February, 1822
London, England
The click of a lock sliding home echoed in the study. More than a hint of reticence seeped into Arthur Barrington’s gut. Trying to push it back, he briefly closed his eyes, but the effort proved in vain.
He tamped down the weary sigh that threatened to expand his chest and poured a second cup of tea, then placed the squat porcelain teapot back onto the silver tray. A glass of brandy might better serve to revive his spirits, but he did not want to risk encouraging his lover, Leopold Thornton. To Arthur’s knowledge, Thorn had not touched a glass or bottle of liquor since three months ago when Arthur had pulled that bottle of gin from Thorn’s shaking hand. And he wanted to keep it that way.
But perhaps Thorn locked the study door only out of habit? He certainly had very good cause of late to turn the lock whenever they were alone together in a room. Or perhaps he was exercising caution? Thorn was well aware of Arthur’s reluctance to share even a chaste kiss unless a door was not simply closed but locked as well. Even if Thorn’s plan for the remainder of the evening involved nothing more than conversation, Arthur wouldn’t want to leave Thorn’s town house without a kiss good night.
Yes, that could be it. Not fifteen minutes ago, he had told Thorn over supper about his trying day at the office. Thorn had even remarked that he appeared worn out.
Reassured, he picked up the two teacups and turned from the cabinet situated along the wall. With a wicked glint in his gray eyes that Arthur recognized all too well, Thorn stepped from the closed door.
So much for his hopes that Thorn had anything benign on his mind tonight.
He didn’t fight to hold back the sigh. Quite the opposite. A part of him hoped Thorn would pick up on the hint.
The expectant smile pulling the corners of Thorn’s full lips dimmed a fraction. The barest of hesitations hitched his long, loose stride.
Guilt stabbed into Arthur. Ah hell. You’re an arse, Barrington.
“Thank you,” Thorn murmured, stopping at his side to take the proffered cup.
Arthur tipped his head. They stared at each other for a moment as a debate raged inside of him. Damnation, he was tired. He just wanted to relax and spend time with Thorn. To simply be with him. But how did one say “no, thank you” to a lover intent on seduction? Thorn did not deal with rejection well, and that was putting it mildly.
The intensity of Thorn’s gaze, so filled with love and devotion, settled the matter for him.
Arthur forced his legs to take him past the navy wingback chair. His back hadn’t even touched the couch when Thorn sat next to him, so close his thigh grazed Arthur’s. Awareness pricked the skin beneath his trousers, but the lethargy weighing down his shoulders quickly dampened the tingle of desire before it could pool in his groin. Yet no doubt within a handful of minutes, his lover would have the matter well in hand. Literally. And Arthur would leave the town house ten times more exhausted than when he’d entered it.
He took a sip of tea to cover his heavy sigh and contemplated the fire in the gray marble hearth. The heat from the steady flames easily reached the couch, seeping through his trousers to warm his shins. A potent lure to give in and let his eyelids drift closed, but he refused to allow himself to deliver that insult to Thorn.
When he and Thorn had first arrived back in London from their short holiday at Thorn’s country estate in Yorkshire, there had been quiet evenings interspersed with the more…vigorous ones. When he could simply enjoy Thorn’s company. The perfect balance of searing passion and comfortable companionship. So perfect, in fact, they had reduced his lingering worries to mere nothingness. Yet lately when he met Thorn in the evenings, all the man wanted was to indulge in carnal pleasures. Even when in view of Thorn’s servants, the heavy undercurrent rode behind his lover’s every word, every glance, every discreetly cloaked touch.
You’re a damn prude for complaining about it.
Yes, indeed. His lover was a beautiful man—all lean, graceful lines and with flawless pale skin that begged to be kissed. A man who could suck an orgasm right out of him. Who didn’t have a single qualm about putting that sinful mouth on the most…well, sinful places on Arthur’s body. And who wanted to be with him, and only him.
That last bit still had the power to astound Arthur.
