by Ava March
Pulling free with a crude, wet sound that seemed to smack against Vincent’s aching erection, he cupped the round globes of Oliver’s arse and lifted his hips from the bed, fully exposing that tight, perfect hole. The muscles there briefly contracted, as if Oliver could feel the force of Vincent’s gaze. Vincent’s cock instinctively jumped at the memory of his lover’s body wrapped around his length, eager and needy to experience it again. Yet he held back and stayed focused on Oliver. On cranking the pleasure to unbelievable heights. He knew just how amazingly good it felt to have a man lick his arse—Oliver had introduced him to that particular pleasure. Beyond time he repaid the favor.
He bowed his head. A jolt shot through Oliver, briefly shaking his limbs, at the first touch of the tip of Vincent’s tongue to the smooth expanse of skin behind his lover’s ballocks. Vincent fought back the smug grin and traced a path down to Oliver’s entrance.
With each flick of his tongue over the puckered skin, he could hear the force of his lover’s need. Each pant hitching sharper. Each hiss of air between his teeth harsher, louder.
The moment Oliver’s body opened for him, he stabbed his tongue inside.
Absolute silence suddenly pressed against his ears. He lifted his head.
Oliver’s eyes were clamped shut, bottom lip held tight between his teeth. Pure, unadulterated need was written all over his face. Obvious proof Oliver was doing his damnedest to hold back a climax.
While behind closed doors, his lover would do anything for him, expend every bit of effort within himself to follow Vincent’s orders. Oliver’s willingness to please him humbled him like nothing else could.
He shifted up his lover’s body. Pressed a light kiss to that poor abused lower lip.
“So good. So perfect.” Consumed with awe, it was all Vincent could do to give voice to the praise, the admiration, filling his entire being.
The sweat-slicked chest beneath his own expanded on a greedy gasp of air. Oliver blinked his eyes open.
The plea, the shout for more, the sheer desperation in the man’s gaze, struck Vincent square in the chest, the force more potent than a prizefighter’s blow. It radiated throughout his body, ratcheting the lust to a fever pitch.
He leaned back, broke the contact of their bodies, and reaching into the bedside table drawer, grabbed the bottle of oil.
Oliver’s desperate gaze tracked his movements, the weight of his need a physical force prodding Vincent to quickly slick his cock. Urgency pressed against him. He could feel the man teetering on the brink—one touch, one kiss could push him over the edge. And by God, he did not want Oliver going over that edge without him. He needed to be there with him, joined with him. Needed to experience that exact moment when the ecstasy claimed him.
He closed the bottle, let it drop to the rumpled sheet, and shifted back between Oliver’s still-spread legs. Holding his prick steady in one hand, he braced his weight on the other and crouched over Oliver.
“It’s yours,” he murmured as he pushed inside his lover. “All of it, all of me, is yours.”
Oliver’s arms shot out, fingers tangling in Vincent’s hair and hauling him down for a passionate kiss that threatened to pull the orgasm out of Vincent.
Buried only halfway inside Oliver, he stilled his hips. Instinct screamed to break out of Oliver’s hold, to pull back from Oliver’s delicious mouth, to give himself a moment to regain control so he could keep each thrust slow and quiet.
But the heat and exquisite tightness gripping his cock, the feel of the man beneath him, the blistering need in Oliver’s kiss…
He met Oliver’s kiss and then some as he slammed deep within his lover. Oliver arched beneath him, taking everything Vincent gave him and greedy for more. The lines between them blurred. He swore he could feel everything Oliver felt. The desire saturating his lover’s senses, the way the lust coiled tighter and tighter, stringing his nerves taut, the fight to hold off and savor, the silent pleas for even more, the all-encompassing depth of his love.
That blistering kiss still unbroken, Vincent thrust harder, faster, desperate to get even closer to him. Deep, demanding strokes that soon had him drinking up Oliver’s shout of completion and following his lover over the edge.
* * *
The last flicker of flame from the fire in the hearth joined the glowing embers. Oliver did not need his spectacles to see the clock on the mantle to know dawn soon approached. He took a few more moments to simply soak up being with Vincent: the man’s strong arms wrapped around him, the rhythmic rise and fall of the broad chest beneath his cheek.
Sleep tugged heavily on his eyes, yet he refused to bow to it. Before Vincent had—well, passed out described it best—what had to have been a good couple of hours ago, Oliver had given him his word he would depart before dawn, before any servants started their day. If he followed his lover and succumbed to sleep, he highly doubted his ability to hold true to his word. No bother, though. He could sleep the morning away in his bed in the guest bedchamber.
A smile curved his mouth. A year and a half ago, he would have never dared to dream of being here with Vincent, in the man’s bed. Never even allowed himself to hope for a night like tonight where Vincent’s every touch, his every kiss, the way he had looked at Oliver had made him feel…worshiped. Yet tonight was the first of many to come with a man who loved him as deeply and truly as Oliver loved him in return. A man who would love him forever.
A man who would have his hide, and rightly so, if his valet found his master’s guest snuggled up close to the man’s side.
He pressed a kiss to Vincent’s chest and reluctantly began to ease out of Vincent’s hold. The man’s arms tightened, stopping Oliver’s progress.
“It’s all right, Vincent,” Oliver whispered, braced above him. He couldn’t make out his features in the darkness, but he would bet the man’s eyes were open. “It will be dawn soon. I need to return to the guest bedchamber.”
Vincent let out a sleepy sigh. “All right.” He coasted his large hands down Oliver’s bare back, leaving a path of tingling skin in his wake, and briefly palmed Oliver’s arse before dropping his hands to the mattress.
Halfway across the room, Oliver remembered his clothes. Wouldn’t do at all to leave them behind. Shaking his head at himself, he turned back, snagged his trousers and shirt from the floor, and quickly tugged them on. The guest bedchamber was but a few paces from Vincent’s door; still, prudence and all.
Keeping his steps light and quiet, he crossed to the door and reached for the knob.
“Love you.” The murmured words brushed the back of his neck.
“I’m yours too.” With a smile on his lips, Oliver slipped out of the room.
Loose Id Titles by Ava March
Convincing Arthur
His Client
The BOUND Series
Bound by Deception
Bound to Him
Bound Forever
Ava March
Ava March writes Regency-set erotic romances. She has a daughter and is married to a wonderful man who doesn’t mind in the slightest that she spends her evenings writing naughty books.
Ava loves to hear from her readers. See what she’s been up to by visiting her on the Web at http://www.AvaMarch.com.
