“Got them in before tea so it’s an easy night for us, mate!” Wilfred took another draw on the roll-up. “Feet up and a good kip!”
“That’s all right, then.” Jack forced himself to turn back toward the stable block. “Early bed for the boys!”
* * * *
Jack must’ve fallen asleep, although he couldn’t remember doing so. The storm was close now, rain hammering on the panes, leaking in through the cracks in the glass and splashing against his face. He lay on his back, eyes wide, watching the flashes of lightning on the whitewashed walls, counting until the rumbles. Nearer…nearer…
Snorts and whinnies drifted up from the stables and Jack wondered who else, apart from himself and the horses, was awake.
Jack’s first instinct was to go to Apollo and stay there as long as the horse needed him—all night if he had to. He pulled his boots and his jacket on over his pajamas. Then he yanked the blanket off his bed, took up the pillow and went as quietly as he could past the beds of sleeping grooms. Not that his stealth was necessary. Everything was drowned out by the storm.
He had to run across the yard, splashing through the fast-forming puddles to reach Apollo’s stable. Although it was late at night, regular flashes of lightning illuminated his way.
As he came up to the stable door, he had the strangest idea that someone was singing. Not Queenie, it couldn’t be. The voice was soft and deep.
Then there was a pistol in Jack’s face.
“I think we’ve had quite enough of this mischief, don’t you?” Jack was sure it was Captain Thorne’s voice, but only a forearm—a naked forearm—and hand were visible in the darkness of the stable. “Are you here to retrieve your glove or leave my mount with another innocent scratch?”
Jack tried to raise his hands but couldn’t risk dropping his meager bedding in the wet.
“Sir,” he whispered. “It’s me, Trooper Woodvine.”
“Woodvine?” The gun was lowered immediately. “What the devil are you doing out here, soldier?”
“To check on Apollo. The storm, you see. I’ve brought half my bed down with me. I was going to stay with him.”
He heard Thorne give a soft laugh and admit, “I had the same idea. Poor old Apollo’s going to be crowded out of his own stable at this rate!”
“How is he?” Jack squeezed around the stable door as Thorne opened it for him. “Is your foot any easier?”
Just then the stable was lit with a bright lightning flash, so lurid that everything was tinged with green and purple. And right in front of him, illuminated only for a moment in that brightness, was Captain Thorne, his torso bare.
“Apollo is surprisingly calm, and I managed not to get stung tonight.” There was a change in the air then, the captain stepping away with a rustle of straw. “And caught no poetic troopers hiding in the foliage. How’s that shoulder?”
“It feels much better, actually. You took out all the stiffness. I suppose you really do have magic hands.” Jack threw down his bedding and stroked Apollo, whispering to him. The thought of the captain’s hands on him returned to his mind and it filled his body with warmth.
But Thorne seemed distant.
“I did want to come to the stream, you know.” It was all that Jack could think of to say, his voice heavy with the weight of his yearning.
“Look, Woodvine, I was out of line this afternoon, I realize that. I was still in the air after news of the casualties. Some men are—” Thorne paused and Jack heard him take a deep breath. “I’m not some sort of odd fellow. I hope there was no misunderstanding.”
Lightning flashed again, showing Jack that the captain had turned his back to him. Why had he become so unreachable?
“What could I have possibly misunderstood?” Jack leaned his face to Apollo’s cheek. “How were you out of line? I liked it, all right. I liked feeling your hands on me. There. Throw me out of the regiment, sir, send me to the Glasshouse, give me a dishonorable discharge, but it’s true. I have unnatural desires, sir, but—but it’s how the Lord made me. And I was going to go to the stream, because you asked me to and because I…because I…”
The thunder rumbled so loudly overhead that had Jack said anything, neither of them would have heard. He turned back to the horse, whispering, calming him. What had passed between them surely hadn’t been in Jack’s mind. Surely it had been real.
“I wouldn’t want you to come down to the stream because an officer requested it.” Another sound of movement suggested that Thorne had turned once more, and his voice was just a little louder, closer. “I hoped you might want to.”
Jack stepped away from Apollo. He couldn’t see Thorne in the darkness but he knew he was there. His heat and scent were not easily hidden.
