Convincing Arthur

by Ava March

  The lust and need in Arthur’s intent gaze flooded Leopold’s senses. Damn, it felt beyond good to give Arthur pleasure. Unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

  He sucked harder, relaxed his throat and took him down to the base, reveling in the tremor racking Arthur’s body. In the guttural groan filling his ears. On the next upward glide, he paused to lavish attention on the crown, drinking up the fresh bead of fluid, teasing the highly sensitive slit. Then he pulled free, planted his hands on Arthur’s inner thighs and pushed. The man spread for him, fully exposing the ballocks drawn up tight to his body. Leopold bowed his head to trail his tongue over the soft skin, the fine hairs a tickle on his lips. Gently sucked on first one and then the other testicle. All the while, his senses were acutely attuned to Arthur, instinctively sorting out what he liked best and doing it again.

  For by dawn tomorrow, he’d have Arthur bound so tightly to him with pleasure, he’d never so much as look at another man again.

  He shifted up. Grabbed Arthur’s neck and slanted his mouth harshly over his in a quick, hot kiss. “Turn over. I want to lick your arse.”

  Arthur’s breath caught, his eyes wide with surprise yet glazed with desire. “Oh, fuck, Thorn. You’re going to be the death of me.”

  “I should hope not. Though it wouldn’t be a bad way to go.” He nipped Arthur’s jaw. “Now turn.”

  Arthur twisted, and Leopold wasted no time scooting down to palm the firmly muscled backside he’d only seen in his fantasies. A tug on his hips got Arthur canted at the necessary angle. Spreading the firm cheeks, he let his breath fan the exposed crack of his arse. The tight ring of muscle contracted.

  Arthur sucked in a breath as Leopold’s tongue danced over his skin, liberally wetting it. Then he swirled his thumb over that tight hole, trying to coax it to relax.

  Letting out a moan, Arthur pushed back, seeking more. Leopold ignored the lust clawing at his own throat and eagerly gave Arthur what he wanted. He rimmed the perimeter. Nipped and teased. Focused all his attention on giving Arthur the most decadent of pleasures.

  Scattered between Arthur’s indecipherable grunts and moans, he could make out a few words. “Didn’t know… Damnation, Thorn… Feels so good.”

  It almost sounded like… He paused, recalling the surprise in Arthur’s eyes when he’d told him what he wanted to do to him. “Haven’t you had a man kiss your arse before?”

  Arthur glanced over his shoulder. Even with the dim lighting, Leopold could make out the flush staining his cheeks, the sweat beading his brow.

  He shook his head.

  “And do you like it?”

  The guttural groan spoke for itself.

  “And I haven’t even got to the best part yet.”

  A quick wink and then the tip of his tongue slipped into that tempting hole. He felt the instant when Arthur opened for him, the ring of muscle relaxing. He alternated between tongue fucking and teasing the perimeter, occasionally pushing a finger inside, stroking him deep, until the need building within himself became more than he could keep at bay.

  He levered up to cover the man and nuzzled his ear, his pulse skittering through his veins with a sudden pinch of uncertainty. “Will you let me fuck you?”

  “Yes.” Arthur gasped. “God, please.”

  He blinked. He couldn’t say why he hadn’t expected that answer, but he hadn’t. “Really?”

  Arthur turned his head, caught his gaze. “You thought all I wanted was to bugger you? I happen to like the feel of a hard cock in my arse.”

  Leopold bit down on Arthur’s shoulder as lust slammed into him. Damnation. If Arthur continued to talk like that, he’d climax all over his bum. He leaned left, reaching into the bedside table drawer to grab the bottle of oil.

  With his shoulders pressed to the bed, Arthur lifted his hips higher, presenting Leopold with his arse. The head of his thick, hard prick brushed the sheets. His ballocks were so tight they kissed the smooth expanse of skin beneath that well-prepared hole.

  A swipe of Leopold’s hand slicked his own cock. Tossing the bottle aside, he grabbed hold of Arthur’s hips and eased inside.

