It had taken time to secure Plotius’s stunned body atop a donkey and to apologise to the shepherd, who had made his opinions about Rome and Roman soldiers known to Rab for the better part of an hour. It must have been close to midnight by the time they reached camp.
All of this meant there had been no time for Rab to thank Atia for what she had done.
The next morning, the soldiers tried to wake Plotius, but could not. A half-empty bottle of poppy tears was discovered beside his slumbering figure and it was decided that they would stay by the stream for a day while the commander recovered.
Rab found Atia around midday. She was basking in a secluded part of the stream about a half-mile upstream from the soldiers. He heard her gasp as he approached and watched her dive behind a large boulder.
‘You know I can see you,’ said Rab.
She swam out from behind the boulder and scowled. ‘I thought you were one of the soldiers,’ she said, keeping the entirety of her body submerged. ‘Why do you laugh?’
‘You were trying to hide behind a boulder the size of a rabbit.’
‘I was blending into my surroundings,’ she countered, which only made him laugh harder. Soon she was laughing, too, though he could see she did not wish to.
‘I apologise for disturbing you,’ he said, returning to formality. He reminded himself of the last time they had spoken. She had set a clear boundary between them that night. She would not tell him why her father wished to punish her, or why she had gone to meet Plotius, or anything at all, it seemed. I am fine. Everything is fine, she had said. Please, just go away.
And so that was what he had done. Now he squatted to the level of the stream and quickly announced his intentions. ‘I came to tell you that what you did yesterday—when you confronted Plotius about the sheep—it was...very brave.’
He had expected her to ignore him, as she usually did when he paid her a compliment. Instead she smiled, and her cheeks flushed with warmth. ‘It is kind of you to say.’
It was more than kind of him to say. It was perhaps the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.
‘And you claim that you are powerless,’ he said. ‘You are the strongest woman I know.’
‘Flatterer,’ she said, though the sentiment buoyed her spirit. In a fit of boldness, she sent him a splash. To her amazement, he splashed her back.
And in her cock-eyed glee she splashed him again with so much energy and joy that it was as if she had poured the whole of the river over his linen robe.
He stood and stared down at his drenched figure. ‘Siren!’ he shouted. She splashed him again and it was as if the wall that had built up between them over the past dozen days had not been made of stone, but of sand.
‘So you want to play dirty, is that it?’ he asked.
‘On the contrary,’ she said, pretending to wash herself in the stream, ‘I want to play clean.’
She was laughing so hard now that she did not consider that her breast wrap and loincloth were soaked through.
She simply stood, unaware of her near-naked state until his shouting abruptly ceased and he tilted away from the bank as if to get a better look at her.
She hugged her arms to her chest and turned, lunging awkwardly towards the opposite bank where her tunic lay.
But it was far too late for such a dramatic display of modesty. He had seen the whole of her.
Now her blush was no longer limited to her cheeks. It travelled down her neck at great speed. When she finally got her tunic wrapped around her most private parts, it had colonised her chest.
When she finally dared to look at him, he was still gazing at the place where she had emerged from the water. She wondered if she had somehow offended him. ‘Is something the matter, Rab?’
‘No, ah, I mean, yes.’
‘What is it?’
‘Apologies. You are just so...beautiful.’
He had spoken it like a confession, like something he did not wish to tell, but simply had to, lest he invoke the wrath of the gods.
And it was the most wonderful thing she had ever heard in all her life.
Their gazes locked, and she felt a rush of heat. There it was—the look. His eyes were so focused, so hungry and alert. They made her stomach feel weak. She never dreamed he would be looking at her this way again.
Blood thundered in her ears. He had no reason to feign his lust. And yet there it was, burning in his eyes, which were now looking her up and down, as if he were tracing all the parts of her he wished to touch. She studied him in return, though she had long ago imagined how she would touch him.
She would first trace her fingers softly along the contours of his arms. Then she would remove his robe and place a chorus of kisses all along his chest. Then she would run her fingers through his long, scraggly hair and touch his sensuous lips. Finally, she would lift her own lips to kiss them.
And that was just the beginning. She had imagined a great deal more and now that she was staring into his eyes it all seemed unnervingly possible.
