Convincing Leopold

by Ava March

  Another late night. The last thing he needed. He had certainly not intended to remain at Thorn’s uncle’s home until after two in the morning. Engrossed in discussing business with his new acquaintances and hopefully soon-to-be new client, Arthur had let time get away from him. He should have brought Wilson along with him. The secretary excelled at pulling his employer’s nose from the intricacies of the law and keeping him on schedule. If Thorn had not materialized at his shoulder and discreetly nudged him to notice the tall clock in the corner, Arthur could very well still be at that ball. At least his lover appeared to have had a good evening. He had spotted the man dancing twice, and fortunately Randolph had not approached him a second time.

  A knee brushed against his own as Thorn shifted on the bench opposite him. He owed Thorn his thanks. Again. It had been Thorn who had helped him get over the heartache of parting with Randolph, more than prodding Arthur to see the man for what he was.

  Cold, staid and unfaithful. Everything Thorn was not.

  And tonight, once more, Thorn had been there when Arthur needed him most.

  “Thank you, for…” Opening his eyes, Arthur gestured to fill the void, struggling to find a word that described exactly the service Thorn had paid him. “Interceding with Amherst.”

  In the darkness, he could just make out Thorn’s hands stilling in the act of pulling off his white gloves. “You are not…upset I interceded?”

  “Of course not. I’m quite thankful you did. I had not spoken to him since the night I ended that relationship. Deliberately been avoiding him.” Arthur shook his head. “Cowardly of me.”

  “Not at all,” came Thorn’s quiet voice, steeped with compassion.

  “Yes, it was. In any case, it was more than uncomfortable to have to engage in polite conversation with him.” He omitted any mention of Randolph’s true intentions. Best Thorn remained ignorant of that fact. He wouldn’t put it past his lover to challenge his ex-lover to pistols at dawn. “Thank you for pulling me away when you did. It shouldn’t discompose me so much to speak to him, but it’s just… It hurt to see him.” To be faced with the man who had cared so very little for him. A physical reminder of his own desperate, blind foolishness and the painful heartache that had followed in its wake. He shook his head again. “My apologies. I don’t mean to go on about him. He means nothing to me. Truly.”

  He felt the carriage shift slightly. A hard shoulder pressed against his as Thorn settled beside him.

  “You were with him for ten years, Arthur. That’s not something one leaves behind in the blink of an eye.” Thorn laid a hand on his thigh, but rather than arouse, there was nothing but comfort in his touch. “You needn’t apologize.”

  Arthur let out a sigh, the tension breaking from his shoulders. “Thank you for understanding.” Thorn was wicked and wanton and prone to bouts of volatility, yet the man’s mere presence could be so comforting at times—that soothing sense of quiet acceptance.

  “It is I who should apologize,” Thorn said. “I should have thought to ask who would be in attendance before bringing you there tonight.”

  “But you should not have to. And you needn’t worry about it. The situation is over and done with. I shall never have to face him for the first time again.” Nor would he continue to act the coward and deliberately avoid Randolph. If the man tried to proposition him once more, he would convey his disinterest in no uncertain terms.

  Arthur looked out the window to the neat rows of stately town homes interspersed with tidy squares, the darkness of night broken only by the streetlamps. Thorn’s team of four continued to wind its way out of Mayfair and to Arthur’s bachelor apartments, the rhythmic sounds of their strides creating a calming lull that filled the interior of the well-sprung carriage.

  If nothing else, the evening had served a valuable purpose, reminding him anew of the mistakes he had made with Randolph. The prospect of being alone still frightened him a bit. All right, more than a bit. But never again would he allow fear to push him to cling to a man.

  Thorn’s touch shifted, pulling Arthur from his thoughts. His lover did not move his hand from its spot midway along Arthur’s thigh, yet he could feel the change in Thorn’s intent. Long fingers splaying, grip firm, while the sleek body beside him practically melted into his side. “I never did make good on my offer from earlier.”

  “I want you to spill down my throat, coat my tongue with your seed.”

