by Ava March
Marsden flexed his hands by his sides, but that was the only outward sign of impatience as he waited for Vincent’s next command.
Vincent let the moment draw out, tightening the suspense. Then he leaned down, picked up a cravat from the floor and stood. “Come here.”
Marsden stopped before him. His bare chest was tinged pink with a flush of arousal, his breaths coming in short little pants, his gaze fixed on the white cravat held lightly in Vincent’s hand.
“Turn around. Clasp your hands behind your back.”
Without question, without hesitation, Marsden did as he was bid. Vincent wrapped the linen around his wrists and tied it. Marsden’s biceps flexed as he shifted his arms, testing his bonds.
“All right?” Vincent asked in a low voice, as he laid a soothing hand on his forearm.
He got a single nod from Marsden. Reassured, he left the man standing there, his beautiful back to him, the ends of the cravat tickling the crack of his firm, round arse.
Was there a more appealing sight in all of England? Yes, there was, and more than one. He would get to them soon enough. First he wanted to sample Marsden’s mouth.
He unbuttoned the placket, pushed aside his shirttail, and pulled out his cock, leaving his trousers hanging from his hips. “Turn around,” he said, running a hand along the hard length.
Marsden’s gaze went straight to Vincent’s erection. His tongue darted out to lick his lips.
“Do you want to suck my cock?”
He speared Vincent with a hot stare, full of intense longing. “Yes. Please.”
Vincent laid a hand on Marsden’s hard shoulder and pushed. He immediately heeded the pressure and dropped to his knees.
“Then suck it, boy.”
Damnation, Marsden’s whimpers were almost enough to make Vincent climax. Those little sounds, the pure need in the breathy trembles of air. Vincent swallowed hard, forcing back the orgasm tickling his ballocks, and widened his stance so the head of his cock brushed those full lips.
Marsden opened his mouth, engulfing his cock in wet heat. Lashes resting on his cheekbones, he bobbed along the length, taking a bit more with each downward glide, sucking hard every time he pulled back. Vincent grabbed his nape, fingers tangled in the dark hair and thrust in counterpoint. Hell, the man was good at sucking cock. Far better than Vincent could have ever imagined. With his free hand, he tugged the knot on his cravat then whipped the linen from his neck. Pulling back, Marsden swirled his tongue over the crown, lapping up the fluid seeping from the slit and pulling a grunt from Vincent, then he sank all the way down and swallowed. Vincent gasped at the decadent sensation as Marsden used his velvet throat to massage his cock.
“Good boy.” The words were almost lost in his groan. “So….ah…good.”
He pulled back and did it again and again. Head falling forward, brows knitting together, Vincent held tight to Marsden’s shoulder. A tremble wracked his thighs. It was so tempting to spill down that velvet throat, to let loose the orgasm burning the base of his cock.
Gritting his teeth, he let out a grunt and fought back the urge. Not yet. He wanted Marsden to beg for his cock. Needed to hear those desperate pleas. The ones soaked in need.
“Enough. Let go.” Vincent pushed on his shoulder.
Marsden obediently released him and looked up. His eyes were glazed with lust, pupils so dilated only a thin ring of brown surrounded the black. His sharp pants seemed to fill the room. A fine sheen of sweat coated his flushed chest. The head of his prick glistened with fluid, the length so hard it was arched up, almost grazing his abdomen.
Vincent had never been with anyone who got this aroused from simply sucking cock. The experience was…humbling because he knew in his gut Marsden only reacted this way with him.
Leaning down, he planted a quick kiss on those parted lips, tasting himself and Marsden in the kiss. “On your feet, boy.” With a hand on Marsden’s biceps, he helped him up then turned him to face the bed. “Down,” he said, pushing his upper body to the mattress.
Vincent left him there—bent over and hands still tied behind his back, his arse on display. He slowly took off his coat, waistcoat, and shirt, using the time to settle the ever rising lust and allow Marsden’s to racket even higher. It had only taken a short handful of minutes with him at that brothel for Vincent to realize the man craved the anticipation, needed it. They were two halves of a whole, he and Marsden. Each feeding off the other’s pleasure. The intense rush of having him pliant and writhing for more, of taking Marsden to a place where the only thing that existed in his world was Vincent. And Vincent was determined to take him there tonight.
