Eventually Love

Chapter Two

Author's Note:

There's an extra 400 words of explicitness on AO3 if you are interested (same fic title but I am RosieBrookMeade over there) but this is as far as I dare go under an M-rating.

Tasa led the way out into the busy evening city. The …individual who had introduced himself as Quintus had insisted upon her going in front although she had no idea where she was going. Presumably, he would correct her if she went wrong.

She clutched the pallium about her for warmth and modesty. Amongst all these clothed people, she became self-conscious and embarrassed about her nakedness. Strangely, despite her escape from that odious slaver's clutches, she also felt increasingly vulnerable.

The woollen cloak was soft and warm. It was also large enough to cover her from neck to toe. In fact, she had to be careful not to let it drag on the floor. It had to be big to fit him– her…what? Her new master? No, he'd been very definite on that point. Her rescuer? She wasn't sure about that either. Certainly, he had just declared her a free woman but knowing that she was pregnant, alone and far from home it would have been easy to predict that she would choose the shelter and security he offered. Maybe that was important to him – the semblance of consent… Give her a choice, then if she accepted him over destitution and who-knew-what fate, his conscience was clear no matter what he did to her afterwards.

She craned round to snatch a glance at him. He was looking at her speculatively (or so she thought), making her turn back breathlessly. She wondered what kind of things a creature like that enjoyed doing to girls.

She had thought that pretty much everything had already been done to her but some of the older women in the slaver's cages had told her new and horrifying stories. And these women with scars and imperfectly healed broken jaws, some of whom could barely even walk – these women were the survivors. Their masters had killed their less fortunate sisters, often for resisting but sometimes as a direct result of their abuse.

She instinctively cradled her belly. She wanted to bear this child, to keep him and raise him. He was the only thing in her entire life that had been uniquely hers; the only welcome thing that had ever happened to her. The slaver's hateful threats had worried her. She didn't want any rough usage from her new acquaintance to jeopardise her chances of reaching full term. Perhaps if she was very submissive, she could persuade the creature to be gentle for at least the next few weeks… No, not "the creature", she mentally admonished herself, Quintus was his name and he wanted her to use it. She had better get used to it.

Her thoughts were jolted off track by a growl from her empty stomach. They had passed a late opening food stall and the smell had caused that neglected organ to raise its petition.

Quintus must have heard her internal rumbling because he stopped and said sternly, 'You are hungry. When did you last feed?'

She thought it an odd way to phrase it but she answered truthfully that she hadn't eaten all day.

'Do your people have any restrictions regarding food?'

She looked her momentary incomprehension quite innocently, but it still made him sigh impatiently.

'The Jews are forbidden to eat pigs and dogs and such like,' he explained sharply. 'Do your "gods" demand any similar denials from your kind?' He had spat out the word "gods" and she smarted a little that her tribe were described as a "kind" as if they were a breed of cattle but she shook her head.

'Come,' he commanded, before approaching a sausage vendor and purchasing a lump of bread and a sausage as long as his hand.

She didn't know why she tried to lighten his mood but as she took the food from him, she casually said, 'We are not allowed to eat other people, of course.' She meant it light-heartedly but the meal was snatched literally from between her lips.

'You had better not consume that then,' he snapped. 'Why did you not inform me of this before I had spent my money?'

'I'm sorry,' she cowered. 'I just assumed...'

He actually growled, first at her and then at the stallholder, who waved her hands in protestation of her good faith. 'It was sold to me as pork, sir,' she bleated. 'No one else has complained, and I've sold hundreds today.' There was an unspoken insinuation that Quintus was mistaken and he evidently detected it.

'Do you call my senses false?' he snarled.

'No, sir. Gods forfend! Have some fresh bread, sir, on the house. Some chickpea stew also, sir?' She seemed scared of him, despite clearly believing herself unfairly maligned.

He turned back to Tasa and raised an inquiring eyebrow, or at least the place where an eyebrow ought to be. She nodded eagerly and was soon messily devouring the meal. She was so ravenous, she scarcely knew how it tasted but she thanked Quintus afterwards with honest fervour.

He had watched her eat with his head on one side as if curious but nodded abruptly when she spoke.

