CHAPTER 10

 

 

The Ring

 

 

Maurice came back after dark the next evening. He looked flushed and heated, as if he had been exercising hard.

“Maurice, what have you been up to?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t say that,” I replied, exasperated. “Promise me you won’t get into trouble.”

“Or?” he asked challengingly. I could see he was irritated by my complaints.

“Or your bed will be cold tonight.”

Maurice laughed. In fact, he laughed so hard he doubled over. “You? Deny yourself sex? You’re a nineteen-year-old male. Impossible.”

“Nonsense,” I retorted with heat. Well, maybe it would be difficult, but I was determined.

Maurice wore a smug, broad grin. “I’ll make you break that vow. In just ten minutes, mind you.”

“Go ahead and try,” I riposted.

He watched me for a moment, still smiling, and looked about the flat as if searching for ideas. “Ten minutes,” he repeated. He removed his pocket watch and set it on our dining table. “It’s 7:34 pm.”

I crossed my arms and turned away to avoid his eyes. My ears caught the rumble of a window opening. I peeked and saw him leaning his elbows on the sill.

“Do you want to know what’s happening in the street?”

Suspicious, I replied, “What?”

“Garrett’s entered a carriage.”

“Oh?” I asked in a bored manner.

“And he’s not bothered to close the carriage’s window curtains. I don’t think any passerby could see in, but from this angle the street lamp gives you a view of Garrett’s shoulder and the trousers of his client.”

“You’re making this up.”

“No, I’m not. Come look. You know how Garrett earns a living.”

I sensed the danger to my willpower and refused to move.

“Garrett’s taking a moment to stroke the mark’s hair. My, my, he looks familiar.”

“Who?” I asked, unable to suppress my curiosity.

“The client appears to be a certain member of Parliament.”

“Ridiculous. You’re not tricking me into looking out that window.”

“Strange. Garrett’s unknotting the client’s tie and sliding it slowly off his collar, hand over hand. The mark is staring stupidly. Garrett’s pushing the man’s arm upwards, and the mark’s reached up to undo his own collar buttons in something like hypnotized obedience. Now Garrett’s blinding the mark’s eyes with the tie.” Maurice snapped his fingers. “There’s a thought.”

“You’re not luring me over there,” I repeated sternly.

“He’s holding the mark’s neck in his hands, stroking the throat with his thumbs. Out comes the mark’s shirt from his waist, and, oh blast, Garrett’s head is going under. Must he hide? I’m going to be disappointed if I don’t see anything. What is he doing? Are the trousers being pulled down? Oh, he’s turning, the mark’s got his face in the cushions. What?! Garrett’s arm is out the window, signaling to the coachman, for--the whip?!”

“I don’t believe you!”

“Come and look,” Maurice insisted.

“I’m not moving, and I still don’t believe you.”

“All right. I lied.”

Complacently, Maurice watched from the window. He stayed silent.

Irritated, I asked, “What’s happening?”

“As for inside, I’m not telling you. But the coach is rocking like a ship in a storm, and the horses are tossing their heads and snorting. That poor fellow on the box is going up and down as if his head’s about to snap off.”

“You’re lying!” I cried indignantly.

“No! Not this time,” Maurice laughed. “Come over and see. People are gawking at the carriage like it’s about to wreck on the shoals.”

I almost gave in to temptation, but managed to hold my ground.

“Oh,” said Maurice in a long drawn-out voice. He whistled. “Look at that.”

The luscious sound of his baritone went right through my body. Despite myself, I turned towards the window. Maurice was leaning out even more. “Did he just--?”

I gave in and joined Maurice. There was no rocking carriage, so that must have been a lie, too. But I saw a man’s lap facing upwards, his genitals wet, and--

--blood dripping onto them from approximately where Garrett’s mouth was. The mark’s hands were spasming. I saw a glint of a silver watch as Garrett unclipped it from the mark’s shirt front and pocketed it.

“Not very nice,” I said.

“Probably a souvenir.”

A man’s voice came sobbing from a distance, and it was shocking to hear. Grown men don’t usually cry like that.

Garrett stepped out of the carriage. Suddenly, Maurice leaned farther. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked in amazement.

“What?”