Still, her wild fantasies meant nothing if he found her unsatisfactory. And she was certain that no matter what fuelled his desire for her—loneliness, isolation, a dearth of other female candidates—he would quickly lose interest in her if she did not give him a reason to keep it. I will pay him, Atia thought.
She remembered Lydia’s exact words. ‘You must simply purchase the right mattress for you,’ her friend had advised. Suddenly Atia knew that Rab was her mattress.
She would pay him in gold coins and make it impossible for him to reject her. She would apologise for not answering his question about Plotius and assure him that she was not betrothed.
What harm could there possibly be in stealing a few moments of joy? Lydia was right, Atia had too little joy in her life and even less pleasure.
It is a powerful demon you face, she thought suddenly. And you are defeating it.
She took a deep breath, then stood and unwrapped her tunic, letting it tumble back on to the bank.
He feared it had arrived: the moment when the heat had finally begun to twist his mind. He had long dreaded this moment, though he had never imagined that it would occur on the banks of a river, or that his hallucination would involve the woman he wanted, but could not have, or that the experience of sun madness would be so very...pleasurable.
And yet there she was, standing before him in all her naked glory: beautiful, sensual, irresistible proof of his total insanity.
It was alarming how quickly the sun had worked its evil. Just seconds before, he had watched Atia rise from the stream in a state of distraction, oblivious to her exposed flesh. As soon as she had become aware of herself, she had yelped in surprise and lunged for her tunic on the opposite bank.
Rab had been equally surprised and the vision of all that dripping, curvy abundance had rendered him quite incapable of looking away. She had fumbled with her tunic for a long while, giving him plenty of time to consider what he was seeing.
Surely that was when the sun had gone to work. A thousand forbidden yearnings had swirled inside his head as he stared at the place where she had emerged. But the primary yearning had been this: he wanted to see her again.
Now it seemed he had got his wish, for she had abandoned her tunic and stepped back into the river, her dripping wet undergarments practically inviting him to take a closer look.
And that he most certainly did, for there was no more thinking now. There was only her tight, wet breast wrap that did nothing to conceal her shapely breasts. There were only the shadows of her nipples, which shone through the fabric of the garment like ripe berries. There was only her loincloth, which clung to her delicious curves, wrapping around her legs and then plunging between them to where the dark shadow of her womanhood lay.
He swallowed hard.
This is not really happening, he told himself, though his desire seemed to disagree. He could feel it rising beneath his loincloth at an alarming rate.
There were other sensations, too: the water she had splashed on him still dripping down his face, the fabric of his drenched robe clinging to his chest, the hot breeze tickling his skin.
Would he be feeling such things if he had truly lost his wits? Perhaps it was not he who had gone mad, but she.
He watched her eyes, searching for signs of sun madness. In truth, they had seemed clearer and more lucid for many days now. Her heavy lids had disappeared, replaced by a curious, wide-eyed watchfulness that Rab had found wildly seductive.
Now that gaze was slowly setting his insides aflame. Perhaps this was not Atia at all. Perhaps this was some splendid goddess who had simply taken Atia’s earthly form and was paying him a visit.
She certainly looked like a goddess. So many lovely dips and curves, so much soft, beckoning flesh. To see her march was to believe her made of iron, yet beneath her loose robes was this...garden of loveliness.
Her fingers tickled the surface of the water in slow, seductive circles. Her vivid dark eyes watched him closely, but without the doubt that usually veiled them. It seemed impossible that this was the same bristling, brooding, scolding woman who had eschewed his advances not once, but twice.
‘Stop gaping,’ she chided.
Well, maybe not totally impossible.
‘I’m not gaping,’ he replied.
I am throbbing and sweating and lusting, but definitely not gaping.
She took several more steps. She was halfway across the stream now—close enough for him to see the rise and fall of her stomach with her breaths.
It might have been pure wickedness that inspired her to do what she did next. She reached behind her with her long, delicate arms and undid the knot of her breast wrap. Pulling the length of cloth carefully over her head, she unwrapped herself for Rab.
He felt as if he might fall to his knees right there on the riverbank. Two gorgeous breasts appeared before him like precious prizes that he had somehow won. He had not seen a woman’s breasts in many, many years and he had forgotten how deliciously arousing was the sight of them.
