face, “What is wrong?” she asked.

Metellus shook his head, “Nothing,” he said breaking eye contact with her, before walking back to the cave with two large wooden crates loaded in his arms.

As he made his way up the steep hill, Livia watched his broad back in front of her. His refusal to answer her, made her angry. It was obvious he was surprised she had shouted out her thanks to the lepers; but she was grateful. She wasn’t the spoiled daughter of a rich Senator as he seemed to think; she did have some compassion for the poor people stuck here on this island for their whole lives; and she was grateful for all their kindness as it meant their survival.

Metellus entered the cave, a frown of annoyance on his brow. Every time he thought he had Livia Drusus summed up, she did something to confound him! This time was no different. This time it had been her shouting her thanks to the lepers.

Ah, yes. Livia Drusus was a contradiction he hadn’t expected. A woman who had gotten under his skin from the first moment he had seen her on board the ship. Metellus shook his head, determined to forget Livia for a few minutes. Concentrating on the task ahead of him, he lowered the crates he’d been carrying onto the floor. A quick look inside revealed bread, flour, olives, dates, fruit, and cheese; and there was enough to last at least a week, maybe even more. He had to concede, the lepers had been very generous indeed.

A slight noise behind him heralded Livia’s arrival, and he watched her from the corner of his eye as she lowered the box she carried onto the floor next to his. In silence she unpacked its contents, several wooden plates, some spoons and a terracotta jug of milk.

“Shall I prepare some food while you go and get the other two crates?” She asked a few moments later, breaking the silence between them.

Metellus’s eyebrows shot up in surprise once again. Again, she had shocked him with her offer of help, and he was just about to answer when she placed her hands on her hips in a gesture of defiance as he realised he had overstepped the mark and had been caught out.

“You once said not to judge a person by their looks. However, you seem to have done exactly that where I am concerned! I am not so ignorant of people, or situations, even if I am the daughter of a Senator.”

Metellus smiled inwardly at the anger bristling out of her. She reminded him of a small kitten he had once owned that used to spit and fight him. Lifting his hand in surrender he said, “Put your claws away, Livia. I apologise. Yes, some food would be nice. We will eat like the gods tonight.” He bowed, a slight movement from the hips, before he made his way to the cave entrance. But then he stopped, turned and walked back to where she stood. He lifted her chin, taking in the slight widening of her pupils, before his head lowered to hers.

“Do you forgive me?” he whispered, staring at her mouth in fascination. Full and soft he wanted to taste it. Now. The subtle scent of her was like a fever in his blood and it lured him in. He dropped his head, and found her mouth, his kiss a whisper across her lips, as he teased the fullness of hers, absorbing the warmth of her. He felt her shiver in his arms, and it was all the inducement he needed to deepen the kiss. He moulded his lips to hers, his tongue demanding entry to the sweetness of her mouth, and felt a moment of triumph when he heard her gasp, before she opened her mouth and allowed his tongue to plunder the softness within.

He tasted, teased, took what he wanted, what he needed from her, as his hand loosened its hold on her chin, to trail over the pulsing beat at the base of her throat, before it skimmed downwards over the sides of her ribcage, over the soft curves of her waist, until it splayed over her hips allowing him to pull her compliant body into his, so her softness met with the hardness of his arousal.

“Livia. Beautiful, beautiful, Livia,” he whispered against the fullness of her mouth once he had finished kissing her and began to trail his mouth downwards. They fit so well together as if they were made for each other-

Reality returned with the force of a tidal wave, and he stopped, as he tried to quell the myriad of sensations he was feeling for her. With obvious reluctance he pulled away from her, putting some much needed distance between them, aware of his chest rising and falling with exertion as if he’d run for miles. He had to supress the urge to pull her back into his arms, when he saw the twinge of disappointment flit across her face. Instead, he turned, and stalked out of the cave as if the fires of Hades were licking at his heels.

Jupiter’s blood! He’d done it again. Kissed her, touched her, when for the past day he had expressly told himself to keep his hands off her. She was too much of a temptation, and he wondered how on earth he was going to stay away from her for the duration of their enforced stay on the island. If the past few days were anything to go by, it was going to be an uphill struggle!

She seemed to inflame his senses every time he looked at her. He wanted to take her, to make her his. Slip his hands up beneath the length of her silk gown and caress the smooth skin of her thighs. Higher, until he brushed the dampness of her inner core, until he slipped his finger into the heat of her, and watch as she came apart in his arms.

He cursed. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He’d never felt anything for the women he’d taken before. He only gave of himself physically. He was incapable of feeling anything more. He didn’t allow any woman to breach the defences he’d erected so many years ago. It was what he demanded of himself. Because to allow any other emotion, apart from revenge to dominate his feelings was anathema to him.

Until now. He felt anger and frustration build up inside him. His feelings for Livia frightened him. She was pushing him beyond his endurance. And he didn’t like it. At all.

So what was he going to do about it? For a moment he stopped walking as the question raged through him. If he was honest with himself he didn’t know. Staying away from her was going to be hard – considering their cramped living quarters.

But he would just have to, for the sake of his sanity. All he needed to do was remember whose daughter she was. And with that grim thought, he lifted a hand to the left hand side of his face, felt the thin, uneven, raised surface of the scar tissue, and carried on back to the fort to retrieve the last of their supplies.

CHAPTER 7

Considering he had only given himself a stern talking to yesterday evening about his feelings for Livia, they disappeared in an instant at the sight which greeted him when he arrived back at the cave later the next morning.

His body hardened as lust slammed through him. Livia kneeling over a bucket, her head bent over it, her 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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