After his recovery, the victorious warrior pulled out and took his feet, sauntering toward his master.
“There are female gladiators too,” Stellan said as Sixx watched the gladiator use his beefy arms to pull himself out of the pit, the sides of which came up to his chest, and he was not a small man by any account. “They usually open the night.”
“I’m sure they’re quite popular,” she murmured, still watching as the winner grabbed what appeared to be a wet towel from the table beside his Dom and roughly wiped his cock clean.
She kept watching, now with some surprise, when a dominant sneer rolled over the champion’s face as he stared down at the man seated on the throne while that man stroked the back of his flank.
That was when she knew.
She knew who owned who.
And the crowd again lost their minds when the gladiator cupped the back of the man’s head in one mighty hand, wrapping his fingers around his still-hard dick with the other, and forced the man in the chair to take him deep into his mouth.
Oh yes.
She was not only buying tickets. When she found out the number to the box office, she was inquiring after season passes.
This was a reason to remain in Phoenix.
For certain.
“They’re both Doms,” Stellan told her. “They trade off who competes. And if one wins, the other submits to him. If he loses, he takes the winning gladiator’s cock, and then he submits to his partner. It seems to work for them, and their ensuing antics make them popular with the crowd.”
Pumping into his partner’s face and openly enjoying it with the audience cheering him on, Sixx would tend to agree.
“They’re bi,” Stellan continued. “They each also have female subs. I hear they have very interesting parties and also give intriguing demonstrations. They’re all for hire, but they cost a great deal.”
As if the gladiator felt her gaze, had seen her or could simply sense her reaction to the show he’d given, his head turned, and his flashing eyes locked on Sixx’s.
She felt her mouth get soft, her gaze open up, that dominant sneer shot her way, she accepted it, beginning to return his smile and then …
Her jaw was caught in a hard grip, and she saw nothing but Stellan’s handsome, hard face.
She went completely still.
She’d seen that look before too.
It was the one he assumed when he had a slave who was being a brat, testing his patience, and he had a lesson to teach.
There was no way to control the soak that drenched between her legs or the lean that automatically began toward him at his touch, the firmness of his hold, the look on his face.
And his touch and the words he next spoke caused a warm, slow, gorgeous ripple to course throughout her body. An orgasm, to be sure, beautiful and nuanced in feeling, truly the most exquisite climax she’d ever had, but indistinguishable by sight except for the soft parting of her lips.
“You sit here as mine, Simone,” he growled.
She started breathing heavily, feeling her eyes getting lazy in the languid throes of her silent orgasm, and worked hard to hide it, keeping her eyes wide and alert, forcing her breaths to steady.
He’d used her real name.
How did he know her real name?
And she sat there as his?
When?
How?
God.
“You can watch because I allow it,” he stated.
“Stell—”
His face came right to hers.
“Master,” he bit.
Oh God.
God.
God.
No hope for control, her breathing was now erratic, and her response was overpowering.
She eased in his grip, giving herself over.
Immediately.
Without thought.
Without hesitation.
Without a fight.
Good Lord.
What was happening?
“Soon, I’ll be giving you your gift,” he declared.
He’d be giving it to her?
Him bringing her here wasn’t her gift?
“After I do, and you have your time to enjoy it,” he went on, “I’ll be taking you back to the Honey. As you were on the way here, you’ll be silent on the return journey. You’ll use that time to think about how inappropriate you’ve just been and the measures you’ll take to make that up to me. In fact, you’ll have the rest of the week to think on this, so I’ll assume your apology, when I’m ready to accept it, will be creative. On Saturday, you’ll be at my home. You’ll enjoy the party. You’ll enjoy being with your friends. You’ll enjoy my attention. There, you can also look, but you can’t touch, no matter what I have on offer for you. We’ll entertain my guests, and when they leave, we’re going to broker a deal.”
“A deal?” she whispered.
“A deal,” he announced.
“I—”
She said no more because he moved in further, slanting his head at the last minute, tipping her head the opposite way at the same time, and a pulse of sheer splendor coursed through her and detonated between her legs as he sunk his teeth into the side of her neck, right at her jugular.
Deep, sharp …
Not breaking the skin, but she knew, absolutely leaving a mark.
As fast as he moved in, he was back in her face.
“A response is not required,” he shared.
She said nothing.
“This business you’re doing later, do you need someone with you?” he asked.
Oh God.
Why was he asking that?
“Simone, I asked you a question and your response is required for that,” he clipped.
“N-no,” she answered, stammering.
Her!
Mistress Sixx!
Stammering!
“Is it dangerous?” he queried tersely.
Again, why?
Why was he asking that?
How did he even know to ask?
Had Aryas…?
“Don’t try my patience further, my darling, by making me repeat myself,” he whispered silkily.
“It’s not dangerous,” she said quietly.
“If you’re lying, there will be consequences,” he told her.
How would he know if she was lying?
She didn’t ask.
She sat there in his grip, staring into his heated blue eyes, trying very hard not to come again, and this time do it bigger, louder and far more noticeably.
His head tipped to the side as he slid his grip from her jaw to the back of her neck.
The hold was gentler, but it was just as relentless.
“Do you think I didn’t catch it?” he asked, his tone gentler too.
“Catch—?”
“Don’t be coy, Simone.” He was back to his silken whisper. “Every time I make you come, I’ll know it.”
She decided again not to speak.
“Wise of you,” he said softly, like he could read her mind. Then he brought her face closer to his, and since there were but inches between them, there wasn’t far to go—but he took her there to the point she could almost feel the tip of her nose brushing his. “Until we have our negotiations Saturday evening, we’ll get something perfectly clear.”
He said no more, so she took a chance and gave a quick nod.
“Excellent, darling,” he murmured. “Now, what we’ll be clear on is that you can look, but you cannot touch. So obviously, you cannot play. Not anywhere. At the Honey, nor should some other opportunity cross your path. And if you need to look, you do it at my side. In other words, should you feel the need to watch, you contact me, and I’ll attend you. Is that understood?”
“I won’t—” she fought clearing her throat, fucking failed, had to do it, and hated that she loved the flash of satisfaction she caught in his eyes when she did, “need to do that.”
“I’ll leave you with my card just in case.”
She again remained silent.
“Say, ‘Thank you, Stellan,’” he ordered.
She stared in his eyes.
“You can say it,” he began, giving her more silk, “or I’ll carry you out to my car, bind you at ankles and wrists, gag you, take you to my home, cut your clothes off, tie you naked down to a bed and stripe you from the soles of your feet to your shoulders. To avoid that, I’d advise you now to say, ‘Thank you, Stellan.’”
Different urges warring within her, battling it out in extremes that kept her body perfectly still, her mind a maelstrom of chaos unleashed, she stayed quiet.
“You may think you have the skills to best me,” he whispered. “But I know you have the intelligence not to try. Last chance, Simone,” he warned.
“Thank you, Stellan,” she gritted between her teeth.