He wanted to consume them whole.
‘You are definitely gaping,’ she said, but her voice was as soft as feathers and she was smiling shyly, as if it pleased her that he stared.
‘Yes, I suppose I am,’ he admitted.
Who was this new Atia? This bolder, stronger, happier woman whose eyes glowed with such a strange new light?
‘Rab, I am not betrothed,’ she said. ‘If I were, I would have been told. Plotius is injured and can do us no harm and the other soldiers are far from this place. There is no danger.’
Rab nodded, feeling that he would have gladly faced any number of dangers if it meant he could continue gazing at her while the sun painted her luscious belly with its honey light.
‘Do you want me, Rab?’ she asked.
The answer to such a question seemed to demand formality. ‘In the name of Dushara, God of the Sun, and Uzza, Goddess of Water, and all the gods that ever were or ever will be, yes, Atia. I want you.’
She flashed a playful grin. ‘Then why not come join me?’
He smiled back. Why ever not? It was a brilliant idea. Genius, really. She was always coming up with such clever, good ideas. Yes, just there in the middle of the stream. What better place to do what he had been wanting to do since the day his body had first tumbled against hers?
He pulled off his ghutrah, then his robe, and cast both aside. He did not need to look at himself to know the picture of raw lust he presented. He could see it reflected in her eyes, which slid down his stomach and then grew wide with alarm. He needed to close the distance between them lest he scare her away.
He bounded through the stream, lunging and splashing awkwardly.
When he arrived before her she had disintegrated into laughter. ‘You have the grace of Egypt’s finest river cow.’
‘Yet on land I am like a gazelle,’ he said with a smirk.
‘That you are—or perhaps more accurately a goat,’ she chided. She laughed—the most delicious, sensuous laugh he had ever heard. He splashed her again, getting water all over her face. It lodged in her eyelashes and dripped down on to her flushed cheeks. It gathered in beads on her chin and in that sensuous divot just above her lip.
And in that moment she was no longer Roman. She was like Aphrodite’s own nymph standing there, anxiously awaiting her pleasure.
And, by the gods, he was going to give it to her.
He slid his hand beneath her hair and gripped the back of her neck. Slowly, he bent and sucked the water from her cheeks, her chin, even her lashes. Finally, he bent to her lips and kissed her.
Time seemed to collapse and a tiny explosion took place inside her heart. She had been yearning for this for so long, wondering if kissing him would be everything she had hoped. It was not everything she had hoped. It was more. Stars and planets. Sweetness and light. A revelation sent by the gods.
His lips.
His beautiful, magical, mystical lips.
So soft, so maddeningly gentle. She was learning their texture, their shape, their secrets. They seemed to have so much to say. Tender, hungry messages accompanied by hot, sweet breath and the scent of musk.
His mouth. So wide and strong. It kissed with slow reverence, as if it were enacting a kind of prayer.
She kissed him back as best she could, hoping her eagerness would make up for what she lacked in skill. None of her husbands had ever kissed her this way and she hardly knew what to do.
She might have been ashamed. Here she was, a fumbling Roman matron offering herself to a man in the middle of a stream. A woman so lonely and desperate that she had decided to compensate him for this pleasure.
Strangely, however, she could not feel any shame. In place of the judgement of Juno, she felt only felt the warmth of the sun. In place of self-doubt, she knew only the soft trickle of the river over the pebbles along the shore. And it was as if her heart was dancing to that music.
‘I will make this worth it for you,’ she whispered into his mouth. In exchange for his attention, she would pay him a small fortune. For though she was not attractive, she was rich and she would make it so that he never regretted giving her pleasure. ‘I will do right by you,’ she added. Her words seemed only to fuel him for his lips pressed harder against hers and she knew that he had accepted her offer.
His grip on her neck grew firmer. He paused, breathed her in, then swept his tongue softly through her mouth, barely touching it. He seemed to be holding himself back. It was as if his desire for her was made of clay and he was trying to fashion it into a shape she could understand.
Oh, she could understand.
A strange heat had invaded the deepest part of her. A curious, pleasurable heat that made her feel at once blissful and hungry for more of him.
‘What is this thing you do with your tongue?’ she asked.
