Ransom

by Lee Rowan

  “You aren’t singing… are you singing? That’s—OH!” Davy had lowered himself, just a bit, and Marshall nearly fainted at the intensity of feeling as the very tip of his cock slipped inside. His body surged up, and Davy gasped, and he froze. He felt the blood rush to his face, as it seemed to be rushing everywhere in his body. “Are you—?”

  “I’m fine,” Davy said breathlessly. “Fine. Let me just relax. It’s been a little while,” he said, sounding more normal. “You’re big. It’s fine. There!”

  The enveloping tightness eased a fraction and then shifted as Davy slowly slid on down, his hands on Marshall’s shoulders, his hair falling forward to veil his face. Marshall instinctively reached up to support him, but he couldn’t think beyond that. He couldn’t think at all. It was as though that small part of himself now surrounded by Davy was the only thing that really mattered. Brain, body, will—all of that was only there to transport the important bit to its present location, where it was nearly ready to die of bliss.

  “There,” Davy said again. “You can move now, William. Remember that horse you tried to ride, last summer? You know how you sort of rock forward….”

  He did just that and Marshall’s body followed automatically. One utterly idiotic thought crossed his mind: if this be sodomy, let’s make the most of it. He thought it somehow connected to the American rebellion, but he couldn’t hold a thought in a bucket, he was hot and cold and Davy was touching him everywhere, hands on his belly, his chest, nipples dear God in heaven—!

  “I’m sorry,” he said when he could talk again. Davy was still astride him and clearly still unsatisfied, even though Marshall could feel himself shrinking.

  Davy only smiled. “That may make things easier.”

  “What?”

  “Your spend. It should help. There wasn’t much butter left.”

  “Davy, you didn’t!”

  “I had to, William, mashed potatoes are too sticky.” Smooth muscles tightened around Marshall’s cock, and he was amazed to find it responding already. “The last time,” Davy said, “the last time we had a night to ourselves, at any rate—you reloaded thrice to my twice. I believe if I just sit here and wait….” He wiggled a bit.

  Marshall groaned. He had never imagined anything could feel so good. Slick, tight… he could not find words to describe the feeling. “Pleasure” was a pale ghost of the truth. This was like the excitement of battle a hundredfold, without the pain or danger.

  Davy cocked his head quizzically at Marshall’s inarticulate response. “Unless you’d rather not?” He leaned forward, smiling, and their lips met, just touching.

  Marshall felt the flame of desire increasing as Davy lapped delicately at his mouth. “You are enjoying this far too much.”

  Davy sighed happily. “Impossible.”

  He had been holding tight to Davy’s thighs; now he shifted one hand to circle his cock, and tried to match the rhythm his lover was setting. How long they moved together like that, he could not tell and did not care. There was the faint creak of the bedstead, the crash and rumble outside, the rain slapping against the window, the familiar wind and water that made this feel almost like home. He let his eyes slide shut, which somehow intensified the feeling, and that was wonderful. His first climax had taken the edge off, and now he felt he could go on like this forever.

  For a time it seemed Davy felt the same, but eventually he slowed, then stopped. “Will?”

  He had to open his eyes, but that was all right too. He could look at Davy sitting atop him, naked and sweating, his damp hair ruffled around his face. “Yes?”

  “Would you… would you mind if we did this in a different way?”

  He felt a twinge of anxiety. “What do you mean?” If Davy wanted him like this, well, he’d do it, of course, it would only be fair, but his gut tightened at the very idea.

  “There’s a place inside. It feels good, Will, I can’t explain it, but… I think you have to come in from behind me to reach it.”

  “Um.” Marshall tried to make sense of that and finally gave up. “How do—hell, Davy, what do you want me to do?”

  “Hold still a moment, I think—” Without breaking their connection, Davy pivoted around until his back was to Marshall.

  It was a very exciting view, but Marshall didn’t much like being bent at that angle, and he had serious reservations as to how well it would work. He had a feeling that if he were to heave upward, Davy would go flying. “I—Davy, are you comfortable in that position?”

  “I…. Well. No.”

  A moment of strained silence, and they both began to giggle. When that settled down, Davy said, “But really, I think it will work best from behind. The one time—” He broke off, hunching slightly.

  “Davy?”

  No response. Staring at Davy’s unresponsive back, Marshall wondered whether everyone had such awkwardness in romantic encounters, or if his stupid inexperience was making everything more difficult. “Davy, we cannot make love or even converse in this position. Could you at least lie down beside me?”

  “All right.” Suddenly, Davy sounded very subdued.

  They shifted around awkwardly until they were lying like spoons, still joined. Marshall had one arm under Davy’s neck, but the body in his arms was stiff with tension. “What is it?”

  “I’m sorry, William.”

  “For what?”

  “I—William, please believe me, I was only trying to make it a little easier—”

  “Of course I’ll believe you, Davy. But would you please tell me—?”

