Convincing Arthur

by Ava March

  There had to, right? Surely at least one other man in London besides himself sought a lasting commitment.

  A light touch grazed his gloved hand, hanging limp at his side. Sensation shot up his arm. He was suddenly acutely aware of the man walking beside him. Of Thornton. Images from last night flashed before his mind’s eye. A chunk of black hair hanging over heavily lidded gray eyes. Those full lips wrapped around his cock. That skilled tongue flicking over the crown.

  His breath hitched and his pulse quickened as his prick began to harden, pushing against his drawers. That light touch shifted, long fingers wrapping around his hand. Thornton squeezed, briefly tightening his grip. Arthur swore it felt as though the man had grabbed his cock. His strides faltered against the sudden jolt of lust spiking his senses.

  He glanced to Thornton and met gray eyes darkened with passion. It stopped Arthur in his tracks. They stared at each other for a long moment, the air crackling between them. Then Thornton winked. Before he knew it, hands pushed against his shoulders, his back connected with a tree trunk, and soft lips slanted over his.

  It took less than a second for Arthur to respond. His hands shot out, fingers gripping Thornton’s skull as he thrust his tongue inside the other man’s mouth, diving into the kiss. Thornton moaned, deep and low, the sound drenched with need, and pressed full against Arthur. Clinging to Arthur’s shoulders, he writhed shamelessly. Even with the layers of clothing between them, Arthur could feel Thornton’s erection rubbing against his own, hard and insistent.

  The kiss continued on, the need building within Arthur with each hot brush of Thornton’s tongue, with each sharp nip of his teeth. He ground his hips, crushing his prick against the other man’s, seeking more friction. But it wasn’t enough. Heat blazed inside him, making his skin feel too tight and too thin, a blunt reminder they were both still fully dressed.

  A frustrated grumble shook his throat. Just when he was about to push Thornton from him, to tear at his clothes, to strip the man bare, Thornton’s hands slid from his shoulders to move between them. He attacked the buttons on Arthur’s greatcoat, and then the buttons on Arthur’s breeches were undone, and Thornton reached inside, hand wrapping securely around his cock. Thornton’s other hand fumbled between them, knuckles grazing the head of Arthur’s prick, and the next moment, Thornton’s grasp shifted, and hot, silken skin melded against his own.

  He gasped into Thornton’s mouth, his ballocks lurching up tight against his body at the unfamiliar, yet at the same time familiar, sensation. He knew what it felt like to have another man’s cock in his hand, in his mouth, in his arse, and now he knew what it felt like to have one pressed against his own. Heavenly soft skin backed by unyielding iron. The frantic pumps as Thornton fisted both of their pricks had Arthur teetering on the brink of orgasm in no time.

  Thornton dragged his mouth across Arthur’s cheek to nip at his ear. “Do you want to fuck me?” he asked between panting breaths.

  Hell, yes! Past the point of coherent speech, Arthur nodded and forced his fingers to unclench from Thornton’s hair, releasing him. A shrug of his shoulders, and Thornton’s greatcoat fell to the ground. Thornton pulled a small glass vial from his waistcoat pocket, poured a generous amount of oil onto his palm and grabbed Arthur’s prick, quickly slicking the length. He unceremoniously tossed aside the vial, then hauled a dazed Arthur from against the tree and took his place. Turning his back to him, Thornton hiked up the tails of his shirt and coat to expose his arse and braced one hand against the trunk.

  Arthur’s jaw dropped as he watched Thornton reach around to slip a finger into his own arse, preparing himself. Legs slightly spread, breeches around his knees, hips tilted back invitingly, that finger disappearing into his oil-slicked entrance…

  He clutched the base of his prick and squeezed hard, pushing back the orgasm, determined not to spill his seed until he’d buried his prick in Thornton’s arse.

  Thornton thrust once, twice, and then pulled back one cheek and glanced over his shoulder, spearing Arthur with a hot stare. “Have at it.”

  As if he needed any encouragement. He took up a place behind Thornton and grasped his slim hips. His cock bobbed, pointing straight at that pink hole. But first, he couldn’t resist the urge to drag his prick along Thornton’s slick crease, his flushed crown an alluring contrast against the pale skin.