He paused, a delicious smile traversing his face. ‘You mean this?’ He coaxed her mouth open once again, then moved his tongue across it with such maddening gentleness that she nearly lost her footing.
She sighed into his mouth. ‘Yes, that.’
She wanted more of that. And a bit more of his naked chest. And perhaps a sprinkling of neck kisses, as she had heard from Lydia they were quite delightful. She wanted other things, too, though she did not know exactly what those other things were. She only knew that they existed and that perhaps they could be hers.
He nuzzled her ear, then planted a hot, breathy kiss on it. Her hairs stood up like an army of soldiers. Oh, yes, she would pay whatever it cost.
‘Atia, you are so very sweet.’ He placed his hand upon her back and pulled her closer. The flowing water rushed around their legs.
‘Rab, you are so very—’ Her breasts crushed against his chest and she felt the whole of his desire press against her stomach. ‘So...very...’
Blessed Minerva. He was so very...very.
If she had any remaining doubts about the authenticity of his desire, they were utterly vanquished by the pillar of flesh that now stretched between them.
‘Atia, you feel so good,’ he said. ‘You taste—’ he pulled her lip into his mouth and sucked it ‘—so good.’
His words seemed genuine and she had to remind herself that he would surely be saying the same such words to any other woman in her position. She was the only available woman within a hundred miles, after all. There was nothing special about her—except that she happened to be here.
And that she was willing to pay.
It was a strangely liberating notion. It allowed her the boldness to rock her hips against him and feel her desire begin to flow. It gave her the audacity to wrap her arms around his chest and wonder at the solidity of him.
But it was more than just wonder. As she pressed her body against his, it was as if some darkness within her disappeared, and peace spread through her limbs.
She yearned to lay her head upon his chest, but she sensed that if she did, that same blessed peace would radiate into her heart and she would never wish to leave him.
So she resolved never to rest her head on his chest.
She tipped her head backwards, exposing her neck. He pounced on the invitation. Neck kisses! The smouldering embers deep in her belly flickered to life. Lydia had been wrong in her assessment of them, for they were better than delightful. They were utterly sublime.
And they seemed to be rearranging her wits, for suddenly she wished nothing but to surrender herself to him.
The sentiment gave her a shock. It seemed impossible that she should wish such a thing. She had been surrendering dutifully to her husbands for many years. The only thing she had ever wished was for the odious task to end.
She did not want this to end—not ever. Nor did the surrender she wished for now have anything to do with duty. A kind of knot had tied itself up inside her and she sensed that only he could unravel it.
His kisses became slower. His tongue made soft circles behind her ear. Hot needles of lust tore down her body, so sweet they hurt. This was virgin territory, and she felt rather lost. She had no map for how she was feeling, no guiding principles and, holy Mars incarnate, what was he doing to her neck now?
By the gods, he was sucking it.
And causing the embers in her belly to burst into flame. Her head arched backwards and he caught it in his hand, cradling it. He arched over her and gave her the longest, deepest, most passionate kiss she had ever known.
‘I want you so badly,’ he breathed into her mouth. The words filled her up, made her dizzy. This was new territory indeed, for no one had ever claimed to want her in such a way. And it seemed he did want her, for he was moving himself over the bump of her loincloth and its folds were slowly giving way.
Good, let them give way, she thought. She stood on her toes and salted his neck with kisses, then found a place just below his ear and tried her skill at sucking. She must have done something right, for his grip on her waist tightened and she felt his body quake with lust.
Now it was his turn to groan—a groan that was deeper, more consequential and much more dangerous than her own had been.
‘Atia...’ he breathed. He pushed his fingers through her hair and thrust himself against her. She could feel the fullness of his desire, like a question pulsing between them, demanding an answer.
‘Yes.’ The answer was yes. ‘I want you, Rab. In every way. Just—please be careful,’ she said. ‘I must not get with child.’
‘I will take care. But, Atia, are you sure?’
‘I have never been more sure of anything in all my life.’
To prove her certainty, she threw off her loincloth, turned around and dropped to her hands and knees in the middle of the stream. ‘Go ahead, Rab,’ she said, crouching on all fours. ‘Do it.’
At first he thought she had tripped and fallen. He moved to help her up, but she made no effort to rise. Instead she dug her limbs more deeply in the stream bed and repeated the command, ‘Do it.’