  Tight, searing heat gripped his length, then relaxed just enough to pull him in. Damn, Arthur knew how to take a cock. He had to grit his teeth as he eased back to start thrusting. Two strokes, and he knew he wouldn’t last long. He never did when he fucked another man. It was used more for a quick climax, so he could switch and get fucked until he reached orgasm again. A mere warm-up for yet more pleasure. Still, he typically managed a handful of minutes.

  But this wasn’t just any man. This was Arthur.

  His hoarse groans of pleasure. His sweat-slicked skin under his hands. Him beneath Leopold.

  He let the orgasm race through him. He didn’t even attempt to hold it back but savored the blinding rush of sensation as he spilled deep within Arthur.

  Gasping for breath, he dropped down and plied Arthur once again with his tongue, swirling it over the sensitive flesh, keeping him poised at the height of pleasure. Arthur bucked and cursed, his body tightening beneath his hands as if to twist away, but Leopold held him steady as he lapped up the remnants of his own climax, reveling in the crude act. The way it made him feel so goddamn wicked. So stripped free of every inhibition.

  “Damn.” A quick, harsh hiss. “Fuck!” Arthur wrenched free of his hold.

  He jerked back to avoid a knee in the jaw as Arthur turned over to stare at him, his chest heaving, his cock so hard it brushed his sculpted abdomen. Leopold licked his lips, wanting to swipe that bead of fluid from the needy head.

  “Hell, is there anything you won’t do?”

  “No. Nothing. Now fuck me. Please.”

  A feral growl filled the room. The next instant Arthur was on top of him. Crouched between Leopold’s thighs, Arthur took hold of his semi-erect prick. “Gladly, but let me get you hard first.”

  He shook his head and reached left, hand coasting over the sheet. “Your cock will get me hard again.” Where the hell had he tossed that bottle? He tried the right side, his fingers finally closing over smooth glass.

  Arthur leaned back on his knees and took the bottle. “I can manage it. I think you’ve done enough work for one night.”

  “It’s not work, I assure you.”

  A smile tipped Arthur’s lips, his hazel eyes crinkling at the edges. “No, it isn’t. Is it?”

  God, no. Never with Arthur. Leopold shimmied, tilting his hips and grabbing under his knees to pull his legs up. He watched with bated breath as Arthur poured a generous amount of oil onto his palm. Then Arthur thoroughly coated his hole. So slick and luscious. His eyelids fluttered, his muscles beginning to relax even before Arthur pushed a finger inside.

  Bracing his weight on one arm, he bent his head to Leopold’s chest. Sucked and licked one nipple as his fingers slowly slid in and out.

  Much too slowly.

  He wrapped his legs around Arthur’s hard waist, tugged on his shoulders. He wanted Arthur’s cock in him. Now. Wanted to feel those powerful thrusts. “I’m ready. Fuck me.”

  “Not yet,” Arthur said. His breath fanned Leopold’s wet nipple, teasing the tip. He pushed a third finger inside: twisting, scissoring, carefully working his entrance.

  But it was a poor substitute for the real thing.

  A sigh of gratitude expanded his chest as a blunt pressure pushed against his hole.

  Arthur had barely breached the perimeter when he abruptly stopped, his once-heavily lidded eyes flaring wide. “Christ, I can still feel you.”

  Leopold couldn’t help but smile, even as his body screamed for more than just the head of the man’s cock. He knew exactly what it felt like in Arthur’s position, the hot flare as the lingering ache in his arse turned into a delicious throb, the echo of fullness without the stretch. Split between the sudden desire to fuck and get fucked anew. “Feel good?”

  “Hell, yes. Damned incredible.”

  “Good. Now quit teasing and fuck me.” He tugged on Arthur�
�s shoulders again and shifted beneath him, trying to work himself on the man’s prick, to scratch that all-encompassing itch for more.

  Arthur cursed under his breath. Leopold felt the shudder rack the man’s body. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple and dropped onto Leopold’s chest. He couldn’t tear his gaze from Arthur’s as the man pushed deeper. One long, agonizingly slow thrust.

  “All right?” Arthur asked, his chest heaving.

