A Gathering Storm (Porthkennack Book 2)

by Joanna Chambers

  Ward watched from the doorway as Nicholas made a little nest in the study with the blue blanket and coaxed Snowflake over. Snowflake approached, sniffed the blanket cautiously, then eventually stepped inside, circling three times before he settled himself down. For a few minutes, Nicholas sat with his dog, hunkered on the floor beside him, petting his ears and broad, round head. Slowly, Snowflake seemed to relax, resting his head on his paws and closing his single, rheumy eye.

  When Nicholas finally stood again, the dog was far from asleep, his eye immediately popping open to gaze at his owner pleadingly, as though begging him to stay. But after Nicholas soothed him again with more of those low murmurs and petting, he finally put his head back down, though he kept his watchful gaze on Nicholas as he and Ward tiptoed out of the study and entered the bedchamber, closing the door behind them.

  “Will he be all right shut in there?” Ward asked.

  “He should be fine,” Nicholas replied with a smile. “So long as he knows where I am. Thank you for being so patient.” After a moment, he added, “And for saving him. I didn’t say that before, did I? I was too busy telling you how foolish you’d been.”

  “That’s all right,” Ward said. “You were quite right, I daresay. I just . . . didn’t think how dangerous it was.”

  “You must never do anything like that again,” Nicholas said seriously. “It was ridiculously brave, but my heart wouldn’t be able to take it. Christ, if you’d fallen—” He shivered visibly.

  Their gazes locked. There was just the smallest distance between them now, yet somehow that space seemed endless to Ward, and he couldn’t think how to broach it. He was grateful, therefore, when Nicholas spoke, his voice low and somewhat tentative.

  “What do you want to do?”

  It felt like a huge question. A huge, undulating, unanswerable question. How to articulate all the things he wanted from Nicholas? All the things he’d been thinking about for weeks now. But Nicholas wasn’t talking about that—he was talking about something specific and measurable. Something that could be fitted into an hour or so. Perhaps only one hour or so ever.

  And still Ward couldn’t formulate a sensible answer.

  “Whatever you’ll allow,” he croaked at last with a painful honesty.

  Nicholas smile-frowned, brows furrowing even as his silvery gaze gleamed with unexpected humour.

  “All right,” he said slowly, stepping a little closer, though not quite touching yet. “Tell me this. Have you done anything like this before?”

  When Ward nodded, Nicholas looked surprised. “I thought—” he began, then cut himself off. “That is, if you don’t mind me saying so, you seemed . . . rather unused to kissing.”

  Ward’s cheeks warmed at that deduction. Had he been gauche? Obviously unskilled? It was a mortifying thought.

  “I am somewhat unused to kissing,” he finally managed to get out. “But I’ve had ample experience of other acts between men. Fellatio. Sodomy.”

  Nicholas’s eyebrows rose at that bald assurance. “Sodomy!” he exclaimed. Then he gave a soft laugh and said, “My, you do know how to woo a fellow, don’t you?”

  Embarrassed as he was, Ward couldn’t help but laugh at that and, for once, didn’t even cringe at the barking sound of his mirth. “Wooing is not my forte,” he admitted.

  Nicholas’s smile was amused. At length, he raised his hand and softly brushed the pad of his thumb across Ward’s cheekbone. Ward shivered with helpless pleasure. He wanted to press into the simple touch and beg for more.

  “What do you like best of the things you’ve done?” Nicholas murmured.

  Ward swallowed, still feeling a little gauche. “All of them. I had a good teacher.”

  “A lover?”

  “No,” Ward replied shortly. “A whore.”

  Nicholas’s eyes widened at that, and his stroking thumb stilled. He appeared shocked, and Ward felt ashamed for calling Alfie a whore.

  “That’s not fair,” he said quickly. “He was a . . . a courtesan, I suppose. Can a man be a courtesan? Well, anyway, he was very sought after. Very beautiful and skilled.”

  After a long pause, Nicholas said, “But he didn’t kiss you?”

  “No,” Ward agreed. “We did most things together, but not that.”

  There was a brief, awkward pause, then Nicholas said, “Well, I can’t match your experience. Gabe and I—the man you saw with me that evening, by the stream—we used to suck one another mostly, and once I let him bugger me—” He broke off, laughing shortly before saying, “That was awful.”

