by Tinnean
Ace-High Royal Flush
By Tinnean
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2016 Tinnean
ISBN 9781634860161
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.
This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
Ace-High Royal Flush
By Tinnean
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Prologue
“Jefferson.” Warm fingers stroked down my spine.
“Mmm.”
“Jefferson.”
I peeled open an eyelid. “What?”
“You know what today is, don’t you?”
I knew. It was New Year’s Day, 2013—our wedding day. Same-sex marriage had become legal in Maryland, where we lived on the Sebring family farm, a couple of months previous, thanks to popular vote, and today was the first day we could tie the knot, so that was what we were going to do.
However, if there was one thing I loved more than Ludovic Rivenhall, my partner of more than forty-three years, it was teasing him.
I grunted and turned my face into my pillow, pretending to want nothing more than a few more minutes of sleep.
“Jefferson!”
I buried my smile in my pillow.
“Fine. Be that way.” Ludo huffed and started to straighten. “I’m going downstairs. Mrs. Plum will have breakfast ready.”
I rolled over, caught his hand, and pulled him—my lover…my fiancé…my soon-to-be husband—down onto me. “Good morning, angel eyes.”
“You were awake all this time!” He attempted to push off, but all that did was bring our cocks into contact. And just like that, he was rock hard. Even after all these years, he was still as hot for me as I was for him.
“Did you think I’d be able to sleep, knowing in a few hours I’ll have you tied to me legally?”
He blushed—his fair British complexion betraying him—and sank down onto me again, his hips jerking as our cocks slid against each other. I wrapped my hand around them and tugged gently.
“We don’t have time,” he gasped.
I kissed him and ran my fingertips over the curve of his ass. “We always have time,” I whispered against his lips. “Tonight I promise to take my time, but now I’ll make it quick—”
“You will not!”
As it turned out, I didn’t.
* * * *
Afterward, it took some time for our breathing to get back to normal.
“Why do I let you do this to me?”
“Make love to you? Because you love me.”
“Arse.” He pinched my hip, then stroked the scar I’d had since I was nineteen. “I meant tease me.”
I smiled into his hair. “The answer is still because you love me. And because you know I love you.”
“You do, don’t you?”
I framed his face between my palms. “More than my life.”
He rubbed his cheek against my palm, then pushed himself off. “I’m famished, and I don’t plan to faint from hunger before I say I do.” He caught up his robe and slid his arms into the sleeves. “Don’t dawdle. The family will be here before we know it.”
“Go on. I’ll be right with you.”
He paused at our bedroom door and gazed back at me quizzically. “Did you ever think we’d reach this point?”
Fortunately, he didn’t wait for a response, because no, for the longest time, I’d never given it the least consideration. I’d been a major asshole.
I stacked our pillows behind my back and angled myself up onto them.
Yeah. Agent Oblivious—that was me.
Chapter 1
Growing up bookended between an older brother who was the proverbial golden child and a younger brother who sat back and watched the world go past, I’d learned early my best option was to go my own way.
For five years I’d been the youngest brother. For the next five years I’d been the middle brother. And then, when I was ten, I became the second oldest when our sister Portia was born. She came as a surprise, since we’d all been expecting another brother—Sebrings ran to boys.
That was probably why we all loved her without reserve and would put our lives on the line for her.
In the years between our sister’s birth and her leaving home to attend college, the world marched on.
Tony, our oldest brother, joined the Navy to fight in World War II and wound up in intelligence in the Pacific Theater.
I joined the Army in ‘43, as soon as I turned eighteen, and Father was furious. He felt the least I could have done was follow my older brother into the Navy. The entire family was relieved that I made it through the landing at Omaha Beach with nothing more than a scar on my hipbone.
Bryan wasn’t old enough to enlist in that war, but he served in Korea, flying the planes that dropped bombs on the towns and villages of the enemy. When he returned home, he was more reserved than I’d ever known him to be.
Portia was too young to do anything but go to school, where she excelled in languages, and compete in horse shows.
The 1950s saw us becoming members of the intelligence community, because if you were a Sebring, that was what you did. Tony worked at the NSA, where Portia would eventually join him, while Bryan and I were both CIA officers, although Bryan analyzed the data I acquired.
After Portia graduated from Wellesley, our father decided to send her to London for a season. Knowing her, he was certain this would enable her to make contacts that would be useful both for Country and Family.
And according to Father, both would be capitalized and Country would come first.
