Chapter Twenty-nine

Demand? Carne couldn’t very well argue with that, nor would he want to. But the kettle on the stove was shrieking, and he had to break away long enough to set it off to one side before returning to Phillip.

“You’re limping, and your face is pale as milk.” Phillip placed a hand on Carne’s waist and brushed back his hair to look into his eyes. “Exhausted, my poor lad. You must come to bed now and let me kiss away the pain from your bruises.”

Carne felt suddenly weak and very willing to allow Phillip to tend to him as if he were an invalid. He was lucky to have sustained no more than scrapes and bangs from the boat wreck. He could easily have drowned like poor Billy Crowder, whose funeral was to be held the following day.

“I feel guilty,” he muttered as Phillip took his hand and led him into the bedroom.

Bright gray eyes regarded him. “For having feelings for a man? This is a huge change in your life. If you need more time to get used to it or want to—”

“No,” Carne interrupted. “I feel guilty for being so happy when an old friend has died. I feel guilty for being alive. I shouldn’t have brought on that last crate. It made us ride that much lower in the water. And I should have been more careful steering around those rocks. If I’d only grabbed hold of Billy, I might have been able to save him.”

“You were lucky to even save yourself, and I believe both of you made the decision as to how much cargo to take on. The pair of you rowed together. It was no one’s fault but the sea’s that you survived and he didn’t.” Phillip unbuttoned Carne’s shirt and helped him out of it, clicking his tongue at the rash of bruises all over his torso. “I’m sorry for the loss of your friend, but I can only be grateful you were spared.”

He took hold of Carne’s shoulders and peered into his face. “You must stop blaming yourself. You are not responsible for controlling the world or the people around you.” Phillip raised his brows, silently asking if Carne understood his other meaning—that the village would get by with or without his guidance.

In that moment, he had the odd feeling of a great weight slipping from him. For so long, he’d imagined himself indispensable to his community. Today, watching Trennick take control of the meeting, Carne had realized he could leave and they would carry on just fine without him. A tension he didn’t even know he’d held for so long loosened and relaxed. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Phillip’s hands gently stroked his torso before beginning to unfasten his trousers, making a different sort of tension build.

After Phillip had stripped him naked, he gently pushed him onto the bed. Carne’s cock, the only part of him still rigid and tense, thrust upward. He recalled the thrill of thrusting into Phillip’s rear on the deck of his boat and wanted to feel that again.

But Phillip had other plans for him. “You lie still and let me do everything.”

Hands—running up and down his body bringing comfort and pleasure, smoothing away every ache and pain. Lips—warm and soft, nuzzling gently over his skin. Voice—quietly cooing and sympathizing over every cut or bruise. Carne closed his eyes and felt Phillip’s caring spread over him like a protective blanket. This was bliss and utter contentment. But no, there was even more to come when Phillip grasped his shaft and began to move up and down its length, and when his lover’s mouth engulfed him in heat, wetness, and hard suction.

Carne rose and fell with the rhythm of it, riding each wave of pleasure like a boat bobbing lightly on calm seas. His near brush with death—twice in as many days if he were to count the cave-in—made him appreciate this vivid affirmation of life. His senses were alive and responded dramatically to Phillip’s slightest touch. His emotions were open as they’d never been before and plumbed greater depth as he allowed himself to fully experience love in every way.

Swifter than Carne had intended or thought possible, Phillip’s sucking and stroking drew him upward to the pinnacle of desire. Then, with a gentle nudge, Phillip pushed him over the edge, and he tumbled down, lightly yet powerfully too. Carne’s entire body clenched hard before letting loose. With his cock deep in Phillip’s throat, he spent and emitted a low groan of pleasure.

When the last glimmer had died away, he opened his eyes to regard Phillip wiping his mouth and giving Carne a smug smile before crawling up to lie beside him. “Did that help you to feel better?” he teased.

“You’ve healed me entirely.” Carne brushed the backs of his fingers against Phillip’s cheek, still smooth from the morning’s shave. He wondered idly how long it might take Phillip to develop a beard if he tried and what that might feel like when they kissed.

“Oh no, there’s that frown again. What are you worrying about now?” Carne’s professor asked.

“Not one blessed thing. I’m just imagining you with a beard or moustache.”

“Would you like that? Because I must tell you, it’s not a pretty sight when I attempt to grow facial hair, rather like a cat with mange. It comes in all sparse and patchy.” Phillip’s broad smile was a sunrise.

Carne matched it with a sunny smile of his own. “I believe I’d like to see that. And then perhaps shave you myself. That could be quite…stirring, I think.”

Phillip lay back on the pillows. “There are oh so many things we may try together, things to see, people to meet, places to go, and stories to write about them.” He flexed his muscles luxuriously, hard enough to make his joints crack, and again he smiled at Carne. “Magical adventures to have together. But none of them as great as the story that began here in Par Gwynear. I would never have imagined when I tripped and knocked over a menhir that it would trigger good luck rather than bad, bringing a handsome man striding into my life to seize control of my heart.”

Carne’s face burned at the dramatic description, and a matching glow ignited inside him. He wished he had Phillip’s way with words, his romantic streak with its vivid descriptions. But whether Carne returned the compliment or not, he certainly felt the same.

What he said was much plainer. “You knocked over one of the standing stones? They’ve stood since the dawn of man. They’re part of the very history of this place.”

Phillip winced. “Did I say knocked over? I meant knocked into. But anyway, isn’t it the nature of things to shift and change over time? Even a rock must eventually break loose and roll downhill. Ha. Do you know the stories of giants who defend the land?”

“Yes. I know ’em.” Carne leaned to press a swift, fierce kiss to the professor’s mouth and thought something fanciful he would never dream of saying aloud. The rocks that lay off just off shore had inspired the myths of giants—and at this very moment, Carne felt as grand and important as any Gog or Magog or Corin. Even a giant made of stone must eventually wake from his ten-thousand-year sleep, shake the layers of soil and moss from his frame, stretch hard, and reach toward the sun.