by Lynn Lorenz
Not to be outdone, Will turned his back to Jackson, reached up to lift his hair above his head, then let it fall, like a curtain of blond silk, to cascade over his shoulders and down his back. Jackson groaned. Will hid his smile. Running his hand down his side, over his hip to follow the curve of his own ass, Will caressed it as he turned to reveal his cock to Jackson.
Dark eyes tracked Will’s every movement, never leaving his body, danced upward, slid back to Will’s loins, and came to a rest on the thick staff jutting from a blond mass of curls. Jackson’s heated gaze caressed Will’s sac as Jackson stroked his own cock, first running the length of it, then a few short, fast pumps, his thumb working the rim of its wide engorged head. Will’s mouth parted in a soundless sigh.
“Come here, my lord.”
Will obeyed. His feet seemed to float above the floor as he made his way—as slow and languid as if time didn’t matter—to his lover. Stopping in front of the chair, Will waited, his eyes focused on Jackson’s large hand as he pleasured himself. It had to be one of the most beautiful sights he’d ever seen.
Jackson slid his hips forward as he perched on the edge of the chair and slapped his thigh. “Sit here.”
Will straddled him, his long legs hung over the top of Jackson’s leather clad thighs, his feet rested on the floor. Jackson’s hands caught Will’s hips and pulled him in tight, their cocks trapped between them.
“God, I want you,” Jackson said. His hands delved into Will’s hair, fingers running through the soft tresses. Pulling a handful of hair to his face, he inhaled. “Damn me, Will, you smell as if you had been caught in the rain on a summer’s day.”
Will smiled. “Lady Ellen lent me her hair washing paste. I’m glad it pleases you.”
Jackson’s eyes shuttered as he brushed the long locks of hair back, exposing Will’s shoulder. As Jackson lowered his head, his tongue traced a path along the lean muscle from neck to shoulder. “Fuck, you taste of it, also.” He opened his mouth and bit down.
Will gasped, his head fell back, and he pressed his hips against Jackson. Jackson growled against his skin, but Will felt it rumble in his chest. His cock strained with need and his stones ached, but his ass craved Jackson’s rod.
Raising his head, Jackson swore. “No oil.”
“In the box on my side table,” Will replied with a jerk of his head.
Jackson stretched, reached the carved wooden box, flipped open the lid and captured the vial. Leaning back, he made room between them to bathe his rod in the oil as Will watched. His heart beat a rapid rhythm, anticipation so thick he could taste it like wine upon his tongue. He draped his arms over Jackson’s broad shoulders and hung on.
The vial hit the floor. Jackson’s strong hands clutched Will’s hips, lifted him, and then drove him down onto his rigid staff.
“Goddamn!” Will’s head fell back as his back arched. Jackson buried his cock deep, spreading the walls of Will’s tunnel apart in a blended wave of pain and pleasure. Will’s body shuddered.
“Ride me, my lord,” Jackson commanded. “I’m your beast.”
Will exhaled and pushed up on his legs, to slide up that marvelous shaft. The sensation of leaving it was matched by its return as he lowered himself back down. If this was to be their last time together, Will wanted this to last. Again, he rose, reached the top, and before Jackson’s cock popped free, slid down, impaling himself. Again and again, he made that slow journey, his mind committing every feeling to memory.
His hands braced Jackson’s shoulders, then slid down to feel the muscles of the big man’s arms, the coarse hair that studded his forearms. Arms that could swing a heavy broadsword and separate a man’s head from his body, arms that could break bones, arms that held him safe and secure, never too hard, never hurting. Jackson was a man of many skills, but Will believed his greatest talent was his gentle touch.
Even as he rode Jackson, Will reveled in the man’s firm grip on his hips, his rasping breath against his neck, and he knew if he never saw Jackson again, he’d remember this night until his last breath. There would never be another lover like him. All others would pale against his memory. Will was damned. Salvation lay in Jackson’s arms, and Will hurt knowing that if God so willed it, he’d be denied that blessed gift.