  Like a flint to stone, arousal sparked his senses. “We’ll be at my apartments soon.”

  Thorn’s lips grazed his ear. “It will be at least another fifteen minutes before we arrive.”

  “Not enough time.”

  “Plenty of time if I apply myself. I could be sucking the last drop from you within a handful of minutes.” Thorn reached across him, toward the shade on the window.

  The thought of Thorn applying himself made Arthur’s ballocks begin to grow heavy with need, yet he could not forget the lateness of the hour. He put a hand on Thorn’s chest, stilling the man’s fingers an inch from the shade. “Thorn—”

  In one fluid motion, Thorn straddled his lap, knees bracketing his hips and firm, round arse settling on his thighs. Arthur blinked against the suddenly dark interior, all traces of weak golden light gone.

  Hands lightly grasped his shoulders. He felt Thorn’s weight shift, then hot breaths fanned his cheek. “It’s only the two of us, and at this hour the streets are practically deserted. I don’t want you to bugger me…yet.” Arthur did not need a lamp to see Thorn’s wicked smile. “I just want to taste you.”

  Just? He would never use that word to describe climaxing down Thorn’s throat.

  Soft lips brushed across his, a teasing whisper of a caress. “Please.”

  How could he resist when Thorn asked so sweetly, as if he alone held the power to grant the man his fondest wish?

  Arthur cleared his throat and tried to mimic the haughty manner of a bored aristocrat. He certainly had heard that tone more than once tonight. “If you must.”

  Reaching between their bodies, Thorn tugged on the placket of Arthur’s trousers, firm and with deliberate purpose. “Yes, Mr. Barrington. I must.”

  Before Thorn could shift down, Arthur grabbed the man by the back of the neck and pulled him in for a kiss, slanting his mouth over those full lips that would very soon be wrapped around his cock. Then Thorn moved back, breaking the kiss and dropping to his knees.

  Arthur did not even have a chance to feel a wisp of air brush across his cock before Thorn took him inside and proceeded to give an extremely clear demonstration of just how he could apply himself.

  Suction and wet heat. Nimble flicks of his tongue and long, plunging strokes. Thorn did not ease up for an instant but kept up a full onslaught of delicious sensation. The darkness robbed Arthur of sight but heightened his other senses. His ears picked up the crude sound of his now wet cock sliding in and out of Thorn’s mouth, drowning out the rhythmic clop of hooves on the street and the jangle of harness. The vibrations of the carriage transmitted through the leather bench, tickling and teasing his ballocks. The musky note of arousal and the enticing spice of Thorn’s cologne surrounded him, prodding the lust permeating Arthur’s senses even higher. Had Thorn’s lips become softer, fuller? His mouth hotter? And his throat…

  Tightening his grip in Thorn’s hair, Arthur let out a low groan as the man took him deep yet again.

  In no time at all, the climax barreled down his length. Clenching his jaw to hold back the shout, Arthur spilled down his lover’s throat.

  Abruptly, cool air hit his cock, those soft lips gone. Arthur heard the rustle of fabric, the pop of buttons pulled from their moorings, then the distinct sound of a fist working a cock. Mind still reeling from the blistering speed of that orgasm, he slid his hand around to cup Thorn’s jaw. The man turned his head, drawing Arthur’s gloved fingers into his mouth. Sharp teeth pressed against
his skin through the fabric, almost hard enough to draw blood. Then Thorn let out a soul-deep grunt.

  His jaw went lax, Arthur’s fingers slipping from his mouth. Thorn’s rapid, heavy pants cut through the air. “I would hazard a guess…” he gasped for breath, “…less than a handful of minutes.”

  Arthur leaned his head against the interior wall and chuckled. “Most assuredly.” Even as an adolescent, he had not climaxed that quickly.

  Thorn climbed back onto his lap to gift Arthur with a wonderfully slow, deep kiss. “Let me stay with you tonight.”

