Hello! Another quick post to update you on my latest work in progress. It’s gone to the publisher – yeah!
I’ve given it the working title of The Gladiators’ Girl. This spanking romance tale is set in Roman Britain and involves two Celtic Gladiators and a slave girl.
Bethan has been caught stealing and is about to be sent to the cells. Before she goes, she can’t stop staring at two new arrivals at the fort.
As the gate slammed shut, trapping her inside the fort, she caught sight of the gladiators, if that was what they were. The young one, his cloak swept back over his shoulder, turned to face her. He stared as she wriggled between the guards.
Now she could see his fine leather breast plate, the moulding around his stomach and the fronds of his battle skirt. He wore breeches to protect him from the cold wind and fur lined boots.
Bethan flinched as he held her in his steely gaze. A remarkable man with a head of gold and amber, quite like nothing she’d seen before. He held his helmet tucked under his arm, while his other hand rested on his empty scabbard. He pressed his lips together and nodded. A strange combination, as if he wanted to speak, but knew it was not appropriate. Instead, he acknowledged her presence with a small bow of his head.
Gods, he was stunning. A flush of warm blood descended across her breasts and into her belly. From there it moved lower and to the apex of her inner thighs. She might be anxious about her impending punishment yet she still managed to find this warmth within her. And, she felt it for a stranger.
A sturdy hand clamped down on the man’s shoulder and this companion shook him as if to waken him from a slumber; he lost his focus on her.
“Rufus, we’re to dine with him,” the other man said. He’d removed his helmet to reveal a head laden with dark hair bleached at the ends by the sun. He, too, was dressed in the finery of a warrior. From his neck to his calves, he was packed with muscles and they bulged beneath his shirt and cladding. However, although impressive and affecting, she couldn’t keep her eyes off the younger one.
Rufus. A Roman name. She liked it especially as he possessed streaks of red in his hair.
The legionnaire snatched her neck with his calloused hand and thrust her head downward. “Behave,” he reprimanded. “You’ll not be smiling like that for much longer.”
Smiling? She’d not been aware of it. But, thinking about it, she had smiled at him. In fact, she beamed from ear to ear.
As they forced her to move, she lost sight of the other group of soldiers escorting the visitors. They were heading up to the commander’s house. She was going to the cells where they would shackle her with iron chains. Such was the life of a slave. She’d never get used to it.