Convincing Arthur

by Ava March

  Nor did their differences end with their appearances. Where Arthur had applied himself in his studies, helping at his uncle’s office and eventually assuming all responsibility when the man passed away, Thornton defined the term “wastrel”. An indolent fourth son of a very wealthy viscount, a man Arthur held in the utmost respect. His three older brothers were staunch, industrious men, replicas of their father. Given how the viscount doted on Thornton, granting him limitless largesse in addition to funding his extravagant lifestyle—including a town house in London, a country estate, nights spent at the gambling tables and frequent visits to the best brothels in London—Arthur rather thought his lordship lived vicariously through his youngest son.

  A shame, really. Perhaps a bit of discipline would have reined in Thornton. There had been a time about a decade ago when Thornton had been an amiable young man, full of promise. Arthur had met the nineteen-year-old Thornton back when Arthur worked as his uncle’s secretary. He frequently accompanied his uncle on calls to a client’s home, and during one such call, Viscount Granville had summoned his youngest son into the meeting. Thornton had listened with rapt attention as his lordship and his uncle discussed the purchase of a new property. He and Thornton had even become friends. But then London sank its teeth into Thornton, quickly corrupting him.

  Arthur followed Thornton as he turned right at the top of the stairs. So far, the interior of the home matched the exterior. Nothing extravagant or garish. No gaming tables or scantily clad females—or males—in sight. Even the few paintings lining the walls were tame landscapes.

  Thornton opened the third door on the left and gestured for Arthur to enter. “I hope it meets with your satisfaction,” he said in a silken tone as Arthur passed him.

  Was that whisky on his breath? Somehow Arthur kept from rolling his eyes. When wasn’t the man foxed, or at the least, slightly inebriated? Thornton likely forwent tea in favor of a stiff drink with breakfast.

  Arthur stepped into the bedchamber decorated in muted autumn greens and browns. A small seating area was angled in front of the fireplace, and a large bed stood off to one side. The tan drapes covering the two windows were closed, blocking the view of the grounds behind the house.

  A footman arrived, carrying Arthur’s trunk in front of his well-rounded belly. He deposited the trunk on the short table beside the chest of drawers. “Shall I unpack for you, sir?”

  “No. I can manage it myself.”

  With a nod, the footman left the room, closing the door and leaving Arthur alone with Thornton.

  The man leaned a shoulder against the door and crossed his arms over his chest. “Care for a bite to eat? The kitchen can prepare whatever you’d like.”

  “No, thank you. I stopped at an inn along the way. Dreadful stuff but edible.” Needing to give himself something to do, Arthur set his bag down, flipped the latches on his trunk and began to unpack, putting his folded clothes into the chest of drawers. His fingers hovered over his underclothes, and then he snatched them up and put them with his shirts. What did it matter if Thornton saw his drawers? He’d see them soon enough, if the man’s hungry stare was any indication of his intentions.

  “Leave out whatever you need pressed. A servant will see to it.”

  Arthur nodded his thanks. He shook out the wrinkled bottle-green coat and draped it over the straight-backed chair at the nearby desk.

  “Care for a nightcap?”

  “Why? Do you need one?” More?

  Oh hell, why had he said that? He was Thornton’s guest, not his keeper.

  Thankfully Thornton didn’t appear put out by the rude comment. “No. You’re here. I thought you might prefer a drink after the trials of your day.”

  He let out a harrumph as he set his shaving kit on the washstand. “I feared the carriage would be stuck on the side of the road forever, and I’d have to walk the rest of the way. Traveling is severely overrated.”

  Thornton quirked one dark eyebrow. “That it is,” he replied, with a familiarity that held a hint of their old friendship.

  A pang of regret gripped Arthur’s heart. Thornton had been a good friend there for a while. They now moved in vastly different social circles, frequented different haunts, though sometimes they happened upon each other on the street or at a club. Occasionally he saw Thornton at his father’s house, lurking about, when Arthur paid a business call. But the days of meeting him at a tavern for a drink were long gone. Perhaps this holiday together could be a way to rekindle their friendship? No, no. What was he thinking? They had nothing in common except a shared attraction to those of their own gender.

  “So, that nightcap… Yes or no?”

