Bound Forever (Bound Series Book 3)

by Ava March

  Bound Forever

  The Bound Series, Book #3

  Ava March

  Lord Oliver Marsden’s life is perfect...well, almost perfect. His bookshop is doing well, his bank account isn’t empty, and his nights are filled with a deliciously dominant man...who tends to be a bit too domineering outside of the bedchamber. But Vincent loves him and that’s all that should matter.

  Then Vincent receives a letter that changes everything. Oliver seizes the moment and pushes Vincent toward a night they will never forget. Yet their night together has repercussions neither of them anticipated…

  To find out more about my books, or to sign up for my new release e-newsletter, visit www.avamarch.com.

  Bound Forever

  Bound Series #3

  By: Ava March

  Published by Ava March at Smashwords

  Copyright 2017 by Ava March

  2nd Edition

  Cover Art: Kanaxa

  All rights are reserved. No part of this work may be sold, manipulated, or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not construed to be real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely incidental.

  Warning

  This work contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Intended for adult audiences only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  * * *

  DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in this BDSM title without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. The author will not be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in this title.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Thank You

  Excerpt: Sharp Love

  Also Available from Ava

  Other Books by Ava

  About Ava

  Chapter One

  December 1823

  Rotherham, England

  The familiar press of hot, silken skin against his thigh roused Vincent from sleep. For a moment, he kept his eyes closed and soaked up the feel of the soft breaths tickling the hair on his chest, the weight of the sleek yet honed body sprawled half over him, and the arm slung across his waist. A combined sensation that had not gone the least bit stale after a year and a half with this man, and one he knew for certain he would never grow tired of.

  With the barely audible grunt of one in a deep sleep, his lover shifted, pressing closer. A smile stole across Vincent’s mouth. That was most definitely an erection, hard and insistent, the heat of it practically branding his thigh.

  Desire flared under his skin, rousing his sleep-fogged senses. Blood rushed to his groin. What had once been the beginnings of a pleasant morning erection now pushed against the blankets covering him and Oliver. He blinked his eyes open. Light cut through the breaks in the forest green drapes but didn’t fully penetrate the night shadows clinging to the corners of the bedchamber. Judging by the crisp yet weak golden quality of the sunlight, dawn had just arrived. Plenty of time before his housekeeper arrived to cook breakfast and tidy the bedchambers.

  A gentle nudge to Oliver’s shoulder and, taking the coverlet and sheet with him, Oliver rolled onto his back. Beautifully compliant, even in sleep. The chill December air hit Vincent’s skin, but he didn’t bother getting out of bed to light the fire in the hearth. Within a handful of minutes, the heat quickly building within him would make the warmth of a fire feel like a hot summer day.

  Shifting onto his side, he levered up onto a bent elbow. Oliver’s chest rose and fell in a relaxed, rhythmic pattern. A whisper-light flick of Vincent’s fingers pushed the tousled waves of his overlong hair from his eyes. At the sight of Oliver’s hard cock jutting from the dark thatch of hair on his groin, Vincent smiled. They hadn’t played last night, merely crawled into bed together. One of the benefits of visits to his Rotherham estate—with so many nights at their disposal where they had the luxury of sharing a bed, they could take one or two or more to simply sleep together. But judging from the state of his pretty cock, Oliver definitely appeared up for some play.

  Far be it from Vincent not to indulge him.

  His gaze traced the length of Oliver’s body, as various options flittered through his head. He wasn’t of a mind to fetch anything from the locked trunk beside the chest of drawers. That would require getting out of bed. However…

  Leaning over the side of the mattress, he snatched the wrinkled white cravat from the floorboards. Carefully and slowly, he moved Oliver’s arms over his head. The long, black fan of his lashes resting against his high cheekbones did not even flutter at the change in position. The man slept as soundly as he had as an adolescent. Back when they had shared a dormitory at Eton, even a full-blown thunderstorm wouldn’t wake him.

  A few deft flicks of the cravat and Oliver’s wrists were secured to the mahogany headboard, the knot loose enough so one quick tug would release it. When Vincent had purchased the estate from his father over two years ago, he hadn’t given much thought to the furnishings. His only interest had been the unwavering belief that he could turn the property into a thriving investment. The bed, though, with its four sturdy posts and intricately turned spindles spanning the width of the headboard and footboard, had proved as valuable to him as the vein of coal he had found in the northwest end of the property. And Oliver’s reaction when Vincent restrained him between those four posts indicated the man had far more fondness for the bed than anything that generated income.

  Sitting back on his heels at his lover’s side, he took in the results of his handiwork. A corner of the sheet had tangled around one of Oliver’s calves, the rest of him bared to Vincent’s view. His legs were casually spread, one knee slightly bent. His arms stretched over his head put his flawless chest on full display. The white linen around his wrists presented an enticing contrast to his golden skin. Vincent let out a low grunt of satisfaction. The man had a body made to be bound and a soul that craved it almost as much as he craved Vincent himself.