  Ward frowned. “Awful? Why?”

  Nicholas seemed surprised at the question. “Well, it was painful, of course,” he said, cheeks reddening. “And humiliating too.”

  “It oughtn’t to have been,” Ward said, reaching out. He placed his hand on Nicholas’s forearm. Beneath Ward’s palm, through the layers of tweed and linen, Nicholas was warm and vital and so very alive. And suddenly Ward wanted to just strip him, tear his clothes off, have his way with him. Show him just how good fucking could be, the way Alfie had shown him. How good it was when you were shameless and abandoned and pursued your pleasure as determinedly as a hound pursued a hare.

  Nicholas had a mulish look about him now. “It mightn’t be painful for the man dipping his wick, but I can assure you that the man being fucked knows all about it. Though I don’t expect your courtesan told you about that.”

  “Actually, I’ve tried both—dipping my wick, as you put it, and being fucked—and I can tell you that I liked both very well.” Ward smiled sweetly, enjoying the astonishment on Nicholas’s face. “Though probably I most liked being fucked.”

  Yes, he knew how good it felt both ways, and he knew a great deal more besides. Knew how it felt to suck and be sucked, to have his balls played with and his nipples pinched, his cock rubbed and stroked by another man’s hands, another man’s shaft . . . Had Nicholas tried those things?

  “You liked being buggered?” Nicholas exclaimed.

  Ward stepped closer so that their chests were brushing, and he had to tilt his head a little to meet Nicholas’s eyes.

  “I loved it,” he whispered.

  Nicholas’s chest rose and fell, his gaze flickering between Ward’s eyes and his mouth. Ward could feel the warmth of the man’s breath against his lips.

  “If you use oil, or something similar,” Ward continued in a low voice, “and spend time preparing your lover, there’s no need for any pain. Or humiliation, for that matter.”

  Nicholas throat bobbed as he swallowed. “No?”

  Ward ground his hips against Nicholas’s, relishing the man’s swift indrawn breath. “No. Not if you take your time.”

  Nicholas went very still at that, and Ward frowned, puzzled.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Nicholas said. “Only when you say you need to take your time—well, that’s something only a gentleman would say.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning people like you have plenty of time—and privacy—for these things, Ward. The rest of us aren’t so lucky.”

  Ward didn’t know what to say to that, but Nicholas didn’t seem to require answer.

  “When Gabe first came to Porthkennack, he was lodging with Mrs. Bridges. My mother was still alive then, and living with me at the cottage. It wasn’t till sometime after we met—one night when we were both drunk as lords—that we discovered our . . . mutual interest. But even after that, we had nowhere private to go. So we would meet at night, down by the mill stream, or walk over to the sands together and find a secluded spot in the dunes.” He shrugged, looking away. “Our times together were always rushed. Furtive. We always had to be watching, listening in case someone came. When you talk about ‘taking your time’—it’s never been like that for me. It never could be.”

  Ward thought about that, and about what Nicholas had said about being buggered. About how painful and humiliating it had been. He lifted a hand to Nicholas’s chin, turning him back
to meet Ward’s gaze.

  “Did you even want to be fucked that time you did it?” he asked at last. “Or did you just agree to please your lover?” Ward winced at the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. As usual, without the softening effect of a sympathetic inflection, he sounded too harsh, too blunt. But Nicholas didn’t seem offended by the question.

  “Mostly, I agreed to please him,” he admitted, making no move to pull away from Ward’s gentle touch. “But I was curious too.”

  “And did he use anything to ease his way?” Ward whispered. “To stretch you?”

  Nicholas tried to look away again, plainly mortified, but Ward’s fingers tightened, and he stilled. For a long moment, Nicholas gazed at him unhappily, then finally he whispered, “He smeared some lard on his prick to help it in. But we had to be quick.” He swallowed, then added, “I hated it. I was bleeding after.”

  “God, Nicholas,” Ward whispered, stroking the man’s jawline with his thumb. Such a strong, angular face. He wanted to examine every bit of it. Wanted to see every expression Nicholas had and catalogue them, every one, as though the man were a scientific mystery to be unravelled.