Jack threw off his jacket and started to undo the shirt of his pajamas. The rain was even heavier now, hissing against the ground, rattling through the gutters, the rich smell of wet earth rising about them.
“I want you, Thorne.”
“I’m your captain.” Thorne’s voice was low, breathless, suffused with longing. Then there was another sound, the rasp of a lighter striking, and there, in the darkness, glowed the dim flame of a lantern. It flickered and flared brighter as Thorne closed the stable door, shutting out the night.
“And I’m your groom. I’m your Jack.”
The stable wasn’t spacious but now it seemed even smaller now that Jack was standing just a few feet from Thorne. The captain looked away and reached up to attach the lantern to a hook in the ceiling, the intimate flame illuminating him, clad only in breeches, the usually immaculate man looking slightly, gloriously disordered amid the straw.
“I don’t fraternize, Trooper. Never have. It doesn’t befit an officer.” Yet still there came no order to return to quarters, no admonishment. Still those dark eyes blazed into Jack’s own, filled with fire.
“What if…what if we had met some other way? If there’d never been this wretched war. And you’d—you’d come to Shropshire. To buy a horse from my farm. And we met, and we talked, and you weren’t an officer, and you weren’t my captain, and we…and we…” Jack moved a step closer, dropping the shirt of his pajamas in the straw. “There’s a very nice stream on the farm, utterly private. We could have… There would have been nothing to stop us.”
“I don’t believe in unnatural desires, Woodvine.” There was certainty in those words, yet just for a moment Thorne’s gaze dropped to take in Jack’s naked torso. “Our so-called leaders have opened hell itself, the world’s ending every bloody day, boys fresh out of school blown to kingdom come for the sake of what? Six feet of mud and a squabble that was never ours to begin with. That’s unnatural.”
Then he reached out and asked in a voice that was low with desire, “Will you stay?”
Jack nodded, taking Thorne’s strong hand. With a gentle movement of his arm the captain drew Jack closer until they were just inches apart beneath the lantern’s dancing light, the thunder crashing somewhere in another world.
Slowly, Jack laid his fingertips on Thorne’s chest, staring into the coal-dark eyes that gazed down on him. He was aware of Thorne’s every breath, every heartbeat. He trailed his touch across that muscular body until he cupped Thorne’s strong jaw. He tried to move his face nearer to Thorne’s but he stopped, hesitant.
“Thorne… I’ve never kissed anyone before. I don’t know what to do.”
“Are you suggesting, Woodvine, that I’m some sort of tart?”
Jack’s hand slipped from the captain’s face.
“No! Never, I didn’t say that, sir.”
“Forgive my dry humor, I only meant to tease.” Thorne lifted his free hand to stroke Jack’s face and smiled a devilish smile, quite unlike any expression Jack had seen him wear previously. “Alas, I’ve been lacking in opportunities to be a tart.”
“But you…” Jack returned his hand to Thorne’s torso. “You could have anyone for the asking.”
“I was a sensible sort at school.” The captain gave a pan
tomimed pout, sliding his hand into Jack’s hair. “Then I joined up and how does one even begin— A few fumbles do not a tart make.”
He drew Jack closer, close enough that he could finally press his lips to Jack’s cheek.
Jack reached around Thorne’s waist, holding him. He followed Thorne’s lead, trying to kiss his cheek, but his lips could only reach his determined chin. Thorne gave a soft chuckle and lowered his head to capture Jack’s lips with his own, murmuring a gentle encouragement.
Jack sighed against Thorne’s mouth, the captain’s full, soft lips opening a little under his own. Jack was overwhelmed not just by Thorne’s scent but by his taste, so intimate, so warm. He felt the softness of Thorne’s tongue as it tenderly swept his mouth, teasing Jack to part his lips farther.
He pulled away, laying his head on Thorne’s shoulder, his mouth against Thorne’s neck. He swept his hands over his captain’s perfect torso, all the while very aware that Thorne’s desire was pressing against him.
“I made myself a bit of a bed in the straw. It’s yours tonight.” Thorne whispered into his hair, glancing up at a violent crash of thunder, though Apollo didn’t seem to notice. “You need to keep that shoulder of yours rested.”
