by Lynn Lorenz
He could cite Jackson’s towering height, the broadness of his shoulders, the strength of his arms, and the power of his thighs. The wild mane of dark red hair Will’s fingers longed to get lost in, along with Jackson’s rugged features, were the things he loved most.
But those weren’t what wedded Will to this man as if he were bound by chains. It was Jackson’s gentleness, his easy humor, his soft manner of speech. His tenderness when Jackson held him, his passion when Jackson took him, and his surrender when Jackson gave himself to him.
Last night, they’d reached Will’s family’s keep too late for little more than a hasty welcome, a quick meal, and a slow climb up the stairs to their beds. Jackson, being a duke and honored guest, was given the finest of the extra rooms. Will had returned to the room he’d occupied two years ago before he’d gone to Baymore and sworn his sword, his life, and his heart to Jackson.
And no more than an hour after his door had closed, Will had opened it and gone to Jackson. They hadn’t spent a night apart in the last two years, and Will wasn’t about to be without his lover, even in his own father’s keep.
Will smiled. He still felt Jackson’s taking of him. It had been hard, fast, and against the wall. Will had had no more than a moment’s time to untie his loose woolen trews before Jackson had stripped them from him, lifted him up, and impaled Will on his glorious spear. He’d clung to the big man, arms wrapped round Jackson’s neck, legs wrapped round Jackson’s waist. It was as if to let go would be the end of him. When Will had released, his clenching tunnel and cries of completion had sent Jackson to join him.
Now hours later, they lay abed, cocooned like two lazy caterpillars waiting to emerge, changed beings. Will didn’t care if he ever got out of bed, so content were the feelings that overcame him.
Jackson shifted his arm and found Will’s nipple with his fingers. Will made a soft sound of encouragement. Jackson’s finger became insistent, circling, scraping, bringing alive every nerve in Will’s body.
Will rolled over onto his side, offering himself.
Now would come the slow loving. The tender touches. Jackson’s whispered poetry, telling the depth of his feelings for Will. His naked, raw need for Will. The enormity of his love for Will. The completeness of his life with Will by his side.
Every time he and Jackson made love Will knew everything they’d been through, all they survived together, had been worth it. Will’s long cold night left for dead and strung up in a field, Jackson’s torture in the small foul cell of a madman, all the blood Will had spilled, and even the death of beautiful young Jon, had been worth it.
There was nothing Will would not do for Jackson.
Nothing Jackson could ask of him, no task he could set him to that Will would not accomplish.
Nothing.
∙•∙
Jackson ran his hand over his lover’s body. Oft traveled, it knew the way and yet each time there was a discovery of new territory. Each stroke, each glide, each pass of his calloused fingertips over Will’s soft skin left Jackson trembling with the sheer beauty of the younger man.
That this lord, this fine, educated man of rank and noble birth, would want him always astounded Jackson. He might now hold the title of duke, but two years ago, when Will first met him and gave Jackson his heart, Jackson had been no more than a paid mercenary. A man without land, without fortune, without title, merely the bastard son of a duke.
No equal, no match for Will.
Yet, because of Will and Will alone, Jackson now had everything.
He nuzzled the back of Will’s head searching for skin, but Will’s long blond hair hid what he sought. He gently brushed the silken tresses off Will’s shoulder to reveal the pale smooth flesh that had tempted him since the very first time he’d touched it.
For a moment, he rested his lips against Will’s back, warming Will’s skin with his breath. His desire grew until he could no longer resist and he bit Will, determined to mark him, to claim the man he loved. Jackson held on, his lips clamped tight as he sucked. His tongue laved the flesh he’d captured as Will moaned, and hissed, and whimpered.
Jackson released his lover and soothed the bite with a lick of his tongue.
“My sweet Will.”
Will shivered, sighed, bent his leg, and moved it forward. Jackson knew he was using his body to tell him that he was ready to be taken.
Jackson took the vial from the table next to the bed and uncorked it. He poured the thick scented liquid over his hand, and then over his rod, and spread the oil with a few long strokes to insure there was enough to ease his way inside. Then he slid his fingers down the crevasse of Will’s ass until he reached the tight bud that opened only for him.