  Thornton quivered and jerked back. “Please. Fuck me,” he begged.

  He pushed inside. Thornton grunted, his body tensing. With only the head engulfed, Arthur paused to drag air into his lungs against the near-blinding rush of pleasure. Hell, Thornton was tight. Too tight, his mind vaguely registered, as he glanced down to Thornton’s skin stretched taut around his thick length. Even though his body demanded he pound into the other man, he gritted his teeth and pulled free. He well knew what it felt like in Thornton’s position when matters were rushed. Thornton’s whimper of protest turned into a low moan of gratitude when Arthur eased the crown slowly back inside.

  He tried to give Thornton a moment to adjust to the invasion, but the man bucked, working himself on Arthur’s length. Hot, clinging friction caressed his cock, shoving all thoughts that didn’t have to do with possessing the other man from his mind. With a low growl, he jerked Thornton closer, settling hilt deep, then picked up a determined rhythm.

  Thornton’s dark head was bowed, one bare hand clutching the tree’s trunk, his knuckles white. He met Arthur stroke for stroke, driving against him, his hoarse moans urging Arthur onward. Sweat pricked Arthur’s brow, dripped down his neck beneath his collar, made the backs of his hands itch under his gloves. The hem of his greatcoat slapped against boots.

  He felt alive in a way he had never felt before.

  And he reveled in it, basked in it, gave himself over to it. Let the raw urge to dominate consume him.

  Thornton reached back with his free hand, grasping Arthur’s upper thigh, tugging hard, demanding more. “Harder, Arthur.”

  He tightened his grip on the man’s hips, fingers digging into his flesh, and slammed into him. Hard and relentless. Skin smacked against skin. Harsh, primal grunts filled his ears. Hell, he wasn’t going to last. “Stroke your cock. Make yourself climax.”

  Thornton’s dark head bobbed once. That hand left Arthur’s thigh and disappeared between his legs. He tried to hold off, to wait until Thornton found his release, but the orgasm coiled down his spine, tingling his ballocks, teasing the base of his cock.

  “Harder,” Thornton gasped. “Fuck me harder. Oh…hell.”

  Thornton’s body clamped around his cock like a damned vise. Arthur let out a shout, ramming hilt deep, the climax racking every muscle in his body.

  Resting his forehead on Thornton’s shoulder, he closed his eyes and struggled to catch his breath. Beneath him, Thornton’s back heaved just as rapidly as his own. He felt the man shift subtly. Then a warm hand palmed the side of his neck, fingertips drifting into his hairline to massage his sweaty scalp.

  “Feel better?” The soft words drifted around him.

  “Yes,” he replied on a content sigh.

  “Good.”

  That lulling hand fell away. Thornton eased forward enough for Arthur’s drained cock to slip from his body. When the man moved to the side to tug up his breeches, Arthur turned and rested his back against the tree trunk. He watched as Thornton made quick work of righting his clothes: tucking in his shirttail, buttoning the placket, grabbing the gloves that he had discarded at some point from the ground, and pocketing the glass vial.

  Still in a daze from that explosive orgasm, his mind felt clunky and slow as he struggled to make sense of the situation. One minute they had been walking through the forest and the next he’d been pounding into Thornton. He glanced around. The surrounding trees blocked the view of the field, but still, anyone could have come upon them. Too focused on Thornton, he would have never noticed a set of prying eyes until too late.

  He’d never done anything so reckless in all his life.

&nbs
p; But it was exactly what he had needed to yank him from the melancholy cloud forming over his head. Given Thornton’s comment, he had to assume the other man knew it as well.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. The smooth leather rubbing against his cheek reminded him he hadn’t even taken the time to remove his gloves. He shrugged. Thornton hadn’t seemed to mind, though.

  Thornton gave his greatcoat a snap. Dried leaves fluttered to the dirt path. Then he slipped the coat back on. “Do you plan to walk back to Ramsey House like that?” he asked, tipping his head in the direction of Arthur’s groin.