  “Thank you, but no.” Arthur closed his empty trunk. “Do you think the weather will hold tomorrow?”

  “It should. The sky was clear last I looked. I take it you want to be out with a firearm in hand before dawn.” A grimace flicked across Thornton’s face.

  “Yes. Is that a problem?”

  “No. I can drag myself out of bed at such an ungodly hour…for you.”

  The click of a lock sliding home reverberated in the room. Thornton pushed from the door and crossed to Arthur. Thornton didn’t walk; he prowled with a distinctly leonine grace. Head tipped down, the edges of his lips curved in a knowing smirk that left no doubt as to his intentions.

  Arthur stiffened. While he wouldn’t deny a strong physical attraction to Thornton, he also could not deny the trepidation leaching back into his stomach. He hadn’t expected to be buggered within minutes of arrival.

  Thornton slowed as he came nearer, as if giving Arthur the opportunity to voice his refusal or bolt for the door. He didn’t take it. He held his ground, the attraction crackling in the air between them, lighting up his senses in a way he had never experienced before. His breaths came short and shallow, his chest suddenly working under the force of them.

  Thornton took one more step, closing the last remaining distance, his gaze locked with Arthur’s. He placed a hand on the chest of drawers beside Arthur, blocking the path to escape, and slowly, ever so slowly, leaned even closer. So close Arthur could make out the midnight-blue flecks in his heavily lidded gray eyes. The faint scents of whisky, the enticing spice of cologne and clean male skin wafted around him. Warm breath fanned Arthur’s parted lips: teasing, tempting. A tremble of anticipation rocked him.

  “You refused supper. You refused a nightcap.” The words were low, a mere rumble of sound. Thornton’s mouth barely moved. Then he dipped his head at the last moment before their lips touched.

  Disappointment began to crash through Arthur when a hand palmed the placket of his trousers, long fingers wrapping around his hardening prick.

  Thornton looked up at him through his black forelock, his eyes blazing with lust. “Is there anything I can tempt you with tonight?”

  Chapter Two

  Arthur opened his mouth, but no words came out.

  Anything?

  And Thornton meant it.

  But…what to choose? The possibilities… Arthur knew of a few, but he was certain there were more. Many more. Thornton’s experience radiated from him. An intimidating force. The confidence of that hand wrapped around his cock, the easy self-assurance behind every move he made. The man had knowledge of carnal pleasures that went beyond anything Arthur could imagine.

  Though what he really wanted was a kiss. To taste those full, red-tinged lips. To feel the soft skin. To sweep his tongue inside the hot depths of Thornton’s sinfully gorgeous mouth.

  But surely a man like Thornton would find such a request much too tame.

  “Perhaps not?” Thornton murmured. Those long fingers loosened their grip as the man began to ease back.

  At the hurt finding its way across Thornton’s beautiful face, he blurted, “Yes. I-I mean, no.” He let out a short, frustrated grunt, struggling to find the words. Hell, it was hard to concentrate with another man’s hand on his prick. Thornton squeezed lightly, then feathered his fingertips along Arthur’s length, robb
ing him of his wits anew. “I-I…I want…”

  Don’t say it; he’ll think you a bore.

  Thornton arched a brow. He rubbed his jaw against Arthur’s, their day’s beards a rough yet tender scrape. “Shall I guess?” he whispered, hot breath tickling Arthur’s ear.

  Arthur nodded once.

  A wink was all the warning he received before Thornton dropped to his knees. He felt the tugs as Thornton made short work of the buttons on the placket of his trousers. In the next blink of an eye, his suspenders were unhooked from his waistband, and his trousers and drawers were at his knees. One swipe of Thornton’s hand tucked his shirttail under his waistcoat. He barely detected the brush of cool air on his erection before a hand wrapped securely around the base and moist heat surrounded the head.

  “Ah…damnation.” Arthur gasped, his eyes closing against the most intense pleasure. By God, the man knew what he was about. Bobbing along the length, sucking hard enough to almost pull the orgasm out of him. It had been over a month—hell, almost two—since he’d been the recipient of such a favor. And never had the favor been bestowed with such blatant, unabashed skill.