  It was a terrifying feeling—Ward barely recognised himself. He’d never felt like this before about anyone, not even Alfie. Oh, he’d felt lust and even an easy sort of fondness for his erstwhile lover, but when he looked at Nicholas Hearn, he felt turned inside-out. And now, as the man nestled his face into Ward’s hand, stroking his cheek against Ward’s palm like a cat seeking affection, the ache in Ward’s chest was physical: an unfamiliar, unwanted, wrenching tenderness.

  Why couldn’t he want Nicholas in the easy way he’d wanted Alfie? That desire had been strong, but it had only been a physical need. An appetite, compelling as hunger or thirst. He felt the same intensity of physical desire for Nicholas, but there was something more besides, something much more dangerous to his peace of mind.

  Nicholas’s eyes were closed, his coal-black lashes brushing lightly against Ward’s fingers. His cheek was warm and roughened by dark stubble, and when he pressed his lips against Ward’s palm in an unexpected kiss, his mouth was soft and plush.

  A moan escaped Ward, and at that sound, Nicholas’s eyes flew open. It was no wonder—a moan from Ward was more like a bark after all—but his look of surprise changed to one of desire so quickly that Ward didn’t have time to feel embarrassed.

  “Why are we still talking when I could be kissing you right now?” Nicholas asked in a low, driven tone.

  Ward’s eyes widened and he croaked, “I have no idea.”

  “Me either,” Nicholas whispered and leaned towards him.

  Ward looked suddenly so flustered that Nick couldn’t help but smile. The man was all assured experience when he talked of fucking and being fucked, using oil to stretch and prepare a lover, taking time to make everything pleasurable and good. And Nick had no doubt Ward knew what he was talking about—he was clearly very experienced, far more experienced in such matters than Nick. Yet the thought of a simple kiss seemed to make him as nervous as a maid.

  As for Nick, well, kissing at least he knew how to do. He mightn’t want women as bedmates, but he’d kissed plenty in his time, playing the part of a lusty lad when he’d had to. And of course, he’d kissed Gabe. He’d loved kissing Gabe. More than Gabe had liked kissing him back, he knew—Gabe had always been keen to get on with things, hurrying towards completion as though he were in a steeplechase, galloping hell for leather for the finish line.

  Nick traced the pad of his thumb over Ward’s mouth, loving the faint drag of damp flesh as he parted those delicious lips. So comely and so complicated, this lad. All that fire in his belly.

  “I’m good at kissing,” Nick murmured, dipping his head. “I’ll show you how. Then you can show me how to do the things you’re good at.”

  “All right,” Ward whispered.

  Nick brushed his lips across Ward’s, then, smiling, returned to press their mouths together more thoroughly. He framed Ward’s face with his hands, tilting the man’s chin up as he muscled closer.

  He liked the contrast of Ward’s slender, strong body with his own broader one. Liked too the similarity in their heights. Ward was only two or three inches shorter, so they were chest to chest, groin to groin, making everything easy and good.

  Nick slid his tongue against Ward’s, loving the thick moan that elicited. He did it again, and again. And then, finally, Ward mimicked him, tentatively entering Nick’s mouth with his own tongue, his hands going to Nick’s hips, tugging him closer, impatient for more.

  Christ, but that mix of boldness and inexperience was intoxicating.

  Groaning encouragement, Nick skimmed his hands inside Ward’s open coat, sweeping his hands up and over the man’s shoulders to remove it. Ward released Nick’s hips to shake his coat free of his arms before stroking his hands up Nick’s chest to do the same to him. Plainly Ward was more confident with this part in the proceedings—undressing his lover ready for a thorough bedding.

  As Nick tossed his coat aside, Ward reached for his necktie, tugging the knot free, then sending the wilted linen sailing across the room while Nick wrestled with the buttons of Ward’s waistcoat. And then it was frantic and messy, clothes flying as they kissed, stripping each other’s layers away until finally they stood there in the bedchamber, naked in each other’s arms. Naked and together, safe in this room, with no danger of discovery or interruption.

