The Roman’s Revenge

The words were the first to be spoken since the hair washing incident earlier that morning. Metellus looked up to see Livia sucking the residue of the roasted rabbit off her fingers as she smiled her thanks across at him. Once again he felt heat pool in his stomach at her smile. He couldn’t help but think it was rather unsettling that with only a smile in his direction, she seemed to have so much power over his emotions.

It seemed everything she did enticed him. The way she looked at him, smiled at him, the way she flicked her hair, the gesture of her hands, the small clicking noises she made with her mouth when she was deep in thought. Everything! Every nuance of her being made him want her so much, and it would be so easy to pick her up and throw her on the bed, seduce her until she begged for him never to stop. He wanted to make love to her until his lust was stated, and he could rid himself of his feelings for her.

Feeling vulnerable, and annoyed, with both himself, and her, he grunted a response to her compliment saying nothing. It was best to keep things neutral between them. There was no way he could become involved with her, no matter how many times his body screamed at him to do so.

Livia looked up into Metellus’s closed face, and bit back the words she was going to say in support of his cooking skills.

For some reason he looked to be in a foul mood, and not sure why, she kept quiet. As quiet as she had been, since he had seen her washing her hair earlier.

It wasn’t her fault he had returned early. And, she was entitled to wash her hair, she thought angrily. Not understanding him at all, she stood up and took her plate outside to where a wooden bucket was being utilised as a makeshift bowl for washing. Scrubbing away at the grime gave her a vent for the frustration she was feeling towards him, and the situation she found herself in.

She just prayed something would happen to take her mind off him, as the constant physical attraction she felt for him was driving her mad.

Mad with desire. Wanting him, needing him. Feelings she had never experienced in her whole life. And never would, if she were to marry Sextus Calpurnius Pullus.

Just thinking about Pullus made her shiver, not with desire like she felt for Metellus, but with revulsion, and dread. The thought of Pullus as her husband, touching her, making love to her, effectively his chattel, filled her with such horror she couldn’t help her sob of anguish. And what, if as the result of making love to her she should become pregnant? Her own mother had died giving birth to her. What if she were die too? Who would look after the child-?