In addition, since the following year was the last year debutantes would be able to make their curtsy to the queen, Father determined ‘57 would be a better year for Portia to do so, avoiding the crush as it were. It would also give Portia a guaranteed cachet in certain circles. She’d stay with her godmother, after whom she’d been named and who was an old friend of Mother’s. Lady Portia Abberley, Viscountess Creighton, would sponsor my sister’s debut and give a huge ball to introduce her to society.
Father was also certain Portia would meet all the right people, those he felt would be well-placed in the government and highly influential.
Portia mentioned all the young men and women in the letters she wrote Tony. Those letters were couched in the code old Barnabas Sebring had devised even before he sailed to the
New World in 1634 at the request of the second Lord Baltimore. That was strictly for family, unlike the code Horatio Sebring developed for General Washington at the start of the Revolution.
And then Tony received a letter that caused him concern…
* * * *
I was on leave, having worked nonstop since Egypt took control of the Suez Canal in July of the year before, and I planned to spend the evening with the man I was currently seeing. He preferred topping, and while I did as well, I didn’t mind switching off too much. He did know how to use his cock.
I strolled into the small kitchen in my apartment, where the phone hung on the wall. The plan was to call Richard and see if he was up for a little romp in the sheets—perhaps I could persuade him to switch positions for a change this evening.
The phone rang just as I reached for it. I observed it for a moment. Could Richard have had the same idea?
I picked up the receiver. “Sebring.”
“Jeff, it’s Tony. Something’s come up. Can you come to my place right now?” My brother didn’t tend to be excitable, and the only thing that would disturb him was a threat to our sister.
“Is Portia all right?”
“Yes, but I’m concerned. Father and Bryan are on their way.”
Whatever was going on with our sister, it obviously wasn’t something he wanted anyone outside the family to be aware of, hence the summons to his apartment.
“I’ll be there ASAP.”
Richard would have to wait.
* * * *
I caught a cab, and it took the driver less than ten minutes to drive the six miles from my apartment on Dupont Circle to Tony’s place in Arlington. I paid the driver, tipped him lavishly for not getting us killed, and exited the vehicle.
When my legs were finally steady—the man had driven like a maniac—I walked up the path to the building and let myself in, then nodded to the old man who operated the elevator when I stepped into it.
“Good to see you again, Mr. Sebring,” he said as he closed the doors.
“Same here, Joe.”
“I just brought your dad and other brother up to Mr. Anthony Sebring’s floor.”
Hmm. “How are your wife and children?”
“Doing good. That boy of mine is going into the Marines. His ma is worried, but I’m proud of him.”
“Tell him I wish him the best.”
“I will, thanks.” The elevator came to a smooth halt on Tony’s floor, and he opened the door.
“Thanks, Joe.” I strode down the hallway to my brother’s apartment.
Tony answered my knock. “Father and Bryan are in the living room. They just got here.”
“So Joe said.”
Tony frowned as he closed and locked the door behind me.
“He keeps his mouth shut, doesn’t he?” I knew my way to the living room, and I headed there.
“Yes, but—”
“Casually mention we’re planning a surprise birthday party for Mother.”
He stared at me blankly. “Is her birthday coming up?”
I laughed and shook my head. “No, but Joe doesn’t know that.”
“Joe doesn’t know what?” Bryan asked.
“Tony’s worried about the elevator operator telling anyone you and Father were here at the same time I was. I told him to say we were planning for Mother’s birthday.”
“Her birthday was three months ago.” Bryan looked from me to Father. He barely glanced at Tony.
“Think of something that won’t trip us up,” Father said shortly. “Or better still, have him removed from his position. Now, what’s in the letter your sister sent that has you in such a state?”
Tony went to his desk and picked up the letter, but not before I saw the expression on his face. Father always made him feel as if he still wore knee pants. It was difficult being the firstborn.
After Tony read the letter to us, Father stroked his chin and mused, “Folana Fournaise. She’ll bear looking into.”
“That’s what Portia says.” Tony frowned at him.
Father ignored him. “Bryan, see what you can learn about her. Jefferson—”
“I’ll take care of it.” Three sets of eyes turned to me, and I grinned. Of course, I’d be the one to go. “Off the top of my head, all I can tell you is she’s believed to be the ward of Sir Joseph Bowne.”
“Believed to be?” Tony echoed.
“Everyone suspects she’s really his mistress.”
“And they’re not offended?”
“Tony, you need to get out more. This is the twentieth century, not the nineteenth—people don’t consider it an insult to their sensibilities, as long as he doesn’t slobber all over her in public.”
Father frowned, and I waited to hear what he had to say. “Sir Joseph is assumed to be a doddering old idiot.”
“I take it he’s not?”
“Of course not. MI6 likes to pretend they have no idea who he is, but he’s known in their hallowed halls.”