He dragged the chair closer, grabbed the bottle of oil and sat down. “Wider,” he said, tapping Marsden’s bare ankle with his foot. Then he laid a firm smack on that round arse.
Marsden started then sank into the mattress, letting out a moan that sounded almost like a “yes.”
Needing to hear the actual word, Vincent asked, “Did you like that?”
“Yes.”
“And which do you like better?” He rubbed a palm over Marsden’s skin, soothing the red handprint—then smacked him again. “My hand or the stinging caress of a leather bullwhip?”
“Both,” was his quick answer.
Vincent chuckled as he massaged the firm flesh, pulling the rounded halves apart. “Ah, Marsden, my dear boy, whatever am I to do with you?”
Marsden arched, pushing back into Vincent’s hands. “Fuck me. Please.”
“All in good time.” Pulling one cheek back, he oiled Marsden’s entrance, slowly swirling two fingertips over his skin. He could not explain it, but for some reason, he found a man’s arse incredibly erotic. Wickedly so. Given the time, he could play with Marsden for hours, just toy with him, slide his fingers up and down the dark forbidden crease, trace the puckered hole, drive him to distraction as he waited for the penetration.
When the tight ring of muscle began to relax under his touch, he slipped both fingers inside, pressing deep. Tight heat clamped around the digits, holding him in a viselike grip. Marsden let out a low gravely groan of pleasure. Vincent shuddered, his cock hardening even further, eager to feel that tight heat. Needing to quickly take Marsden past that point of desperation, he reached between the man’s spread thighs and took hold of his prick, pulling it down.
The combination of finger-fucking his arse and tugging on his cock had Marsden gasping and moaning, pleading for more. His legs shook, his hands clenched in tight fists at the small of his back. The muscles in his arms and back bunched and flexed as he twisted his head from side to side.
“Vincent, please, I’m going to climax.”
Ah hell. That breathy, threadbare whimper.
“Not yet you don’t,” Vincent growled. He stood, shoved his trousers off, kicked the chair out of the way, grabbed hold of Marsden’s lean hips, and pushed inside.
A hoarse shout rent the air. Marsden’s slick, silken passage fluttered then gripped tight, clamping Vincent’s cock so hard if felt as though he was being strangled. The musky scent of semen mixed with the scents of male sweat and arousal. Christ, Marsden had climaxed with nothing more than the head of his cock in his arse, just as he had done at the brothel.
Fingers digging into Marsden’s skin, Vincent pushed harder, needing to be buried deep.
Gasping for breath, Marsden begged, pleaded. “More. All of it. Please.”
Vincent gave it to him. He rammed his cock so deep his ballocks were pressed tightly against Marsden. Then he rotated his hips, pulled almost all the way out, teasing the rim, and slammed back home.
Marsden arched, throwing his head back, his shoulders lifting from the mattress. His arms formed a strict V down his back, his stretched fingers brushing Vincent’s groin. Vincent continued to fuck him, thrusting hard.
Marsden shook his arms, tugging hard on his bonds. Grunts of definite frustration mixed with his harsh moans. “Untie me. Please, Vincent.”
He didn’t hesitate. He
let go of Marsden’s hips long enough to tug quickly on the knot. The linen fell to the floor. But before he could grab Marsden’s shoulders, hold the man steady for his hard thrusts, Marsden twisted beneath him, disengaging with a sharp grunt and scrambling onto the bed.
Disorientated from the abrupt change, Vincent gave his head a shake. Kneeling in the middle of the rumpled sheets, Marsden leaned forward and grabbed Vincent’s wrist, pulling him full onto the bed and on top of him. He grasped Vincent’s nape, pulling him down between his spread thighs so Vincent had to brace himself on his forearms lest he crush Marsden with his weight.