  Thornton pulled back until only the crown was held between his lips and then pressed the tip of his tongue against the highly sensitive slit. A jolt of pure sensation shot down Arthur’s length to his ballocks, his knees threatening to buckle, his eyes flying open.

  Arthur grabbed the edge of the chest of drawers and held on tightly as Thornton picked up a luxurious rhythm that brought him closer and closer to the edge. Before he was aware of it, his other hand was threaded in Thornton’s soft, thick hair, palm cupping his skull.

  Thornton let out a moan that sounded distinctly like approval. Aggression, raw and stripped bare and completely unexpected, rushed to the surface. Growling low in his throat, Arthur thrust his hips in counterpoint, fucking Thornton’s mouth. Thornton’s hand, gripping tightly at the base, fell away as he took the entire length of Arthur’s cock. As he let Arthur use him for his own pleasure.

  A distinctive sound drew his attention down beyond the decadent sight of Thornton’s hollowed cheeks and full lips wrapped around his length. The other man had his own trousers unbuttoned, cock in hand. The flushed head poked through the top of his clenched fist with each rapid stroke.

  The climax barreled upon Arthur. His senses narrowed, focused only on the heat and suction and wonderful, blissful, slippery wetness surrounding his prick. And then his world exploded.

  Arthur gritted his teeth to keep the roar inside as he spilled down Thornton’s throat. Thornton didn’t pull back or snap at him for getting a mouthful of seed. The man swallowed it all, sucking hard as the last tremor shook him, until it became suddenly too much, the sensations overwhelming his senses.

  “Enough,” Arthur gasped, tugging on Thornton’s hair, desperate to get him to stop.

  There was a wet popping noise. Then Thornton shot to his feet, his lips slanting harshly across Arthur’s mouth. The hunger and pure need in that kiss… Arthur thrust his tongue boldly inside, sweeping the hot recesses of Thornton’s sinfully gorgeous mouth. Beneath the salty flavor of his own release and the spicy hint of whisky was the unique taste of Thornton. Lust flared, igniting his senses once again. With a tug on Thornton’s hair, Arthur jerked the man closer, unable to get enough.

  He was vaguely aware of Thornton’s arm moving between them: quick, determined and furious. Thornton’s labored breaths puffed against his cheek, scorching his skin. Tension gripped Thornton’s sleek body. Then he groaned into his mouth. Heat splashed onto Arthur’s prick.

  The kiss softened, slowed, lulling Arthur’s senses with the heady mix of smooth lips and the scrape of stubble. His fingers unclenched, slipping out of Thornton’s hair, his hands shifting to gently cup the man’s jaw. He felt the rigidity ease from Thornton’s body, heard the soft murmur of contentment as the man sank into the kiss.

  And for Arthur didn’t know how long, he simply kissed Thornton, soaking up the feel of the man’s body against his, the taste of him and the sounds of his sighs.

  With a nip, Thornton pulled back enough to break the contact of their lips. Could he be any more beautiful? Full lips, stained rose red from their kisses, tousled black hair and flushed cheeks. His features were so patently aristocratic, so fine and sharp while at the same time approaching femininity.

  Long, thick lashes swept down. Then the corner of Thornton’s mouth quirked. A little jolt shot up Arthur’s spine as Thornton dragged a lazy finger through the remnants of his climax coating Arthur’s cock.

  “I do believe I shall have to take care of that.” Thornton dropped to his haunches, took hold of Arthur’s bare hips and lapped up the seed, licking him clean.

  The caress of his tongue on the highly sensitive skin was…oh, God…decadent. It was the only way to describe it. Lush and luxurious, the height of depravity, and the most erotic thing he had ever beheld.

  Blood rushed to his groin, his drained ballocks drawing up tight as his prick swelled anew under Thornton’s careful attention.

  “More?”

  Thornton’s voice barely penetrated the fog of lust. Arthur gave his head a shake to clear it.

  More what?

  Those plump lips briefly engulfed his crown, answering Arthur’s unspoken question. It was so tempting to answer in the affirmative, to give in to the need drumming through his veins and burning in Thornton’s eyes, but…

  Christ, he had just arrived. Less than thirty minutes, and already Thornton had brought him to climax once. The knowledge hit him like a splash of ice-cold water, harder and harsher than the sharp bite of lust that had got him to this point.