  Nick stepped back, for no other reason than to look Ward over. A lamp in the corner of the room suffused the bedchamber with gentle light that kissed the planes of Ward’s slim body. And Ward just stood there, quiet, letting Nick gaze at him, as though he realised Nick needed to do it. Needed to have this, if only once in his life.

  Nick stretched out his hand and laid it on Ward’s chest. Ward’s skin was pale and smooth, and unlike Nick’s, his chest was hairless. Further down his body, though, a trail of hair led from his navel to a light-brown brush at his groin, from which his cock thrust, straight and eager and flushed at the tip.

  Nick traced his fingertips downwards, grazing chest, belly, and hip, till finally, dry-mouthed, he reached that lovely, jutting prick and took it in hand, circling his fingers loosely round the shaft. He slid his hand up, then down the length, glancing at Ward to make sure this was all right.

  Ward’s eyes were closed, but when Nick’s hand stilled, he opened them again, his expression slightly stunned, as though he were waking from a dream.

  “Don’t stop,” he pleaded. “I like you touching me.”

  “I want to touch you everywhere,” Nick murmured. “Want to take my time.”

  Ward whispered, “You can do whatever you want—we have all the time in the world.”

  They didn’t, not really, but there was certainly no hurry. Not tonight. No need to stay alert for anyone passing along. For the first time in his life, Nick was free to immerse himself wholly in another person. And he did. He touched Ward all over, first with his hands, and then with his mouth, pressing kisses to Ward’s warm skin, loving every shiver and gasp of pleasure Ward gave him.

  After a little time, Nick took Ward’s hand and led him to the enormous bed, pressing him down onto the mattress. As he covered Ward’s body with his own, he was filled as much with wonder as with lust. Just having Ward naked against him, in this light-filled room. God, but it was like sunshine on Nick’s skin after the longest and darkest of winters, and he soaked the good feeling up, greedy for it, mute with wonder.

  They kissed again and again, each kiss long and deep and heady. Nick began to thrust his hips against Ward, hardly aware of what he was doing. His cock was so hard he felt liable to burst out of his own skin, yet he’d never felt so happy to wait to come. He never wanted this evening to end—though the very instant he had the thought, his body decided to demand otherwise, his hips beginning to move faster, only stuttering briefly to a halt when his shaft thrust awkwardly and a little painfully against the sharp blade of Ward’s hip.
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  “Let’s try this,” Ward whispered in his ear. He shifted so he was lying next to Nick on his side, encouraging Nick to mirror him, till they were facing one another. Then he reached for Nick’s cock while thrusting his own hips forward.

  Nick watched, stunned, as Ward took both of their shafts into his grip and began stroking them together. And Christ, but that was extraordinary, that touch—the velvety kiss and drag of their naked pricks in the circle of Ward’s hand, warm and strong and sure. Nick had felt nothing like it before. He stared at Ward, amazed for a moment, then leaned in close, pressing his mouth to Ward’s again, sweeping his tongue inside and capturing Ward’s gasp with his kiss. And God, it was perfect, his kiss and Ward’s skilful hands, together.

  Ward stilled, just for an instant, and then he was moving again, hand stroking with practiced ease while Nick ravaged his mouth, their hips rocking as their pricks slid back and forth, in and out of Ward’s warm grasp in the same desperate rhythm. Nick wanted it to last forever, but all too soon, they were breaking apart, breaths heaving as they strained for release, their cocks jerking unevenly in Ward’s hand, covering his fingers in their mingled spend.

  They lay there afterwards, still tangled together. Nicholas’s leg was thrown over Ward’s, Ward’s hand on Nicholas’s hip. Ward closed his eyes and let himself drowse a little. This was an unfamiliar experience for him. Alfie’s habit had been to get up and dressed as soon as their business was finished.

  At first it was good, lying there with his new lover, suffused with soporific pleasure. But after a little while, when the fog of bliss began to dissipate and cool reality set in, Ward’s sense of connection to Nicholas began to fade. He became aware of Nicholas’s body as something separate from himself. Sensed a growing tension and began to wonder what the man was thinking.

  He opened his eyes to find Nicholas staring up at the pristine white ceiling.

  As though he sensed Ward’s regard, Nicholas turned his head. “I should go. It’s getting late.”