Marsden tilted his hips, his hair-dusted calves wrapping around Vincent’s waist so the head of Vincent’s straining erection grazed his oil-slicked entrance. “Fuck me. Like this. Please,” he whispered against Vincent’s lips.
Supplicant and eager, Marsden lay beneath him. The new position ignited a primitive, unstoppable need to possess. It rolled up from his belly, violently yanking hold of him. With a feral growl, Vincent lunged forward, sinking hilt deep into that exquisite tightness and pulling a groan of gratitude from Marsden. Then he picked up a rhythm of hard, demanding strokes.
“You’re mine. Mine,” Vincent growled, slamming into him.
“Yes, yes,” Marsden panted, his hot breaths fanning Vincent’s neck.
“No other man will ever touch you again.”
“Only you, Vincent. I only want you.”
Marsden levered up and crushed his lips to Vincent’s, tongue sweeping inside, devouring his mouth. His hands were everywhere, branding Vincent’s skin with his touch. His back, his biceps, his neck, his jaw, his arse, his chest. The sensations blended together, heightening the lust until it consumed him.
Marsden’s hard prick was crushed between them, the satiny length rubbing against Vincent’s abdomen. By God, he wasn’t going to be able to hold back, to hold off until Marsden climaxed again. The orgasm was barreling upon up Vincent, coming ever closer with each quick jerk of his hips. And when the hell had he lost control? It had slipped through his fingers without him even being aware of it.
Desperate to wrestle it from Marsden, he twisted his head, breaking the kiss and tried to rear back. But Marsden held tight, curling his upper body into his, dragging his lips in a searing path down Vincent’s neck to his chest. Wet heat latched onto Vincent’s nipple, sharp teeth nipped the hardened peak.
A savage groan rumbled his chest as he drove into Marsden with all the force of his lower body. He was vaguely aware of Marsden’s hand moving between them as he jerked his own cock. Liquid fire rushed down his prick, erupting from the head, his hips sputtering to a halt in time to the jolts shaking his entire body.
Exhausted and gasping for breath, Vincent flopped onto his back, pulling Marsden with him so the man lay over him. Marsden’s arms were slung over his shoulders, his legs bracketing him. They were sprawled sideways on the bed, Vincent’s calves hanging off the edge. Marsden must have climaxed again for there were sticky wet spots mixed with the sweat on his chest, but Vincent didn’t have the strength to clean them up, at least not yet.
Turning his head, he dragged his lips over the top of Marsden’s head, which was tucked against his shoulder. How had Marsden done it? Vincent had fucked him, yet he felt as though he was the one who had been taken. The thought should have been unsettling, but strangely it wasn’t. No, not strange at all. Perhaps he was still in a daze from that explosive climax but it was suddenly so very clear to him. The control he believed he exerted over Marsden was simply an illusion. By willingly bending to Vincent’s will, Marsden held it all, even Vincent, in the palm of his hand.
His chest rumbling with the beginnings of an amazed chuckle, he absently glanced about the room. Then he grimaced.
“You need a maid.” But not a valet. No man except Vincent would be helping Marsden get dressed or undressed for that matter.
“No, I don’t,” Marsden grumped, sounding like a peeved, prickly adolescent.
“Yes, you damn well do. I’ll see to it,” he said, well aware of Marsden’s precarious financial situation. “A girl will be here tomorrow. The place could use with a good dusting.” He had plenty of servants. One less wouldn’t be a hardship.
“I don’t want a maid. Don’t want any servants lurking about at an inopportune time. In any case, she’d ask about the hooks in the ceiling, and then what would I tell her? They’re merely decorative?”
What was Marsden going on about? “There aren’t any hooks in the ceiling.”
He felt him smile against his chest. “There will be. I plan to install them tomorrow.”
Vincent’s spent cock surged to life, pressing against Marsden’s abdomen. “No maid. I can tolerate the mess as long as you’re here.”
Pushing up onto his forearms, Marsden stared intently into his eyes. “I will always be here for you, Vincent. Always.”
Those words echoed in his head, filled his entire being. He owed Marsden a debt he could not express. If not for the courage of his friend, he would have never stopped fighting himself. Never opened his eyes to see that everything he needed had been here all along.