He stepped backwards in alarm. Was she expecting him to mount her? Great Goddess, no. Why was she doing this? She was offering herself to him in the basest, most impersonal way, and before he had even had the opportunity to pleasure her properly.
He felt confused, insulted. Was she so repulsed by him that she did not wish to see his face as they joined? Or was she already so tired of his lovemaking that she wanted to just turn around and have done with it?
None of those things made sense. She had desired him as ardently as he desired her. Moments ago she had told him so.
Though she need not have said a word. He had sensed it in her trembling movements and soft sighs, had felt it in the way she kissed him—as if a bottle full of yearning had suddenly come uncorked within her.
No, this was not an insult. This was something else.
‘Atia, please, get up.’ He bent and offered her his arm.
‘Why should I get up? Did you not say you desired me?’
‘Yes, but not like this. Please, Atia.’
He helped her to her feet. The colour was leaving her cheeks. ‘Why do you do this?’ she asked. ‘Why do you truncate our passion?’ He might have asked her the same. ‘Am I not appealing to you?’ she continued. She pulled her arm from his grasp, wrapped it around herself. ‘It is my nose, is it not? You find it repulsive? But I turned away from you. Is that not enough? Is not the back of me appealing, at least?’ There were tears gathering in her eyes.
‘All of you is appealing, Atia.’ He could see that she did not believe him. She took a step backwards. The bold, confident woman was in retreat. Her body itself seemed to be shrinking.
‘It is all right, you know. I understand your aversion.’ She was turning to walk away.
‘Stop, Atia!’ he burst out. He caught her by the waist. ‘Please, do not go.’ He took a breath. He needed to take care with his words, lest she misunderstand his confusion for derision. ‘I simply do not understand why you would drop to your knees in such a way.’
She turned to face him. ‘What do you mean, in such a way? Is it not the preferred way for a man?’
He closed his eyes and let the implications of her statement hit him. It was as he suspected, then. The woman had never known any other position. ‘Have you ever been married Atia?’
‘Of course I have—three times.’
Three times? She had had three husbands and not one of them had had the desire or even the decency to show her the possibilities of pleasure?
‘Oh, Atia...’
‘If you do not desire me, then just say so,’ she said. ‘I do far too much pretending in my life to pretend in this.’
She had misunderstood him anyway, it seemed. Her lips had tightened into a bloodless frown, and her eyes were acquiring their veil of scorn. She was retreating from him with every second. He was losing her. No, no, no.
He stepped towards her. ‘I desire you, Atia. More than you know. There is nothing I wish for more on this earth than to give you pleasure.’
‘You have already given me pleasure. You have kissed me and embraced me and done all the things I had hoped you would do. I simply do not understand why you do not wish to take the man’s right.’
The man’s right? He almost cringed. What collection of selfish, lowborn, ignorant fools had been allowed to share this woman’s bed?
‘May I ask you who your husbands were?’
‘Who they were?’
‘Their vocations, I mean.’
‘They were Senators, of course. And one tax collector. Allies of my father.’
Rab almost choked. His opinion of Roman patricians had just sunk to a new low—though he knew that to voice his disgust would only trigger her defences. ‘The man’s right is the woman’s right, too,’ he said carefully.
‘Apologies, I do not take your meaning.’
‘You do understand how a woman can take her pleasure?’
Her eyes flew open. ‘Of course I understand! Am I not a woman myself?’
‘That you are,’ he averred. ‘So tell me.’
It was an impertinent question, but he had challenged her pride enough to know that she would at least attempt to answer it.
‘There is pleasure for the woman in the act of coupling itself,’ she stated academically. He could see from her expression that she had not once experienced that particular sort of pleasure.
‘Is there any other way for a woman to take her pleasure?’ he asked.
‘Not that I am aware of,’ she said, looking away.
‘Why do you lie to me, Atia?’ he challenged. He stepped closer. ‘As you said, you are a woman yourself. Surely you know.’
‘I have heard that a man may kiss a woman in the...forbidden place,’ she whispered.
‘And did you not ever wish for a man to do that to you?’ he asked. He reached out his hand and touched her fingers.
