Lindsay’s groan of pleasure at the rough treatment came right from his belly, a gut-deep satisfaction laced with surprise. He’d never looked to be mastered. Not even before Duncan, and certainly not after. Since Duncan, he’d always been the aggressor, the dominant partner in any sexual encounter, whether he was giving or taking cock. But when Drew fucked Lindsay’s mouth with his tongue and began to walk him backwards to the bed, Lindsay didn’t merely allow it, he loved it. Felt as though he’d found something he’d been searching for his whole, long, long life.
Lindsay’s knees collided with the side of the bed and he stumbled backwards, taking Drew with him, the two of them landing on the creaking mattress in a tangle of limbs. Drew stared down at Lindsay with eyes that glittered with fierce lust, and for some reason Lindsay couldn’t understand, that look was like a rapier thrust deep into his belly.
I’m done for, he thought wildly.
“What do you want?” Drew murmured.
“Your cock inside me,” Lindsay replied. “Where’s the oil?”
Levering himself up on one arm, Drew cast his gaze around, finally locating the small bottle. He sat back on his heels and said, “Do I put some on my cock?”
“Yes, but more importantly, you put some in my arse,” Lindsay replied with a wicked grin.
Drew flushed at that. Embarrassed? Aroused?
Taking pity on him, Lindsay leaned up, reaching for the bottle. “Give it here,” he said. “I’ll do it.” But Drew twisted away from him, holding the bottle out of reach.
“No,” he said. “I will.”
“You want to put your fingers in my arse?” Lindsay asked, with deliberate crudeness, chuckling softly, but his laughter died at the helpless lust in Drew’s eyes.
“Yes,” Drew said savagely. “My fingers, my cock. I want to know how you feel inside. How hot, how tight. What it will do to you when I go deep inside you.” He swallowed then said tightly, “Spread your legs.”
Lindsay’s mouth went dry. Slowly, he opened his thighs, canting his hips up and letting his knees fall wide open. Exposing himself to the other man’s gaze.
Drew moaned, staring at Lindsay’s hole for several long moments before reaching out and gently brushing one finger over the tender furl of flesh. Lindsay’s whole body jerked and he let out a humiliating whimper. Immediately, Drew’s gaze flew back up to Lindsay’s face, his expression astonished.
“Please,” Lindsay managed through gritted teeth. “Please, Drew.”
Drew yanked the stopper out of the bottle with his teeth and spat it onto the floor, and then he was coating his fingers in oil and rubbing the slickness over Lindsay’s cleft and hole, eyes wide as he watched Lindsay’s wanton reaction, body twisting and jerking, lustful moans falling from his lips.
“Inside too,” Lindsay muttered thickly. “Stretch me.”
It wasn’t a detailed explanation of what he needed, but Drew seemed to understand. He added more oil, then touched his middle finger to Lindsay’s hole, watching, fascinated, as he pressed the tip delicately inside, hissing at the gripping heat drawing him in. Slowly, carefully, he pressed the finger in further, till it was fully inside Lindsay and the rest of his fingers and his thumb cupped the curve of Lindsay’s arse.
“God in heaven,” he hissed, staring at his hand, then at Lindsay’s face again.
“More,” Lindsay begged. “Stretch me a bit—then you can fuck me.”
Groaning, Drew slid his finger out, added more oil, then pressed two fingertips to Lindsay’s opening. Such a good feeling, this, the faint burn as his body accommodated that second finger. The give of Lindsay’s tight hole and the glide of Drew’s oiled fingers moving inside him, exploring, grazing, then—
“God!” Lindsay yelled as Drew’s fingers brushed that exquisitely sensitive spot inside him.
Drew stilled. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Lindsay said, his voice slurred with pleasure. “It’s good. So good.”
“Again?” Drew asked, watching Lindsay carefully.
“Mm hmm,” Lindsay agreed wordlessly and Drew stroked again, inside him, making Lindsay whine and arch his body.
“Look at you,” Drew whispered, his expression rapt. “Loving this.” By now he knew what it was he’d done to make Lindsay yell like that, so he did it again, and again, till Lindsay was incoherent with pleasure, his lean prick hard and leaking and needful.
