View Full Version : There's something about an experienced Roman Centurion...

January 28th, 2008, 08:20 PM
I just wanted to let everyone know that my new novel The Centurion & The Celt will be out with Resplendence Publishing in April (www.resplendencepublishing.com (http://www.resplendencepublishing.com)). Not up on the RP site yet, but you can see excerpts at www.minnettemeador.com (http://www.minnettemeador.com) or on Myspace at www.myspace.com/minnettemeador (http://www.myspace.com/minnettemeador). Here a glimpse (Caution: Warm - handle with care):

Marius has been stationed on 60 AD Britannia for sixteen years. Once a celebrated hero and a famous Praetorian Guard, he still clings to the old traditions as a fair but tough leader to his men, despite the shame that drove him from Rome.

Delia is sister to an uncaring Corieltauvi tribal king. Powerless, she watches as hundreds of Bretons succumb to their suicidal pride and throw themselves against the unstoppable Roman machine. The last thing Delia expects is to find her body craving the touch of her enemy.

The sudden intensity of their desire will change the history of a country.

Separated by fate, they are thrown into the clash between 80,000 angry
Bretons and a clever Roman general with only 10,000 soldiers. Marius and Delia find themselves on opposing sides, in love, and unable to stop the future. The revolution that sparked their desire...could now destroy them both.

<O:pOutside the tent, she could hear a sudden exchange and sat up from her bedroll, scowling at the entrance. The voices were muttered and she couldn’t hear what was being said, except for a quick, firm Yes, sir, followed by the jingling of Roman accoutrements. She grabbed for her cloak, but before she could reach it, the tent flap was pushed back and Marius stood at the entrance. Delia gasped.

In his left hand, he held a stone wine jug with his fingers wrapped around the neck tightly. Dangling from his right was a rolled length of rope and the unmistakable braiding of a long, leather whip.
Without taking her out of his sight, he tilted the jug to his lips and poured the contents down his throat, then threw the jar to the right where it thudded against the wall of the tent, making it ripple from the impact. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he glared down at her, his face stony, tight, but his eyes blazing.

Delia looked up at him from her knees, terrified, knowing there was no way out of the tent except through the entrance where he now stood. She had tried earlier to find a break in the four tent walls, but they were secured so tightly from the outside, she couldn’t get them to budge. Delia had even tried to dislodge the pole that held the back of the tent up, but it, too, was as solid as if it had been secured in iron. Marius would not allow any more mistakes to be made.

A beastlike growl was the only sound he made as he moved toward her. Delia jumped to her feet and backed away from him, ending up pushing against the further wall with no place to go. Marius cleared the distance in less than three steps, stopped abruptly, and just glared down at her. Delia looked around frantically for an escape, but she was trapped. When she tried to run past him, he easily caught her by the waist and threw her back.

As if on their own, her arms and hands began to whirl against him, catching his cheek with her nail, and leaving a bloody scratch across the stubble. Marius threw down the whip and caught her wrists. Spinning her around in one motion, he brought her hands above her head. Taking her wrists into one of his hands, he pushed his knees into the back of hers, and she kneeled in front of him. Without losing any time, he grabbed the rope from the pile at his side, unfurled it with a single flick, and wrapped it around her wrists several time. Without ceremony, he dragged her to the tent pole only a few inches away and securely tied her hands above her head. Marius pressed his hips into her buttocks, forcing her pelvis to hit the wood and, with another piece of rope, wrapped it around her waist, securing it to the post. When he was done, Delia knelt at the post, her hands over her head, staring at the tent wall, with Marius breathing heavily behind her. She struggled uselessly, but didn’t say a word.

When she heard the metallic whisper of a knife being drawn from its scabbard, Delia shuddered and turned her head to try to see. It was useless. She felt his warm knuckles as he gathered the material of her tunic between her shoulders and then cold metal as it touched her skin. She gasped and braced herself, but there was no pain. Instead, there was the slightest whisk, whisk, and then a draft of chilled air brushed her as the woolen fabric parted and fell around her waist. Her breasts on either side of the post had stopped it from descending any further, but Marius snapped it down, making certain she was exposed on all sides.

Delia had never felt so naked, so—accessible, tied like an animal to the stake, her chest heaving up and down in fear. Marius said nothing. His silence terrified her more than his presence. She was expecting at any moment to feel the sting of the lash, but all she could feel was his warm breath mingling with the coolness of the night air between her naked shoulder blades. Unable to take the stillness, Delia found her voice and gritted her teeth.

“Bastard! Let me go!” There was no menace in it, only fear.

All she heard in response was the slight rustle of fabric and the whisper of a hiss as leather was run through a human hand. The sounds made her close her eyes.

Nothing happened.

Delia opened them slowly when she felt a warmth move closer to her exposed skin. When Marius touched her neck with the back of two fingers, the feeling sent a spark of fire down her spine, into her buttocks and through her upper thighs that made her gasp. He lifted the tattered braid of her hair into his hand and pulled it up to his face—she could hear the intake of his breath. With a gentle gesture, he let it fall in front of her left shoulder and it struck her nipple, causing it to swell and harden. Again, she gasped.
The sensation terrified her. Delia never let her body rise to this level of fervor. Never let anything touch her so profoundly. To do so was to surrender, in her limited experience. It invited a touch, a stroke, and a penetrating intrusion that she knew would weaken her resolve. She hated herself for feeling this way. She hated the man for making her feel. She hated her body for craving this.

Marius knelt down behind her, easily forcing her knees apart with his own, and moved to be close to her back. Delia’s breath came out in ragged, shaking currents when he lifted those two fingers again and gently ran them down the side of her throat. The tremor was visible as it cascaded through her shoulders, her back and rippled through both sets of hips. Marius sucked a breath through his teeth when he felt it. He opened his hand, ran his palm up her arm, and slowly pressed the outline of his erection into her back. The muscles contracted suddenly at her center.

Delia could feel his hot breath on her neck now. The traces of stale wine drifting up to her nose were clouded by the sensations that began as heat in her belly and then spread outward. Something of fire and water touched the hollow behind her right ear. Marius’ lips, and then his tongue were so delicate on her neck it made her skin erupt in bumps. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth.
Marius became more aggressive when he felt her submit, as the touch became a kiss, a lick, and then a bite. Delia involuntarily tilted her head to the side as he expertly applied his lips to the muscle under her ear and then ran both hands along her shoulders. Without knowing how it got there, she found her head thrown back against his chest. His hands seemed on fire as he ran them, fingers down, along the skin of her sides, slowly, so slowly, and stopped at the rope around her waist. As he moved his lips to the other side of her neck, she could feel herself becoming deeply aroused. She pushed her pelvis as far as her restraints would let her, first forward into the wood and then back against his hardness. Unable to stop it, Delia allowed him to manipulate her without protest.

The callused hands swept over her belly, the fingers fanning out to caress the smooth flesh. Marius slid them up to cup her breasts, then lifted the thumbs to taunt her nipples, brushing them until they became solid. Delia arched her back into him, into those hands, and let out an involuntary moan.