Read Online One With the Darkness by Susan Squires - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan Squires
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him. “Not possible.”
She took the poultice from the basket. “Then you do not know any women with spines.”
“What can a woman do? She is weaker than a man.”
She looked up at him as she bound the poultice in place. She was vampire, and he would never believe how strong she was. But she couldn’t tell him that. “You are stronger than I am. Why are you my slave?”
He clenched his jaw and said nothing.
“A woman can work through men to see her will imposed. She can create circumstances where men choose to do her will. We have been doing it since the beginning of time.”
She stood back. The only thing left was his hair. Shetook a large ivory comb from a niche in the wall and walked around behind him. She began pulling the comb through his hair, starting at the bottom. The oil had made it slick. If she couldn’t comb it out, she might have no choice but to cut it off or leave it in the tangled ropes that lay against his back. He said nothing and she worked in silence. The pulsing between her legs seemed to have gotten into her ears. She was throbbing all over now. When she was done, she worked astringent into his hair to cut the oil, and then bade him bend over so she could ladle water over his head. When he sat up she came round to the front and saw that he was more than half-erect and rising still. He had found his bath as erotic as she had.
She ignored both the erection and the heat in his eyes, though it caused her almost physical pain to do so, and tossed him the flaxen cloth and the belt. “Cover yourself.” He stood, his impressive cock swollen, and belted the cloth around his hips. Gods, was she going to have a man around who left her constantly aroused?
She could order him to her bed. It didn’t look like it would be a trial to him. And yet … She had never had a male body slave precisely because it felt wrong to order a slave to service you. Sexual pleasure should be mutual and carried out between consenting parties. That was what was wrong with pedophiles and rapists. And a slave could not really consent because he could not refuse.
“Keep the wooden sandals. They will protect your feet.” She wanted a bodyguard only, she reminded herself. Not to defend her, but to avoid the discovery of what she was if she defended herself.
Which meant she had to give him a weapon.
4
J ERGAN LIMPED ACROSS the garden after the petite woman who owned him body and soul, glowering. His flesh was still warm from the bath. The damp wee hours of the night in the month the Romans called January were a shock against his skin. He smelled of oils and herbs. Were they mad to clean their bodies thus? Apparently they did it every day. Still, he had to admit he felt clean. And it was good to have the stink of the horrible journey removed. The astringent still stung in his wounds and the unguents she had applied had a strange tingle to them, but she had been efficient at her treatments and he would be willing to wager that he would heal faster now. He rubbed his chin. He missed his beard.
This night had brought more twists of fate than his mind could quite compass. First there was the clamor of the slave market, the shame of being evaluated by these effete Romans, men of short stature who somehow had produced a war machine that decimated the Gauls and would probably decimate Britannia if they ever crossed the channel. Worse, there had been the prospect of prostitution in a brothel for men, to be raped and beaten at their sick whim. It was everything he had imagined of Rome on the long journey over the mountains. He had been deeply ashamed that those vile beasts had been able torouse his cock. The trip from the slave market to this amazing house had been pure torture. And then there was this enigmatic woman who owned him….
Hateful. She was beautiful and she knew it. He watched her walk ahead of him. Her winter clothes only hinted at the curves beneath them, but his imagination supplied the rest. Her bare shoulders
She took the poultice from the basket. “Then you do not know any women with spines.”
“What can a woman do? She is weaker than a man.”
She looked up at him as she bound the poultice in place. She was vampire, and he would never believe how strong she was. But she couldn’t tell him that. “You are stronger than I am. Why are you my slave?”
He clenched his jaw and said nothing.
“A woman can work through men to see her will imposed. She can create circumstances where men choose to do her will. We have been doing it since the beginning of time.”
She stood back. The only thing left was his hair. Shetook a large ivory comb from a niche in the wall and walked around behind him. She began pulling the comb through his hair, starting at the bottom. The oil had made it slick. If she couldn’t comb it out, she might have no choice but to cut it off or leave it in the tangled ropes that lay against his back. He said nothing and she worked in silence. The pulsing between her legs seemed to have gotten into her ears. She was throbbing all over now. When she was done, she worked astringent into his hair to cut the oil, and then bade him bend over so she could ladle water over his head. When he sat up she came round to the front and saw that he was more than half-erect and rising still. He had found his bath as erotic as she had.
She ignored both the erection and the heat in his eyes, though it caused her almost physical pain to do so, and tossed him the flaxen cloth and the belt. “Cover yourself.” He stood, his impressive cock swollen, and belted the cloth around his hips. Gods, was she going to have a man around who left her constantly aroused?
She could order him to her bed. It didn’t look like it would be a trial to him. And yet … She had never had a male body slave precisely because it felt wrong to order a slave to service you. Sexual pleasure should be mutual and carried out between consenting parties. That was what was wrong with pedophiles and rapists. And a slave could not really consent because he could not refuse.
“Keep the wooden sandals. They will protect your feet.” She wanted a bodyguard only, she reminded herself. Not to defend her, but to avoid the discovery of what she was if she defended herself.
Which meant she had to give him a weapon.
4
J ERGAN LIMPED ACROSS the garden after the petite woman who owned him body and soul, glowering. His flesh was still warm from the bath. The damp wee hours of the night in the month the Romans called January were a shock against his skin. He smelled of oils and herbs. Were they mad to clean their bodies thus? Apparently they did it every day. Still, he had to admit he felt clean. And it was good to have the stink of the horrible journey removed. The astringent still stung in his wounds and the unguents she had applied had a strange tingle to them, but she had been efficient at her treatments and he would be willing to wager that he would heal faster now. He rubbed his chin. He missed his beard.
This night had brought more twists of fate than his mind could quite compass. First there was the clamor of the slave market, the shame of being evaluated by these effete Romans, men of short stature who somehow had produced a war machine that decimated the Gauls and would probably decimate Britannia if they ever crossed the channel. Worse, there had been the prospect of prostitution in a brothel for men, to be raped and beaten at their sick whim. It was everything he had imagined of Rome on the long journey over the mountains. He had been deeply ashamed that those vile beasts had been able torouse his cock. The trip from the slave market to this amazing house had been pure torture. And then there was this enigmatic woman who owned him….
Hateful. She was beautiful and she knew it. He watched her walk ahead of him. Her winter clothes only hinted at the curves beneath them, but his imagination supplied the rest. Her bare shoulders
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