“God, Will, you inflame me. The touch of your skin, the softness of your crease, the firmness of your ass.” Jackson drew circles around the opening. His cock, stiff and proud and eager, stood ready against his belly.
Will pushed back into his touch, eager, always ready for him. Jackson had never imagined willing and ready to be so exciting, but Will’s enthusiasm only made Jackson’s fire burn hotter, his passion soar, his longing for his lover rage through his body like a fever.
Jackson knew of only one cure for that fever.
With a small thrust of his hips, Jackson sank inside his lover.
Both men sighed and settled into their joining.
Running his hand over Will’s flank, Jackson waited for Will’s signal. Will reached back, took Jackson’s hand, and wrapped it around the shaft of Will’s cock.
With a shudder, Jackson pushed in deeper, then withdrew in a long, slow, and effortless glide out and then back in, repeated with each lazy thrust of his hips. For Will’s part, he was right there with Jackson, receiving, giving, taking with his own hips’ motion.
Will’s mewls, the soft rumbling in his throat, made Jackson’s ardor grow until he had to resist his body’s urge to go faster, deeper, wilder. It was of great temptation to ride Will like the fine steed he was, to lose himself in Will’s body, his fists in Will’s hair, and his soul in Will’s eyes.
“I love you, Lord Holcombe.”
“And I you, Duke Baymore.”
Jackson matched the stroking of his hand along Will’s cock to his thrusts in Will’s tight ass. Even after two years of lovemaking, it never ceased to surprise him how hot Will’s inner channel was, how tightly it held him, how deeply he could take Will.
And Will’s response to him? Always excited, always asking for more.
“I love the way you feel, sweet Will. You’re so hot. You wrap my cock in your heat and bring me to my sweet death each and every time.”
∙•∙
Poetry. God, such poetry. The man had no idea what his words did to Will.
They burrowed inside of Will, found a place in his heart, and made their home. Jackson thought himself a coarse man, but Will knew the truth. Will knew Jackson’s soul, that of a truly gentle man. Jackson could run a man through before the man had time to pull his sword, and Jackson could lop head from shoulders with one swing of his broadsword—his skill was that great.
But Jackson’s touch, his inner soul, his tender words, had told Will the first time they’d met there was so much more to Jackson than just a rough, uneducated mercenary.
Jackson’s firm grip on Will’s shaft tightened, his tempo more insistent, and Will knew his lover was nearing release. There was nothing Will loved more than Jackson’s cream shooting into his channel. Unless it was Will’s cream shooting into Jackson’s tight tunnel. That was worth dying for, those rare times when Jackson gave himself to Will.
Will groaned as Jackson’s thrusts came harder, faster, deeper. Will angled his hips and on the next stroke Jackson’s cock raked his spot, sending waves of pleasure through Will, to land deep in his stones.
“So close, my love.” Jackson battered Will’s ass. “Close.”
Will would join his love when the moment came. “I also.”
Jackson nipped his shoulder then chuckled.
“Not yet, my lord.” His hand released Will’s cock for a second, then encircled the base of Will’s shaft and squeezed.
“Oh no.” Will gasped.
“Aye. You will wait for yours while I take mine.” Jackson’s breath puffed against the back of Will’s neck as his pumping hips renewed their attack on Will’s body.
Will groaned. He’d been so damn close to coming. Now he wondered what Jackson had planned for him. Never did he doubt that Jackson wouldn’t satisfy him, or would leave him unfinished.
Jackson took him, pressing him into the bed, riding him just as Will loved to be ridden.
“God Will, you’re mine.” Jackson pounded into him, then he stumbled in his pace, fell off rhythm, and with one last great thrust, pushed deep inside Will and released. Jackson’s shudder passed through Will.
Will could only moan, only tremble beneath the huge man, his own release cut off from him by Jackson’s tight circle around Will’s rod.
“Don’t leave me like this,” Will begged.
“Leave you? Never. I’ll never leave you,” Jackson teased.