Garrett seemed to be holding some small bloody object in his hand. He raised it to his mouth and appeared to be sucking on it the way one does a lemon. Before I could inspect this strangeness further, Maurice seized my shoulder and pulled me back inside.

“That’s enough for today,” he said. He took one more glance out the window, and I saw a peculiar expression cross his face, half-fascinated and half-disturbed.

“What did you see?”

He shook his head, then studied me. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

He placed the back of his hand between my legs and brushed his knuckles against the swelling there. “Eight minutes, thirty-two seconds.”

I made no reply, though my lips parted. It’s better to say nothing when one has lost such a quarrel.

“Wait,” he murmured. He drew away and turned off the gas jet, leaving us in darkness. The cool evening air was blowing in from the open window. He locked the door and took his time about it.

When he returned, we grabbed each other, sliding our bodies together with the muffled, dry rasp of clothing. I undid his shirt buttons with impatient jerks of my wrist. Neither of us spoke. We shifted, and I pushed him against the wall by the window. Maurice has a beautiful chest, so many undulations of muscle over the firm ribs; the nipples, the line of fine blonde hairs from his navel to his groin. I nuzzled his skin down to his heavy leather belt and felt his steady heartbeat under my lips. After undoing the belt, I tossed it to the floor and slid his trousers and underclothes down his legs. He was erect. I placed a single touch of my tongue against his ready tip and rotated his torso until he was facing the wall.

“No,” he whispered, a soft sigh of hunger and complaint.

“Yes,” I said. “This way.”

He made no reply, other than to step out of his trousers and underclothes. Then he moved his knee aside and rested his forehand against the wall. He had given in and was waiting for me.

I pulled his hips to mine, having already lowered my own trousers. He sucked in his breath. Maurice likes this occasionally. He never complains about the pain of it, moist or dry.

I could feel his subtle dread and relished it. My hand stroked his back under his dangling shirt.

“Ready?” I said.

“No.”

“Good.”

He snorted. “Greedy, slavering peasant. Must you?”

“Yes,” I whispered against his hair.

Just then, I glanced out the window and saw Garrett staring straight into my eyes.

Something happened, and I don’t remember--

I shoved in hard, taking Maurice roughly.

He hit the wall. I slammed him against it over and over, great lurching blows, shaking his entire body. I could see the window-frame quiver under the pummeling, and one of the glass panes cracked when Maurice’s shoulder struck it. All the world was lusciously tight around one single part of myself, which screamed the demands of a madman.

I felt dizzy, the blood flowing into my eyeballs. Then I opened my eyes, unaware I’d had them closed, and vaguely saw Garrett’s face through the window again.

His lips were bloody.

--what was I--

Through a fog, I became aware that my jerking silhouette was cast on the far wall by the street lamp, my body pumping crudely into its prey. I tried to shut the window, then found I didn’t care. My sweat had broken out--how long had I been doing this? I’d lost all track of myself--and rivulets were trickling down the sides of my nose, wetting my lashes, going into my eyes with an angry burn. I wanted to bite, over and over, tearing into Maurice’s back, gnawing--

With one last effort of will, I locked my jaws shut, refusing to hurt my lover that way.

A shame. You’ve failed the test. Your turn now, Garrett mouthed up at me.

I pushed out of Maurice and tried to shove him down on the bed, but he used a wrestler’s trick and tossed me, so that I landed on my hands and knees. Two thumbs dug into the skin just above my thighs, opened a path, and I had only enough time to cry out before he was completely inside. He was keyed up beyond all sanity, in the mood for revenge from my hard usage. I gave a howl of pain, but Maurice ignored this and began to thrust hard, and his thrusts hurt.

He bit deeply into my back, cutting the skin next to the point of my left shoulder blade. I cried out again, but he didn’t stop. His hands grabbed my hips to hold me in place and he began to bite me repeatedly, moving from spot to spot. I could feel him breaking the skin and the ooze of blood.

“Maurice!” I cried out warningly. This would usually bring him to a halt, but not this time. “Stop,” I pleaded. He ignored me. He pulled out and turned me over, and his teeth went for my throat, moving to my jaw, ears, and nipples. He ignored my wounded cries as he shed my blood.

--I don’t know what happened next, but Maurice--I began to hurt even more . . . .

