by Ava March
He dragged his lips down Oliver’s chest. Deftly avoiding the man’s prick, he lapped up the proof of Oliver’s desire from his lower abdomen, felt the taut muscles quiver beneath his tongue. Then Vincent rocked back onto his knees, splayed his hands over Oliver’s inner thighs, and pushed.
Oliver instantly yielded, bringing his knees up to his chest and putting his ballocks on display. An invitation Vincent could not refuse.
He dropped down, drew one testicle into his mouth, and gently sucked. Oliver’s breaths hitched, the muscles beneath Vincent’s hands tight as an archer’s bow. The musky scent of Oliver’s arousal poured off him. Yet still, not one threadbare whimper passed his lover’s obedient lips.
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.
Thank You
Thank you for taking the time to read Bound Forever. I hope you enjoyed the story.
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Bound Forever is the third book in The Bound Series. Interested in reading more about Oliver and Vincent? Check out the free short story Deliberately Bound (Bou
nd #3-1/2). To read an excerpt from Sharp Love (Gambling on Love #2), please turn the page.
Excerpt from Sharp Love (Gambling on Love #2)
William Drake has lived among thieves, bastards and beggars all his life, doing what's necessary to survive. As a young orphan, that included looking after his best friend, Jack Morgan. But as they grew older, Jack took the honest path, leaving Will behind to fend for himself the only ways he knows how.
When an unsavory errand for his employer brings Jack back to London's underbelly, he needs Will's help. It's there, among the alleys they ran through as children, that the love he's always felt for Will returns. As their nights together grow hotter, Will discovers something new about his old friend—Jack's need to serve extends into the bedchamber.
Will has never fully abandoned his dream of escaping London with Jack. But what could the Duke's driver want with a dishonest cheat like him, beyond a bit of rough sex? It takes the gamble of Will's life to find out if he can win Jack's heart…
Enjoy the following excerpt for Sharp Love:
The street outside the hotel was equally as empty as the hotel’s corridors. The night air was heavy with the threat of rain, the moisture palpable in the fog rolling in from the Thames. Thick clouds obscured the moon, the only light coming from the occasional streetlamp. “Maybe we should stay inside. Looks like it might rain soon.”
Undeterred, Will headed east along the walkway. “A bit of rain won’t hurt us. In any case, it’s been like this all day. Likely won’t rain for hours, if it does at all.”
A few long strides had him at Will’s shoulder. “You did one of your tricks when you last shuffled the deck, didn’t you?” The timing of Will’s nudge to go for a stroll hadn’t been lost on Jack.
“Perhaps.”
Perhaps Jack’s arse. “I’ll take that as a yes. And why did you give me the winning hands?” They hadn’t been wagering, still, such tricks were not used to benefit the opposition.
Will shrugged. “Thought you’d be pleased.”
That took Jack aback. “I’d rather play fairly.”
“Like the honest man you are?”
“Yes. And I’d rather you not employ any of your tricks without warning. It’s one thing to openly show me.” And he should not have asked Will to do said demonstrations. Encouraging him and all. “But quite another to set up the deck when I’m not expecting it. I don’t like feeling like you’re trying to pull the wool over my eyes.”
Will let out a sigh. “That wasn’t my intention, Jack. I was just—” he waved a hand, “—trying to keep things interesting, that’s all.”
“I’d prefer our games to be interesting on their own, without any additional assistance.”
The sounds of their footsteps echoed off the surrounding buildings. It was as if Will simply couldn’t help himself. As if it was ingrained in him to grab any loophole, to take every opportunity to skirt the rules, or the law, for that matter. The straight and narrow path was one he’d never traveled. Even as a boy, Will had pushed St. Pancras’s strict rules. Hell, he’d done far more than merely push them, and Jack still had the marks to show for it.
“All right,” Will said, and with a definite note of reluctance. “If you insist.”
“I have your word?”
“Yes, Jack.”
That was all Jack needed. He glanced to Will, caught his eye. “Thank you.”
To which he received another shrug from Will.
They took a left at the next crossroads, going in the opposite direction of the tailor’s shop. They passed a tavern, dim candlelight seeping from its small dingy window, the shouts and raised voices from its patrons easily making their way through the closed door. Jack passed his gaze down each alley they came upon, but the occasional dark form amidst the shadows wisely stayed put.
He had to admit, it was nice to get out for a bit. The inactivity of his current assignment chaffed against him. The sun might not be out. The night might be on the cool and damp side. He might be stuck in London. But at least he wasn’t stuck inside the hotel or the coffee house at the moment. And he had Will with him…something he didn’t want to jeopardize. Hence why it was important Jack keep his hands to himself from now on.
