Leopold exited his carriage and gave his greatcoat a tug to straighten it. The door snapped shut behind him, courtesy of his footman, Jones.
“I’ll be a few minutes. You can wait down the street,” he instructed Jones.
The unseasonably bright early-afternoon sun provided little warmth, the air cold and crisp with winter’s chill. Leopold shoved his gloved hands into his coat pockets and made his way to the now-familiar red brick building on Clifford Street. Situated just off Bond Street, Arthur’s office was in a prime area to attract clients who could more than afford his services. Leopold’s own father employed him and had employed Arthur’s uncle before him, hence how Leopold had initially befriended Arthur a decade ago.
For most of those ten years, Arthur had been involved with Randolph Amherst, a prominent banker in London, and Leopold had been… Well, he would not use the word involved. Associated held more meaning than the situation justified as well. Perhaps acquainted? Yes, he liked the sound of that. Didn’t make the drunken blur feel quite so sordid. For those ten years, he’d been acquainted with a fair number of the inhabitants of London, inhabitants who had unfortunately not included Arthur. But Arthur had finally come to his senses and left that damn heartless, lying, cuckolding prig. Determined not to repeat the biggest mistake of his life, Leopold had not wasted a moment in his effort to convince Arthur that he, Leopold, could be worthy of him.
It had been a decidedly long, lonely decade but definitely worth the wait, for he could now call the man he loved his own. A fact that both thrilled his heart and brought its fair share of worries.
With Arthur occupied at his office, Leopold had found his days unsettlingly empty. Where before he’d spent the hours before dusk sleeping off the prior night’s overindulgence, now he had a clear head and not much to do with it. Occasional calls to his father and visits to his club took up some of his hours but nowhere near all of them. He avoided his elder brothers—they never bothered to hide their disapproval of him—and he hadn’t many acquaintances that Arthur would not frown upon. He had quickly found the empty afternoons provided ample fodder for his worries to build. Seeking to distract himself, he had taken to visiting Arthur at his office.
And after last night, he definitely needed a distraction. Or was it reassurance he sought?
He let out a huff of self-disgust. You’re worse than a damn needy woman. But he didn’t pause as he pulled open the pristine white door and entered the building. Perhaps he would try to pry Arthur from behind his desk to go to a nearby tavern for a bite to eat. Get the man away from the bloody paperwork that commanded his full attention.
He went up the stairs to the door with the small brass plaque that read Mr. Arthur Barrington, Solicitor. Without bothering to knock, he opened the door.
Wilson, one of Arthur’s secretaries—the one Leopold didn’t much mind—looked up from the open drawer of a cabinet along the wall of the anteroom of the office. He took out a sheaf of paper, then closed the drawer. “Good afternoon, Mr. Thornton. What can I do for you today?” he asked, a distinct eagerness to please in his friendly brown eyes.
Leopold pulled off his leather gloves. “Is Mr. Barrington available? There is a matter I wish to discuss with him.” The usual vague excuse, but it sufficed.
The slim man motioned to the open door a few paces from his desk. “He is in his office if you would like to see him now. Shall I take your coat?”
He shoved his gloves into a pocket and handed the greatcoat to Wilson. The sight of another man standing behind the large oak desk, sandy-blond head bent toward Arthur’s chestnut-brown one, stopped him just inside the door of Arthur’s office.
When Arthur had told him he’d hired another secretary, Leopold had initially been pleased, a sign Arthur was proving true to his word that he would make time for Leopold. Then he had discovered just who Arthur had hired.
Edward Fenton, the youngest son of a well-respected gentleman and recently out of Cambridge. Though they did not travel in precisely the same social circles, Leopold had made his acquaintance on a couple of occasions at various functions over the years. He had never heard a soul speak anything but highly of him. Fenton was polite, studious, intelligent and handsome. Broad of shoulder and with a masculine strength to his features. A younger version of Arthur.
And during his visits to Arthur’s office over the past few weeks, Leopold had also discovered that Fenton’s interest did not lie solely within the business of the law.
Could Arthur feel the force of Fenton’s gaze? Those blue eyes focused on Arthur’s profile as though soaking up every detail. He doubted the young man heard a word Arthur said as Arthur, his attention on the papers before him, explained some point or other. Did Arthur know it would take but a word from him for Fenton to bend over that desk and offer Arthur anything he wanted?