“Don’t go… I don’t want to sleep on my own—Captain R. B. Thorne.”
He looked up at the man in his arms, impossibly handsome, but for this moment, his. That devilish look was there again, and slowly Thorne lowered his mouth to Jack’s. Softly at first, but as another roll of thunder split the air Jack yielded to Thorne and to his passion. Their kiss was eager, desperate, almost clumsy in its fervor. The force of Jack’s ardor, of Thorne’s, left him breathless, and it was only the captain’s strong arms around him that stopped Jack from falling.
The captain was the first to move, his arms still around Jack’s waist as he eased them both down into the straw, covered as it was by his own blankets. The kiss didn’t lessen but grew more intense, if that was even possible, Thorne’s tongue moving against his own, their bodies tight together. Jack was atop him now, that strong torso beneath his own, the hardness of Thorne’s erection pressing insistently against him.
As Jack kissed, he sank his fingers into Thorne’s thick, dark hair, the spicy scent of his pomade headier than ever. Thorne ran his hand down Jack’s back, leaving a trail of fire on Jack’s skin. He skimmed his hand over the fabric of Jack’s pajamas, caressing, feathering his touch to the dimple just before the rise of his buttocks, and swept over the curve of Jack’s bottom. Jack moved his hips against Thorne as though he would buck like an excitable colt, but Thorne stilled him, seizing Jack’s buttock in his powerful grip.
Jack slipped his hand from the captain’s hair and twined his fingers with Thorne’s where they lay over his buttock, encouraging Thorne’s grip to be even firmer. When Thorne answered, clenching the flesh through the fabric, Jack moaned into their kiss, a stifled cry of pleasure and need.
In reply, the captain slid his free hand up into Jack’s hair, holding their mouths together so the kiss couldn’t end, the gentlest of murmurs coaxing him on. Then Thorne released Jack’s buttock and, with their hands still together, he lifted his palm and brought it down on Jack’s arse in a firm slap.
As heat burned across Jack’s buttock, lightning flashed again, leaving him with the most intense awareness of being alive. He was exquisitely poised on the brink of pleasure and pain, all senses alert. The slap had done nothing to satiate him. It only made his yearning all the keener.
“Harder,” he breathed.
“Harder,” Thorne growled, stilling his hand, “Captain.”
“Harder, Captain Thorne—sir.”
Thorne’s hand came down again, harder this time, his palm landing against Jack’s buttock with a resounding slap.
“Thank you, Captain.” In gratitude, Jack ran his mouth over Thorne’s neck and across his chest, his tongue darting out to taste the hardness of his nipple. He took the tight bud in his mouth.
Captain Thorne—Captain R. B. Thorne—so perfectly turned out, so proper, arched his back and parted his lips to let out a moan of sheer, wanton pleasure. He slapped his hand down again and Jack felt his fingers pulling at the thin pajamas, roughly pushing them down to expose his bottom.
Jack redoubled his efforts, grazing his teeth gently against Thorne’s nipple, his bare skin trembling in anticipation of the captain’s touch. He pressed his hips against Thorne’s, shifting until their erections were against each other, only two layers of fabric between them.
The captain’s moans grew more breathless. His hand lifted again but it didn’t fall, the moment of anticipation teased out until it was as exquisite as it was unbearable. Still Thorne clutched at Jack’s hair, his sculpted back arching up from the blankets.
“Please, Captain—I beg you!”
A delicious shiver began to run through Jack, his slight body trembling against Thorne’s muscular figure as it arched from the makeshift bed. Jack ran his hand down Thorne’s side, caressing the toned flesh that strained to Jack’s touch.
“You’ll wait, Trooper, until your captain’s ready.” And still the hand didn’t fall, still Jack longed for that sweet sensation.
“If you wish, my Captain…my handsome Captain.” Jack returned his mouth to Thorne’s nipple, his teeth a little more insistent. He settled his wandering hand on the captain’s waist as he steadied himself for what must come. And Captain Thorne thundered his hand down onto Jack’s bared arse as a flash of lightning lit the stable. It was hard, sharp and a dream come true.
