Page 36 of Firebird
“Yes, Caesar,” she cooed.
When she went to drape her leg across his lap, he twisted her quickly to face away, her back to him. He hiked up her stola and then pulled her onto his lap. She gasped as he maneuvered the flap of his toga aside and sank inside her with a hard thrust.
“Ah!” she cried out in pleasure, dropping her head back to his shoulder.
My uncle, however, had his eyes on Otho as he fucked the senator’s wife, baring her breasts completely and licking her neck with his forked tongue. Always, his dragon rose when he was being cruel. He wouldn’t shift into half-skin unless he wanted to kill the girl. But that wasn’t her purpose. She was a tool to show Otho he’d better not vote against the emperor’s wishes in the future.
There was a reason beyond my number of kills that they called me the Coldhearted Conqueror. I’d become a master at remaining completely emotionless no matter what was happening around me. Whether my men were taking the head of a king, slaughtering an entire army, or my uncle was fucking another man’s wife in front of all the patricians of Rome.
For a split second, I contemplated killing my uncle now. I could obviously take him by surprise. But then his praetorians and the others loyal to him would certainly kill me right here and now. And like a hydra, another of his ilk would sprout his head and take the throne. Nothing would change.
And then there was Malina.
My stomach churned with acid even thinking of her while Otho’s bride writhed on Caesar’s cock, crying out in pleasure. All while the dancers and musicians continued on, the guests laughed and drank and fucked, like one of their own wasn’t dying inside at the center of the feast hall. Otho’s head was now bowed in humiliation.
Ciprian had joined in the fray, pushing the head of his woman down beneath his toga. Her head bobbed furiously as he growled with lust, watching the emperor with fiendish glee.
A few of the honorable couples slipped away quietly, leaving the feast hall before the depravity intensified. I remained fixed in place, summoning the servant with the wine to fill my cup.
Finally, Otho’s bride screamed with her climax. Caesar pitched her forward onto all fours and finished with a few hard thrusts, fisting her hair and forcing her face up so that Otho could see what he’d done to her. That he’d fucked and pleasured his wife and there was nothing the senator could do about it.
Caesar slapped a palm to Sabina’s bare ass and pushed her aside as he heaved back into his throne, his breathing labored. “Otho! I give you and your bride my blessing.”
Ciprian laughed cruelly, his hand still on the nape of the woman sucking his cock. “You might even get an extra blessing from the emperor in nine months!”
Caesar tilted his head back and laughed, then reached for his goblet, his gaze falling to me, ever cold and watchful.
“Julian. You need to take the edge off. Take Sabina. She’s a good, tight fuck.” He gestured toward the woman, who was still crumpled in the cushions, her face flushed both from exertion and the new shame that kept her from looking over at her husband.
Otho’s head was still bowed, his fists clenched. The praetorians no longer held him in place, though they kept watch at his back, just in case he tried to avenge his honor. He wouldn’t though. No one ever did.
“No, thank you, Caesar,” I said evenly. “I’m fine with just the wine.”
“That’s right,” said Ciprian. “He’s got that Celtic cunny at home.” Then he grit his teeth and orgasmed. The woman between his legs gagged and coughed, but he held her down a second longer before letting her up. “Well done,” he told her, handing her a goblet of wine.
It was a miracle I could sit through these events and not vomit. It was a miracle I wasn’t insane from it all. The excessive debauchery in this den of hedonism had grown over the years. My emperor’s insatiable appetite for power was fueled by his malice, his lust for flesh and his lust for blood in equal measure. The madness was rising, and we needed to set our plan in motion soon.
When it was an adequate time for me to take my leave, I did so quietly. Ciprian was preoccupied with another woman wearing a sapphire-blue stola, the one in green he’d used moments earlier sulking at his side. Caesar was engaged with some of his generals, who’d gathered around to regale him with their recent victories.
No one took note as I wove quietly through the party and toward the exit. Speeding down the corridor, I left the sounds of sex and laughter and a corrupt, rotting kingdom behind me.
Once out of the palace, I strode at a quick clip, nearly at a run, eager to get the fuck away from there.
A shadow moved before I reached the stables.
I reached for the blade hidden beneath my toga before I realized it was Trajan. Relaxing, I joined him in the shade of a line of Persian cypress trees.
“Otho should’ve known better,” he said quietly. “He won’t be opposing any more laws in the senate.”
“The senate is useless.”
“Don’t tell my grandfather that.”
“We need to move soon,” I spat, bile still trying to rise up my throat after my uncle’s display. “I can’t take this much longer.”
“You’ve witnessed that before. We both have. Even worse than that. At least Otho’s bride was willing.”
Another wave of nausea rose as I remembered some of my uncle’s past public demonstrations with wives who weren’t at all keen on the emperor’s attentions.
