High color inflamed his face. Shoulders tense, feet spread shoulder width apart, he’d buckled down, preparing for a fight.
Wentworth wanted none of that, so he changed the subject to mundane things. Eventually, his stiff demeanor eased, but when Wentworth suggested playing a game of chess, Jonathan declined.
The next day the lieutenant was gone.
✥ ✥ ✥
Wentworth poured himself another brandy and watched the flames hungrily consume wood. He took a sip, but the smooth oaky taste did not blunt the dragon’s teeth gnawing on his gut.
He watched the flames as he folded the paper again and again, pressing the seams tightly and cleanly as he had been taught years ago.
Despite the warm evening and the sweat running between his shoulder blades, the fire was not yet hot enough for what he intended. It required another log. He rose, limbs stiff from an hour’s inactivity. Jonathan had been gone and forgotten for two weeks, yet the man was paramount in his thoughts today.
He addressed Gabriel’s portrait. “I really would like some suggestion as to how to proceed. This is new territory for me, brother.”
After placing a very large log on the flames, he poured his third brandy. He planned on getting drunk enough to numb the dragon’s bite.
He took a swallow.
Finally, the fire boiled with heat.
He finished the last few seams. Creasing the paper, he remembered performing these movements before, only before his motions were guided by dark, callused, knowledgeable fingers.
This time he folded alone.
In the end, he had to scrape off a bit of cheap wax that at one time sealed the missive, which arrived in the day’s post. The irony lay in the fact that when he received the letter, his trunks were already packed for his trip to London—he’d planned to leave early and try once more to convince Hector they could work things out. Only an hour ago, the letter arrived and changed everything, yet for some reason, he could not stop thinking about one spectacular evening.
✥ ✥ ✥
Autumn 1806, London
The dinner party at Wentworth’s town house had been a success. With the late hour the guests were gone, except for Hector. They sipped their port in the dark, candlelit study, both having loosened their cravats and unbuttoned a few buttons.
“Refill?” Hector asked, walking toward Wentworth’s chair. Hell, his crotch was at eye level, and Wentworth could see which way he dressed.
Then he rested his hand on Wentworth’s shoulder, seemingly with camaraderie. He gripped Hector’s masculine hand—a strong hand, rough and calloused—and a surge of sensual energy zipped through Wentworth’s every pore. He might have moaned. Unlikely, but it was possible.
Over the past few weeks since their reintroduction at the party, they had managed to find similar events in which they shared an interest, and every time they met, one or both of them had made sure to brush against the other or share a brief touch.
He did not imagine the attraction. Hector shared his interest.
Wentworth would play the role of seducer tonight but would need to go gently. Hector had such an air of innocence, Wentworth was convinced he’d never been with a man before. He exhibited too much nervousness and shyness to have any experience.
Raising Hector’s exquisite hand to his mouth, he placed one gentle kiss on his palm. The skin smelled wonderful, sunshine and male, not perfumed and insipid like so many fops he knew.
Hector inhaled a slow, wavering breath, closed his eyes, and leaned against the chair for support. His erection touched Wentworth’s arm. An accident, for certain, because Hector pulled away at once, but not before Wentworth sported an answering cock stand.
He pulled at Hector’s hand and urged him to walk to the front of the chair. Hands still entwined, staring into his eyes, heart pounding, he pulled Hector slowly down for a soft, sweet kiss. Lips only, no teeth.
The smell of arousal hit his senses, along with starch and sweat. “God…heaven.”
It was so unlike him to lose his reserved sarcasm, but with heart racing, his nerves on fire, wondering if this were real or a dream, he leaned back. He was afraid to break contact in case the dream evaporated like a land mirage at sea, while at the same time he assessed the real risk of someone walking in on them. “Lock the door, Hector.”
The young man broke contact immediately, as if burned.
Would he run now that he’d come to his senses? Would he leave and never return?
Hector shook himself, as if the sensations were too intense. Looking at the floor, he walked to the door and hesitated. He reached for the knob, pressing his head against the wood, rolling it side to side.