  “I—forgive me—I imagined it was you. When he took me.” Davy was lying dead-still, breathing rapidly. “I only meant it was easier, a little. There was one time—some potion, he made it feel good, I could not prevent it, I could not bear it feeling good with that bastard, so I pretended it was you. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not.” Was it pity that wrung his heart, or Davy’s tight arse squeezing his cock? Either way, the notion of Adrian claiming Davy like this, against his will, sent a surge through him that was not at all loving. He kissed the back of Davy’s neck, hoping the trembling that resulted was from pleasure. “I do see, Davy. It’s all right. I’m glad you did.”

  “I—you are?”

  “That you wanted me? Thought of me, instead of that swine? Of course.” Of course? At the time, it would have horrified him. What a sea-change he had been through, these past weeks! He was still uncertain what they would do in the future, could not even guess what they would do tomorrow. But at this moment, Davy was somehow inside his own heart as surely he was inside Davy’s body, and he had no thought to spare for anything else. Every shiver that went through Davy shot sparks through him, and if he did not move soon—

  “What would you like me to do, Davy?” He thrust as gently as he could, stroking Davy’s chest and belly, finally understanding why things were so bloody complicated. That damned bastard’s ghost was in bed with them even now, between them—uninvited, unwelcome—and Marshall had no idea how to exorcise it. “What do you need?”

  “You.” Davy held Marshall’s arm tightly, reaching around with the other hand to clutch at his thigh. Freed now, the words tumbled out. “I want you, Will. On top of me. Hard. So I can’t even think of anyone else.”

  His cock leapt at the words. He’d nearly been ready to stand down, Davy’s anxiety draining his passion. He would not have imagined any words could have such an effect on his vigor, but the raw desire in Davy’s voice combined with his own urge to pound Adrian to a paste, and he suddenly felt like a stallion.

  “All right, love,” he said, amazed at his own confidence. “All right.” He held Davy close, thrusting more firmly. “Just… just move however you need to.” He kissed Davy’s neck, licked, nibbled, and was delighted at the little cries that elicited.

  Davy rolled over, and then shifted to hands and knees. Marshall followed his lead, finding the final position nearly perfect. The sight of his cock disappearing into Davy’s arse, the feel of their
bodies moving together, made everything else insignificant. To hell with George Correy, to hell with Adrian, to whomever and whatever had ever hurt him before, that was over now, over and done with. He could not see why Davy would have chosen him, but by God, he was going to be worthy of that trust.

  He pulled Davy closer and reached beneath to bring him along. Davy sobbed once as he touched him. “He’s gone,” Marshall whispered. “They’re all gone, Davy, it’s just me… come with me, love, come on.” Some inner wisdom he didn’t know he had was guiding his actions, endearments he hadn’t thought he’d known coming out of his mouth. And that overwhelming sense of the rightness of this all, pounding through him and into Davy with the force of a thirty-foot wave, carrying them both along as it surged and crested and threw them both up onto the beach.

  Davy’s arms and knees buckled, and they both fell haphazard onto the bed. Limp with release, Marshall wrapped his arms and legs around Davy, who lay relaxed and panting in his embrace. “Are you all right?”

  “Oh yes,” Davy murmured, snuggling close. “Better than. What a fool I was. Better than I could have dreamed, I… I am falling asleep, Will. Jus’ for a moment.”

  “Mmm.” Marshall let his face sink forward onto Davy’s hair, overcome by lassitude and contentment.

  He awakened some time later with one arm half-numb and golden light filling the room. Clouds were still visible from the window over the bed, but away westward the setting sun had peeked out from below the storm.

  He shifted, and Davy rolled over. His eyes opened, and focused, and a slow smile started in them that spread across his face. “William.”

  Thank God he was smiling. “Was it—was it all right?”

  The smile bloomed, brighter than the sunshine. “William, it was not ‘all right.’ It was splendid. If you could be promoted for your performance, you would be an admiral.” He chuckled. “Rear admiral, no doubt.”

  Even the excruciating pun could not annoy him. He had never seen Davy so unreservedly happy. “How do you feel?”

  “I’m not sure, Will. Different.” Davy frowned thoughtfully, shook his head. Then he sat up, swung a leg over and leaned down for a kiss. One thing led to another; before Marshall knew what happened his body was responding to the enticement, and Davy was riding him once again.

  From time to time, aboard ship, some angle of light would make a picture of extraordinary beauty. The pictures never lasted very long, and Marshall had no talent for art, no way to capture the moment. But this image, he knew, would live in his memory as long as he drew breath: Davy astride him, lips parted, hair ablaze in the red-gold sunset, his strong young body limned in liquid light. He looked more than human, some legend come to life. Apollo in his chariot.

  He smiled down at Marshall and said, “I feel free.”

  THE TRANSCENDENCE had dimmed when they awoke the following morning, startled from sleep by someone knocking on the door with hot water for shaving. They would have time for breakfast, the boy informed them, but the smith was already working on the repairs and they’d be on the road in an hour or so.