“You know what I mean. Unfinished.” Will thrust his hips, but Jackson had control of him. His need grew painful, but such sweet pain.
“I plan on finishing you, my lord.”
“Then don’t make me wait, Your Grace.”
“Forgive me, for I am selfish. I wanted to fuck you and to suck you.” Jackson pulled Will onto his back, then shifted his position to kneel between Will’s legs.
Will’s lover looked down at him, all the fire and desire burning in that hot dark gaze of his. Will’s stomach flipped and his balls drew up tighter.
Jackson lowered his head and took Will in his mouth.
Will groaned as the beauty, the glory that was Jackson Baymore descended on him. He sucked his rod, laved his sac with his talented tongue, and brought Will straight to the edge of insanity.
“Please. Let me. Come. Now.” Will panted, struggling against the pleasure and pain of what Jackson did to him. It was Heaven and Hell and Purgatory. Will wanted it to last, wanted it to be over, wanted Jackson to never take his mouth off his cock.
“Now, my love. My Will.” Jackson let go, freed Will’s cock, and as if a hundred suns exploded in the day’s sky, Will came.
His sob echoed off the thick stone walls of the room, his body shuddered as it had never done before, his cream shot and shot and shot until there was no more to give. For a long moment, Will’s heart felt as if it had forgotten to beat.
Then with a mighty thud, it came back to life.
Jackson licked a lone drop from his lip and then collapsed next to Will.
“Was that good? Should I do that again?” He pulled Will’s limp body against his side and Will’s head onto his shoulder.
“Aye. Your Grace.” It was all Will could get out, his mouth could barely form the words, his brain could barely think them.
“Good. I like it when you beg me.” Jackson grinned, then took Will’s mouth with a hard kiss. Will couldn’t fight back, but opened to his lover and gladly gave himself up as lost.
Jackson broke their kiss, leaned back, and looked deep into Will’s eyes.
“I love you, Lord Holcombe. Without you, I would be a dead thing. Breathing, moving, but without a soul, without a heart.”
“You take my breath and my words away, Duke Baymore.” Will buried his hands in Jackson’s hair and pulled him down for a kiss. They lost themselves in the touching of their tongues, then parted. “It’s early morn and I must away.”
Jackson sighed and nodded.
After a quick press of his forehead to Jackson’s, Will threw off his covers, found his clothes, and dressed. Then he strode back to the bed, grabbed Jackson’s head by his hair, and pulled him up hard into a kiss so tender, chaste, and pure it broke Jackson’s heart.
Will let him go, turned, and slipped from the room.
∙•∙
Jackson lay back on the bed. His love for Will never ceased to amaze and awe him. It was a gift. He had no idea why he’d been favored by God, or what he’d ever done to deserve a man such as Will, but he wasn’t going to question it.
He would continue to thank God, as he did every night in a silent prayer before he closed his eyes and every morn when he opened his eyes, just as he would do this morn.
Will was as precious to him as his own life. Jackson would stand unflinching and ready before the executioner rather than hurt Will or betray Will’s love and good affections. There was nothing on earth that could tempt him into such an act.
Nothing.
Chapter Two
Will paused at the bottom of the stairs and watched the quiet scene. In the great hall, his beloved brother Wallace sat on one of the four tapestry-covered chairs drawn close to the massive hearth and held his first son on his knee. The child would now be over a year and six months if Will remembered right and he was the very image of his father, having the Holcombe men’s blond hair and fair complexion, but Ellen’s dark brown eyes. Wallace and Will’s father, Walter, Duke of Holcombe, sat next to him.
Will’s heart stirred and warmth bloomed in his chest knowing Wallace and his good Lady Ellen’s dream of a large family was coming true.
Today would be the christening of Wallace’s second son, named after William, and the reason he and Jackson had traveled from Baymore to Holcombe, along with a small contingent of armsmen for protection and appearances.
Will stepped forward. “Two sons, brother. Was ever a man so blessed?”