But why couldn’t they spend the evening together every now and then and not have it involve one or both of them removing their trousers?
“Supper was quite nice,” Arthur said in an effort to pull his mind from his worries. “Please extend my thanks to your cook.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
Porcelain clinked against porcelain as Thorn set his cup and saucer on the floor. A hard shoulder brushed against Arthur’s as Thorn shifted, turning his upper body toward him. A hand settled on Arthur’s thigh. Long, elegant fingers which had never seen a day of honest work kneaded his muscles. Adept and gentle, approaching a soothing massage, yet Thorn’s intention could not be any clearer.
“You seem tense.” A chunk of Thorn’s wavy black forelock hung over one eye, the ends just skimming his long lashes, but it couldn’t hide the concern that touched his gaze.
“As I mentioned earlier, I had a long day at the office. Didn’t get as much done as I hoped.”
“Unexpected visits from clients?”
“No. Not today. Fenton needed assistance drafting a will. Took an ungodly amount of time.” The new secretary would be the death of him. The young man was supposed to help take some of the burden off Arthur’s desk. Likely would eventually, but given Arthur had hired him a month ago, he still needed a considerable amount of assistance. And since his other secretary didn’t do much more than keep Arthur on schedule and organize the office, Fenton needed the sort of assistance only Arthur could provide.
Thorn’s lips thinned into a compressed line. Then that thoroughly wicked smile tipped the edges once again. He leaned closer. Warm breaths fanned Arthur’s ear. Slow and enticing, sensation rippled down his spine.
“Well then, let me help you to relax.”
The promise of sinful pleasures soaked Thorn’s voice, melting Arthur’s resistance as only this man could. The tingle of desire sparked anew: stronger, hotter, sharper than before, enough to temporarily mask the weariness. He did not put up a fight when Thorn pulled his teacup from his grasp, setting it on the floor next to Thorn’s cup.
Within the blink of an eye, the long length of Thorn’s body pressed against his side. Elegant fingers coasted up from Arthur’s knee, not pausing once on their way to their target. With unerring accuracy, Thorn located Arthur’s prick beneath the placket of his trousers and stroked the length.
He rested his chin on Arthur’s shoulder as his hand did wonders to coax Arthur’s cock to attention. Thorn swiped his fingers over the crown, then went back to pumping the length, his palm swooshing softly over the fabric. Seeking more, Arthur spread his legs and pushed up into that wonderfully firm grip.
“I missed you today,” Thorn whispered.
A flush of warmth filled Arthur’s chest. Damnation, it felt good to be missed, to know there was someone out there—or more precisely, the man right beside him—who looked forward to seeing him. The edges of his lips quirked. “I just saw you this morning.”
He felt Thorn shake his head. “You didn’t wake me when you left, so I didn’t see you.”
Another stab of guilt to his gut. Arthur had been deliberately careful when he’d slipped out of Thorn’s bed. “It was not even dawn. Didn’t want to disturb you,” he murmured. He had a strong premonition he’d receive another invitation from Thorn to remain with him tonight, yet he pushed that worry from his mind and let the man’s hand command his complete attention.
“And I had such plans for the morning.” All traces of a pout vanished, replaced with a sinful, confident tease. “I guess I shall just have to indulge them now.”
One tug and Thorn had the placket undone. Arthur lifted his hips slightly, giving him access to reach inside. With an ease borne of near countless repetition, he pulled Arthur’s erect cock from the confines of his drawers and trousers.
Hand wrapped around the base of Arthur’s prick, Thorn bent his upper body over Arthur’s lap. “Love you.” Thorn’s whisper teased the head of his cock. Light and delicate, a ghost of a caress that nevertheless tugged at his heart. Then those full lips opened wide, and Thorn took him inside his mouth.
All thoughts that didn’t have to do with pleasure fled Arthur’s brain. Threading his fingers into Thorn’s hair, Arthur let his head fall back as he gave himself up to the decadent sensation of his lover’s mouth, let the combination of slippery wet heat and perfect suction coax the lust fully to the surface.
