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The Memory That Lingers

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The words the slave spoke mattered little. At the moment, Ilithyia doesn't much care whether Gaius loves her or not. She wants to live first and foremost. Beyond that, tomorrow will take care of itself. Her dress gapes open at the throat, exposing her breasts as she kneels in the dirt.

“What about your child?” She murmurs as the man turns to leave. This conversation doesn't feel finished yet. This can't be the end of that long-ago coupling, and the wretched nightmare of the last few years.

“My child.” He repeats blankly. It seems unreal to him that such a thing could happen.

“You must believe me.” Her hand reaches out to him. “You must remember, when you came to me wearing that mask.”

“I remember.” The words are dull upon his tongue. How could he not remember that act? It's seared upon his memory like so many others he wishes to forget. And yet, he cannot help but picture how she looked then, golden and desirous... how it felt knowing that this Roman woman had chosen him to lie with her. It should have been insulting, and it was, especially since she hadn't chosen him. She had chosen Crixus, yet...still his cock rose at the thought then, and the memory now.

Ilithyia can't help but notice the movement. This at least is something she knows. In spite of herself, something stirs within her at the thought. The great Spartacus, leader of the slave rebellion, wants her. It would be humorous if it weren't so insulting.

“You wanted me then... you want me now.”

Spartacus glares at her. “A lie, foul in its telling.”

“Yet cock stirs at the thought.” She pushes herself up, looking up into his face. “I,”

“Be silent!” Spartacus shouts, looming over her.

“You know the truth.” Tis a memory that lingers... does it not? Of you inside me...

He knows this, even as he sinks to his knees to to push her to the dirt. He remembers it all too well.

Tis a memory that lingers.

The same lust rushes over him now, the thought of taking a Roman woman, willing and wanting and...Spartacus pauses as Ilithyia lies back against the ground, her hand curling around the hem of her skirt.

“She does not know your heart...does she know your cock?” Her lips curve upward in that smile he knows so well, and his hands pull at her skirt before he knows what he's doing. One rip and there, her cunt is revealed as her legs part for him.

His cock decides for him, thrusting forward, eager for her waiting slit. Spartacus's hands find themselves lost in her hair, tangling, curling, pulling, not caressing. He lies to himself even as he thrusts inside her, pretending that he doesn't feel the way her body welcomes him inside.

The curve of her full body is a constant reminder of their previous coupling.

Ilithyia takes his hand, sliding it over her belly. “This...”

He pulls his hand away fiercely, thrusting harder, spurred on by her sharp, hesitant cries. This is not love. It's not...anything he has not known before. It is merely the act, the spreading of limbs and the parting of lips as her mouth closes on his nipple, sucking, biting at it. His hands pull in her hair, forcing her head away from his chest.

“Do not touch me so.”

“Strange words from one whose cock is buried inside me.” She murmurs. This is not something she should be doing, Gaius would kill her for the deed, but this man and his cock are all she wants at this moment. All she needs is this.

Spartacus growls and lowers his teeth to her neck. Biting hard, as he thrusts he can hear her laugh. He thrusts deeper, burying his cock inside her, claiming every last inch of her body as he fucks her. And still, Ilithyia laughs.

As he finishes, her nails tighten in his skin, buried in his back, holding him there as his cock spills inside her full womb. Panting, he leans over to whisper into her ear. “Look into my face and know this time it is Spartacus who's fucking you.”

To his surprise her legs tighten around him, drawing him in deeper. “I knew it the first time.” Ilithyia breathes, staring up at him. “I knew it by your cock.”

Digging her heels, she pulls at his back with her nails. He can feel the press of her belly against him. It should repulse him, and it does. This child, should be in Sura's body, not hers. Yet his heart still warms at the thought of his child, even in the womb of a fucking Roman.

At last his cock softens and he slips out of her, overwhelmed with shame at what he's just done.

Ilithyia stretches a little and laughs.

Spartacus glares at her. “Do not mistake lust for affection.”

“Do not mistake lust for desire.” She retorts. The curve of her mouth sneers at him, and it's achingly familiar. He has seen this woman in his dreams. Usually the mask is there to shield him from her...but now he knows she will haunt him this way. Dirty and ragged on the forest floor, with her legs spread and her body full of him, full of his child.

Spartacus gets to his feet and walks away. This time he doesn't turn back.

This is a memory that will linger even longer.

 

Ilithyia pushes herself to her knees. The child inside her kicks feebly, as though it recognizes its true father walking away. Cradling her belly, she forces herself to her feet.

“Hush, now. We've survived, that's the important thing.” It's the only thing that matters, certainly not the slave who's turned his back on her and left her, his seed trickling down her thighs as she stands there in the forest.

Ilithyia turns and walks in the opposite direction, her face set like a mask.