‘My husbands said that the act was filthy and repugnant.’
‘Gods, those are big words.’ He linked his fingers with hers. ‘Your husbands must have been extremely educated men.’
‘They were quite educated, yes.’ She favoured his sarcasm with a sly grin.
‘But you did not answer my question.’ He bent close to her ear and whispered. ‘Have you not ever thought of feeling a man’s lips...down there?’
He heard her catch her breath. She was shaking her head. No, no, she had not ever thought of it. That is what he knew she wanted to say. But she could not...because she was thinking of it right now. He could see it in her eyes.
She opened her mouth as if to tell him no, but not a single sound emerged and she made no protest as he began to lead her gently towards the wide, flat boulder that had earlier served as her hiding place.
‘May I have the loincloth?’ he asked and he spread the large garment out over the rocks and motioned for her to sit.
She took her seat and looked up at him. She had never looked more beautiful or more vulnerable.
‘I want to give you pleasure, Atia. Will you let me?’
She nodded slightly and he bent to her lips and gave her a long, melting kiss.
‘I have been waiting for this for so long,’ he said. He sat beside her on the rock and eased her to her back.
It seemed that her journey into unknown territory had taken yet another unexpected turn. She had been certain that he had rejected her. He had pulled her from her knees and all but told her he did not wish to perform the act. It was not the first time she had been rejected in such a way.
But then it seemed that he had not rejected her at all. He had merely wished to prolong her pleasure, for apparently that is what paid lovers did. He had climbed on to the flat rock and lain down beside her and now he was showering kisses on her naked breasts. And she did not want him to stop. Ever. What a strange, wonderful world it was.
He covered her nipple with his mouth and gently began to suck. Suddenly, she was compelled to revise her view. No, the world was not simply wonderful. It was spectacular. Sweet hot threads of lust stretched taut within her and she was compelled to grip his head and hold on tight.
He transferred his attention to her other nipple and repeated his work. And what unnervingly fine work it was. So fine that she did not even notice when he deftly slid his finger into her womanly folds.
She tensed, sucked the air, took his hair into her fists.
‘Relax, my darling,’ he whispered. But she could not relax, for she was so very exposed lying upon this naked rock, trusting herself to a man she had known for less than a month.
A thousand questions crowded her mind, the loudest of which was what? What was he doing? And the second loudest—where? Where was he planning to take this? And finally—how? How did one respond to such a touch?
She had wanted this so very badly for so very long, but now that she was getting it, she was terrified. ‘Rab, I...’ she said.
He paused. ‘What is it, my sweet?’
‘I think that I am just a little nervous,’ she said.
‘I will not do anything that you do not wish,’ he assured her, and when she did not respond, he revised his promise. ‘I will not do anything you do not command.’
He gazed up at her in all earnestness and she felt a rush of gratitude for this gentle, considerate man who seemed genuinely to wish to please her. ‘What is your first command?’ he asked.
‘Kiss me,’ she said. Obediently, he pressed his lips to hers, though she noticed that his finger remained just inside her folds, motionless. ‘Kiss me slowly,’ she clarified. And he gave a half-grin as he took her lower lip in his and began to suck.
She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the feeling. As they kissed, his finger began drawing slow, sensuous circles around her folds. The sun felt so good on her chest and the water’s soft trickle was like a sweet song inside her mind.
‘Now on my neck,’ she ordered. He nuzzled his lips against her neck and began to kiss softly.
‘A little harder,’ she said and his kiss transformed into the gentlest of sucks. ‘Yes,’ she gasped. It was a sensation as sweet as it was painful.
‘I can feel how you like that,’ he whispered back, sliding his finger around her womanly entrance, which seemed to have grown wet with her arousal.
‘Soon you will be commanding me to push my finger deeper,’ he observed. And with that he resumed his work upon her neck.
More shivers. More delicious yearning. Yes, yes, yes, she thought as his sucking became more intense and the core of her filled with heat.
‘Go deeper,’ she commanded, making his prediction come true. She felt as if she had little control over what she wanted now. Free will was an illusion of the philosophers. Her body wanted what it wanted. Him.
‘Kiss me again,’ she ordered, not because it was the only thing she knew to ask, but because it felt like the most delicious, self-indulgent thing she could possibly demand. As he kissed her, he moved his finger gently in and out of her and her hips began to move in the same rhythm. ‘Deeper.’
