by Ava March
The clock on the mantel of the fireplace indicated it was pushing past ten-thirty. Quite late, considering the house kept country hours. “Neither. I can take care of them myself, but thank you for the offer.”
Puzzlement flickered across her face. “Would you care for a nightcap?”
“No, thank you.”
The girl bobbed a curtsy and out the door she went.
A friend of Max’s likely would not have refused the offer to unpack his trunks, but Tristan preferred to see to it himself. The maid did not know it—and hopefully never would—but he was an employee of the house, just as she was. Seeing to the fire and tidying up was one thing, unpacking his trunks bordered on an imposition.
He crossed the bedchamber to where the footmen were disappearing with trunks and reappearing relieved of their burdens. Larger than his tiny room at Rubicon’s, the dressing room was a sight to behold. Empty hooks and shelves and two chests of drawers. A tall mirror and lit silver candelabras on those two chests. The light scent of cedar in the air. And next to the dressing room was the washroom, complete with a porcelain tub and a shower-bath.
As the footmen deposited his trunks in the dressing room, he took the opportunity to wash up from the day’s travels. He hadn’t an idea how Max expected them to manage the night portion of their arrangement, wasn’t even certain if the double doors at the end of the corridor led to Max’s rooms. For all he knew, Max fully intended to retire for the evening, get some rest after the long day. Perhaps tomorrow, when there weren’t servants passing through his rooms, Max would provide him with instructions. The last thing he should do was go wandering about the house, peeking in rooms looking for Max, and giving the servants any cause whatsoever to question the true purpose of his stay at the Park.
His first night in the country appeared to be his to do with as he pleased. At Rubicon’s, a night without a client had felt like a holiday. Here though...
He stared at the trunks on the dressing room floor. He was quite fond of his wardrobe. Honestly, he was. After having nothing but his older brother’s castoffs all through his childhood and adolescence, a proper wardrobe of his own, complete with more than two coats and trousers that were not almost worn through at the knees, felt like a treasured luxury. Yet...
He let out a sigh. His plan for the night hadn’t involved unpacking, but it wasn’t his place to complain.
* * *
Max rumpled the coverlet then checked the screen to ensure it was fully covering the fire in the hearth. There was a metallic snick of a latch turning. After extinguishing the candles, he walked toward the golden light spilling from the dressing room and found Tristan kneeling before an open trunk, his back to Max. Five other trunks littered the space, one of them open and empty. A handful of waistcoats hung on the hooks and one of the shelves had been filled with folded white shirts.
Tristan’s newly shortened hair appeared damp, the ends sticking to his nape. That, the lack of a coat, waistcoat and cravat, and the bare feet indicated Tristan had recently familiarized himself with the washroom. Max wanted to bury his nose in Tristan’s neck, take a deep breath of clean male skin and Tristan.
He’d had a hell of a time staying focused on work during the ride to the country house. Just having Tristan near, knowing the man would be in his bed that night...
Thoughts of sweat-slicked skin, tangled sheets and pleas for more had kept shoving his attention off work and onto the man seated opposite him. His knee bumping Max’s whenever the carriage had hit a particularly deep rut in the road, his hand passing across the back of his head whenever a strong breeze blew in through the window, making Max long to discover how those short stands would feel between his own fingers. If there was still enough length to get a good grasp on Tristan’s hair as he bobbed up and down Max’s cock.
A question Max had no hope of discovering the answer to if he stood in the dressing room’s doorway all night, watching Tristan unpack.
“Good evening.”
Tristan gave a start then his shoulders relaxed. He looked behind him, a smile on his lips, eyes alight with welcome. A welcome that sparked a comforting warmth in Max’s chest. “Max.”
Max tipped his head. “My valet finally took himself off to bed.” It had been all he’d been able to do to stand still as his valet had undressed him, to keep from pushing the servant out of his rooms.
Tristan’s gaze traveled down Max’s bare chest, stopping below the waistband of the trousers Max had pulled back on after his valet had left. As if on command, Max’s semi-erect cock grew harder, pressing against the fabric. Tristan’s smile turned absolutely sinful.