'Odd,' he mused aloud. 'I am surprised at your dietary scruples given that your people sacrifice your infants to your gods in a heated bronze statue.'

She stared at him in growing horror - not that he should accuse her people of such abhorrent behaviour but that it was true. This baby was her husband's firstborn and if it were the boy the sibyl had predicted, he would have had to be burned alive to Ba'al. Here was another ordeal escaped, more misery avoided and yet another reason to be grateful to her unlikely hero.

'You will need more victuals tomorrow,' the hero said, ignoring the conflicting emotions chasing themselves across Tasa's face. 'And clothing. We shall shop again then. My house is this way. Do not dawdle.'

As she scampered after him, trying to keep up, she wondered idly why he specified her as the one who would need more food. Did he not eat, then? She laughed to herself at the absurdity.

He was strange though …he didn't even have eyebrows, for gods' sakes! What the hell was wrong with him? She looked at him again and it hit her anew that he was huge, much bigger than any man she'd been with or even seen before. If every part of him were in proportion to his height and broad shoulders…well, perhaps she could make the inevitable less painful to her and less dangerous to her baby by preparing herself. She'd already made up her mind not to fight him like she had that disgusting slaver, but if she could convince her body that she wanted it too, then it would probably be easier. Easier for him, easier for everyone. A lubricated, frictionless entry for him would make it easier on her and her unborn child.

She had to think hard to imagine herself taking pleasure in sex. It had never been a consideration in any of her previous encounters. She wondered what he might do to further that, what forms of contact she might enjoy, where she might like to be touched.

She began to look at that hideously disfigured face with a renewed determination to find it attractive. There was nobility in his bearing – along with a cold confidence bordering on arrogance. She looked at the muscular white limbs, on display now that his cloak had been sacrificed to her comfort. They were as smooth and hairless as the rest of him. She had heard that Roman gentlemen shaved all their body hair in the interests of vanity but she suspected that this was not a cosmetic choice. She felt a sudden irrational desire to touch his strong thighs – see just how smooth they were.

At first, she essayed only the occasional glance. She'd already noticed the unnatural pallor, total baldness, pointed ears and the scarring but further surreptitious examination revealed to her his pointed teeth and that throaty growling sound he made from time to time that she found so unsettling. These features, coupled with the incredible size that her attention couldn't help returning to, added up to one thing in her fearful mind: He was a monster. She was going home with a monster. Semi-willingly, she had to admit but going to a monster's lair nonetheless.

She considered stopping him and saying that she had changed her mind and wanted to leave but she really did have no other choice. Besides, she'd been fed and clothed and it wasn't as if sexual exploitation was something new to her. This "Quintus" had treated her well up to now, and saved her from the slaver so maybe, despite appearances, he was the less monstrous of the two men who might have had her tonight.

He stopped suddenly and looked down at her. 'Do not stare,' he demanded. She lowered her eyes and apologised once more. He continued to look at her but the injustice of his examining her with impunity after such a rebuke did not occur to a mind so long oppressed. Nonetheless, she soon began to feel that his stare had a weight and, alongside a fervent wish that he would lift it from her, she experienced a new sensation. She hoped that he would find her person moderately pleasing. Wondering why that should be, she involuntarily glanced up at him again.

It struck her then in a fleeting glimpse what had eluded more intensive scrutiny. His striking bone structure and that cold certainty of his own overarching power was actually not unpleasant to dwell upon. In fact, he was quite beautiful. Not with the feminine beauty of the poor slave who'd taken the dealer's fancy. It was a strong, masculine beauty - the harsh lines chipped out of an unforgiving stone rather than finely moulded by a delicate hand. But yes, definitely handsome. She quickly looked away again to escape further censure. She instinctively knew that gaining his approval would be paramount. But now that she'd discovered that he was physically attractive that no longer seemed so burdensome.