“Please,” Lindsay begged. “I need your cock inside me, before you make me spend.”
“God, yes,” Drew agreed, carefully withdrawing his fingers. “I want that. Want to be inside you when you spend. Want to feel you around my prick.”
Lindsay pulled back his knees, exposing himself even further, shameless now in his lust.
If Drew had had any doubts as to what to do, he’d already discarded them. Running his hands up the back of Lindsay’s thighs, he angled Lindsay’s body perfectly to be penetrated, eyeing Lindsay’s desperate hole with lustful ardour.
“Do it,” Lindsay urged him. “Fuck me.”
And Drew did.
He plunged inside Lindsay in one, long smooth thrust and they both cried out. Drew’s cock felt huge inside Lindsay, a great thick pole of hammering flesh, warm and alive and insistent. And God, that was exactly where Lindsay wanted him. In Lindsay’s arse, fucking him, owning him inside and out.
“Oh God,” Lindsay said on a stuttering breath. “I’m not going to last. You feel good. Like no one else.”
Drew made a noise of incoherent agreement and began fucking Lindsay in earnest. Long, hard thrusts of his big cock that hit Lindsay in that best, most intimate spot, again and again, till it was all he could do just to hold on to the man and surrender to the exquisite, almost unbearable pleasure, wanting it to last forever. To never end.
It couldn’t last forever, of course, or even very long. They were both of them far too gone in their lust to drag it out for more than a few minutes. Even trying his hardest to hold off his climax, Lindsay soon succumbed, going under in a great, dragging wave of orgasm that wrenched through his whole body, digging his heels into Drew’s back as the man savagely fucked him through the surging, mindless pleasure. Hoarse cries spilled from their lips as they came together, Drew’s semen flooding Lindsay while Lindsay spent between their sweat-slicked bodies.
When it was over, they lay there, limbs going slack, Drew’s breath warm and damp on Lindsay’s neck. Lindsay inhaled the mingled scents of sex and Drew and himself and felt settled in an unfamiliar way, his headstrong wolf calmed to rare placid contentment.
At length, Drew raised his head, looking down at Lindsay with an unreadable expression. He said nothing though, rolling his weight off Lindsay to lie instead at his side. There had been something animal about the way they’d come together, but now Lindsay could feel the human world and human considerations pressing in on them again, and the fragile bond just forged between them could not bear such heavy weight.
Drew spoke first, his voice husky. “You are leaving.” It was not a question. He threw his arm over his face and added hoarsely, “I should not have done that.”
Hurt, Lindsay replied sharply, “Why not? You enjoyed it. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
Drew sat up abruptly and glared down at Lindsay. “That’s why I shouldn’t have done it,” he bit out. “Now I know. Now I have to live with knowing and not having y—this again.”
Lindsay opened his mouth to say of course he could have it again—any man with their inclinations would want Drew Nicol—then he realised, with sick certainty, that he couldn’t bear the thought of Drew with anyone else.
Hell.
Slowly, carefully, he said, “I intend to come back some day. I can’t be sure when, but we could—”
“Don’t,” Drew interrupted. Without looking at Lindsay, he scrambled off the bed and grabbed his drawers. He yanked them on with jerky motions, then reached for his shirt.
Lindsay’s gut twisted. Carefully, he said, “Is there a reason—”
“Please, Lindsay,” Drew said unsteadily. His eyes were closed now, his expression pained. “This whole thing has been a—a kind of madness on my part. The truth is, it’s probably for the best that you’re leaving.”
“Is that what you think?” Lindsay whispered. He heard the hurt in his voice and felt exposed. Humiliated.
Drew shook his head, still not looking at Lindsay. “Before I met you, I never did these things.”
Lindsay’s heart was raw and bleeding, and in his pain, he lashed out. “You might not have done them,” he bit out. “But I’ll wager you thought about them plenty of times.”
Drew’s head snapped up and his eyes flashed. “That may be true,” he admitted. “But thoughts are not actions. It’s a man’s actions that matter in the end. Those are his legacy.”