“You do know a maid can manage that for you?” Max nudged his chin toward the trunks.
“Yes, but I prefer to see to it myself.”
“Then you can see to it in the morning.” He held out a hand. “My rooms.”
In one graceful movement, Tristan got to his feet. Leaving the full trunk behind without hesitation, he put his hand in Max’s and allowed himself to be tugged from the dressing room.
Their bare feet made nary a sound as they went to the narrow door Max had left open.
“This way,” Max said, leading Tristan into the passageway. “And shut the door behind you.”
They were plunged into pitch darkness. Tristan’s grip tightened around his hand.
“It’s not far,” Max murmured. “And this passageway’s straight. We won’t get lost.”
“I’m not frightened of the dark.” Tristan’s whispered voice, with a familiar steel behind it, floated over Max’s shoulder.
Stopping in his tracks, Max pushed Tristan against the wall. His free hand found the smooth line of Tristan’s jaw and then he crushed his lips over Tristan’s.
Tristan immediately opened for him, his body molding to Max’s, his tongue slipping out to tangle with Max’s. The hard steel was gone, replaced by soft eagerness. Devouring his mouth, Max pressed full up against him, pressing the arch of his erection into Tristan’s lower belly. Tristan moaned, and Max drank up the sound. It felt like weeks and not a few days since he’d last had Tristan in his arms. Lust roared through his veins, the scents of clean male skin and Tristan filled his senses.
A hand pushed between their bodies, tugged at the waistband of Max’s trousers.
And Max forced himself to take a step back. “Not here,” he gasped, his panting breaths echoing about them, mingling with Tristan’s.
“But someplace nearby?”
The darkness hid the smile that curved Max’s mouth. “Quite near.” A few more paces took them to the end of the passage. Max’s fingers found the metal latch, and he pushed open the door. He looked over his shoulder and watched as Tristan closed it behind them, the door blending seamlessly with the rich mahogany paneling on the walls.
“I’ll open it after my valet leaves for the night. That’s how you’ll know it’s safe to come to my rooms.”
Tristan nodded.
That practicality dealt with, Max led Tristan across the bedchamber. Other than the fire in the hearth, only a candle on the bedside table lit the room. His gaze went to the small trunk he’d deliberately left beside a writing desk. Rather than make a step toward it, he took Tristan to the large four-poster bed. They had many nights ahead of them to sample the items he’d purchased from the shop that afternoon. Tonight he just wanted Tristan in his bed. Wanted the man beneath him. Wanted to hear more of those hoarse moans.
But instead of dragging Tristan onto the bed, he stopped beside it. One tug, and Tristan moved to stand before him then Max released his hand.
“Remove your clothes.”
Tristan whisked his shirt over his head, pushed his trousers down his lean hips. Then he waited, his erection jutting from his bare body, his gaze locked with Max’s.
Max read the hunger, the need, in those green-gold depth
s. And he wanted more of it. Wanted Tristan to feel the same desperation soaking his own nerves. Wanted Tristan frantic to feel Max’s cock inside of him.
“Turn around. Bend over the bed.”
Tristan’s breaths hitched. Then he did exactly as bid. With his legs slightly spread, he even arched his lower back, presenting his gorgeous arse to Max. His ballocks were drawn up, kissing the expanse of skin beneath his tight hole.
He passed a hand down Tristan’s sleek back, traced the tantalizing crease of his arse with the tips of his fingers. As Max brushed past his entrance, Tristan’s muscles tightened, a quick, all-too-tempting constriction.
Yet Max resisted. They had all night. There was no reason at all to rush. He finally had Tristan where he wanted him—in his bed. Well, over the side of it, but it qualified just the same.
So instead of teasing his entrance, Max let his fingertips trail down. Followed the smooth expanse of skin to his ballocks. Lightly traced the surface, a mere whisper of a caress.