He blindly coasted his other hand along Thorn’s back, the sleek muscles hard as iron beneath the fine wool coat. Up and down, Thorn bobbed along his length, each stroke somehow better than the last.
To think not ten minutes ago he had longed for a quiet evening. What the hell had he been thinking? Definitely not about this.
“Your mouth,” Arthur muttered, suspended somewhere between utter relaxation and pulse-pounding desire. Of their own accord, his hips moved, nudging in counterpoint to those amazing strokes. “So good.”
Thorn’s purr reverberated against his shaft, adding another layer that nearly robbed him of all sense. In a long, slow glide, his lover pulled up to tease the highly sensitive slit with the tip of his tongue. Then he plunged back down his shaft. All the way down.
“Ah, hell, Thorn.”
The most luscious constriction squeezed the head of his prick. Thorn swallowed, the muscles of his throat working in a decadent massage. Arthur’s eyes rolled back. His fingers tightened in Thorn’s hair, and then he forced his hand to relax, to release the harsh hold on those silken strands. The last thing he wanted to do was cause his lover pain.
After a moment that felt like forever yet like the blink of an eye, Thorn eased back and resumed those bone-melting strokes.
Arthur tipped his chin down, drawn by the urge to watch those lips that felt like wet silk slide up and down his prick. Thorn’s long black lashes rested against high cheekbones flushed with desire. Each deep breath whooshed from his nose, tickling the base of Arthur’s cock, his focus absolutely and completely on lavishing Arthur with pleasure. He had been the recipient of his lover’s skilled mouth too many times to count over the past three months, yet each instance never failed to hold him in awe. And the sight alone of Thorn’s full lips wrapped around his length was enough to bring him dangerously close to a climax.
Tingling fingertips of sensation tickled his ballocks. The muscles of his thighs drew tight to the point of trembling. Just as the release began to coil down Arthur’s spine, Thorn pulled free.
Still crouched over Arthur’s lap, Thorn darted his tongue out to swipe his bottom lip. Unable to resist a taste, Arthur hauled the man up and kissed him, sweeping his tongue inside the hot depths of his lover’s gorgeous mouth. On a low moan, Thorn shifted even closer. What could only be an erection nudged his hip as Thorn met the strength of his kiss and then some.
Soft, eager lips, the hint of stubble from Thorn’s day beard, the enticing spice of his cologne… Arthur could have spent the entire night on the couch with Thorn in his arms, their tongues twining together, poised right on the cusp of an orgasm. Not so close to a climax that the need to spill his seed had crossed the line of desperation, but that perfect point where lust pounded through his veins, heated his skin, every sense heightened and consumed by his lover.
Thorn broke the kiss far before Arthur was ready. Arthur leaned forward, pursuing those lips, but Thorn shifted back just enough to stay out of reach.
“Do you want to bend me over the arm of the couch and fuck my arse?”
Hell, Thorn said the wickedest things. Crude and obscene and thoroughly erotic. A growl rumbled through Arthur’s chest.
“Yes?” Thorn asked, arching a dark eyebrow as he slid his hand along Arthur’s spit-slicked shaft.
Another tremor shook his thighs. “You damn well know the answer.” As if he could ever resist such an invitation.
Thorn’s lips, flushed red and wet, kicked up in a confident smirk. He got to his feet and moved to the side of the couch, one hand tugging at the placket of his trousers and pushing the garment down while the other slipped into a pocket of his iron-gray waistcoat for the small glass bottle he always seemed to carry with him. He poured a generous amount of oil into his palm and set the bottle on a nearby table. Bracing his other hand on the arm of the couch, he reached back under the tails of his coat.
The sight of his lover preparing himself without a single inhibition pushed Arthur to his feet. He quickly unbuttoned his coat and shrugged it from his shoulders, letting it fall to the couch cushions. He didn’t miss the way Thorn’s hungry gaze tracked his every movement as he made his way behind the man—his cock bobbing with each step, the need to bury himself hilt-deep in Thorn cranking higher and higher.