I studied my fingernails and frowned. I hadn’t realized how ragged they’d become—Richard preferred to have his hole left alone, so there hadn’t been any reason to file them down. I would have to get a manicure soon. “I’ll need to speak to my director about this. There’s always something going on in Europe, so my presence won’t be questioned.”
Tony nodded. “I’ll book your flight as soon as I hear back from you.”
Jesus, did he think I couldn’t make my own arrangements? “I’m quite capable of booking my own flight.”
“Fine.”
I was a little surprised he’d given in so easily, but Father answered before I could. “Excellent,” he said.
Tony looked at me, obviously exasperated with our father, but I knew he wouldn’t say anything. None of us challenged him.
“Good,” I said.
“Now, may I offer you something?” Ever the consummate host, Tony had bottles of whisky and bourbon on a rolling cart, along with mixers, an ice bucket, and glasses. On the coffee table were platters of finger sandwiches with the crusts cut off.
“Nothing for me,” Father said. “I have some things that need seeing to. But Jefferson and Bryan, feel free to stay.”
He was gone before any of us could say a word.
My brothers and I exchanged glances. God knew we loved our parents, but they were difficult to like.
Father was wrapped up in politics and seldom home. Mother was Father’s ideal hostess, but they rarely exhibited any warmth toward each other. Or their children.
“I drove Father here.” Bryan sighed.
“You can bet Shadow Brook he probably had a ride lined up even before you picked him up.”
I bit back a laugh. Shadow Brook was the Sebring farm. Tony gave me a look, then turned his back on both of us.
“Did you ever get the feeling Father doesn’t care much for us?” I asked, rubbing my stomach. I’d missed dinner, and I was getting hungry.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“I wonder why. We’re quite likeable.”
“I always thought so.” Bryan exchanged grins with me.
Tony folded his lips together and said nothing.
“I didn’t realize anything had come across Father’s desk,” Bryan murmured as he poured himself a couple of fingers of Glenlivet. “He didn’t say anything about it on the drive here.”
“You know how close to the vest he plays everything.” Tony frowned at him over his shoulder, and handed me a glass. He seemed ready to dismiss our father’s departure.
I couldn’t let it go, though. “Are you going to get Joe fired?”
Tony scowled at me. “Of course not.”
“Glad to hear it.” I took a swallow of my drink and helped myself to a sandwich. “This is very good. Never tell me you’ve taken up cooking, big brother.”
“It doesn’t take much to slap some cold cuts onto a couple of slices of bread and add lettuce, tomatoes, and mustard or mayonnaise.” He stared broodingly into my eyes.
/> I raised an eyebrow “You’re not insulted, are you?”
“Ass.”
“Then what’s bothering you?”
“I’m concerned about the tone of Portia’s letter.”
“Why? She can take care of herself,” Bryan murmured.
“What do you know about our sister?” Tony snapped.
Bryan paused in the act of reaching for a sandwich. “She’s as much my sister as she is yours, but you’re right—what do I know?” Instead of picking up the sandwich, he turned his wrist and studied his watch. “It’s later than I realized. I’d better be going. Jeff, I’ll send whatever information I can find to you as soon as I get it. If there’s anything else I can do for you, let me know.”
He put down the barely-touched glass of Glenlivet, turned on his heel, and walked out of Tony’s apartment.
Tony waited until he heard the sound of the door closing behind our youngest brother, then glared at me.
I held up my hands in surrender. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Aren’t you going to ask what’s going on between us?” He turned scarlet. “I mean—”
“All that’s going on is you’ve got a bug up your ass when it comes to Bryan. I could never figure out why, since you were so close before you left for the War. My God, he sent you a letter every week. He worshipped the ground you walked on.”
“He was a boy.”
“What difference does that make?”
“It was only a matter of time.”
“Now you’re confusing me.”
“You know how cold Father and Mother are toward each other.”
Yes, but we siblings had taken a page that wasn’t in our parents’ book. We tended to treat each other more warmly. Or we had, until whatever had happened between my older and younger brothers had…happened.
I looked at my own watch.
“You’re leaving as well?”
“No. I missed dinner thanks to you, and I plan to fill up on these lovely sandwiches.”
“You were dining with some queer clown, no doubt?”
“No,” I said again as I selected a sandwich. I’d never discussed my sexuality with the family, but it was an open secret and they all seemed accepting, even Father; but then I had the feeling it was immaterial to him, as long as it wasn’t Tony who was queer. I raised a corner of the bread. “Liverwurst, Tony? I always knew you had miserable taste in lunch meats.”