Experimentally, she imagined him smoothly sliding the pallium off her shoulders and watching it drop to the floor. She imagined him responding to her plea for kindness by kissing her tenderly. His lips would be soft and smooth and he would taste nice – clean, as if he'd just been drinking cold well-water. Somehow, imaginary Quintus would manage to avoid cutting her lips and tongue with his razorblade teeth. She would only accept him at first but soon respond with increasing eagerness. This would please him enough for him to gently cup and caress her breast, maybe even bend his head and kiss or lick her nipple and take it into his mouth, sucking carefully to avoid damaging it. He would nibble at it, lightly grazing it with his pointed teeth. Her breasts were quite sore and tender this late into her pregnancy so he wouldn't spend long on them. Instead, he would carefully pick her up and carry her to… where? A bed? She'd always been grateful to be taken on a pile of furs before but maybe someone who could afford to free an overpriced slave girl would have a dedicated room kitted out exclusively for pleasure.

But then she would be ashamed to mess up an elegantly furnished apartment. Tasa looked down sadly at her bare legs. Her toes were covered in the dirt of the city and everywhere was covered in the filth of the slaver's pit. She had tried to keep clean, using only one corner of the pen for relieving herself and spending the rest of her time sitting in the opposite one, but the straw had been far from fresh when she'd been shackled in there and there were stains of various colours and odours all over her body.

Fantasy Quintus stepped in at this point, continuing his expert seduction in surprising detail…

He cupped her chin and lifted her downcast eyes to his. 'Do not worry,' he murmured to soothe her. 'I will bathe you.'

Tasa had never been in a bath, or had hot water to clean herself so she imagined standing in a large bucket of tepid water while Quintus washed her with a soft cloth – stroking every part of her slowly, lovingly. She enjoyed the washing but, wanting to get on to more interesting particulars, she didn't dwell on it…

Having bathed her, he laid her on her back on the bed and rubbed her dry, top to bottom, with a chamois. He spent extra time drying her feet, splaying the toes with his firm grip. He stopped and looked at her as he lifted the foot to his mouth and began to suck her toes. She gasped with pleasure.

His tongue was warm, it was wet and it was strong. She shivered as it probed between the wriggly digits and then…

…but she realised there were other places that muscular tongue could more usefully explore. No one had ever done this to her before, no one had ever cared solely for her pleasure, but now, in her imagination, Quintus ran a slow and deliberate line of kisses up the inside of her leg.

He lingered on the smooth skin at the back of her knee, savouring the soft moans he could elicit from his slave but eventually he moved on, gradually getting higher and higher, pushing Tasa's legs farther apart with each delicious kiss. The sensation of Quintus' pointed ears against the inside of her thighs was strange but this alien quality, this very newness of the whole experience was delightful to her. He stopped, noticing the bruises forming on her legs and tentatively touched one, he seemed concerned by the hard knot forming beneath the surface but the shock of his touch sent a thrill up through her spine. It was part pain, part pleasure; mostly pleasure though, she had to admit.

He spent even more excruciating time on the crease where her leg met her trunk. As she felt his nose snuffling and tickling in her thatch, she wondered if he had planned the exquisite torture of delay to heighten her ultimate ecstasy.

Finally, after ignoring much begging from her that he stop teasing and finish her now, he stopped and drew away to look at her. He smiled wickedly and lowered his head to a groan of relieved anticipation from Tasa. But he only began to work on the same place on the other side. She screamed angrily and began to thrash her legs around, throwing him off and trying to kick him in her frustration. He pulled back, chuckling wolfishly until she stopped and glared at him. Their gazes locked in a battle of wills for what seemed like an eternity until she managed to breathe out the word "Please". It was enough. Apparently, he wasn't so cruel as to ask her to beg explicitly so he nodded magnanimously, just once, and bent his neck once again…

She was jerked out of her reverie by Quintus calling her name. Not murmuring it softly or shouting it in climax as in her daydream but sharply and repeatedly, as if annoyed. They had arrived at his home.

Tasa had worked herself up into the boldness of self-abandonment, so once inside, she grasped the initiative. She dropped the cloak on the floor and moved towards her master, smiling nervously.

'Please be gentle with me, Quintus,' she asked, moving her hands across his tunic front, seeking a way in. 'I want to birth a healthy baby.'

He jerked away from her. 'Then our intentions coincide,' he said coldly before turning away and opening a door.

Gesturing for her to enter first, he said, 'All the essentials for human life are inside. I will return for you after sunrise. Do not stir without.' He turned back to add, '…and clean yourself up before you touch anything.' Then he shut her in.

She stood there dumbstruck, staring at the door for some time before looking around her new cage.