his regard, alive with the desperation of my passion.
As his hands pull the cheeks of my bottom apart and his cock pushes deep into my cunt, I am propelled instantly into a grinding, heart-stopping moment of ecstasy.
I go up on my toes, pushing back to meet him, rocking my hips, crying out again and again as each invasion of his phallus takes me closer and closer to the ultimate moment of communion. His hands are iron restraints on my hips, his thighs buffeting mine as he plunges to fill me. He is the sea, raging, pounding; I am the shore, unable to avoid the devastation of the waves.
He lifts my hips higher, and the next thrust of his cock almost takes me to release. A moan breaks from him; his movements become rougher, less deliberate, more desperate. I arch my back, scream as the motion increases the already unbearably glorious pressure.
My legs are trembling, close to giving way, but he will not relinquish his hold, will not stop. There is a point he must prove, to himself, to me.
I feel it coming. Like rushing wind before a storm, the blast of heat washes from my scalp to my toes, heralding the onslaught to come. I try to hold back, wanting to know my master is satisfied before I welcome it, open myself to the driving impulse. But the power of his dominance is too strong. Unable to restrict myself in either voice or motion, I scream and writhe, caught in my surrender to him and to the orgasm tearing me apart from the inside out.
In the midst of my release I hear him shout in return, feel him stiffen, fill me so completely my womb seems to open and suck him in. Rippling and pulsing in and around each other, we become elemental—the earth and sky and sea and air.
And I hear the Goddess laugh, although I do not understand why.
Chapter Two
He names me Laelia. As time passes, I learn his language a little at a time. More importantly, I begin to discover who my master, Gaius Antonius Capito, is.
Much of what I hear comes from his Greek slave, Yanos, who traveled from Rome with the master. Yanos hates Britannia. The master, he says, should return to Rome, for there much honor awaits. Look at how the other men of Verulamium, even the old ones, come to him for advice and so often bow to his superior knowledge. See the business he has built without the benefit of help from his wealthy family, with only his own wits and hands. Gaius Antonius Capito should be a senator, or a praetor, solidifying his standing with a worthy title.
It is easy to see why Yanos feels the way he does. Proud, harsh, exacting, Gaius Antonius is truly master of his house, his business, his life. No one crosses him, no one questions. If he wishes, it is done. Why has he chosen to make his fortune apart from his powerful family, in this distant outpost, instead of taking his place beside them at the heart of Rome’s power? Perhaps it is pride, I think. Or does the heart of an adventurer beat beneath the urbane exterior he shows the world?
I do all I can to prove my devotion to him, and him alone. Everything I am commanded to do is done with willing heart and hands. I go to the market to purchase his food, serve at table, wash his clothing and clean his villa. But it is in my service to him at night that I find my greatest joy, and pain.
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