Had the boy decided to leave? Would there be no seduction? Wentworth stood, unsure what to do. “Hector?” His voice was an octave lower than planned, choked with regret, desire.
Hector turned slowly and looked him up, then down. “God, you’re perfect.” He swallowed audibly. He almost took a step toward Wentworth. Almost, but then he put his foot back in place.
When Hector didn’t move, Wentworth raised one hand, palm up. He would not force him to decide—since this certainly was his first time—but he would encourage him to decide in favor of pleasure, desire, and companionship.
Before he had a chance to speak, Hector locked the door, sealing their fate.
Hector went to him, mouth slightly open, pulse jumping in his throat.
Taking the last step to bring them together, Wentworth drank in his radiant gaze, the lustful expression, the trust. He rubbed his thumb across the side of Hector’s firm, wide mouth.
What a sight. His shaking thumb on that beautiful, irresistible mouth. His heart jumped around in his chest and his whole body trembled. He lowered his head—God and the devil couldn’t have stopped him at this point—and kissed soft lips.
Holy Mother, he was inflamed. He trailed a touch along a firm back to an equally firm arse, and slowly, as if taming a wild animal, brought their crotches together. Hector flexed his hips, sending the most enjoyable friction against his cock. He sucked in a breath, ready to come, just like that. How embarrassing.
“We must slow down, my lusty young man.” He backed off and laughed. “There is much better yet to come than a quick rut, fully clothed.”
Taking Hector’s hand, he rubbed it along the front of his breeches. At the exquisite pressure, he gritted his teeth, put his head back, and gasped for breath. He might not be able to last for “more to come.”
Backing away from the fine touch, he led Hector to the carpet near the fireplace. Not caring about ruining his own tailored clothing, he reclined on the lush carpet and once again raised a beckoning hand.
Hector swallowed, took the offering, and with shy, slow movements lay down next to Wentworth as though he were about to lie next to sin itself. He sat with one leg under his arse, the other crooked in his circled arm. Committed, perhaps, but not completely.
Wentworth smiled. Good. Committed is enough for now. I can convince him. Leaning forward, he touched Hector’s cheek. Dark evening stubble marred the smooth skin underneath. He stared into eyes turned black in the dimly lit room. Hector’s muscles were tense, quivering ever so slightly under Wentworth’s touch. “Hector, my dear, we can stop at any time. You realize, do you not?”
Nodding, he pressed his cheek into Wentworth’s hand, and that meant there would be no stopping.
With his heart thumping triple time, he touched his lips to Hector’s. They were warm, firm.
He ran his tongue along Hector’s perfect lips, enticing them open before he drove in. Gasping, he inhaled Hector’s scent. Fresh and clean like the outdoors, the country…No, not quite right. More like spring. His breath momentarily transported Wentworth to a sun-warmed glade where the two of them sat in lush grass, kissing and touching.
Hector moved into the kiss, and Wentworth snapped back to the study. He pulled away—almost, but not truly, startled. Fire warmed his back, and Hector looked half debauched already—his
eyes closed, mouth open, leaning even farther until Wentworth closed the gap and kissed the lovely lad again.
He lay Hector upon the carpet and brought their chests together.
Sighing, Hector seized his shoulders and tentatively tasted Wentworth’s mouth.
With a surge of near giddiness he had not felt in years, Wentworth sucked on Hector’s invading tongue and ran his hand along his chest, abdomen, thigh, and then, with his fingertips, he sampled the size of Hector’s cock stand.
Hector arched off the floor.
Unable to resist such a long, hard, eager cock, Wentworth rubbed his hand along the cloth-covered shaft. “Hector. God, I need you. Right now, need…” He bit the side of his cheek hard and shoved his own erection against the floor to slow his imminent climax. After several shallow breaths, he continued. “I will remove your trousers. Is this acceptable?”
Hector nodded frantically and kicked off his shoes, then lifted his arse so Wentworth could divest him of trousers and smalls. They even took the time to remove his socks.
