She didn’t know why he frightened her. Maybe it was because he had changed so much in the intervening years since she had last seen him. Not just physically, but mentally too. The youth she had known had only ever shown her kindness. But now, today, she wasn’t so sure. He looked so hard, indomitable, the coldness of his blue eyes revealing so much more about him than what he’d actually said.
The man that stood behind her was the product of his uncle’s hatred – and hers – if she were honest. She, and Quintus, had made him the man he was today. But she knew, deep down, that Marsallas wouldn’t hurt her. He might hate her, but he wouldn't harm her. Marsallas wasn't like his uncle, she was sure of that.
Then thinking of Quintus, and all she had suffered at his hands these past years, she mentally squared her shoulders and turned slightly, as if to convey to Marsallas that she wasn't afraid of him.
But her rational thoughts disappeared instantly, when by turning, she brought herself even closer to him if that were possible. Her heart skipped a beat when she felt Marsallas’s breath on her neck, moist and hot as he leaned in even closer, a soft sigh escaping him.
“Yes,” he whispered, as his mouth made contact with the warm skin of her neck. With deliberately slow movements he took hold of her hand, and turned her fully, so she now faced him. He was so close, the heady scent of his skin so intoxicating, that she couldn't stop the shiver of arousal that coursed through her.
No more than two minutes had passed since she had entered his quarters, and already her body was reacting to him like it had always done. It was as if her emotions, which she had ruthlessly suppressed all these years, had suddenly erupted like some dormant volcano, and her desire for him - her longing for him - burst forth like molten lava, threatening to overwhelm her.
She heard him laugh softly under his breath, as if he knew exactly what she was feeling, what she was experiencing. And when he moved closer, so his hips made contact with hers, Justina groaned inwardly as she felt the hardness of his arousal nudging her lower belly.
“Beautiful, beautiful, Justina. I want you.”
Justina’s eyes widened. Had she heard him correctly? Shaking her head in denial she whispered, “No… I…” But her words trailed off when he bent his head, and felt his tongue stroke the sensitive area of her neck just under her earlobe. Heat curled in the pit of her stomach; warmth spreading through her whole body, as her knees went weak with longing.
“You say “no”, but your body screams “yes” Justina. You can deny it all you want, but you want me as much as I want you. I felt it earlier when I caressed your neck. Your beating pulse told me everything I needed to know.” The words were soft, a rumbling from deep within his chest as his teeth nipped the soft lobe of her ear, the sensations so intense that she couldn’t stop herself from arching her neck.
Eventually, reality returned, and instinctively she tried to pull away. “Marsallas no! Stop, please. Please-”
But he ignored her plea, and his mouth closed over hers, his lips bruising as he kissed her with deliberate passion. Justina tried to turn her head away, to escape the onslaught of his mouth. But his fingers burrowed under her long hair, trapping her, forcing her to stay where she was, as his hand curved around the back of her neck pulling her towards him.
The kiss intensified, as if he were stamping his presence on her, punishing her for all the years of torment she had put him through.
She moaned, hating the rough assault of his mouth on hers, her nails digging into the hard muscles of his forearms as she tried to pull away.
But her resistance was futile, her strength no match against his, as Marsallas pressed his hips into the softness of her stomach, the gesture blatantly sexual. Again Justina moaned, remembering how it had once been between them. How he had kissed her so softly, so gently, that she had wanted the kiss to go on forever-
Then as quickly as it began, the kiss ended.
Marsallas pulled away from her, and Justina turned her head in mortification, not daring to look at him. She heard his ragged breathing as he stood there, the sound harsh in the stillness of the room. Once again she felt her chin being lifted, her eyes forced to meet his. Expecting to see hatred reflected there, she was taken aback when, instead, she saw torment and pain in the darkness of his eyes.
Justina felt her resistance crumble. Had he hated kissing her like that? Did he remember what it had once been like between them?
The questions flew through her mind. She wanted to ask him, but she was incapable of speech. Instead, she lifted her hand and laid it along his strong jaw bone, conveying to him without words, what she was thinking, what she was feeling.
The unspoken gesture was enough, and she closed her eyes as Marsallas’s mouth fused with hers once more.
“Justina,” he breathed, and this time he kissed her in a way that sent heat searing through her body. This time his lips weren't trying to punish – they were gentle, soft, mobile – seducing her, awakening memories of long ago when they shared such sweet kisses together.
His hands reached for her once more, gently caressing, skimming over the slimness of her shoulders, downwards, until they rested on the sides of her ribcage. Slowly, they moved inwards, cupping the fullness of her breasts, and Justina jerked, feeling the sensitive flesh swell, her nipples pebbling with desire as he rubbed them through the thinness of her silk gown. Long suppressed sensations flushed into life, as she gloried in the feel of his hands on her body once more.
“Marsallas,” she groaned against his lips, wanting so much more.
“You want me don't you?” he whispered.
“Yes. Oh yes-”
Then reality hit her, as the full implication of what she was saying, what she was doing, impinged on her passion soaked mind. And this time it was she who pulled away, and as she stared at him, time seemed suspended as Marsallas watched her, his face giving nothing away.
She felt shaken to the core by what had just happened, both of them caught up in the past and the present. Then, mercifully, the tension was broken by a loud rap on the door, the noise as loud as a thunder-clap in the stillness of the room.
Diogenes! Of course! She realised belatedly. Her allotted time with Marsallas was up. The interruption broke the tension between them, and she whispered, “I…I have to go. Quintus-”
She realised her mistake as soon as she uttered Quintus’s name when his face darkened, and his eyes narrowed into dark slits of anger. Then he turned abruptly, and walked away from her, returning to the table to pour another goblet of wine.
“Yes. Go now while you can, Justina. I'm sure my uncle has need of you.” The words were hissed past tight lips, before he turned to her once again, his face closed, unreadable.
Justina said nothing. She wanted to run over to him, beg his forgiveness, and explain everything.
But she didn’t.
Instead she turned, and wrenched open the door, leaving the room with as much dignity as she could, holding back the tears that threatened to fall.
It was only when she heard a loud smash come from Marsallas’s quarters that her step faltered. Marsallas must have thrown his wine goblet on the floor in anger or frustration – or both …
* * *
Marsallas tapped the table with his index finger, looking up with bloodshot eyes to where Fabius sat opposite him.
Fabius raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. Doing as Marsallas asked, he refilled his goblet with wine once more.
“You have three races tomorrow, Marsallas. Is it wise to get so drunk?”
Marsallas pulled a wry smile, and looked up at his friend, “Are you my mother now, Fabius?” he asked, his words slurred, and not waiting