  He glanced down, then rolled his eyes, the beginnings of a chuckle rumbling his chest. “No. Of course not.” Still leaning against the tree, he tucked his limp prick inside his drawers, did up his breeches and buttoned his greatcoat to hide the stains on the placket. Ruined, no doubt. Oil stains would be impossible to remove from buckskin. Oh well. Fortunately he had thought to pack another pair.

  “Breakfast awaits.” Thornton made to walk down the path, then stopped to flick his fingers, beckoning him. When Arthur didn’t immediately heed his command, he said, “I can’t very well carry you. You’re going to have to walk, but it’s not far. Not even a half mile. Surely those muscles of yours can get you there.”

  He shook his head, his lips quirking. The teasing glint in Thornton’s eyes completely ruined his attempt at indignation. With a poorly concealed grunt, he pushed from the tree.

  As he followed Thornton back to the house, their morning together tumbled through his head. He would have never predicted a morning like today’s. And not just the reckless fuck against the tree. Everything, from the moment he had walked through the front door of Ramsey House, had been exactly what he needed. Everything… His gaze settled on the man in front of him. Everything…including Thornton.

  And therein lay a worry.

  Chapter Four

  Leopold pulled out his pocket watch. Five minutes until supper. Slipping the watch back into the pocket of his waistcoat, he glanced to the coffered ceiling. Likely Arthur was still exactly where he had left him. Should he go fetch him or wait to see if Arthur exhibited his usual punctuality?

  A rapid tapping sound cut through his indecision. He slapped a hand on his thigh, stilling his leg.

  Enough.

  Arthur could not have forgotten about him. The man was in his home, after all.

  Still, a little nudge never hurt anyone.

  He stood from the leather armchair, crossed the study, went out into the corridor and made his way upstairs. Upon their return to Ramsey House that morning, Jones had mentioned a delivery for Arthur. Leopold hadn’t seen him since he’d disappeared inside his bedchamber with a comment about having to tend to some business. Surely nine hours was more than enough time to deal with whatever his office needed.

  If not, then Leopold would drag him away from his work. He couldn’t very well spend time with the man when Arthur was closeted alone in his bedchamber. Rather interfered with his plans for their short holiday together.

  This morning had given him a treasured glimpse inside Arthur’s head. He had listened to every word from Arthur’s lips, heard the lonely, hollow tone in his voice, melded it with those flashes of desolation and confusion and pain across his handsome face, and pieced together what the man valued above all. Fidelity and love. Two things Leopold had waited ten years to give.

  Now to get Arthur out of his bedchamber so he could start convincing him of that. How exactly he would go about it, he wasn’t quite certain. Straight out telling Arthur I love you and only want to be with you seemed…well…forward? No, not the right word. Too soon, perhaps? He let out a sarcastic huff. Obviously. Arthur had only spent one night under his roof. No, the more honest answer was fear. He could still vividly remember the acrid taste of rejection as he’d waited for Arthur to arrive last night. A decidedly unpleasant experience, and one he had no wish to repeat. And he didn’t yet know how Arthur thought of him, besides as a willing bed partner, of course. Nor would he know until he spent some more time with him.

  He rapped once on the door. The answering silence made unease nip at his belly. He pushed it aside. He needed to stop worrying Arthur would bolt back to London. Arthur hadn’t seemed at all out of sorts on the walk back to Ramsey House. Quiet, yes, but the startled expression from last night had been completely absent. Perhaps he had decided to rest before supper. He himself had collapsed on his bed once he’d realized Arthur would be unavailable for the afternoon. It had done wonders to revive him from a morning spent with Arthur. A morning that had involved rising before dawn, a long walk and a quick fuck.

  Hand still fisted, poised to knock again, he brushed his fingertips over the abrasions on his palm. Lest he think he had dreamed the last part, he had the scrapes from the tree’s rough bark to prove it.

  His buttock muscles clenched at the memory of Arthur’s thick cock slamming into him. The hint of a lingering ache only served to heighten his appetite for more than a few moments with Arthur. Quick, hasty and decidedly rushed moments. The encounter had served its purpose, wiping that worried furrow from Arthur’s brow and focusing his attention on Leopold and not that damn prig. But unfortunately it had been neither the time nor the place to indulge in anything more.