Jack trembled into bliss, into a whiteness brighter than any thunderbolt. A tightness that had been building in the very core of his being unraveled in a moment and sent him hurtling into ecstasy. He dropped back onto Thorne’s chest, panting for breath, a sheen of perspiration glossing his skin.
He felt the captain’s hand stroke over his bottom, tender and gentle, then Thorne’s voice was ice as he asked, “Did I give you permission to orgasm, soldier?”
Jack raised his face from Thorne’s chest, blinking languorously. A lock of hair had fallen over his forehead. His lips dropped open.
“No, sir, you didn’t, sir. Sorry, Captain.”
Thorne’s eyes were gentle in the lamplight and he quirked the hint of a smile before he looked pointedly down toward his own chest. “As you were, Trooper. You have a job to finish.”
Jack took Thorne’s nipple in his mouth, kissing, suckling, teasing with his tongue. He stroked the other, tweaking gently. But, responding to another moan from Thorne, another arch of his back, Jack twisted the nipple between finger and thumb.
Looking up again into Thorne’s dark eyes, Jack whispered, “I want to give you pleasure, sir, as you have given me.”
“You have a mischievous look, Woodvine,” he said. “What’s on your mind, soldier?”
The hand that had so obediently waited at Thorne’s waist spoke for Jack as he dipped his fingertips under the waistband of Thorne’s breeches.
“Do I have permission to touch you, sir?”
“Granted, Trooper.” He brushed their lips together, the captain’s tongue just touching Jack’s. “Make sure I enjoy it.”
Jack broke away from Thorne’s mouth, pushing himself up to straddle the captain’s firm thighs. Meeting his gaze, Jack gave him a salute. Not a cheeky, lopsided salute—a salute worthy of any parade ground.
His chest rising and falling with each breath, Jack ran his hands slowly about Thorne’s stomach, the muscles twitching at his touch. His eyes darting between Thorne’s gaze and his own hands, Jack unfastened the top button of Thorne’s breeches. He felt Thorne shift beneath him, but Jack remained firm.
Another button, and another, until they were unfastened. Jack carefully peeled back the fabric and Captain Thorne’s erection rose up before him.
He stroked through the clustering dark hair and gently brushed his fingertips against the impressive erection. Thorne shifted again, touching Jack’s shoulders, combing fingers through Jack’s hai
r. Jack took the erection in a light grip, gradually tightening his hold until Thorne’s mouth fell open and he moaned. Jack stroked, awkward at first, but soon he found a rhythm, which Thorne’s hips began to match.
“Does this please you, Captain Thorne?”
“Don’t be bloody impertinent in front of Apollo,” Thorne warned him. “You’ll go over my damned knee.”
Jack’s hips jolted a little at the thought of it. How he adored his captain, who at this moment was struggling to look stern as waves of pleasure crossed and recrossed his face.
“Yes, sir—I will go over your knee whenever you wish.”
Thorne’s voice was stolen by a moan. He pushed his hips hard, urging Jack’s hand on faster, arching again.
Jack found pleasure of his own in bringing Thorne to his bliss. His wrist had become a blur as he worked his fist and Jack pressed his legs ever more tightly against Thorne’s to stop the man’s bucking from flinging him off. He wasn’t going to be thrown by this stallion.
Where had that immaculate soldier gone, with his clipped tones and his sharp manner? What had become of the captain who seemed so together, so collected and proper as he went about his duties?
He was still here beneath the abandoned moans and straining muscles, but for now he had truly allowed himself to leave duty behind.
Thorne’s hips rose from the blankets, and with a deep cry he fountained over Jack’s hand.
“Jack—” It was a gasp and Thorne closed his hand on Jack’s shoulder, bringing him into that strong embrace. “My darling Jack…”
Entirely unresisting, Jack fell into Thorne’s powerful arms. He rested his cheek on Thorne’s shoulder and for several minutes, while the storm still raged on outside, they were at peace. Jack’s whole world was a bed of straw in a low-lit stable, and the warmth of Thorne’s body.
He didn’t move when Thorne drew a blanket over their entwined bodies, the only sounds those of their breathing and the occasional movement of Apollo’s hooves as he too rested.
The Captain and the Cavalry Trooper Page 8