Thorn bent his upper body over the thickly tufted arm and spread his legs as far as the trousers around his ankles would allow. He flicked his coat and shirttail to the side, exposing his firmly rounded arse. Glancing over his shoulder, he winked. “Have at it, Mr. Barrington.”
Arthur’s palm itched to give him a smack on the arse. Instead he pushed his own trousers down so they hung low on his hips, far enough to prevent any unwanted oil stains. He palmed Thorn’s arse, pulling back one cheek to reveal his well-oiled hole, and pushed inside.
Thorn let out a short grunt. Then he thrust back, fully impaling himself on Arthur’s prick. “Fuck me, Arthur. Fuck me hard.”
The last three months had convinced him that when Thorn asked for hard, he wanted exactly that. No consideration. Yet Arthur held still for the space of three heartbeats, allowed his lover at least a moment for his body to adjust to the intrusion. Then he shifted his grip, hands splaying over Thorn’s hips to get a firmer hold on him.
“I fully intend to.” The words were a growl. He pulled almost all the way out, savoring the slick glide, and then snapped forward and picked up a hard, driving rhythm.
“Yes, yes.” Thorn moaned, bucking back, lengthening each thrust.
Grabbing Thorn’s shoulders, he slammed harder. Thorn took it all, begged for more. Hell, Thorn made him feel like a savage. Primal and base. Unable to resist the need to completely dominate him. To fuck him so deeply the man would be forever branded as his own.
The release once again began coiling down Arthur’s spine, drawing his ballocks up tight. Desperate not to come off before Thorn, he tilted his hips, changing the angle of his strokes, trying to peg the man’s gland.
Thorn’s gasping moans grew more frantic, the sounds hitching in his throat. Arthur leaned over Thorn’s back and slipped a hand inside his lover’s coat pocket, fingers finding the soft linen.
He had just wrapped the handkerchief over the head of Thorn’s cock when the man let out a hoarse groan. His body clutched Arthur’s length in time to the liquid heat splashing against the fabric.
Thorn’s orgasm sparked his own. Searing pleasure flooded Arthur’s senses. He set his teeth against Thorn’s shoulder to stifle the shout as he climaxed, his hips sputtering to a halt.
He gave himself a moment to catch his breath, then tightened his hold on Thorn’s waist and straightened, taking his lover with him. Thorn sagged against him, lax and boneless, allowing Arthur to hold him upright. He nuzzled the side of Thorn’s neck, dragged his lips past the starched white cravat, over his jaw and to his ear. “Kiss me,” he murmured, needing to feel those beautiful lips beneath his own.
“I fully intend to,” Thorn replied, the pleased, sated smile clear in his voice.
Thorn turned, his arms wrapping around Arthur’s waist. Their equal heights made them perfectly matched, and all Thorn needed to do was tilt his chin slightly to the side to claim Arthur’s mouth.
Soft and slow, with just a hint of tongue, Thorn kissed him. He had never been much for kissing before Thorn, the urge for that intimacy simply not there. Likely a byproduct of his one and only other relationship. Yet with Thorn, he could never get enough. And the sounds the man made, those little rumbles of air in the back of his throat…
Arthur slanted his mouth more firmly over Thorn’s, swept his tongue inside, trying to get a taste of those delicious little sighs. His lover pressed against him, bare prick sliding along Arthur’s sated cock, and let out a groan. Before the residual hum from the recent orgasm could spark anew, Arthur pulled back, ending the kiss with a light nip to that plump lower lip.
“I could kiss you all night,” Arthur murmured.
Thorn’s lashes slowly swept up, revealing passion-soaked gray eyes flecked with midnight. “You’re more than welcome to do so.” He dropped his voice to a mere breath of sound that still managed to hold the full weight of his offer. “And many other things as well.”