Arthur believes in fidelity. Over and over, he repeated the words in his mind in an effort to shake off the insecurity that had draped over his shoulders like a damn cloak.
But try as he might, he could not ignore the fact that of late Arthur had been working more than his usual long hours. Could not ignore how Fenton always seemed to be standing right there, at Arthur’s shoulder, whenever Leopold stopped by the office. Hell, it hurt just to look at the two men together. So well matched, down to the similar plain, dark coats—they likely visited the same tailor—and the same neatly cropped short hair. The sight alone lodged the worry deep within Leopold. The worry that one evening, very soon, Arthur would pose that question to him once again.
“May I still call you friend, Thorn?”
It was all he could do not to recoil as the memory slammed into him.
Arms crossed over his chest, he stood there and silently waited. Waited for Arthur to notice him. But Arthur’s attention remained fixed on that damn document, the silver end of his pen catching the sunlight streaming through the window as he made various notations, and Fenton’s attention remained fixed on Arthur.
Leopold cleared his throat.
Arthur looked up. Leopold could tell by the way it took a half second for those hazel eyes to focus on him that the man truly had no idea he’d had an audience for the past few minutes. “Good afternoon, Mr. Thornton,” he said, all professional politeness, as if Leopold was simply another client come to call. “If you’ll just give us a moment.”
Us, not me.
Fenton flicked a glance to Leopold. Quick and dismissive.
He fought the urge to flinch.
Arthur turned his attention to Fenton. “Make these revisions, then have Wilson deliver it to his lordship.”
Taking the document from Arthur, Fenton nodded. He lingered just a bit, clearly reluctant to relinquish his place, before finally moving from behind the desk.
Enough.
Squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin, Leopold leveled his coldest stare on the secretary.
Fenton’s stride faltered, then quickened, his gaze dropping to the polished floorboards.
Bloody insignificant bastard. He didn’t need Arthur’s assistance one bit. A ploy and nothing more. Jealousy rolled up from Leopold’s stomach, yanking hold of him. It was all he could do not to bare his teeth and growl he’s mine as Fenton scurried past him.
Leopold flicked the door shut, likely much harder than needed given how the sound snapped through the quiet office, echoing off the mahogany-paneled walls.
Arthur’s hands stilled above the pile of papers on his left. Then he selected the top one. Fortunately, though, he did not pick his pen back up and instead finally turned his attention to Leopold. “How has your day been?”
“Good.” And soon to get significantly better. The tavern could wait for another day. He turned the lock on the door slowly, trying to dampen the soft click as it slid home. Gaze pinned on his lover, he crossed the room. “Busy morning?”
Arthur let out a sigh, the straight line of his shoulders slumping the barest bit. “Yes.”
“Were you able to review those documents last night?”
“Fortunately, yes, else I would have found myself quite behind today.”
“You shouldn’t work yourself so hard.”
He shrugged. “It is referred to as work for a reason.” Arthur swept his gaze over him as he rounded the desk. A notched V pulled his brows. “Any particular reason for today’s visit?”
Leopold’s lips quirked. “Yes.” His fingers itched to unravel Arthur’s crisp cravat. To pull the navy coat from those broad shoulders. To strip away every trace of the conservative solicitor.
Arthur’s eyes flared, and he cast a distinctly nervous glance toward the door. “Thorn…”
“Arthur,” he teased, stopping beside him. Resting a hand on the arm of Arthur’s leather chair, he leaned down, lips brushing Arthur’s ear. “Do you remember how good it felt last night when my lips were wrapped around your cock?”
“Thorn.” The warning was clear in his tone, yet Leopold didn’t miss the way the man’s breaths hitched. “Don’t. Not here at my—”
“The hot glide as I worked my mouth up and down your length,” he whispered, cutting him off. He traced the edge of Arthur’s shirt collar with his other hand, the short strands of hair at his nape tickling his fingertips. “Your skin so slick and wet. Your cock so damn hard and thick, filling my mouth. I could barely take all of you.”
He felt the shiver rack Arthur’s body. Heard the barely perceptible grunt rumble his chest.
“You did, though. Took it all,” Arthur said, low and hoarse yet edged with the rising urgency of lust.
“And I thoroughly enjoyed every moment.”
He let his hand drop to Arthur’s thigh, trailed his fingers up to the placket of his trousers. The heavy bulk hidden within jumped. He stroked the rapidly hardening length, pushing the lust higher, needing to take Arthur to the point where he’d forget their surroundings.