When Tristan shifted, a little wiggle steeped with impatience, Max pulled his hand away.
“I’ll stay still.” The words rushed from Tristan’s mouth.
“Will you now?” Max asked, as casually as he could.
“Yes. Yes, I promise.”
The better question would have been can you? How much would it take to push Tristan past the point where need overpowered will?
“Look at me.”
Turning his head, Tristan looked to Max, shoulders lifting from the mattress. Max’s hands went to the waistband of his trousers. As if he had all the time in the world, as if he didn’t want to pounce on Tristan and take everything the man offered, Max undid the placket, slowly slipped each button through its mooring. All the while, Tristan’s gaze followed Max’s hands.
The last button held in place with his fingers, he paused. Tristan’s back went still, breath held. Max pushed the fabric down his hips and stepped free of his trousers.
Tristan’s tongue slipped out, swiped across his bottom lip.
Max swore he felt the echo of that pink tongue swipe across the head of his cock. A drop of fluid beaded at the tip.
Instead of wrapping a hand around his prick, satisfying the urge for some sort of friction, he reached out, splayed his hands over Tristan’s arse. “What do you want?”
Tristan didn’t hesitate. “You.”
The simple answer shouldn’t have pleased him so much—it was only one word, after all—yet it did.
Still, it wasn’t exactly the answer the situation demanded. Max rubbed the pad of a thumb across Tristan’s tight hole. “Be specific.”
A blush warmed the crests of his cheekbones. “I want you to bugger me,” he said, just above a whisper, voice hitching the slightest bit.
“That outcome’s a given. Anything else?” Perhaps cruel of him to push so hard, but he wanted Tristan’s honesty, raw and uninhibited. Wanted to know precisely what would prod Tristan’s lust even higher. And Max wanted to give him exactly that.
When Tristan didn’t answer, Max bent forward, spit on his hole. Straightening, he went back to toying with Tristan, rubbing his thumb across the now-slick surface.
Tristan’s gaze locked on Max’s mouth. The muscles in his thighs went taut, yet he did not move an inch. Nor did another word fall from his lips.
Interesting.
“Have you ever had a man lick your arse?”
A pause. A very long pause.
Tristan shook his head, a small, minuscule motion. “I’ve done it but... But never had...” The blush tingeing his cheeks spread to the tips of his ears.
How was it possible for a man to look so innocent yet so eager to be debauched at the same time?
Refusing to examine the fierce rush of possessiveness sweeping through him, Max asked, “Would you like me to?”
Now he was truly pushing into cruelty, but he needed the yes out of Tristan.
Tristan’s gaze skittered off toward the washstand before meeting Max’s again. Just when Max thought Tristan wouldn’t answer, he nodded once. “Please,” he whispered, heavy with need, with longing, and also...
No, that couldn’t be. Why would Tristan be uncertain? Max wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t willing to indulge him. Yet that tentative note lingered in Max’s ears, and the way Tristan broke eye contact again, his gaze now on the coverlet, confirmed it.
Max leaned over him, pressed a kiss on the exposed nape of his neck, took a moment to take in a deep full breath of the man.
“You don’t have to.”
If Max hadn’t been so close to Tristan, he doubted he would have heard him. As it was, Tristan’s words gave a fierce tug on Max’s chest.
“You are correct. I don’t have to.” He released his hold on one of Tristan’s arse cheeks to tap the back of his thigh. “Up. Knee on the bed.”
Tristan’s grip tightened, the coverlet clutched between his fingers. He shifted enough to swing his knee onto the mattress.
Following the line of Tristan’s spine, he dragged his mouth down Tristan’s back. Felt the sleek muscles beneath the smooth skin seize in a brief tremble. Dropping to his haunches, Max let his breath bathe Tristan’s crease. The position fully exposed Tristan to his gaze, and to his tongue.
Hands gripping Tristan’s cheeks, Max set to work taking him to the point where he couldn’t remain still a second longer. He skipped past light and teasing and went straight to determined. Long drags of his tongue over the puckered skin, his thumbs pulling at Tristan’s hole, forcing him open for short, quick jabs. Within no time at all, Tristan’s panting breaths filled Max’s ears, each one backed by a faint whimper.