Pliant and willing in his arms and with his cheeks still flushed with desire, Thorn was the very embodiment of temptation—sinful, wicked, lush temptation. And by the man’s own admission, he had absolutely no limits when it came to carnal pleasures. But they’d certainly draw the servants’ notice if they remained behind the locked door of the study until dawn.
A rueful smile teasing the edges of his mouth, Arthur gave his head a little indulgent shake. “Don’t tempt me, or we’ll never leave this room.” He stole one more kiss but kept it quick and light. Then he released Thorn so he could tug up his trousers. Handkerchief still clutched in one hand, he took the few steps to the hearth and tossed the soiled linen into the fire. God forbid Thorn spill all over the side of the couch, leaving an obvious mark of the proof of their after-supper activities. Arthur doubted such a stain could be easily explained to the servants.
As Thorn pulled his trousers up from his ankles, Arthur grabbed his coat from the cushion and slipped it on. “Your morning plans had involved being bent over the arm of a couch?” He knew for a fact Thorn did not have anything that approached a couch in his bedchamber.
Thorn lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “One must make do with what’s available.” A couple of deft tugs and he set his clothing to rights. He had a remarkable ability to go from appearing completely debauched to completely presentable in a handful of seconds. A skill no doubt learned from necessity.
That was not something Arthur should really think about at the moment. In any case, Thorn had left those days behind him.
“My original plan involved straddling your hips and riding your cock until I climaxed all over your stomach.”
The mental image formed in Arthur’s mind—his hands grasping Thorn’s hips, urging his lover onward as the man slammed hard and fast on his prick. He let out a low grunt, his sated prick twitching its approval.
Stepping closer, Thorn smoothed his hands over the front of Arthur’s coat. He tipped his chin down, his attention on Arthur’s coat as his nimble fingers righted the bottom button. “Stay with me tonight.”
With those softly spoken words, the exhaustion from the long day settled right back onto Arthur’s shoulders, his back slumping under the weight of it. Every trace of post-orgasmic bliss vanished, leaving nothing but bone-weary fatigue. He felt every one of his thirty years. Hell, he felt damn near double that.
“I didn’t bring a change of clothes.”
“So stop at your apartments in the morning.”
“But there’s a contract I still need to review for an appointment, and I left it on the dining table. I need to familiarize myself with it tonight.”
“Read it when you get into the office.”
“There are other matters that require my attention in the morning.” He could reorganize his schedule and free up enough time before the appointment, but if he remained with Thorn, he knew he would not be sleeping alone, nor would it involve much sleep.
And damnation, he needed a decent night’s rest. Something more than the small handful of hours he’d been subsisting on for the past couple of weeks.
With a light touch, he combed Thorn’s dark forelock from his brow. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy staying with you. I do. But another night.”
Gray eyes searched his own. Then Thorn nodded. He took a step back, fingers slipping from Arthur’s coat. “I’ll call for my carriage to take you home,” Thorn said, as casual as could be, without a trace of the frown that had creased his brow a moment ago.
Arthur did his best to hide his relief. “You needn’t bother.”
Thorn slanted him a dry look. “It’s not a bother, I assure you. Requires little effort on my part to convey the request to a servant.”
“Thank you, but I prefer to walk.” He walked most everywhere he went in Town. More than that, though, he wasn’t comfortable taking Thorn’s carriage home. Logically, he knew gentlemen often lent their equipage to guests. But he was Thorn’s very frequent guest who tended to spend quite a bit of time with him behind the locked door of the study, never mind the frequency of his overnight stays. Those stays were easily explained—his office was significantly closer to Thorn’s town house than his own bachelor apartments. Still, borrowing the man’s carriage somehow crossed the line into the realm of blatantly obvious.
“If you insist,” Thorn replied, as if the notion of walking when a carriage could be had was beyond absurd. To him, a man who had grown up with an army of servants to see to his every need and who had an overindulgent and extremely wealthy viscount for a father, it likely was.