  “More than all right.” Arthur’s ballocks were pressed against Leopold, his prick so blissfully deep inside him he could barely form the words. To be fucked after an orgasm… Nerves already shimmering with sensation, impatient lust sated, he could lie back and simply enjoy the sweet burning stretch. The glorious friction. That feeling of being possessed. Claimed. Taken by another. By Arthur.

  His entire body went lax even as his cock hardened anew. Lips parting, his head tipped back, hands kneading Arthur’s bulging biceps as the man fucked him with slow, powerful strokes.

  “God, you’re beautiful, Thorn.”

  At those hoarse words, soaked with awe, he dragged Arthur down, needing his kiss. He was surrounded completely by Arthur. The man’s weight on top of him, his cock inside him, his tongue twining with Leopold’s. He opened his heart, poured every bit of love he held in his soul into that kiss.

  And as those thrusts turned determined, slamming relentlessly into him as Arthur’s body tightened above him, their kiss still unbroken, the orgasm ripped through him. Arthur’s shout of completion drowned out his high, keening cry. And the last thing he remembered before unconsciousness claimed him was a breathless thank-you whispered in his ear.

  Chapter Six

  Sprawled on his stomach, Leopold blinked his eyes open. Thin shafts of weak, gray daylight seeped into the darkened room from the breaks in the closed drapes. A steady drum of rain beat against the windows. The fire had burned itself out at some point during the predawn hours, leaving the hearth dark.

  He pushed up onto his forearms and looked beside him. Rumpled sheets and blankets, as if someone had thrown them aside while getting out of the bed. The fluffy white pillow still held the impression from Arthur’s head.

  Leopold grinned and flopped back down onto the bed. He tugged the blanket draped over his hips higher, seeking its warmth. Waking up with hope in his heart was a singularly wonderful experience. The fact that Arthur had left did not dim his spirits one bit. He had not expected Arthur to remain until dawn. The man seemed accustomed to rising early, and was likely unaware Leopold did not employ a valet or allow any servants to enter his bedchamber during the night or the morning. Since he hadn’t given his staff the same orders regarding Arthur’s bedchamber, it was probably best Arthur had returned to his own room during the night, before a servant sneaked in to light the morning fire. Arthur did worry about keeping up appearances, after all.

  Something to keep in the forefront of his mind when they returned to London. Not a cause for concern, though. He’d willingly leave his old life behind for Arthur. More than willingly. Long ago, he had grown quite tired of it. Hours upon hours spent at the gambling tables, the near-constant haze of drunkenness, the steady stream of visits to brothels and molly houses, and house parties that were little more than excuses for orgies, surrounded by acquaintances but no one he called friend. He had never relished it anyway; he’d only used it to distract him from a pain no longer there.

  Last night… He shifted his hips to accommodate his growing erection, the sheets a soft caress against his skin. Just thinking about last night made him hard, but knowing it was the start of a relationship with Arthur made his heart swell near to bursting. No way could Arthur not have felt the connection between them. Never before in his life had intimacy been anything more than just two people using each other for their own selfish pleasure. But last night had been more, so much more. The way Arthur had touched him, the care he had shown him, the way he looked at him with more than lust in his eyes…

  He meant more to Arthur than empty pleasure.

  For the first time in as long as he could remember, he actually looked forward to returning to London. Would they split their evenings between Arthur’s bachelor apartments and Leopold’s town house? Or would Arthur prefer to meet at Leopold’s? He held no illusion they would spend every night together—the need for discretion, of course—but a few nights a week should be manageable. Hell, he’d take once a week. The promise of Arthur could well sustain him for six days.

  But no need to wait today.

  He flung aside the blankets and swung his feet over the side of the mattress. Damp, cold air hit his bare skin, making his erection wilt. Usually he was too preoccupied with the sledgehammers pounding his skull to notice the lack of a fire in the morning. Overindulging before bed guaranteed a night without Arthur haunting his dreams, but it did have an unpleasant side effect. Knowing he would never again wake with an aching head…just one other thing to look forward to.

  He made to stand, then stopped, frowning at the whisky bottle on the floor by the bedside table. If he had held on to his patience a bit longer, not given in to despair so quickly, that bottle would not be empty. Yet… He gave his head an experimental shake. Nothing. No pounding whatsoever. Umm… Perhaps a bout of vigorous exercise served as a preemptive cure for sledgehammers. Who knew? He shrugged. Right or wrong, he wouldn’t have need to test that theory.