“Faster.” Jackson’s hand smacked against Will’s bare thigh. Air hissed between Will’s clenched teeth at the sharp pain, and he quickened his pace. Legs straining, hips thrusting, Will rode Jackson as if he were a fine gaited horse.
Burying his hands in Jackson’s wild mane, Will stared into dark eyes. Full lips parted and unable to resist, Will took Jackson’s mouth with his. They battled for control of the kiss, lips pulling, teeth nipping, tongues darting, sweeping, searching.
“Fuck, Will, you make me explode,” Jackson gritted out. Will smiled, then renewed his attack on Jackson’s mouth. Damn, he loved the way Jackson tasted, the texture of his tongue, the feel of his rough hands on his skin, hard muscled thighs beneath him, and the friction of Jackson’s cock sliding in and out of his ass.
Will lost control. Frenzied, he drove himself down on Jackson’s rod, faster, harder, until it was a glistening shaft of pleasure. His stones drew up, his sac tightened, and he closed his eyes. A thousand stars exploded as he came, crying out Jackson’s name, shooting heated cream upward to splatter against Jackson’s taut belly until Will could barely utter a sound.
Jackson groaned. “My love, take me. This is for you and only you.” His grip on Will’s hips tightened as he held him down and thrust his hips upward. He shot hot and hard into Will’s ass, his body rigid, his head thrown back, the muscles in his neck and shoulders standing out with the power of his release.
Will collapsed on Jackson, wrapped in his lover’s arms. Jackson’s chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, and Will rode that motion as if he were in a boat on a lake, rising up and down with each wave. His lips found Jackson’s throat and he laid sweet kisses along it, over his jaw, to Jackson’s face and at last, reached his lips.
“If you do one thing in your life, Jackson, come back to me,” Will whispered.
Jackson’s hand cradled Will’s head and held him against his body as they rested. When both could breathe easy, Jackson stood with Will’s legs wrapped around his waist, carried Will to the bed, and laid him down. Then, as Will rolled to the side, Jackson stretched out next to him, pulled him back into his arms, and kissed him.
They idled the late hours of the night, awake but quiet. Jackson’s hand petted Will’s arm, shoulder, and hip. Will listened to the beat of Jackson’s heart, the rush of his blood, the sound of air filling and leaving his chest. His hand stole to Jackson’s hip and then caressed his solid buttocks. When Will’s fingers sought out the valley that lay between them, Jackson flinched and rolled away.
“What’s wrong?” Will asked as his brows rose in question.
“Don’t touch me there.” Jackson’s voice growled.
“Why not? I only wish to pleasure you, as you have pleased me.” He reached out again to stroke the big man’s hip.
Jackson caught his wrist and held it. “I fuck, Will, not you.” His eyes grew hard.
Will pulled his hand out of the tight grip. Sitting up, he drew his knees to his chin, his long hair falling over his shoulders. “If you are the only one who takes, what does it make me? Am I to be your wench? Never to take you, never be the man, or give you that sweet pleasure?”
Jackson pulled down the covers, exposing his loins. “Is this not enough for you? Don’t you like it when I fuck you?”
“Aye, and when you suck me, but I want you that way, Jackson. I have needs to be met.”
“Then meet them elsewhere.” Jackson tossed off the rest of the covers, got out of bed, and stalked to the window to stare out of it as Will watched him. Jackson’s shoulders seemed hunched, tight, as if he prepared to take a lash across his back.
“You don’t mean that. You’d stand aside and let me be with another? Find my pleasure in another man�
�s arms?”
More silence. Jackson’s head bent lower, his shoulders eased, his breath let out in a slow release.
“Jackson, have you never been taken?” Will’s soft voice asked.
Jackson’s silence told him much. If Jackson hadn’t allowed anyone to enter him, then perhaps he’d never truly embraced this sweet dilemma they shared. Will understood the reasoning—he’d used it himself when he was younger and had not yet awakened to the truth of his carnal desires. As long as that barrier hadn’t been breached, that final step across the bridge hadn’t been taken, then Jackson was not damned. Once done, there was no going back and he’d have to admit what he was.