I seemed to emerge from a haze. Our clothes were scattered all over the room, and our sheets were torn to shredded strips, knotted and ripped. The mattress was sliding off the bed with our thrusting bodies riding it to the floor, my heels digging into his back. We were bruised, cut, and battered. The mattress was spotted with blood. I was sick, completely crazed with a tide of animal lust. We’d had rough sex before, but never like this.

I was burning with so much pain from his bites that I felt like I’d been whipped, and my skin was sticky with bloody splotches. Maurice’s fist was closed tightly around his leather belt, and its silver buckle was spattered crimson.

The sight of his eyes froze me. There was no sanity in them, just a mindless stare of a hungry beast, a stare that looked into nothing.

“Drop it,” I said urgently, nudging the hand with the belt.

Beg me, a voice seemed to whisper in my mind.

“Maurice! Let it go.”

“Beg me,” Maurice said aloud. He was staring into space, squeezing the belt so tightly it shook with his suppressed eagerness. Slowly, he raised the belt to his lips and mouthed the silver buckle, tasting the metallic flavor of my blood. He shut his eyes and gave a low, fevered moan, and swallowed hard.

“Maurice, what the hell are you doing?!” I said in my most sarcastic voice.

Something like normal consciousness began to trickle back into his face. His hand opened and the belt fell to the floor. He slid out of me and there was blood on him. He paid no attention to it. The trance-like look faded from his eyes, and he noticed my soggy bites and lacerations with wonder.

“I did this,” he said with dulled amazement, stroking one of my wounds with a trembling finger. “God help me, Seth. I want to hurt you again.” He glanced aside at the belt with horrified fascination and shuddered. Then he thrust his tongue deeply into my mouth, kissing me hard.

I pushed him away and grabbed his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me.

“Maurice, the next time you become violent without my permission, I’ll punch you so hard you’ll bounce off the ceiling. Do you understand?” Angrily, I turned over on my side. I could feel him watching me in the dark. He rested his chin against my shoulder, studying the silent motions of my lips as I mouthed curses at myself. His face formed a question, and then he felt between my legs. “Aha,” he said, and I could hear the grin in his voice, “the mystery is solved.”

Every gland I possessed was swollen to its most rabid fulsomeness, ready to burst from denial.

“You liked it,” he said into my hair.

“No!”

“Yes, you did. Get on your knees.”

“No, dammit.”

“Don’t you want to know what I’ll do next?” His voice sounded strange, as if someone else were speaking.

“Maurice, I’m warning you.”

“Do you?” he repeated.

I hesitated.

“Yes!”

He pulled me into position.

I let out an animal noise of fear and lust as his teeth dug into me, followed by the painful spread of his cock.

 

 

The next morning, I walked to Mr. Phillips’ shop with slow, painful steps. I ached as if I’d been in a brawl.

Someone laughed.

“Did you have a pleasant night?”

I ignored the comment and started to crank the awnings in front of the shop in preparation for opening. Garrett’s eyes were half-lidded, lazy and unwholesome as they studied me. My shoulders crept up as if I had attracted the attention of a hungry panther.

“Or was it a little different from what you’re used to?”

An odd suspicion crossed my mind. No. That’s irrational, I thought.

“How do you like him now?”

“Shut up,” I snapped. “We are none of your business.”

His eyes narrowed in annoyance. “You will be making yourself my business through your own idiocy. Savor these last hours with your lover. They’ll be ending soon.”

I stopped cranking.

 

 

Clara and I finished making our plans. We would not be able to travel out together, but she would arrange for a hansom to let her off at the graveyard, since it was a place both our cabmen could find, and from there she would lead us to Ravenshaw’s park. I agreed, wondering in an idle way why graveyards always seemed to be the places chosen for my assignations.

Maurice and I spent much of that night engaged in illegal congress, as the law calls it, but this time we were more tender, our bodies apologizing to each other for the violence of last night with dreamy slowness and feathery touches. Eventually, our blood cooled and the madness left us, and we lay chest to chest in our sweat, resting.

I was on top of Maurice. His hands tickled up my backbone and slid around my flanks, then held me for a long moment as we gazed at one another, our eyes meeting with drowsy contentment.