“I love sucking your cock.” I love you. “And I love when you take control. When you use me for your own pleasure. When you grab me by the hair and fuck my mouth.”
Arthur’s hand, resting on the desk, flexed, then tightened into a fist. His hips thrust up, pushing into Leopold’s touch. Without slowing the determined strokes on the man’s erection, Leopold chanced a glance at Arthur’s face. His eyes were closed, lips slightly parted on quickening breaths, the notched V completely absent from his brow. All obvious hints of resistance gone.
“I want you to spill down my throat, coat my tongue with your seed. I want to suck every last drop from you.” He nipped at Arthur’s ear. “Hell, you always taste so damn good.”
Arthur groaned. “Damnation, Thorn.”
Another nip to Arthur’s ear. “Move back a bit,” he murmured, urgency and need hot on his heels. Just telling Arthur what he wanted to do to him had his own cock aching and hard. He could almost taste the sweet, musky flavor of Arthur’s release. He relinquished his hold on that stiff prick just long enough to push on the arms of the chair. Arthur must have cooperated, for the chair easily moved back enough to allow Leopold to fit between Arthur’s thighs and the desk.
Working the buttons on the placket of Arthur’s trousers, he dropped to his knees, intent on giving his lover a blatant reminder of just what he could offer him. Fenton may have a sterling reputation, but it was highly doubtful a whelp like him could come close to matching Leopold’s skill at sucking cock.
He wasted not a moment freeing Arthur’s erection and wrapping his lips around the crown. One quick deep breath, then he sank down, relaxing his throat and taking every inch of Arthur’s length.
Arthur’s growl rumbled around him, the sweetest of praises. If his mouth had not been already fully occupied, he would have grinned in triumph.
Instead he swallowed around Arthur’s cock. That growl turned into a groan. He pulled back, grabbed the base of Arthur’s prick, and worked his mouth up and down. His grip firm, pumping in counterpoint, his lips tight around the iron-hard length.
A large hand threaded into his hair, palming the back of his skull. With each backstroke, Arthur pushed down, his hips nudging up, wanting more. The pressure light but definitely there. He could feel the tension in Arthur’s grip—hell, in his entire body. Could feel how he held back, resisting the impulse to slam Leopold down and force him to take it all. The care, the consideration Arthur showed him even when consumed by lust, made his heart pound desperately against his ribs.
Please, love me. Please need me for more than this.
But why would Arthur?
Doubt reared its ugly head. Pain sliced into his chest. He shoved the near paralyzing worry aside and focused on Arthur. On at least keeping the man bound to him with pleasure.
“So good. So damn good.”
Arthur’s murmured words filled his ears. The tang of seed teased his tongue. Needing to feel the hot splash of liquid heat hit the back of his throat, needing to taste the proof of Arthur’s desire for him, he intensified his efforts. Hollowing his cheeks, he sucked harder. Stroked faster. Arthur’s length hardened even further. The man was so close Leopold could feel the climax begin to grip hold of him.
Arthur’s fingers tightened in his hair. “Bloody hell.” The curse was low, urgent, desperate. “Damnation, I want you.”
Leopold shot to his feet and turned. Yanked at the placket of his trousers. Shoved them to his knees. He spit into his palm, then reached around and swiped between his arse cheeks, coating his entrance. Quick and hasty, but it would suffice. Holding his shirttail and coat aside, he used his other hand to pull back one cheek.
“Hold your cock steady,” he urged as he lowered over Arthur’s lap.
The crown slipped over his entrance. He tilted his hips to the necessary angle and pressed down. Hard.
A harsh wince pulled his lips, clamping his eyes shut. Holy hell! Sharp pain screamed throughout his body, stinging his nerves, demanding he lift up and escape the burning stretch. Somehow he kept the grunt inside.
“Be careful. Slow down, Thorn.”
With a shake of his bowed head, he ignored Arthur’s warning. Ignored the large hand cupping his bare hip, trying to slow him, and sank lower. “Just had you last night,” he managed to get out through gritted teeth, trying for something that resembled a casual, flippant tone. He really should have thought to prepare himself while sucking off Arthur.
In a few moments, the pain would pass, he promised himself, and there would be nothing but pleasure. Thick, lush, glorious pleasure. And he needed that pleasure soon, else he’d completely lose his erection.