He might never earn his father’s respect, but he found it was no longer as important as it used to be. As long as he had Oliver, that was all that mattered.
He tucked a stray stand of hair behind Marsden’s ear. “As I you, Marsden. Now about tomorrow. I’ll have some errands to see to. What do you think about a paddle? A nice wooden one. Maybe covered in leather?”
Marsden’s breath hitched, excitement flaring on his flushed face. “Yes, please, milord.”
Thank You
Thank you for taking the time to read Bound by Deception. I hope you enjoyed the story.
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Bound by Deception is the first book in The Bound Series. To read an excerpt from Bound to Him (Bound #2), please turn the page.
Excerpt from Bound to Him (The Bound Series #2)
Lord Vincent Prescot’s life couldn’t be better. Thriving investments, well-respected by his peers, and a man who submits to his every desire—what more could he want?
Lord Oliver Marsden should be more than happy with his life. He’s been in love with Vincent for over a decade and six months ago the impossible happened and they became lovers. But since then, nothing has changed. More specifically, Vincent hasn’t changed. Oliver has tried to be patient—it took a lot for Vincent to accept the fact he preferred men. But what felt like a tiny distance between them six months ago now feels like an ever-widening chasm.
Then Vincent’s father asks him for a favor—one that involves marriage. If Vincent agrees, he’ll have the respect he’s craved from his father his entire life but he could lose Oliver. Nor does Oliver make the decision easy. To keep Oliver, Vincent must do more than deny his father. He’ll have to give Oliver his heart.
Enjoy the following excerpt from Bound to Him:
He scanned the room, spotted Marsden’s dark head over at the cashier’s cage, and went over to him. He stopped at Marsden’s shoulder, ignoring the protests from the two men in line behind him. “Ready to leave already?” He would admit to a certain eagerness to go on to Marsden’s apartments. All right, more than eager. But since he’d been gone for weeks, he had rather looked forward to spending some time with him. Outside of his bedchamber.
“I’ve had enough gambling for one night.” Marsden took the few shillings the cashier pushed under the gilded bars of the cage. Then he lowered his voice. “I’ve been here for two hours. Your note said eight, Prescot, not ten o’clock.”
Vincent gave his chips to the cashier. “The rains delayed my travel. As it was, I only stopped home long enough for a cha
nge of clothes.” And to pick up your gift.
Marsden said nothing, merely shoved his hands in his pockets and contemplated his scuffed evening shoes.
While the cashier meticulously counted a pile of gold sovereigns, Vincent tipped his head toward his friend. “My apologies, Marsden,” he murmured. “I didn’t know the roads would be such a mess when I wrote you. As it was, I was fortunate to make it to London tonight.”
Marsden tucked an errant wavy strand behind his ear and studied him from the corner of his eye. It wasn’t as if Vincent had purposefully dallied on his journey. Hell, he had no control over the weather. So why was he so worried Marsden would hold it against him?
Those long, dark lashes swept down. Ducking his chin, a little smile tugged on the corner of Marsden’s mouth, and he lifted one shoulder. “I understand. I’m glad you made it back safely.”
Vincent couldn’t hold back the smile as the tension slipped out of him, and in its place settled the delicious hum of anticipation. He had spent the greater part of the afternoon staring out the window of his carriage as it slowly made its way to London and planning exactly what he would do to Marsden once he had the man alone. “Shall we be on our way then?”
Marsden nodded, a quick jerk of his head.
He pocketed the gold sovereigns, leaving one for the cashier. When they reached the entrance hall, he stopped near the footman stationed at the cloak room. “Your greatcoat?”
Marsden didn’t pause but continued on. “Didn’t bother with it. Did you take your carriage or hire a hackney?”
Three long strides had him at Marsden’s shoulder once again. “My carriage.” The burly guard opened the front door as they approached. “Marsden, it’s October. You should not have left your greatcoat at home.” Marsden walked most everywhere he went in Town. His apartments were close, but not so close that he wouldn’t have risked catching a chill if it had rained.