He reached over the side of the bed to lift the topcoat he had been wearing earlier and felt inside a pocket. Because of our position, he had to do this awkwardly behind my back. One of the coat sleeves fell against my face, and I noticed the cloth smelled musty, as if Maurice had been somewhere old and damp.

He let the coat drop to the floor. His arms were still around me, hiding something behind my back.

“What do you have?” I asked in a sleepy voice.

“Something.”

Maurice can be a perfect arse sometimes. In more ways than one.

“Something what?”

“Something I was wondering if you would accept.”

“Let’s see it.”

Maurice tucked the object into my hand, and I lifted to see it better. It’s amazing how a teasing breath blown along a sweaty chest can give you a chill. I lay back down.

A ring of amber lay in my palm. It was smooth as glass and had obviously been polished with great care.

“Look closely.”

I did. The ring held several tiny brown specks, ancient flies that had died in the amber. The maker of the ring had gone to much trouble to preserve them in their eternal flight. I could see why the ring appealed to Maurice. Indeed, it sort of appealed to me.

“Where did you get this?”

“I found it.”

I lifted my chin so I could look at him. Found?

“Where?”

“In an abandoned manor.”

“Maurice! You didn’t! Ravenshaw’s place? You promised me you wouldn’t break into houses anymore.” I sat up.

“Stop fretting. I don’t think he even lives there. The manor’s falling into ruins, and I didn’t see a single person. Sheets cover most of the furniture and what isn’t covered is thick with dust. I found this ring inside a chest filled with coins and jewelry and other sorts of precious items, though this was the only thing I took.”

Nonsense. A treasure chest straight from a child’s fable? No, Maurice was joking. He had purchased the ring in a shop somewhere.

“Will you accept it?” he asked.

“All right. I think I like it.” The symbolism of the flies trapped in amber had not escaped me, but I admired morbid things. I slid the band on the index finger of my right hand. It fit perfectly.

Maurice and I exchanged looks. Neither of us said the words ‘wedding ring’ aloud, but I knew the thought was in both our minds. Murmuring affectionate nonsense--I know not what--I fed his mouth airy, tonguing kisses, then lay back down to enjoy the cool breeze of the night stroking up our tangled legs. We’d left the window open so our hot skin could soak up the refreshing chill.

“You’ve finally learned how to be affectionate,” he commented. “I thought it would take forever.”

“Hm?”

“Nevermind. I’m just happy I’ve been able to ride the wild stallion of your moods.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“So I am.”

On the edge of sleep, I heard a soft noise outside and rose to see what it was. The sill of the window frame came to just above my knees, and for a moment, I forgot that my nudity would be on full display to anyone in the street.

Something flapped outside. I supposed it to be a pigeon and started to close the window, but was interrupted by a voice.

“Had your fill?” a voice called, faint and distant. Garrett was staring in my direction. He tilted his head back against his lamppost and smiled up at me. Then he licked his lips, and his hungry eyes sent an icy pulse through my stomach.

At the sight of him, I felt an odd, almost virginal fear. Hurriedly, I covered my genitals with a hand. Red blotches were still visible all over my body from the previous night.

Garrett’s eyes roamed with an eager, unwholesome interest. A blush flooded into my face, and I felt ashamed of my barbaric markings. I stepped away from the window and shut it, then drew the curtain across.

“Showing yourself off to Garrett?” said Maurice as I reached the bed.

“No.”

“Yes, you were,” he said flatly. “You’re excited by him and by the thought of what he does. You know what he did to that bloke in the carriage the other day?”

He snatched at my genitals and kneaded them with a savage urgency. “He bit around the man’s foreskin and tore it away in his teeth.”

I made a scoffing noise, then a broken gasp. I climbed on so I was straddling Maurice, kneeling over his torso. “You’re making it up. By the way, you’re attracted to him, too, Mr. Fitzpons,” I snapped as I began to thrust into his hands.

“We are discussing yourself, Mr. Keane. You want to betray me, and I must forestall that as long as possible.” His eyes stared up at me in accusation. This time, he sounded grim.

My face dropped to his. “I will not!” I cried. For a moment, I wanted to weep, because I could still see Garrett’s lustful face. “By this ring, I swear.”

“But what if I’m dead?”

Barbaric sounds left my throat as my body pistoned into his hands. “Nonsense. You--won’t--die.”