  Davy bounced out of bed, whistling merrily. Marshall left the covers reluctantly, aching in a few odd places but feeling incredibly content with life. He appeased his barely repentant conscience by using some of the shaving water to clean up a telltale spot on the bed sheet.

  “Just pull the sheets off the bed,” Davy suggested with the ease of a gentleman born to household servants. “They’ll have to change them anyway—the washerwoman won’t know who left the spots, and I’m sure she won’t care.”

  Davy was right, he realized with relief, and stripped the bed in a trice. “Davy… are you certain I did not hurt you?”

  Davy laughed. “I’m tough, Will. You did no damage. No one’s ever been as gentle as you.” He made a mock-grimace and rubbed his backside. “You’re a little bigger than any natural object I’ve had to accommodate, but I don’t need to ride into London with a bandage round my rump.”

  Marshall shook his head in wondering affection. “You are—you are like an onion.”

  Davy stared at him, brows drawn together, then a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I see. I stink and I make your eyes water. Thank you so much, Mr. Marshall.”

  Marshall sighed. “That’s not what I meant, Davy. You seem to be made of more layers than I can ever penetrate.”

  Davy wiggled suggestively.

  “That is not what I mean, either. To most, you seem bright and carefree, as though you had not a worry in the world, but I know you better than that. I look more closely and see a trace of old pain—then beneath that, a deeper strength. Layers. The more I look upon you, the more I wonder what I have not seen.” He was instantly embarrassed at speaking so plainly.

  Davy’s smile was warm, but his reply was lighthearted. “I shall be pleased to give you every opportunity to continue your observations, sir. The onion does not quite suit my aspirations. I hope you find something more poetic.”

  He smiled back, relieved. “What does a simple sailor like me know of poetry?” He made sure his bag was buckled securely, buttoned his uniform, and grimaced when he found Davy’s petrified handkerchief in his pocket. He’d have to wash that out in London, without fail.

  One last kiss, a close embrace, and they swung the door wide to leave this unexpected haven.

  Marshall felt as though they had spent much more than one night in this room, and he was only beginning to realize how much had changed in a dozen hours. On the surface, all was as it had been: they were on leave, Davy was still facing his examination, they had not yet even arrived in London. But in a deeper sense, Marshall realized he had at last reached the destination he had been seeking all his life. And he had not arrived alone.

  About the Author

  LEE ROWAN has been writing since childhood, but professionally only since spring of 2006, with the publication of her Eppie-winning novel, Ransom. She is a lady of a certain age, old enough to know better but still young enough to do it anyway. A confirmed bookaholic with a wife of many years, she is kept in line by a cadre of cats and two dogs who get her away from the computer and out of the house at least once a day.

  Coming Soon from LEE ROWAN

  Royal Navy series: Book Two

  Winds of Change

  Lieutenants William Marshall and David Archer, of His Majesty’s frigate Calypso, have been lovers for more than a year. Because the penalty for discovery is the hangman’s noose, they limit themselves to the occasional night of passion ashore.

  But in the Navy, nothing lasts forever. A transfer to a new ship brings with it a bizarre turn of events: their captain orders them to behave as though they are involved in an illicit relationship in order to smoke out a suspected traitor. When their masquerade proves dangerously effective, it threatens to cost Davy his life.

  Eye of the Storm

  The long war between England and France enters a fragile and temporary truce in the winter of 1802, but the lives of Commander William Marshall and Lieutenant David Archer are more complicated than ever. After almost losing Davy in battle, Will faces the responsibility of command and questions whether he can give orders that will put his love in harm's way once more.

  Doubts torment David Archer. Will walked away once, trying to end their relationship for Davy's own safety. His physical wounds have healed, but the loss of trust remains. Now, his biggest challenge is persuading Will their love is worth the risk of loss.

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  Coming in 2015 from LEE ROWAN

  Royal Navy series: Book Three

  Home is the Sailor

  The Royal Navy meets the Stately English Manor Murder Mystery, and if it were only a matter of Colonel Mustard in the library, things would be so much easier.

  After an ambush by the French while on a routine surveillance mission, Will Marshall and David Archer are advised to retreat to the English countryside to avoid Bonaparte's animosity for a time. Upon their arrival, they discover tha
t David's eldest brother has died after a mysterious accident and this puts his other, very unsuitable brother in line for the title. David's suspicions—that the new heir had a hand in his brother’s death—seem so unreasonable that even Will finds it difficult to believe his fears are valid. If Davy thought his lover was hard to convince, his autocratic father, who still sees him as the inept youngest son, won’t even listen to him. Davy and Will are thrust into the role of sleuths, trying to determine the truth behind the mystery.

  All the while Will has concerns of his own: his fear of losing Davy is still stronger than his desire to keep Davy beside him on the quarterdeck… but he knows no other life than the Navy.

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