Good God, Hector was spectacular—lean, sculpted muscles, sparse body hair, and a long, jutting cock leaking at the tip. Nearly drooling for a taste of that prick, Wentworth closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. He would not scare Hector. He would take this slowly. “I plan to touch you…with my hand and then my mouth. Will you allow this attention?”
With wide-open eyes, Hector opened his mouth, closed it, then nodded.
Damn, when had Hector lost his tongue? Not a visit went by without his delightful digressions. Now he had no words at all.
Wentworth chuckled, and to buy himself time to put his desire on simmer instead of fast boil, he stood and slowly removed his clothing. Hector watched every move of his hand, every slip of clothing until those guileless eyes fastened on Wentworth’s raging stand. He swallowed audibly and finally found his tongue. “May…May I…touch…” He looked into Wentworth’s eyes, his expression one of pure amazement. “I want you to do everything you just mentioned, and I want to do them to you as well.”
Wentworth shivered at the thought of the young man’s hands and mouth all over his body. “Take off the rest of your clothing, my dear. We have important things to get to.”
Within moments, they were both stripped to bare skin, and Wentworth lay atop him. Kissing that sweet, sweet mouth, he flexed his hips and rubbed his cock against Hector’s. The lad stopped kissing, mouth lax and body arching up to meet Wentworth’s assault.
Wentworth pulled off—too close—and he realized Hector was only seconds away from climax. Afraid there was no stopping the desire set in motion, he set his mouth and fist to work on the virgin’s member, and seconds later had the satisfying tang of spend in his mouth and the ecstatic writhing of rapture beneath him.
And then Hector’s reticence broke. “Oh God. Oh, my mother and God and of all…Now…Now…Yes…you are spectacular. I…I…May we do that again? God, yes. So good. I must say that was the most…Mmm! Yes. Yes. Wentworth!” Hector opened his eyes, still writhing, and speared Wentworth with a sleepy, wanton gaze. “I want more.”
Wentworth’s heart nearly burst with delight. Never had he relished such a pleasure in his bed—well, floor actually, but same thing.
“We can do anything you wish. Would you like me to fuck you?”
“Oh God.” Hector choked, coughed, and cleared his throat. “Yes. Now? Is it possible to do it now? Here? On the floor?”
“My dear, it is very possible that we will indeed do so.” He grabbed the sleeve of his coat splayed on the floor a few feet to the right and dragged it to them. He had come prepared for their after-dinner port, knowing any disruption from his seduction might scare Hector away. He plucked the ampule of unscented oil from the coat pocket and popped the cork. Spreading oil on his prick and slicking his fingers, he reclined over Hector’s trembling body and kissed those expressive lips. Hector levered himself from the floor to meet him inch for inch, wrapping strong fingers around Wentworth’s neck, keeping them pinned together.
“Have you ever?” Wentworth knew the answer as his oil-slicked fingers touched Hector’s entrance.
The man jumped and slowly shook his head. “Never wanted to. Not enough to…well, take the risk.”
“You want it now,” Wentworth said as he slid one digit into Hector’s tight hole.
Hector whispered, “More than breath itself.”
And that was good. So very, very good. Because he could not have stopped himself if his own life stood in the balance.
“My dear. My sweet, sweet dear.” He slipped in a second finger, and Hector clamped then released.
“Wentworth. I love…love y— This. I love this.”
The tightening clench around Wentworth’s chest was nearly suffocating. “Me as well, dear, dear Hector.”
Unsure where these strange, overwhelming emotions stemmed from, Wentworth used action to cover his sudden trepidation. He pushed in another finger and then another, Hector’s muscles again tightening and releasing with each invasion. He crooked his fingers to find the spot that would release Hector’s tension, and when he hit the target, his lover arched up and shouted.
“Wentworth. Fuck me. Goddamn, now. Fuck me into the floor. I need…need something. Help me.” He punched the floor with his balled fists.
And Wentworth gave him what he wanted. Gently pulling out of Hector’s body, he used his slick hand to guide his cock to Hector’s stretched entrance and pushed just a little, giving him time to change his mind. He did not. In fact, he pushed against the invading cock until the head began to slip inside.