Lindsay gave a bitter laugh. “Is that what you think?”
“It’s what I know.”
“All right then,” Lindsay sneered. “Tell me what your oh-so-noble legacy is to be. No, wait, let me guess. You want to do what everyone else in your polite little corner of the world does. Marry again and produce a few brats.” He laughed again, without humour. “Do you really think that’s immortality?”
Drew glared at him. “I have no intention of marrying again. If I gain any immortality in this world, it will be through my work.”
Lindsay made a disgusted noise. “That’s it? You’re going to work? Work for the rest of your life? Christ, you’d be better off having some brats. At least they’re alive. Buildings aren’t.”
“Buildings last longer than any one person’s lifetime,” Drew bit out. “They stand for something more important.”
“There’s nothing more important than life.”
“Of course there is! What about beauty, rationality—civilisation itself?”
“What about them?” Lindsay retorted. “You know what the real truth is, Drew? You can design buildings and still live. You say your work is your life because you’re terrified of how you feel, and—”
“You haven’t the faintest idea how I feel!”
“Yes, I do!” Lindsay cried. “Don’t you think I know how terrifying it is when you realise the thing you desire most is something the world hates?”
Drew opened his mouth to reply but no words came out. He just stared at Lindsay, his gaze distraught.
Lindsay rose from the bed, unashamedly naked, and crossed the floor to where Drew stood, half-dressed. His skin was marked with grazes from Drew’s incipient beard and spattered with his dried spend—and inside, he was just as much of a mess, angry and sad and bitter.
Drew had closed his eyes at Lindsay’s approach, as though he couldn’t bear to look at him, and when Lindsay reached out a hand and gently touched his cheek, Drew flinched. The tiny physical rejection made Lindsay’s heart ache.
“Drew, listen to me,” he said, pleading now. “This is not an easy thing to accept about yourself, but when you do accept it—”
Drew opened his eyes and Lindsay broke off. The bleak misery in the man’s gaze wasn’t to be borne. He said hoarsely, “Please, Lindsay. Let it go.”
Lindsay’s heart twisted so painfully in his chest he was astonished he could still breathe. He let his hand drop to his side.
At length he said dully, “I’ll get dressed and leave you in peace.”
The relief that washed over Drew’s harshly handsome features was, perhaps, the worst thing of all.
Lindsay dressed quickly, efficiently, and without looking at Drew. Once ready, he followed Drew out of the bedchamber and down the corridor to the front door that led out into the stairwell.
Drew paused there, his hand on the doorknob. Their gazes caught and held.
After several beats of silence, Lindsay whispered, “I’m sorry, Drew.” And he was—for so much. He was sorry for pursuing Drew when the man had not wanted to be pursued, even if he had desperately needed what Lindsay had given him. He was sorry for making Drew face up to his own desires and admit them, when he could see that Drew had not wanted to do so. He was sorry that now he would be leaving Drew to cope with that new knowledge alone.
Drew didn’t respond to his apology. He just opened the door and said, quietly, “Good bye, Lindsay.”
Lindsay lingered, meeting Drew’s grey-blue gaze one last time. But there was nothing there to hold him. No encouragement and no regret.
“Please, Lindsay. Let it go.”
“Goodbye,” Lindsay replied. Then he left without another word, his wolf already mourning.
Chapter Seventeen
Monday dawned grey and cold, no sign of the sun at all. A thick veil of cloud, heavy with rain, loomed over Edinburgh, and the air was chill and damp.
Francis was quiet, both over breakfast and as he and Lindsay walked to the bank. He’d been quiet the night before too, when Lindsay had emerged from Drew’s tenement into the darkness of Brodie’s Close, seeming to understand that Lindsay didn’t want to talk. No doubt he’d scented Drew on Lindsay’s body, and perhaps the sorrow and regret that saturated Lindsay’s spirit.
Lindsay had been glad of Francis’s silence last night, and he was still glad this morning. He didn’t want to talk about what had happened between him and Drew, and he certainly didn’t want to talk about how leaving the city felt so very wrong. How his wolf may have calmed, but now it was inconsolable at the thought of losing Drew, when it should be thinking only of escaping Duncan MacCormaic.