Even if Will didn’t mind resuming their old nightly play, Jack knew it wouldn’t take long at all before he wanted more. And Jack couldn’t have more. Will didn’t prefer men—by Will’s own admission, he performed acts on other men for the money alone. And even if on the off chance he did desire men, he wouldn’t prefer someone like Jack. And relationships didn’t last—couldn’t last—not between two men, no matter how much Jack wished otherwise. So best to not go down any path other than friendship with Will.
“Any mention from Mr. Walsh if he’s considering returning to Hampshire yet?” Will asked, as if reading Jack’s thoughts and providing an example to underscore Jack’s resolve.
“No. He seemed in good spirits today, but I haven’t a notion when or if he’ll agree to return—” A fat raindrop hit Jack’s forehead. He looked up, to the dark clouds overhead. There was a rumble of thunder, low and heavy and quite close, the ominous sound rolling about them. Another fat raindrop hit his cheek. A gust of wind blew down the street. “We should head back to—”
The sky opened up, the intermittent raindrops shifting to a full-fledged deluge in the blink of an eye.
A quick glance confirmed what he already knew—closed shops and darkened buildings, not a single tavern or hell within easy distance. Cold rain pelted Jack’s head, soaking his hair. And Will wasn’t wearing an overcoat.
Grabbing Will’s upper arm, Jack pulled him down a narrow alley. Pushed Will onto a small stone stoop, the short overhang above the door enough to provide a bit of protection for Will from the full force of the rain. Standing before Will, Jack used his body to shield Will from the gusts of windblown rain.
Lightning cracked across the sky, briefly illuminating Will’s face, his wet hair stuck to his forehead, pale cheeks glistening with raindrops. A self-deprecating smile tugged the edge of his lips. “Guess you were correct.”
“About what?” Jack asked, raising his voice to be heard above the din of the storm.
“The rain.”
Said rain smacked against Jack’s back. His greatcoat would keep him relatively dry, but he could feel the rain whipping around him. He unbuttoned his greatcoat, let the sides hang open, and bracing his arms on the old wooden door, he moved closer to Will. So close he could feel Will’s breaths against his jaw. Warm and moist, the rhythm deep yet slightly quick.
Arousal curled in the pit of his belly, ignited in his blood. Jack shifted his weight. “Shouldn’t last long. The rain, I mean.” Rain in London was a common enough occurrence, but storms of this magnitude didn’t last endless hours. The clouds would wear themselves out soon enough, and the rain would taper down to a steady, soaking drone. As soon as it showed the first signs of slowing, Jack would be dragging Will back to the hotel. And he didn’t much care if it meant running down the street. Anything to give him an excuse to step away from Will’s body, from those hot breaths bathing his jaw, tempting him to dip his head and press his lips to Will’s.
“You’re likely correct. Yet again.” There wasn’t a trace of sarcasm or jest. Will’s voice was just loud enough to reach Jack’s ears, and the low, intimate quality went straight to Jack’s cock.
There was a quick snap of lightning, followed by a clap of thunder. Will shifted even closer, moving full into the protection of Jack’s greatcoat, pressing up against Jack. A hard arch brushed Jack’s upper thigh.
Jack’s breaths caught. There was no mistake about it. Will was aroused.
A hand settled on Jack’s hip. Jack swore he could feel the heat of Will’s palm through his trousers and his smallclothes, warming his skin.
He held himself perfectly still. Locked his muscles and dared not make a move.
Interested in reading more? For purchase links for Sharp Love, check out Ava’s website.
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nbsp; Copyright ©2014 by Harlequin Enterprises Limited
Cover copy text used by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises Limited.
Copyright ©2014 by Ava March
Permission to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A.
Also Available from Ava
Convincing Arthur (London Legal #1)
A holiday in the country to indulge his wildest fantasies…
Arthur Barrington knows exactly what he wants. A practical man. Someone who values discretion. Commitment. In other words, someone like himself. His old friend, Leopold Thornton, an overindulged son of a wealthy viscount with a reputation for vice and debauchery, couldn’t be less of a good candidate.
Yet when Leopold extends an invitation to his country estate, Arthur agrees. Perhaps a holiday with the sinfully beautiful man will help him get over a recent breakup. Then he can return to his thriving London law practice and resume his quiet life.
Ten years ago, Leopold learned the hard way that patience doesn’t always have its rewards. Now that he has Arthur all to himself, he isn’t going to let a second opportunity pass him by. And he certainly isn’t above using pleasure to tempt Arthur into his bed.
Leopold has only a few days to open Arthur’s eyes to the possibility that he’s the man Arthur is looking for. That his love is genuine—and he’s worthy of Arthur’s heart.