“Aye. I was.” Will’s father leaned around his chair and grinned. “Will, my son. How was your night’s rest?” He held out his hand for Will to take, and his unseeing white-filmed eyes stared in the direction of Will’s voice.
“Well, Father. And how did you sleep?” Will’s gaze flicked to Wallace. Wallace rolled his eyes and shook his head, knowing Will had most likely spent the night with Jackson. Wallace had known of Will’s leanings since they were young men, and it had been his love and acceptance of Will that had allowed Will to continue to live at Holcombe until he’d decided to leave and join Jackson at Baymore. Will’s father, however, knew nothing of Will’s preferences.
“Like an old bear in his winter den.” His father chuckled as Will took his hand, bent low, kissed the back of it, and then fell into a nearby chair. “Where is the duke?” His father’s head tilted to cock his ear to catch any sound.
“Roaming the keep, no doubt.” Will laughed. “Without any battle to go to, he wakes early, then makes his rounds. He’s probably on the walls, speaking with your men, or in the armory inspecting your weapons.”
“And I’m sure you’re up with the chickens and seeing to the needs of his lands.” His father nodded and looked pleased.
“I am. That madman Hugh and his father Morris left Baymore in tatters. Full coffers mind you, but all goodwill gone and his people near starvation. There was much to do to remedy the wrongs done them and put things to right.”
“From what I’ve heard, the Duke of Baymore is once again beloved by his people,” Wallace added as he bounced his son on his knee. The child babbled and reached for his father. “He wants his grand da.”
“Then he must come to me.” Walter Holcombe held out his arms and Wallace rose and placed the child with him. With practiced hands, Walter gathered the child’s loose linen gown and cradled him in his arms. “He grows each day, Wallace. A big boy he’ll be, just like you.” He gave the child his finger and was rewarded by being bitten. Walter laughed, scolded the child, and then gave him a quick kiss on the head.
“Indeed.” Wallace turned to Will. “He walked at only ten months, brother. He may have my heft, but by God, he’s got your cleverness, I swear it.” Wallace’s face beamed with his pride.
“He’s grown much since I last saw him.” No longer a shapeless, squirming tadpole, he was a well formed, squirming frog, bright eyed and alert.
“It’s been over a year you’ve been away, Will. We all miss you.” Wallace sm
iled at his brother. “When you have time, we must speak.” The look in Wallace’s eyes told Will his brother wanted a more detailed telling of his life at Baymore.
“Of course. And what of my namesake?” Will watched his father play with his grandson. His father’s dream of grandchildren had come true, thanks to Wallace and Lady Ellen. God knew it would never have come to pass if he’d counted on Will.
“Ah, Ellen is feeding little William upstairs. He has a cradle in our room.”
“And does this child favor your blond hair or Ellen’s dark?”
“He’s blond with blue eyes. Ellen tells me most babies are born with blue eyes, but they turn to their true color, as Walter’s did, as they grow.”
“I have to admit, little Walter is a beauty, for a child.” Will had never been around children, nor had Wallace, but it was good to see his brother taking to the role of father so well. It was a role Will had never seen himself in, whereas Wallace had dreamed of it.
“You think? Truthfully?” Wallace leaned forward.
“Oh aye. How could he not be with the fair Lady Ellen as his mother? Good thing her beauty alone was all that was needed to insure his fair looks,” Will teased.
His brother sniffed. “I’m not half bad, I’ve been told.”
“You shouldn’t listen to the idle talk of scullery maids, brother,” Will drawled.
Wallace groaned. “Damn you, Will. There is no hope of winning a war of wits, is there?”
“No. None.” Jackson’s voice interrupted and all heads turned to him. “He can take the words you say and twist them back and forth until you swear you never said them. I have long since given up that battle.”
The Duke of Baymore crossed the hall, looking so good Will had to struggle to keep the look of desire from his face. Their gazes met, lingered, caressed, and then broke apart.
“Your Grace, thank you again for the hospitality of your keep.” Jackson came to the chairs where they all sat. “And who is this fine young man?”
“This is my grandson, Walter.” Will’s father grinned and held up the child for Jackson to inspect.