Or was it a matter of dominance? Jackson was a large, powerful man, used to being in command. Perhaps Jackson believed that to give himself up to be fucked in this manner was to give up his control, his dominance, his masculinity. Didn’t he realize he could be all of those things and more just by letting someone else take the lead?
On the outside, Jackson seemed so plain and simple. He was a mercenary, a skilled and deadly fighter, a coarse, rough man. But Will knew Jackson on the inside—warm, gentle, loving, and giving—and now Will could see the indecision, the fear. How long had Jackson warred against his own nature, against his desires? No wonder he’d had so few lovers.
Will got out of bed and went to Jackson, wrapped his arms around the big man, and laid his head on his back. “When you are ready, let me know. Until then, I am yours. Your lover, your friend, even your wench. Whatever you need from me, take it. Take me.”
Jackson’s hands slid over Will’s arms in a close hold. “I love you, Will. You are everything to me.” They stood in that embrace for long minutes.
At last, Jackson broke the silence. “Will. What happened between you and my brother?”
“If anyone is a bastard, Jackson, it’s Hugh,” Will said.
“I wasn’t aware that he preferred men. But then, I never knew him. My mother and I were kept a secret, of course, and after Baymore married, we were sent away. I was only four, but I still remember him coming to visit us.”
“Well, Hugh was the most beautiful lover.” Jackson tensed, but Will continued, “At first. Then, his needs and plans rose to the top, as cream on milk, but like cream left too long in the cup, they curdled.”
Jackson cleared his throat. “You were young?”
“Just eighteen and so innocent.” Will gave a small, tight laugh. “He changed all that, made me admit my inclinations.”
“He seduced you.”
“He flirted. I returned the flirtation, so flattered that a man of his beauty would find me attractive. We dallied in his garden under the moon. He touched my hand, raised it to his mouth, and kissed my palm. I’d never felt such fluttering in my belly. He took me in his bed that very night.”
“How did you meet?”
“On my father’s business. I rode with a courier pouch to deliver some missive about fields or grazing or something. I forget now. It was love at first sight. For me, at least.” Will shrugged.
“How long did it last?” Jackson shifted his hold as Will stepped back, to put some distance between them.
“I lived with him for a summer at Baymore as his lover and, I thought, as his friend. I suppose to Hugh that I was much like a new toy, young and pretty, a plaything for a spoiled child. He used me for his pleasure, and for the most part, for mine.”
“For the most part?” Jackson turned to him and searched Will’s eyes.
“Hugh takes pleasure in giving pain. At first, it was small. Love bites, slaps across the ass. Then, as time went on, he became rougher. More pain, less pleasure.”
“And you stayed?” Jackson growled. His tone stung Will as if he’d slapped him.
Will pulled away, went back to the bed, and crawled in. “I thought I loved him and that he loved me.” He laughed, short and hard. “Then, he tired of me and replaced me with another. Brought his new lover to our bed for me to share.” Will sat up against the headboard of the bed, running his fingers through his hair. “When I refused to share him with another, I was removed from Baymore, my things tossed out into the road and me along with them, like trash upon the midden pile.”
“Your brother says you took it badly.” Jackson sat on the bed and stroked Will’s long lean thigh.
“Wallace told you, did he? Badly…” Will sighed. “Well, if badly means I tried to kill myself twice, bemoaned my loss of Hugh’s touch and love for months on end, and was a pain to everyone around me, then badly it was.” He gave Jackson a lopsided smile and a shrug. “I was young. He was my first love and my first lover.” Will shook his head at the memory, embarrassed by how low he’d sunk. “Now, I hold myself lucky that Hugh let me go. I wonder, if I had stayed with him, what sort of man he might have shaped me into.”
“He must have a powerful personality.”
“And the beauty and skill as a lover to back it.” Will faced Jackson, resolved to stand firm. “I’m only going to ask once more, Jackson. Forget Baymore. Stay with me.” Will watched for his lover’s reaction, anything that showed Jackson would relent of this ill formed idea of returning to Baymore.
“I will return if I am recognized. I swear it.” Jackson held out his hands, in a plea.