  He reached out, slowly whispered a hand down Oliver’s sleep-warmed chest, the skin soft and smooth beneath his palm. With effort, he resisted the impulse to pinch those copper nipples. To twist a hardened tip. To make Oliver shudder and gasp with pleasure. To make him beg for more. But it wouldn’t do to wake him just yet.

  His attention slid back up to Oliver’s face. On anyone else, his features would almost approach average, but somehow he simultaneously embodied both beautiful and handsome. A hint of a morning beard darkened his jaw, his full lips slightly parted…

  Vincent leaned down, brushed his lips across Oliver’s in the barest brush of a kiss, their breaths mingling ever so briefly. Then he moved along the bed to settle on his knees between Oliver’s legs. With one hand braced on the mattress, he bent down, wrapped a gentle hand around the base of that pretty prick, and lowered his head. Light and soft, he dragged his tongue across the crown, waiting, every sense attuned to his lover.

  Oliver let out a breathy moan, more sigh than sound, and lifted his hips slightly. Vincent opened, let the slick h
ead slide past his lips. The short, little, lazy nudges of Oliver’s hips as he fucked Vincent’s mouth indicated the man hadn’t awoken yet. Vincent kept his mouth languid and yielding, only occasionally sucking on a downstroke, allowing the flames of desire to build within Oliver, within himself.

  It didn’t take long for a salty tang to tease his tongue. Vincent’s cock, hanging hard and heavy between his thighs, jerked in response. Another moan, this one more sound than sigh, and Oliver spread his legs wider. Vincent released his hold on the base of Oliver’s prick, cupped his ballocks, drawn up tight to his body, and rolled the weight of them in his palm. Then he drifted his fingertips down, past the smooth expanse of skin to his entrance. Pressed but didn’t penetrate.

  Oliver’s thrusts stuttered. Glancing up, Vincent caught his gaze. His eyes were heavily-lidded, mere slits, the dark depths glittering with lust. Hollowing his cheeks, Vincent sucked hard as he dragged his lips up the length. Oliver arched with a moan, tugged at his bonds, and moaned again. His cock hardened even further in Vincent’s mouth. Vincent kept sucking as he began bobbing along the length. Increasing the pace, urging him onward.

  Oliver had the edge of his full bottom lip captured between his teeth, desperate need pulling his beautiful features. Vincent swiped his fingers at the base of Oliver’s cock, gathering the moisture that had slid down the length. The moment Vincent brushed his entrance, Oliver pulled his knees to his chest, hips canting up, the request clearer than if he shouted.

  “Please, Vincent.” Thick with need, his whispered words trembled on the air.

  Lust slammed into Vincent. His muscles coiled, ready to spring forward to cover the man, to shove his hard cock into Oliver and give him exactly what he begged for, but Vincent held back and instead lifted his head, letting the crown slip from his lips with a crude pop.

  “Good morning,” he said, smiling, as he pushed a finger inside.

  Oliver’s body greedily clamped around the digit and made Vincent’s cock ache with jealousy. Dropping his head once more, he dragged his tongue up and down the underside of Oliver’s length as he slowly stretched him with first one finger and then a second, forcing Oliver to wait. Letting the anticipation continue to build, needing to take him past the point of sheer desperate want to where the only thing that existed in his world was Vincent.

  Pleas for more tumbled from Oliver’s mouth, mixing with his gasping breaths. A heady thrill sang through Vincent’s veins, briefly rising above the lust saturating his senses. It felt incredibly good to give Oliver pleasure. To know those pleas were because of him.

  When the tight ring of muscle began to relax, Vincent crawled up Oliver’s body. Oliver’s legs wrapped around his waist in welcome as Vincent captured those full lips with his own. With a muffled grunt, Oliver dove into the kiss. Urgent and greedy. His tongue tangling with Vincent’s, heavy breaths scorching his cheek. His need so strong Vincent could taste it.

  So tempting to lose himself in the blistering heat and need of Oliver’s kiss, to let it completely overwhelm him.

  But he pulled back, broke the kiss before the force of it wiped away all semblance of control.

  Those heavily-lidded dark eyes, the ones that could see into his very soul, stared up at him. “Fuck me.” Oliver’s whisper held no trace of command, only pure unadulterated desperation.

  All thoughts of resisting, of keeping his lover poised on the knife-edge of anticipation, flew out of Vincent’s head.

  Leaning right, he quickly reached into the bedside table and grabbed the glass bottle of oil. His hand shook the slightest bit as he slicked his cock. Gaze locked with Oliver’s, he positioned the head at his entrance and pushed inside. Hot, clinging heat engulfed his prick, almost pulling the orgasm out of him, as he sank to the hilt. Clenching his teeth, he fought off the climax. He planted his hands on either side of Oliver’s raised arms and picked up a rhythm of slow, purposeful strokes, his ballocks pressing against the smooth skin of Oliver’s arse with each downward thrust.

  Oliver’s head tipped back, his eyes drifting closed. Indecipherable moans of pleasure escaped his lips, wet from their kisses. The man was so goddamn beautiful, all flushed with desire, his body still relaxed from sleep, compliant and lax beneath him as he gave himself up to Vincent.

