The man next to me is moaning. His slave is working the cream from the pot all the way up his thighs. I look away. Look across the room instead. But there’s a woman over there, an important woman with one breast exposed, her hand to her sweaty forehead, her eyes closed, her legs open and one of the beautiful slave men between them, licking her.
Shit.
I find someone else to concentrate on. But everywhere, there is nothing but naked bodies, and singing, and dancing, and wine. So much wine. And the scent of honey mixed in with sex.
“If it’s overwhelming, just close your eyes,” Pell says.
I take his advice.
“Or”—Pell pauses his massage—“we could stop. Move on to another room.”
I can’t open my eyes. I can’t look at him. If I look at him, I will blush. I will get embarrassed. And I don’t want to do either of those things. I really do just want to enjoy this because in my twenty-five years of life, I’ve never, ever felt this consumed with… whatever this is.
And it’s not this stupid sex party, either.
It’s his touch. It’s him. Not Pell the man dressed up like a Roman citizen. Pell the monster.
Because that’s who I’m picturing doing these things to me.
And I don’t want to spoil it by looking too closely or thinking too much.
I relax and Pell lets out a breath. “That’s it,” he encourages. “Just enjoy. That’s all it is. Just joy.”
He pauses his massage and then something cold is drizzled down the inside of my thigh. I shudder and hiss a little, because I know it’s honey and I know what he’s going to do next. But I do not open my eyes. I let the sounds and smells of the party overtake me and drift into a state of sedated acceptance.
And when his lips touch the soft, soft skin and kiss it, I let out a small moan of ecstasy.
He bites me. Not hard, but it has the same effect. My back bucks, my eyes still tightly closed. And I hiss and twist a little as he begins to lick off the honey. His hands never stop massaging my foot, pressing even harder now on the soft, tender flesh of my sole. And this combination of his attention is too much.
That’s what surprises me most.
I am more turned on by this monster’s subtle ministrations than I ever have been having actual sex with a man.
Then one hand is on my knee, pressing it open just a little bit, and I almost come apart. Not in a bad way. But my fist comes up to my mouth and I bite the side of my thumb.
“Everything still OK, Pie?”
How did he get so close? His soft words pour into my ear and my entire body shivers.
“Pie?”
Yes. Yes. “Yes.” I finally say it out loud. “I’m fine. I swear. It’s just…”
“Good?” I can hear the snicker in his voice.
“Yeah.” I sigh.
“Want me to stop?”
“No.”
“Will you open your eyes, at least?”
“Why?”
He presses a fingertip up to my lips and I don’t know what comes over me, but… I open my mouth and suck on it.
He tastes like honey.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “I really hope you let me keep going. Because you’re driving me crazy.”
I do not open my eyes. If I open my eyes, it’s over. I will pull him towards me and kiss him, and then… I will let him have his way with me.
Hell, who am I kidding? I will have my way with him.
“Is that a yes or a no? I can’t tell.” And he pauses. Everything. It all suddenly stops. His hands are still on me, one still pressing my knee open, the other still holding my foot, and he’s still very close. I feel his breathing. It’s not slow, but not fast either. Like he’s on the cusp of letting go. But this pause tells me he’s not going to until I participate.
I open my eyes. Then I reach down, take his hand off my knee, and pull it up to my mouth. He grins. And he’s a very handsome human man. Like… I’m talking young Brad Pitt hot, but not that young. He’s got age to him. No wrinkles or anything that obvious. But I can see it. I can see all those years he’s lived in his eyes. I smile at him and slowly bring his fingers up to my lips, never breaking eye contact with him. I kiss the tips of them. Each one gets attention.
And then he’s kissing me. Hard, punishing kisses. Pressing his tongue inside me. His knees straddling my lap, his chest pushing up against my breasts.
The next thing I know, he’s lifting me up and carrying me across the room. When he places me on a couch, I take another long look at him. His Roman robe is open, his eyes hungry for more when he lowers his upper body down on top of me.