  What he wouldn’t give to spend the night with Thorn, to simply hold him close and bask in his love. But he shook his head. “I have an early appointment with His Grace. I am to present myself in his study at half past seven. The man must be one of those types who can operate exceedingly well on little sleep. He was still at the ball when we left and looked to have no intention of leaving soon.”

  “You should have proposed a later hour for the meeting.”

  “One does not counter a directive given by a duke.” Thorn moved about in Society. He knew the way of things. Then a thought occurred to Arthur. “And don’t send him a note. He might be your godfather, but this is business.”

  Thorn made a noise somewhere between a snort and a harrumph. “All right.” The comforting weight of his body left Arthur as he moved back to the opposite bench. “But don’t you have enough clients?”

  One could never have enough clients. And no matter his success, he could never quite escape the worry that the client he refused would be the last one to present himself at his office. “I can’t turn down the opportunity to take on His Grace,” he said, tucking his sated prick into his trousers and doing up the placket. “And need I remind you that you are the one who made the introduction.”

  Thorn let out another one of those little noises of discontent. Judging by the rustle of fabric, he was repairing his own clothing. “I didn’t want you to spend the evening playing the wallflower,” he grumbled. “Much too handsome for that.” He sighed, then nudged Arthur’s knee with his own. “Come to Ramsey House with me.”

  “When?”

  “Soon. Next week. Within the fortnight.”

  “Thank you for the invitation, but it will take days to travel to Yorkshire.”

  “I can guarantee an enjoyable carriage ride.”

  “Of that I have no doubt.” An eager Thorn, willing to broaden Arthur’s knowledge of the most pleasurable ways to make long hours in a carriage slip by, had made their return to London quite enjoyable. “But I can’t afford to be away from the office for such a length of time. Perhaps by the spring Fenton will be able to manage on his own for a few days, and then I can join you. If you wish to take a holiday now or need to visit the property, please don’t hold back on my account.”

  Was that what Thorn needed, a bit of country air? It wasn’t the first time he had mentioned Yorkshire in the last month, though it was the first time he had outright asked Arthur to accompany him.

  But Thorn wiped away that possibility. “No. I don’t have a pressing need to escape London at the moment. Much rather wait for you.”

  The carriage slowed to a stop. Arthur lifted the shade to reveal a very familiar tidy brick building. They had arrived at his bachelor apartments. “Did you have a nice evening?” he asked, glancing to Thorn. Hopefully the opportunity to socialize with others besides himself had provided what Thorn needed. The man had been a tad…calmer on the carriage ride. Well, at least not as aggressive as of late.

  The streetlamp illuminated Thorn’s single nod.

  “Good.” The carriage shifted, the springs creaking faintly as the footman hopped down to see to the door. Arthur held Thorn’s gaze. “Tomorrow night. Yes. You have my word.”

  The smile curving the edges of his lover’s mouth told him loud and clear that Thorn understood.

  Chapter Four

  Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension there.

  It did not do a damn bit of good.

  “Fenton,” he called.

  The young man materialized in the open door of his office. “Yes, Mr. Barrington?”

  “Did you pull the last contract we did for Mr. Newbourgh before drafting this one?” Arthur indicated the papers on his desk before him. The same papers Fenton had dropped off mere minutes ago.

  Shaking his head, Fenton stepped into the office. “No, Mr. Barrington. I made certain to follow the notes you gave me, though. I was quite careful to ensure I addressed everything you asked for.”

  Arthur let out a sigh, but it did nothing to ease the frustration stringing his nerves taut. “When I handed you the notes, I asked you to also pull the last contract done for him and use it as a guide. It was for the purchase of a property similar to this one. Mr. Newbourgh requires very specific language in his contracts.” They had just discussed the new contract yesterday afternoon, not twenty-four hours ago. How had Fenton forgotten? Arthur might have been slightly distracted, concerned Fenton would detect the scent of spilled seed that had certainly still lingered on the air, but he knew without a doubt he had conveyed the request to the secretary.

  A furrow of worry pulled Fenton’s brow as he came to a stop at Arthur’s shoulder. “My apologies for the oversight, Mr. Barrington.”