The instant his arse finally met Arthur’s groin, he grabbed an arm of the chair, lifted up, and bounced on the thick prick, stretching himself beyond wide. Quick and furious. Slamming down hard. Taking all of Arthur with each stroke.
The pain shifted to pleasure, flooding his senses. His cock bobbed helplessly with each thrust, slapping against the hem of his shirt pulled taut across his waist. He wanted to turn around. Straddle Arthur’s hips, slant his mouth over his lover’s and kiss him. Have the man in his arms.
Needing to resist the urge, he tightened his grip on the chair’s arm and slammed down harder, chasing the climax building within.
Arthur shifted beneath him. Harsh, hot pants brushed across his ear. An arm wrapped around his waist, tugged him against the hard wall of Arthur’s chest. The movement changed the angle of Arthur’s prick. The crown slid directly across that perfect spot inside him.
Ecstasy shot through his body. “Yes.”
“Thorn. I…” Arthur gasped for breath. “Can’t hold back.”
Holding Leopold to him, Arthur thrust upward. Sharp teeth pressed against his shoulder. The man’s deep groan reverberated through Leopold’s back as liquid warmth filled his passage.
Fully impaled on Arthur’s cock, Leopold grabbed his own erection and furiously stroked the length. His back arched as the orgasm seized him.
Panting for breath, Thorn slumped back, resting the full weight of his sleek body against Arthur. Eyes closed and not minding the weight in the slightest, Arthur wrapped his other arm around Thorn and held him.
After a moment, Thorn shifted on his lap. A bristly jaw scraped across his cheek.
“Kiss me,” Thorn whispered.
The muffled sound of a door slamming shut cut through the thick fog of blissful contentment. Every muscle in Arthur’s body went rigid. His eyes snapped open. He jerked his head, avoiding Thorn’s kiss, and looked to the door. The knowledge that it was safely shut, that they were still the only two men in the room, did not calm his pulse in the slightest.
Hell and damnation. They had just fucked at his office. Had Thorn absolutely no sense of propriety? Could he be any more careless? And the man was still sitting on his cock, for Christ’s sake.
“Get up,” Arthur urged, careful to keep his voice quiet, yet the hushed words seemed unnaturally loud. Oh dear Lord. Had Fenton and Wilson heard them? Had that been a client who had just entered his office?
He pushed on Thorn’s bare hips when the man didn’t move fast enough. Thorn finally stood, Arthur’s spent cock slipping from his body. Arthur quickly tucked the damp length into his drawers and began to button the placket.
“Let me do that for you,” Thorn said, laying his hands over Arthur’s.
Arthur swatted him aside. “I can do it myself. See to your own trousers.”
Thorn nodded. With his usual quick efficiency, he repaired his clothing.
Frustration churned Arthur’s gut. Frustration not only at Thorn but at himself. He knew better than to give in. Had known exactly what Thorn intended, or at least had a fairly good notion, when the man had initially rounded his desk, strides slow and predatory, chin tipped down and intent gaze locked on him. Yet he’d allowed Thorn to overwhelm him with sensation. Allowed himself to give in to the lust.
The top button of his trousers finally cooperated and slipped into place. As he tugged on his waistcoat to right it, his gaze dropped to the floorboards beneath his desk. His eyes flared.
“Thorn. You…you…” On his office floor, no less?
“It’s all right, Arthur.” Thorn didn’t look or sound flustered in the slightest. He simply pulled that ever-ready handkerchief from his pocket, leaned down and swiped up his own pearly white seed.
“It is not all right.” He gestured toward the door. “I have two employees barely twenty feet away.”
“They won’t suspect a thing. We were quiet, and the door is locked. I saw to it myself.” Thorn reached out to lay a hand on his arm.
With a harsh flick, Arthur shook him off. “The locked door matters not.”
“But, Arthur…” Thorn reached for him again.
“Go sit down.” He pointed to one of the leather armchairs on the other side of his desk. Thorn’s proximity alone added to the noxious mixture of frustration and panic. The musky scent of arousal clung to him, a constant reminder of what they had just done.
A nod, and Thorn turned on his heel. He sat in the closest chair, limbs sprawled in casual disregard. Above the frustration and distinct note of panic lingering in Arthur’s veins resided disappointment. He had thought Thorn’s reckless days behind him, but apparently not. How could the man ignore such a risk? Might not be much of a risk to Thorn, who had the weight of his wealthy father’s title behind him, but the mere suspicion of sodomy would lose Arthur every single client. He had explained that once before. Did he have to bar Thorn from his office? Hell, he didn’t want to. He looked forward to the man’s afternoon visits, those little breaks in the seemingly endless days. Well, he used to look forward to them. Now he wasn’t at all certain he could trust him.