Wentworth pushed Hector to the floor with a hand to his stomach. “Wait, you really must go slowly, or the first time will be painful.”
Dark eyes watched his every word, his every move.
“I need something, and I cannot wait. Do something now, or I fear I might perish.”
Wentworth chuckled and pushed against the tight circle of muscles. “You, my dear one, will survive. Of that I am certain.” He pushed again, and this time the head of his cock slipped past the ring of tight muscle.
Hector gasped, and a torrent of prickly desire surged through Wentworth’s body to the point he could no longer think. He rushed forward, and Hector cried out. He forced himself to stop, and it was the most difficult thing he had ever done. “Hector. I’m so sorry. Are you hurt? Damn, I hurt you.”
Hector lay on his back, panting.
Damnation, he should have known he was too inept to take a virgin. Heavens knew the one and only other time had been a near disaster, so why did he feel competent to do so now?
“Relax, and I will slip out carefully. We do not have to continue.”
But Hector reared up, clasping Wentworth’s arse cheeks as he did so, and seated himself on Wentworth’s rod.
“Jesus.” Wentworth felt the contractions that speeded the end of this union, and fought for control. He wanted, no, needed to guide Hector to a pleasurable first fuck. Five deep breaths and a severe self-scolding had him in control.
Hector panted beneath him in what looked like either painful pleasure or pleasurable pain.
Wentworth flexed his hips, and Hector opened his eyes and lifted toward him. Wentworth’s heart lightened, and he started moving. “So warm, so tight. Damnation, you are beautiful. So…” His thoughts left him, his words gone. All that remained was the warm, loving body below him and the young man’s moans of pleasure.
Hector came in a whirlwind of cries, come, and caresses of Wentworth’s back and arse. This pushed Wentworth over the edge, and he spilled into the man’s virgin arse with the spangle of raw nerves and new pleasure. When the shock wave running through his body calmed, he collapsed upon his lover.
Hector gathered him close and kissed his forehead. “Had I known it would be this monumental, I would not have waited so long.”
Pain shot through Wentworth’s heart, and he growled.
When Hector laughed, Wentworth growled again, louder, and Hector said, “Wh
at I meant to say is, I would have approached you sooner.”
“Good man, Hector. Good man.” And Wentworth did not want to know why he was so concerned with Hector’s declaration. After all, Wentworth had had many lovers in the past.
“Wentworth?”
“Hmm.”
“I feel somewhat squashed. Do you—”
Immediately, Wentworth rolled him over to lie against his chest. “This better?”
Hector laid his head on Wentworth’s torso and sighed. “This is perfect.” And Wentworth agreed. Perfection in his arms, in his study, and on his luxurious carpet. He had waited for this his entire life without ever realizing.
✥ ✥ ✥
Crack!
A large log broke in the grate, dragging Wentworth’s gaze off a dark wax smudge on the paper dragon. The burnt orange smear made the zhezhi animal appear fierce.
Amazing he still remembered how to make the folds and creases required to form a shape after so many years. He was not amazed he remembered the Chinese captain who taught him how to make the tiny ornament. They had not understood a word of each other’s language, but they understood each other’s passion, a shared desire, an appetite that almost ignited two countries.
He walked over, rubbing dampness from his checks, and singeing the hair on his hand, placed the little dragon on top of the roiling flames. He watched the little animal ignite, watched the painful secrets hidden within turn to smoke.
Chapter Thirteen
Spring 1809, London
There was a commotion in the entryway. Wentworth left the library to see what was amiss. He arrived in time to see Will arguing with Smith.
“William!”
The two men jumped apart and faced him, expressions mutinous.
“Smith, do let the man in.”
Both men straightened their jackets in quick, tight movements.
“Well, come, then.” He gestured to the library, and Will followed.
“I must say, it is unusual for Smith to confront visitors. What did you say to the old fellow?”
Will shoved his fists in his pockets and leaned a shoulder against a mahogany bookshelf. His face radiated disgust bordering on hatred. He shrugged. “Perhaps he took exception to my impatience. I rushed in insisting on seeing you immediately without being introduced.”
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