  Serious and searching, Thornton’s gaze swept his face. Arthur resisted the impulse to shift his weight, to avoid those far-too-perceptive gray eyes.

  “Perhaps not. It has been a long day,” Thornton said, as casually as if they were sharing a drink at a tavern and Arthur didn’t have his trousers and drawers shoved down around his knees.

  As if reading his thoughts, Thornton made to pull up Arthur’s trousers, but Arthur leaned down, his hands fumbling over Thornton’s. “I can manage it,” he mumbled.

  Thornton tipped his head, relinquishing the waistband. Arthur tugged up his trousers and after a couple of attempts managed to button the top clasp. His drawers were bunched around his hips and his shirttail still tucked under his waistcoat, but he didn’t much care.

  Buttoning the placket of his own trousers, Thornton stood. The few quick snaps of his wrist to right his shirt, waistcoat and coat indicated a familiarity with the routine that did not sit well.

  “Good evening, Barrington. I will see you again before the sun rises.”

  With that, Thornton turned on his heel and left the room.

  Arthur stood there, staring at the closed door for a long moment.

  “Well, you wanted to forget Randolph,” he reminded himself.

  At the first sound of Thornton’s voice, all thoughts of his last lover had vanished. Gone, as if the man had never existed. Even the taste of Randolph’s kisses had been erased from his memory, wiped away by the hot brush of Thornton’s tongue against his own.

  He let out a heavy sigh and set to work removing the nut-brown coat and cream waistcoat that Thornton hadn’t bothered with. The two men could not be more different. Randolph was very much like himself, hence why they had rubbed along so well together. Well, he liked to believe Randolph was like himself, but lately he hadn’t been so certain. Ever since they had parted ways, he had been more aware of the rumors. Or more accurately, he had grown adept at listening between the lines.

  At least with Thornton he knew exactly the type of man he was dealing with. One who subsisted on carnal pleasures and not much else. One who was damn good at sucking him off.

  A tired chuckle rumbled his chest as he sat on the bed to remove his trousers. Thornton certainly knew how to keep a man on his toes. Arthur would never use the word “staid” to describe him. The thrill of exciteme
nt, the intense attraction that came part and parcel with Thornton was a unique sensation all its own. Perhaps this was just what Arthur needed—a complete break from his usual routine. An opportunity to indulge, to broaden his experiences. And as long as he kept their short holiday in perspective, he wouldn’t run the risk of being disappointed again.

  All right. More than disappointed.

  After folding his trousers and leaving them on the chair for a servant to clean and press, he doused the candles, pulled back the forest-green coverlet and climbed into bed. As he settled in to get a few hours of sleep, he couldn’t help but look forward to tomorrow—and not simply because he’d have the opportunity to go shooting. His stay at Ramsey House should prove…interesting.

  Leopold shut the door behind him and walked to the next door at the end of the corridor. Hand on the knob, he glanced over his shoulder, half expecting to see Arthur emerge from his room, bag in hand. But after traveling for days, the last thing the man likely wanted to do was get back into a carriage. Thank God Yorkshire was not an easy distance from London.

  The worry pacified, he entered his own bedchamber. A newly stoked fire burned in the hearth, and the black coverlet on the large four-poster bed had been turned down. The silver candelabra on the chest of drawers and the candlestick on the bedside table lit the room. Jones had already come and gone. Discreet as always. He should give the man a raise in pay. Jones certainly deserved it, especially for vacating Arthur’s bedchamber so quickly.

  No longer able to hold it back a moment longer, Leopold let the grin split his face as he unbuttoned his coat. Pure, giddy happiness sang through his veins. Ah hell. He’d just sucked off Arthur Barrington, and Arthur had let him. Could the evening end any better?

  Well, yes. They could have made good use of Arthur’s bed, rumpling the tidy blankets and thoroughly exploring each other’s body. Discovering what else would prompt that low, primal growl from Arthur. The sound that was so very much at odds with the man’s buttoned-up and restrained appearance. Hell, he’d never even seen Arthur’s short chestnut hair anything but neatly combed. But the shock written all over Arthur’s face when Leopold had asked him if he wanted more had been answer enough. When it came to sexual encounters, clearly Arthur moved at a different pace than himself.