  He went to the washstand to splash water over his face. Eyes closed, he blindly reached for the towel beside the basin and swiped it over his wet face, dragging it along his bristly jaw. The shave could wait. He wanted to see Arthur now.

  After donning a pair of comfortable, well-worn breeches, he snagged the navy-blue silk dressing gown from the armchair by the fireplace and slipped it on. He frequently trudged downstairs in search of a steaming cup of tea to clear his head, so his lack of proper attire wouldn’t raise any eyebrows by his staff.

  He passed a hand over his hair to tame the mess created by Arthur’s greedy fingers, and then left his bedchamber and made his way to the dining room. What to do today? Nothing out of doors, at least not while it rained. Billiards again? Maybe. Arthur might want to put his nose back into the pile of papers Leopold had dragged him away from yesterday. He could indulge him for a couple of hours, as long as Arthur promised to indulge Leopold after…perhaps with a quiet afternoon secluded in the study. The drapes drawn closed and the door locked. They could put the leather couch to good use.

  As Leopold went down the main stairs, the front door opened and Jones entered, flicking the rain off the sleeves of his black coat. The footman quickly closed the door, shutting out the wind. Damn dreadful weather. The rain beat against the house in what sounded like an ever-increasing tempo. Wonderful. A deluge. At least he didn’t have to go out in it.

  The sharp crack of a whip stopped him in his tracks. Beneath the sounds of the storm was the distinct crunch of gravel under carriage wheels and horses’ hooves.

  He felt the color drain from his face.

  Heart in his throat, he took the last three steps in a leap and darted for the door, one hand reaching for the knob and the other shoving Jones aside.

  “Sir?”

  Ignoring Jones, he flung the door open.

  The breath whooshed out of his chest at the sight of a carriage on the gravel path, driving away from the house.

  Through sheer will, he forced air into his lungs. “Who’s in it?” he demanded without bothering to look at his footman.

  “Pardon, Mr. Thornton?”

  “The bloody carriage. Is it Mr. Barrington?”

  A pause. “Yes, sir.”

  He gripped the knob tightly, his arm shaking. Perhaps Arthur wasn’t leaving for good. Perhaps he was just going…

  “Where is he headed?”

  At Jones’s silence, he whipped his head around to look over his shoulder, needing the answer. Now. He’d rip the word from the man’s throat if need be.

  Jones dropped his gaze to the marble floor. “London
.”

  He swore he felt his heart rip in two.

  In a daze, Leopold stared back out at the departing carriage, that one word repeating in his head, as he watched Arthur move farther and farther away from him. The moment the dark shape disappeared into the fog and rain, he whirled from the door.

  “Saddle a horse. Now!”

  Jones’s head snapped up. If there had been pity in his eyes, Leopold would have discharged the man on the spot. “Yes, sir.”

  Leopold bolted upstairs, taking the steps two at a time and pulling off the dressing gown. He slammed the bedchamber door against the wall as he opened it, and then he flung open the narrow dressing room door, hand closing around soft white linen on one of the shelves lining the walls. After tugging the shirt over his head and shoving his arms through the sleeves, he grabbed his boots. He had them on in a trice, and he ran back out of his bedchamber, down the corridor, down the stairs, out of the house and toward the stables.

  He skidded to a halt inside the stables and swiped a hand over his face to wipe away the rain. Breathing heavily, he blinked, willing his eyes to adjust to the change in lighting. Jones and one of the grooms were in the aisle scurrying around Vice, his burly iron-gray hunter. Nothing usually bothered the tall stallion, but the groom flinging a saddle onto his back as Jones tried to attend to the bridle had the horse flicking his long black tail and stomping his feet.

  “Done yet, Jones?” the groom asked as he buckled the girth.

  Jones had half the headstall behind Vice’s ear and was struggling to get the other half in place. Vice tossed his head, resisting Jones’s efforts. “No, he won’t stand—”

  “I’ll do it.” For God’s sake, if he left it to the two men, noon would come and go before he tracked down Arthur.