  “Regardless of Mr. Newbourgh’s requirements, it is always good practice to check a client’s file before starting work on a new document.” Something else he had told Fenton before. More than once, in fact.

  “Yes, of course.” Fenton nodded. “If you would like, I will make the necessary changes posthaste.”

  “Please do so.”

  Fenton’s fingertips brushed Arthur’s as he took the proffered papers. “I will have it back on your desk in a couple of hours.”

  Arthur tipped his head, then reached for his pen and the will he had set aside in order to review the Newbourgh draft. A will Wilson had delivered only yesterday, yet the client had already changed his mind and requested revisions. Of course, the client wanted it completed tonight.

  As if Arthur had even a spare moment to see to it. Definitely not today, and especially not when he felt every one of the three hours and ten minutes of sleep he had managed to get last night.

  “Afternoon, Barrington.”

  He looked up just in time to see Thorn reach for the open door to his office as if to shut it. Arthur quickly shook his head.

  Thorn paused, fingertips on the solid oak.

  Leave it open, Arthur silently mouthed. The last thing he needed this afternoon was Thorn on the prowl.

  With a shrug, Thorn let his fingers slip from the wood. He crossed the room, stopping before Arthur’s desk. His usually pale cheeks were flushed from the cold and his dark hair slightly tousled. The wind from the morning must not have died down yet.

  “How has your day been?” Thorn asked.

  “Quite busy.”

  “Was your morning appointment a success?”

  “I believe so, but only time will tell. He turned over a few files to me, so that is a good sign.” Judging by the thickness of those files and the man’s precise yet rapidly given instructions, he suspected His Grace was intent on putting him through his paces.

  “I am sure you will sufficiently impress him, and in no time at all, he’ll pull the bulk of his business from his other solicitors and hand it over to you.”

  If only Arthur would be so fortunate. But regardless of how much or how little business the duke turned his way, Arthur was determined not to let him down.

  The weight of those files, the importance of them, pulled his attention to the corner of his desk. He would not be able to even finish skimming through the various documents in order to get acquainted with them until he finished making the changes to the will.

  He tapped the end of his pen against his ivory teacup, the last sips contained with
in likely long cold by now, then stilled his hand. “Any particular reason for today’s visit?” he asked, trying not to let the impatience seep into his voice.

  “Yes.” A slow smile spread across Thorn’s full lips…that less than twelve hours ago had been wrapped around Arthur’s prick. He took a half step closer, his thighs grazing the edge of Arthur’s desk, and lowered his voice. “Supper. Tonight, at your apartments. I’ll see to everything.” He quirked a brow. “Even the food.”

  The promise of another near-sleepless night had resistance welling up inside him, but he tamped it down. He had given Thorn his word, after all, and tomorrow was Sunday. He wouldn’t be needed at the office, though at the rate he was going today, he would most assuredly need to bring a fat pile of paperwork home.

  “You intend to cook?” To his knowledge, Thorn had absolutely no culinary skills, never mind that Arthur’s apartments had only the barest definition of a kitchen.

  Thorn scoffed. “Of course not. My cook will handle that. Just need to tell him what to prepare. Then I’ll bring it over. Is there anything in particular you would prefer?”

  “No.” Arthur shook his head. Food was the last thing on his mind at the moment. “You may plan the menu as you see fit.”

  “Are you certain? I want to—”

  There was a light rap of knuckles on wood.

  “Mr. Barrington.”

  Arthur looked around Thorn to find Fenton back in his doorway. “Yes?”

  “My apologies for the interruption.”

  “It’s quite all right,” Arthur said to the secretary, motioning for him to enter the office.

  Fenton rounded his desk. “There are a few different property-related contracts in Mr. Newbourgh’s file. Would you prefer that I use one in particular?”

  Had the man listened to him at all? Arthur resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in an effort to push back the pounding pressure beginning to build behind his eyes. “They all contain the necessary language, though it is always best to use the most recent.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Barrington, and again, my apologies for the interruption.”