  Crouching over his lover, he rubbed his jaw against Oliver’s, against the stubble of his morning beard, then dropped his head to Oliver’s neck. He sucked hard enough on the hot, delicate skin of his throat to leave a mark, one easily hidden by a cravat. Then he dragged his mouth over Oliver’s chest, captured one hard nipple, and sucked.

  “Ah yes, please.” Oliver gasped, arched, pushing his chest upward, wanting more.

  Vincent gave it to him. Rolled the tip between his teeth, tugged, and then released it to blow across the wet surface before shifting to the other nipple.

  With each thrust of Vincent’s hips, Oliver’s erect prick bumped his lower belly, leaving a smear of wetness on his skin. The urge to taste him once again rose up—an urge too strong to deny. Abruptly he pulled out. Broke free of Oliver’s legs wrapped around his waist, scooted down, and took Oliver’s cock in his mouth, turning the man’s groan of protest into one of absolute gratitude.

  Sucking hard, he brought Oliver right to the cusp of release. To the point where he was squirming beneath him, tugging on his bonds, breaths hitching sharp and fast. Then he quickly shifted up to slide back into his arse.

  Oliver shuddered, moaned. His bound hands were clenched in white-knuckled fists, every line in his body drawn tight, sleek muscles pronounced beneath golden skin dampened with sweat. Vincent pulled all the way out simply to hear that moan rip from his lover’s throat again, and couldn’t help but watch his cock disappear as he glided back in. A damn erotic sight—the glistening crown stretching Oliver obscenely wide, his body yielding so sweetly against the intrusion as Vincent sank to the hilt, the oil-slicked hole constricting in greedy need when he pulled free. He repeated the motion. Once, twice, the tension visibly coiling within Oliver, and on the third plunging stroke, a hoarse shout shook Oliver’s chest. Pearly white seed shot from his cock, painting his abdomen. His muscles gripped Vincent’s prick so tightly it took considerable effort to thrust through the man’s climax. The heat, the tightness, the slick tug of Oliver’s body along his length…

  The orgasm ripped through him. He pounded into Oliver, the sound of flesh slapping flesh filling the room as he poured deep within his lover.

  With the last tremor from the release shaking his body, he slumped down to rest his forehead against Oliver’s chest, which rose and fell as quickly as his own.

  Panting for breath, he gathered his sated muscles, levered up, and tugged on the end of the cravat, releasing Oliver. His lover let out a low, lazy purr as Vincent gently massaged his sweaty wrists. The cravat hadn’t left any marks—he hadn’t tied him too tightly. Just secure enough so he would not slip free when he tugged on his bonds. Something Oliver had a fondness for. Each tug akin to a shout for more.

  The moment he flopped down next to Oliver, the man rolled into him, nestling against his side, arms wrapping around him and holding him close. They were both slightly sticky with sweat and needed to clean up—with Oliver plastered to his side, the remnants of the climax on his abdomen was now smeared on Vincent’s skin as well—but it mattered not to him. He pressed a kiss to the top of Oliver’s head and let out a sigh of complete and utter contentment.

  What a bloody fantastic way to start the day. A chuckle tickled in his throat, but he felt too sated to give it voice.

  By the time his breathing returned to normal, the chill morning air had begun to nip against his rapidly cooling skin, a reminder he shouldn’t dally overlong.

  “I should get dressed.”

  “Already?” Oliver asked, his voice a low, slow rumble that vibrated Vincent’s chest.

  “Yes. It’s getting late.”

  With effort, he pulled himself away from Oliver and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He c
rossed to the washstand, stepping over the clothing Oliver had discarded before climbing into bed last night. He had long given up hope his tidy habits would have any influence on Oliver. His lover was distinctly his own man, and Vincent preferred him just that way—clothing littering the floor and all.

  After pouring water from the pitcher into the basin, he grabbed a couple of cloths from the shelf below, dropped both into the water, and wrung one out. Stealing himself against the cold, he swiped the cloth over his face, down his side, and between his legs. Quick and hasty, but it would suffice for now.

  He tossed the cloth into the bin beside the washstand and grabbed the other from the basin. The wrung-out cloth clutched in one hand, he returned to the bed. Oliver was sprawled on his belly, arms holding the white pillow beneath his head, one leg drawn slightly up toward his side, exposing delicate skin that still faintly glistened with the sheen of oil.

  With a light touch, he brushed the stray strands of Oliver’s hair from his closed eyes. “This will be cold,” he murmured before reaching down to wipe the oil from his backside.

  The man twitched, the muscles of his back contracting, as he let out a grunt in protest.

  “My apologies.” Not much to be done for it. He didn’t have a live-in servant to deliver warm wash water in the morning. A small price to pay to awaken in bed with Oliver.

  The task seen to, he dropped the cloth into the bin. He had just finished lighting the fire when the faint sound of a door shutting reached his ears, announcing they no longer had the house to themselves. Vincent grabbed the clothes he had left folded on the chair last night, but before leaving the room, he stopped by the bed again to nudge Oliver. “Mrs. Hollister has arrived. Breakfast will soon be waiting.”