He pushed his finger deeper, continuing to kiss her until the threads of lust that had been strewn so tautly inside her seemed to twist tighter still and she was overcome with yearning. ‘Yes,’ she breathed.
She focused on the feeling of his finger’s soft plunging. It was like the relentless movement of a carriage over a bumpy road. There was somewhere it was taking her, some strange destination that seemed so important to reach.
New territory.
‘Oh,’ she gasped. He held his finger still and suddenly the road ceased to exist and she was jumping off the edge of the canyon. Her body convulsed as waves of pleasure gripped her. ‘Yes!’ she cried as she careened through the air, moaning and sighing and feeling each of the taut threads of herself snap loose one by one.
Her body quaked with pleasure, then gradually went still. Her eyes were closed, but she could feel him watching her. She wondered at this quiet sweetness between them. This strange, unexpected grace.
‘Gratitude,’ she said at last.
He rolled beside her and put his arms around her shoulders, squeezing her head against the side of his chest. Such a small gesture, yet it threatened to undo her. ‘Do you not wish to take your own pleasure?’ she asked, pulling her head away. It was just too dangerous to lay her head there. She feared she would never be able to lift it again.
‘It was enough to watch you, Atia,’ he said.
It was a strange thing for him to say. What man did not wish to take his pleasure with a woman, if given the opportunity? Unless, of course, he did not really desire her.
She smiled at the revelation. It was as she had always suspected, then: he did not truly desire her. He was just like all her former husbands, only nobler, gentler, smarter, kinder, stronger, handsomer and far more affectionate.
In the past she might have been devastated by such a realisation, but now she could only feel a strange sense of relief. It did not matter that he did not want her, for they had a deal.
Now she needed only to complete the transaction. She lifted herself up from the boulder and walked to the river bank. She donned her tunic and retrieved her bag, seizing upon two golden aurei within it. She smiled, pleasure still echoing through her body. She would have given him a hundred gold aurei if she could have.
She returned to the rock where he sat worrying his beard, his expression puzzled. ‘You have shown me what it is to feel pleasure and have placed me in your debt once again,’ she said. ‘Now I wish to pay it.’ She dropped the aurei into his palm.
He stared at the coins in confusion. ‘If the payment is satisfactory to you,’ she added, ‘perhaps you would consider some kind of long-term arrangement.’ She thought of how happy her friend Lydia would be for her right now. ‘I wish for you to be my guide, you see,’ she told Rab, ‘in the territory of pleasure.’
She took a breath, then congratulated herself on her businesslike comportment. She had even chosen a clever turn of phrase. He was the finest of guides in the territory of the desert, after all. Why not also the territory of pleasure?
But he was staring at the aurei as if he did not know what to do with them. Perhaps she was not being clear. ‘I realise I am not attractive, but I believe we can come to some understanding.’
He did not seem to hear her. ‘You wish to make me your luper, your male harlot?’
‘Not at all. I only wish for us to be lovers and I wish to ensure your comfort and enjoyment of the process.’
He was shaking his head in disgust. ‘You wish to pay me for what happened between us just now?’
‘I thought you would be pleased,’ she said. Clearly he was not pleased. She could see it in how his body tensed, though she could not understand why. She was offering to compensate him for an act he had seemed to enjoy. Perhaps he had not desired her enough to take his own pleasure with her, but he had willingly shown her how to take her own.
‘You wish to take the love we shared today and turn it into trade?’ he asked.
‘Love?’
‘Do you think that just because I am a poor Nabataean camel trainer that I can be purchased? You insult me.’
She felt as if she were sinking into the stream’s fine sand. ‘Everything is trade, is it not?’ she said meekly. ‘Give and take? I merely wish to compensate you for the pleasure you have given me.’
He returned the coins to her hand and stood beside her. ‘You are not beautiful, you are ugly, and you wish to make me ugly, too.’
‘Rab—’ she began saying, but she could not finish. His words had been like the arrows of a bitter foe. They had sliced right through her.
He stormed across the river and retrieved his tunic. ‘I thought you were a different kind of Roman. I realise now that I was wrong.’