And then the curses began.
“Max. Oh, hell, Max. Bloody fucking hell.” Tristan let out a groan that bordered on a whine. “Your tongue... Damnation.” Max pushed both thumbs inside him, tongue flicking the perimeter. Another groan, this one deep and low with frustration. “Holy Mother... Damned bastard.”
Max lifted his head. “Is that what you really think of me?” He couldn’t help but taunt him.
“No, no, no,” Tristan rushed to correct himself. “Just don’t stop. Please, please, don’t stop, Max.”
Far be it for Max to deny him when he asked so sweetly.
There was no warning at all before Tristan broke his promise. The body beneath Max’s palms went from taut to the point of rigidity to nonstop motion. Tristan tried to wriggle closer, bumping back against Max’s mouth, desperate for more, rendered helpless from need. Each frantic movement feeding Max’s passion, amplifying it.
“Please, please, oh God please, Max, fuck me. Please, I’ll do anything if you’ll just... Please.”
That last please shoved Max to his feet. He grabbed the oil from the bedside table, quickly slicked his length and pushed inside Tristan’s body.
Every rational thought flew from his head. He grabbed Tristan’s shoulder with one hand, hauled him back to meet each stroke. Friction and heat caressed his cock, pushed him to thrust harder, faster.
Neck bowed in supplication, Tristan took everything Max gave him, trusting Max to give him exactly what he needed. The curses and pleas gone. All that was left were guttural groans, drenched in pleasure. Groans that matched Max’s.
Sweat dripped down Max’s temples. Skin slapped against skin, the climax barreling upon him. The muscles in his belly tightened. A tingle tickled the base of his spine. He leaned fully over Tristan, over his sweat-slicked back, and rammed harder, needing to get even deeper.
The snug heat around his prick clenched like a damned fist as Tristan let out a soul-deep grunt.
And the orgasm seized Max’s senses, Tristan’s body milking his cock as he spilled within him.
Max’s arms gave out. Slumping down onto Tristan, he struggled to catch his breath.
It was a few moments before he could coordinate his limbs enough to push off Tristan and get them both properly on the bed. He blew out the candle then rolled into Tristan’s side, throwing an arm across his waist.
The most content sigh expanded Max’s chest.
Sleep had almost completely claimed him when he felt Tristan move. A careful little shift...away from him.
Max tightened his hold on Tristan’s waist.
“Max, I should head back to my bedchamber.”
“No. Stay. I’ll wake you before dawn.” He wanted Tristan in his bed at night, not just for an hour or two or three. But all night.
The warm body beside him relaxed. “All right.”
And that was the last sound Max heard before sleep overtook him.
* * *
Tristan could not recall exactly what roused him from sleep. Nor did he have any notion as to the time.
All he was aware of was darkness and Max above him. Kissing him, touching him, thrusting into him. Keeping him poised right on the brink of another climax. That perfect place where every sense was heightened, focused, consumed by lust.
He couldn’t say what exactly pushed him over the edge. Nor did he know if he went over first or if he followed Max. That blessedly perfect tight knot of sensation released, flooding his nerves in pure bliss, Max’s groan of completion mingling with their kiss.
Though the second time he was roused from sleep, he most assuredly could identify the culprit.
Max’s amazing mouth. Sliding up and down Tristan’s cock. Suction and heat and decadent caresses of his equally amazing tongue.
He tried to give Max a warning, but the man would have none of it. Or rather, he wanted all of it. Everything Tristan had to give. The revelation clicked in his head a second before he climaxed down Max’s throat.
Gasping and utterly replete, he could do nothing but lay there amongst the rumpled sheets as Max quickly shifted up, knees straddling Tristan’s thighs. He could just make out Max looming above him, head bowed. The sound of a hand working a cock slashed through the silence then liquid heat splattered his belly.