Arthur followed him to the study door. The click of the lock sliding open echoed in the room. Before Thorn could turn the knob, Arthur placed a hand over his. Thorn looked to him, a question in his eyes.
“It was good to see you tonight.” Arthur leaned forward, brushed his lips across Thorn’s, needing that good-night kiss. If he could trust Thorn not to press for more, he would have readily agreed to stay. As it was, though…
He kept the frustrated sigh from expanding his chest and lifted his hand from Thorn’s.
Thorn tipped his head, then opened the door. They made their way down the grand staircase to the white-marble-floored entrance hall. Jones, Thorn’s middle-aged and ever-efficient footman, materialized with Arthur’s coat.
After donning his greatcoat and gloves, he thanked Thorn again for the meal and stepped out the front door of the elegant town house and into the chill February night.
He did not even make it to the street corner before he gave in to the exhaustion and hailed a passing hackney. After giving the driver the directions, he stepped inside and settled on the leather bench. A snap of leather lines and the hackney lurched forward.
The golden rays from the streetlamps he passed seeped through the window, keeping the interior from pitch darkness. The rhythmic jangle of harness and the clop of hooves formed a soothing lull that begged his eyes to just surrender to the lethargy and drift closed. He gave his head a swift shake and focused on the passing buildings as the hackney wound its way out of Mayfair.
Damn, his eyelids felt heavy; it was a struggle simply to keep them open. Perhaps he should rearrange his schedule and push off the contract waiting for him on the dining table until the morning. The idea of taking himself straight to bed, of seven full hours of uninterrupted sleep…
Now that would be bliss.
Bliss? Rolling his eyes at himself, he dragged a hand across the back of his neck. When had sleep become such a precious commodity? More precious than the prospect of spending time with Thorn, never mind buggering him?
The worry that had been nudging the back of his mind, the one that had refused to be fully pacified even with Thorn’s reassurance that they would be all right, began to prod with considerable force.
When it came down to it, did they simply not suit one another?
What felt like an iron band squeezed around his chest. A wince crossed his brow.
No, no.
He wanted to be with Thorn. It went beyond a fear of being alone and encompassed so much more than mere lust. He truly wanted their relationship to work. If he had not believed there was more than a thin thread of hope for them, he would have stepped into his carriage on that fateful morning in Yorkshire and not turned back for Thorn.
Thorn obviously wanted to be with him too, for he had proved true to his word. To Arthur’s knowledge, Thorn had stopped drinking to excess, had stopped spending his nights in various gaming hells or in houses of ill repute, and his name was no longer on the tongue of every gossip in London. And above all, Thorn loved him.
The memory of those whispered words washed over him, tugging on his heart anew. Yet…
That sense of hesitation rushed over him. Things had been near perfect for a short while, yet lately… Was their relationship beginning to run its course? Were their differences too much for will alone to overcome? Or was it something else altogether?
The hackney jerked to a stop outside the tidy brick building that held his bachelor apartments. He scrubbed his hands over his face and pushed the questions aside. Now was not the time to contemplate his relationship with Thorn, not when his mind was near frayed by a lack of sleep. He would only end up with no answers and a spectacular headache.
He willed his beyond-tired limbs into action and exited the hackney. He handed the driver the necessary coins, then made his way inside the building and up to the third floor.
He shrugged the coat from his shoulders and lit a candle upon entering his apartments. His gaze skipped over his parlor and to the dining room just beyond, landing on the stack of papers on the corner of the mahogany table. He should read them tonight. Wouldn’t do not to be prepared, and he had brought them home for a reason. In any case, Fenton would likely need assistance with something in the morning, taking what little time he could allot to review the contract.
He forced his feet to take him across the parlor, grabbing his leather bag from the cushion of an armchair as he went. He set the candle on the dining table and pulled a pencil from his bag. The scrape of the chair’s legs against the floorboards cut through the silence, masking his resigned sigh. Five or six hours of sleep were better than two or three, he told himself as he settled in the chair and turned his attention to the papers before him.