He didn’t want to acknowledge his own concern that he might not be able to control his wolf’s actions when he was forced to shift. And he would be forced to do so tonight, at some point. There would be a full moon tonight, so shifting was unavoidable—unless he dosed himself with ’bane, which was not something he could even consider before he’d met with Cruikshank. He needed his wits about him to deal with that wily old fox.
Francis finally broke the silence as they neared Locke Court again, the bank draft for Cruikshank tucked inside Lindsay’s coat.
“You must try not to be too long at Cruikshank’s tonight,” Francis said. “It’s full moon.”
“Are you concerned about my self-control?” Lindsay asked. “That I might shift against my will?”
Francis sighed. “Don’t be offended. You’re not your usual self. You know that as well as I do.” He shook his head, unhappy. “The timing of this is all very unfortunate, I must say. MacCormaic leaving Paris, the full moon tonight, and now this.”
“This?” Lindsay asked, his tone deceptively light.
Francis paused in the street and turned to face him, his expression impatient. “Mr. Nicol, as you know very well.” He sighed. “Lindsay, it’s imperative you put distance between you. As much and as quickly as possible.”
Lindsay’s wolf didn’t like that. “Why?” he asked abruptly.
It was a stupid question and he knew it. Any fool could see Lindsay had no control around Drew. But he repeated the question nevertheless. “Why, Francis? Why does he affect me like this?” And this time his voice broke on the question.
Francis’s light brown eyes were soft with concern. “I don’t know why,” he admitted. He glanced around before he went on, making sure there was no one around to overhear. There wasn’t—the street was all but deserted—but still he said his next words under his breath. “It is worrying, though.”
“Why?”
“What if your wolf decides it wants to turn Nicol? What if the Urge possesses you? I can’t allow that, Lindsay. Whatever your feelings for the man might be.”
Lindsay glared at Francis. “Christ, Francis, you can’t think I’d—”
Francis met his angry gaze with a steady look. “Can you honestly say at this point that would never happen?”
Lindsay let out a defeated sigh and looked away. He couldn’t say that, and they both knew it. He had no idea what his wolf might do.
By mutual silent agreement, they turned away from each other and began walking again. The rain had started, a cold and miserable drizzle
Lindsay knew how strongly Francis felt about this. He and Lindsay had both been turned without their consent, though in very different circumstances. Lindsay’s turning had been a brutal near-slaying, while Francis’s had been intended as a kindness after Francis had been attacked and left to die. But Francis had not wanted the gift. He’d been horrified to be made into a wolf, and while he’d become resigned to his new existence over time, he remained a forthright opponent of any transformation that was not fully consented to.
“What if your wolf decides it wants to turn Nicol?”
Was Francis right to be worried?
Was Lindsay’s wolf capable of doing something like that?
Lindsay didn’t think so, but the truth was, he didn’t know.
WHEN LINDSAY AND FRANCIS returned to Locke Court from the bank, Wynne was already well-organised for the next day’s journey. He’d packed up most of their things and made arrangements for a coach to collect them the next morning. They were travelling down to Newcastle by coach then sailing to Rotterdam on Friday. Their rooms at Locke Court were paid for another month, but that wasn’t to be helped. Far more important to get out of Scotland, at least till more information regarding MacCormaic’s whereabouts was known.
The rest of the day dragged by. Francis wouldn’t leave Lindsay alone, which made Lindsay impatient and riled his wolf. The more even-tempered Francis stayed, the more irritable Lindsay became, until at last, unable to stand looking at his friend any longer, he stormed off to his bedchamber, where he lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling and remembering the previous night with Drew.
“This whole thing has been a—a kind of madness...”
Drew was right about that much at least.
By four in the afternoon, darkness was already falling, but there was one small mercy for Lindsay. Thick rain clouds obscured the sky, veiling the moon from his gaze. And so it was that, when Lindsay and Francis finally left Locke Court that evening for Hector Cruikshank’s, the usually irresistible lure of the full moon was mercifully muffled.
Gentleman Wolf Page 19