“And do you still plan to abandon me if Baymore doesn’t?”
Jackson’s face flushed and he met Will’s gaze. “I want you to have the best, Will. That isn’t me.”
“Does what we’ve shared mean so little to you?” Will’s heart felt as if it had stopped beating, then started again with a mighty thud.
“I will never forget you, Will. Never. No one but you will ever hold my heart.” Jackson’s hand tightened on Will’s leg.
Will wouldn’t beg. He’d hold to that and he would not be treated like a pretty bauble for Jackson to play with when he felt like it. “Keep your pride, Jackson. If you send word you’re not returning to me, you are gone from my life.” To lose Jackson once was torture, but for him to come and go at his whim, never to stay —that would be a hell Will did not intend to burn in.
“I understand,” Jackson said.
The urge to beg swelled in Will, but he squelched it. He’d lost his self-respect with Hugh and he’d been shamed in a cold, dark field. Losing Jackson would be the worst blow of all. He set his resolve, embraced his strength, and clutched his tattered pride to him.
“Jackson, don’t underestimate Hugh. He’s a dangerous man.” Will feared for his lover, but couldn’t put name to the fear.
“I haven’t heard much about him or His Grace of late. It seems we don’t occupy the same circle of influence.” Jackson gave a quick grin, then his brows drew down. “I leave at dawn.”
“I won’t be there.” Will jerked his chin up and stared into those beautiful dark eyes.
Jackson slipped off the bed, straightened his clothing, and stepped to the door.
“Jackson, if you abandon me you’ll regret it,” Will whispered. “Every night, you’ll see me in your dreams. When you touch another, you’ll desire me. You’ll close your eyes and imagine me beneath you. Kisses will taste like ashes in your mouth and no one will ease your longing.”
Part curse, part truth, it damned them both.
“I know.” Jackson looked over his shoulder and gave Will a last pained look. “Farewell, my lord.”
He opened the door, slipped out, and pulled it shut behind him.
Will stared at the place Jackson had just occupied, trying to burn the man’s face, his taste, the touch of his gentle hands into his memory.
Will wished for death. Time slowed.
He still lived, his heart beat on, and breath filled his lungs.
So. It was to be God’s wrath after all.
Fair enough.
He would survive.
Over ten years ago, he’d thought he loved Hugh. Now, he saw it as youthful infatuation, full of regrets and recriminations. With Jackson, Will had discovered a depth of love he’d only dreamed about. He would ne
ver regret Jackson, no matter how brief the time they’d had together.
Will held no hopes that Jackson would return to him as the Lord Marquess of Baymore.
If Will knew anything at all, it was that Hugh would not like having an elder brother.
»»•««
Jackson walked down the stairs, the frown on his face firmly planted, his brow creased as he struggled with his decision. He wanted nothing more than to be with Will, but his pride in his reputation, his hope of gaining a title, and his honor overrode his wants.
Struggling with his demons, he slumped into one of the chairs at the hearth, stuck out his legs, and leaned his head against the backrest. How had it come to this? He’d finally found a man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and it was denied him. By his own damn rules, he reminded himself. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.
Will had been clear. If Jackson didn’t return, there would be no chance of ever having Will. If he stayed at Holcombe, his honor and all chances for being Will’s equal—not his lowborn lover—were lost, but he’d have Will. Wasn’t that worth it?
Did Will deserve a lesser Jackson if he could offer him more? He didn’t think so. He didn’t want to be less than what he was. That was low enough. To Jackson, who’d lived his whole life in the shadow of the nobility, to find a man of noble birth to accept him as lover and friend was rare. But Will had accepted him utterly.
Jackson’s father had never claimed him. He’d promised much to Jackson’s mother, but delivered little, only a meager income for her and his child until Jackson had left home at sixteen to relieve his mother the cost of his raising.
The rest of Jackson’s life had been spent traveling from one lord’s command to another as a mercenary, training their men and commanding their troops. Some, like the Duke of Marden, had treated him as an equal, and he’d found the closest thing to a home there.