“You gave me your word.” I will be the very image of a proper gentleman. Thorn’s vow from three months ago echoed in his head.
His glare was lost on Thorn. Chin tipped down, Thorn tugged on one of his pristine white shirt cuffs, straightening it beneath his black coat. His upper lip curled slightly, defiance etched in the line of his shoulders. “And I have kept it. The door is locked. It’s only the two of us.”
He gaped at Thorn. And that made it acceptable? “Have you no common sense?”
Thorn’s fingers stilled. His features blanked, without a hint of expression, any trace of defiance long gone.
“I’m sorry, Arthur.” The low words were almost lost in the muffled snap of a drawer closing from the other room. He flicked his gaze up at Arthur through his dark lashes, then went back to toying with his shirt cuff. It had barely been a glance, a mere instant, yet the vulnerability, the true hurt in those gray eyes, gave Arthur pause.
He dragged a hand across the back of his neck and let out a heavy sigh. The frustration drained out of him. Ah hell. Thorn wasn’t an adolescent. He shouldn’t speak to him as if he was one. The man had simply been himself. Wicked and sinful and tempting as all hell when they were behind closed doors. And Arthur couldn’t help but admit that, technically, Thorn had kept his word.
“You don’t need to apologize. I’m the arse.”
Thorn shook his head. “No, you’re correct. I should have been more discreet.” He gave his cuff a final tug, then dropped his hand to his lap. He opened his mouth, shut it for a moment, and then asked, “Did you enjoy it?”
What was almost the start of a chuckle shook his chest. “Of that you should have no doubt.”
One edge of Thorn’s mouth lifted, finally breaking that melancholy line.
Arthur tapped the edge of the document on his desk, straightening it. A contract to lease a property. Mundane and boring, just like himself. Was Thorn getting bored with him? They didn’t do much of anything besides meet at Thorn’s town house or Arthur’s bachelor apartments. Not three months ago, Thorn had led a very different life. From what Arthur knew, or rather what he’d overheard, Thorn used to rarely spend an evening at home. Could that be the source of his…restlessness of late?
He studied the man across from him. Wavy midnight-black hair fell over his brow. His aristocratic heritage marked every feature. Even with Thorn sprawled in the chair, his perfectly tailored black coat still managed to highlight the sleek lines of his body. He was a creature of London, elegant and beautiful. And Arthur had been practically keeping him locked in the house.
He would admit to some initial hesitation as to Thorn’s ability to comport himself in the manner of a gentleman and not like the debauched rakehell he had once been, but except for the afternoon’s incident, the man had given Arthur no cause to doubt him.
That little concern placated, he asked, “Would you like to perhaps go out tonight?”
Thorn’s gaze snapped up to meet his. “Out?”
“Yes, like to the theatre or…” Not a gambling hell. Definitely not that. He wanted to spend an evening out with Thorn, not tempt him with an old vice. “Perhaps supper at White’s?”
“My uncle is hosting a supper party.”
That might do, and he could easily explain his friendship with Thorn—they were of the same age, had known each other since Arthur worked for his uncle, who had been Thorn’s father’s solicitor, and he even considered himself Thorn’s own solicitor, since he had looked over a document pertaining to one of the man’s investments a couple of months ago. “When?”
“Tonight. Nothing extravagant. He sent an invitation a while back. Don’t believe I ever sent my regrets. We could attend, if you would like.”
Arthur nodded and added a smile. A supper party with some family and acquaintances could be just the thing for Thorn, and it would not hurt Arthur to get out every once in a while. He began to wonder why Thorn had not mentioned the invitation before now, but a knock sounded on his door.
Thorn stood and flicked his fingers toward the door. “I’ll unlock it. Fenton likely needs something or other. And I should be on my way. Will you be home by seven?”
He nodded and made a mental note to inform Wilson he needed to depart by half past six tonight.
“I’ll be by then to pick you up.” With that, Thorn turned from the desk.
Arthur picked up his pen, forced his attention to the contract before him and did his best to ignore the lingering scent of spilled seed that seemed to hang in the air.