  Tonight, though, held distinct possibilities. But first, supper.

  A second, louder knock earned him an “Enter.” Leopold opened the door to find Arthur seated at the desk situated on the other side of the bed, a pencil in hand and head bowed over a stack of paper. The fawn silk waistcoat stretched across his broad back. He had discarded his coat and rolled his shirtsleeves to his elbows, exposing his strong forearms. The glimpse of bare skin made Leopold want to see more, but when he stepped inside the room, he left the door open, lest he give in to temptation again.

  “Good afternoon,” Arthur said, his attention clearly not on Leopold. He made a notation with quick, deliberate motions.

  “Evening,” he corrected. He glanced about the room. The bottle-green coat Arthur had worn earlier today graced the foot of the bed. Unless he excelled at tidying a bed and smoothing every crease from the coverlet, it appeared he hadn’t rested. “Barrington, have you been working all day?”

  Arthur turned the paper over, set it on the neat stack at his elbow, and moved to the next page. “Yes.” Another quick scratch of his pencil.

  “But you’re on holiday.”

  “That matters not to my clients.”

  “It matters to me. Supper is to be served. Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Supper?”

  “Yes. We’re having pheasant. The one you killed.”

  Arthur lifted his head and looked to the window beside the bed. Leopold followed his gaze. The drapes were drawn back, exposing the twilight-dark sky. “My apologies, Thornton. I hadn’t realized it was so late.” With a tired shake of his head, he tidied the stack of paper he’d been reading and put it and the one at his elbow into the desk drawer, along with the pencil. He stood and pushed the chair back in its place. “If you’ll give me a moment, I just need to wash up and change.”

  “It’s not a formal affair, I assure you.”

  Arthur flicked his fingers in the direction of his groin. Not exactly the wisest thing for him to do, as it focused Leopold’s thoughts on the reason why the placket was darkened by what could only be an oil stain.

  “I can’t very well go down to supper like this. I had intended to change when I got back to the house, but…” He shrugged. “It will only take a moment.”

  So tempting to offer his assistance, to strip every article of clothing from the man’s body, to expose every inch of muscle and drag his lips over the smooth skin, to use pleasure to tell Arthur what was in his heart, but Leopold decided against it. All the talk about supper had made him rather hungry. “If you insist. I’ll await you in the corridor.”

  Arthur took more than a moment. More like ten minutes before he emerged from the bedchamber wearing a navy coat and tan trousers. But the
delay did not hamper the quality of their meal one bit. He knew Arthur preferred simpler fare and had instructed the kitchen accordingly. A hearty lentil soup and then the pheasant. He followed Arthur’s lead and kept the conversation to a minimum. But the silence didn’t hold a trace of unease or strain. He looked to the handsome man seated at his right. White cravat tied in a neat knot, his shoulders back and spine straight, but the lack of formality to his movements indicated he felt comfortable at Leopold’s table. As Arthur reached for his glass of wine, Leopold couldn’t help but hope their future held many such pleasant meals. He could well grow accustomed to quiet suppers with Arthur versus hosting boisterous, elaborate affairs with a table full of mere acquaintances.

  When they completed supper, Leopold suggested they retire to the billiard room for a glass of port and a game. The fire in the hearth had already been lit, the drapes closed tight against the night sky. Leopold pulled a bottle and two small glasses from the cabinet beside the fireplace. As Arthur selected a cue stick from the rack on the wall, Leopold poured them each a glass.

  Arthur took the proffered glass. “My apologies for my complete absence this afternoon. Poor form for a guest.”

  He waved off the need for an apology. “I spent most of the afternoon asleep, so no worries there.”

  Long cue stick in hand, Arthur stood near a lit sconce on the paneled wall. The golden glow highlighted a few strands of gray mixed in with the chestnut-brown hair at his temples. A slight notch marred the space between his brows, even though there wasn’t a hint of a scowl on his face.

  As a young man, Arthur had been a rather serious sort. Reserved and pragmatic, the perfect foil to temper Leopold’s more volatile tendencies. Smiles didn’t readily grace his firm mouth. The years, it seemed, had only made them more infrequent.