by Lynn Lorenz
Arvel bucked in Gareth’s grip and pulled harder on Peter’s prick, inciting him to greater heights of arousal. Hell, just knowing Gareth joined them sent a ripple of pleasure through his already excited body.
What would it be like to take Arvel, here and now, in front of Gareth? Would it please the big man or anger him? Peter had no way of knowing unless he either asked or acted.
He chose action.
Peter rolled Arvel onto his back, away from Gareth, then pushed Arvel’s legs apart, his intentions clear to Arvel and to Gareth. Gareth rolled off the bed, and for a moment Peter thought him angered, but he soon returned.
“Here, if you’re going to fuck him, you might have need of some oil.” Gareth showed Peter a small vial. He pulled its cork, poured some into his palm, and climbed into the bed. “Let me ready both you and our pet.”
Peter nodded, his cock eager for Gareth’s touch. Gareth nudged Arvel’s legs wider, and the younger man brought his knees to his chest, splitting himself for the benefit of both men.
“Gods, he’s beautiful,” Gareth crooned as he painted Arvel’s skin from sac to hole, his fingers tracing the well-known path. As Peter kneeled between Arvel’s legs, he stroked himself, keeping his cock hard and rigid.
After Gareth finished preparing Arvel, he poured another puddle into his hand and to Peter’s surprise, took his shaft by the hand.
“What are you doing?” Peter gasped as the first shock of pleasure rolled through him. Gareth stroked him sure and steady and slow, covering the soft skin in slippery oil.
“Getting you ready.”
“If you keep that pace, I shall be finished before I’ve breached the wall.”
Gareth’s chuckled, squeezed his hand tighter around Peter’s cock, and pumped. “Indeed. Do I please you so?” He leaned in and took Peter’s mouth in a gentle kiss. Peter fell into it, mouth open, moaning as his lover worked his shaft, building his arousal.
∙•∙
Arvel watched, his eyes glittering in the soft firelight. Each time his lovers came together, Arvel’s heart leaped in his chest. Each time they came one step closer to crossing that boundary both wanted to cross—taking each other.
For his part, Arvel thought it would be Gareth taking Peter. His first Heart would not be taken, not at first, if he knew him.
But for them to be so close to the joy of this sharing, the joy that filled Arvel when both men took him, pained him.
They needed to know he wanted this, wanted them to share each other. That it would arouse and excite him also.
But for now, he would have to wait. It was still too soon.
Tonight, he’d revel in what each of them gave to him.
He placed his hand first on Gareth’s heart, then on Peter’s.
∙•∙
“I know. You want us to join, but that isn’t going to happen, pet.” Gareth winked at Peter. “Peter’s too much of a man to be fucked.”
“As are you, mercenary.” Peter gave a sharp laugh. “Unless you want me to ride you?”
“Nay, I’m not a beast to be ridden by the likes of you, soldier. I do the riding.”
“Then I fear neither of us will give in to a joining.” Peter shook his head. “Enough. There is enough oil on my cock.” He pushed Gareth’s hand away.
“As it pleases you, sweetling.” Gareth chuckled and sat back.
Peter ignored him and concentrated on Arvel. The younger man lay on his back, legs spread, his cock stretched straight against his belly, and his eyes showing all his eagerness and longing.
Peter guided the head of his member to Arvel’s opening and pressed against it. It gave way and let him in. Tight heat enveloped him, and he sank even deeper as he leaned into the thrust.
Arvel arched up to meet him, locking his legs around Peter’s waist, and rested his hands on Peter’s shoulders. Peter swooped down, claimed his mouth in a hard kiss, and pulled out, then back in. He set a leisurely pace as if he had all night to spend in this pleasure. It felt fine to be in so tight an ass, and for Arvel he’d make it last as long as possible.
∙•∙
Gareth took his own cock in hand, spreading the oil still clinging to it over his sensitive skin, and stroked as he watched. His pet so enjoyed being taken. He might not be able to speak, but Gareth could see all Arvel had to say in the expression on his lover’s face. Pleasure, pain, arousal, lust, all danced in his eyes and in the silent movements of his mouth as he reacted to Peter’s attentions.
But his gaze strayed to Peter’s body. God, the man was well-formed. His broad shoulders, muscled back, and the hard, rounded globes of his ass flexed as he fucked Arvel.
A thing of beauty.
He reached out with his free hand and ran it over Peter’s back, caressing, soothing, inciting. Peter moaned, leaning into his touch. Gareth slipped farther down Peter’s spine, his fingers dancing over the small hills on their way to Peter’s secret valley.
Reaching his destination, Gareth lingered, letting Peter become accustomed to him touching in this once forbidden territory. Gareth massaged one side of Peter’s ass, his fingers just scraping over the cleft, the tips of them dipping into the dark slit that split Peter’s body. For Peter’s part, he neither shied away nor offered complaint.
Gareth pressed onward.
He ran them down the divide and on the return trip dipped deeper. Peter pushed back against him, showing only his willingness to Gareth’s touch. A sharp hiss of breath signaled Gareth that Peter enjoyed his explorations.
Taking it as a welcome, he delved deep and was rewarded with the feel of a tightly wrinkled pucker against the tip of his questing finger. He played with it as Peter groaned, his body lost in fucking Arvel beneath him and Gareth’s finger probing the opening to his tunnel.
Had anyone ever been here before with Peter?
From the easy acceptance, Gareth would wager aye, Peter had partaken of this delight before in some previous encounter. With whom, he wondered? Peter had spoken of a wife. Surely not she.
These forbidden touches were the realm of man, not woman.
Gareth sorely wished he knew more about his counterpart. Perhaps in time.
For now, he only needed to know what pleased Peter, and that would be easy enough to discover for himself.
His fingertip breached Peter’s rose, and Peter lost his rhythm, jerked and hissed and thrust harder into Arvel, who took all his lover gave him with his own wildness.
Still no word from Peter to halt his exploration.
Gareth sank his finger in deeper still, as the tight ring of muscles clamped down on his digit, almost drawing it inside, as if Peter’s body needed his touch inside this dark tunnel.
Gareth shifted around behind Peter, and began the slow slip and slide of his finger, seeking the spot that would give Peter the most enjoyment. He twisted his finger, found the bump, and rubbed it.
“Holy fuck!” Peter cried out. He staggered in his pumping, then recovered and doubled his efforts.
“Shall I touch it again?” Gareth pressed closer to Peter, his voice low and rasping with his own desire and lust. Oh, to sink inside the channel that held his finger so tightly.
“Aye.” Peter grunted. Sweat beaded on his back, dampened his hair, making it cling to the nape of his neck and along his shoulders.
Beneath him, Arvel watched from half-lidded eyes. His gaze met Gareth’s, locked, and much passed between them. Arvel’s eyes flicked up to Peter, then to Gareth, and with a small nod, he let Gareth know he was willing.
That was his pet. Always willing, eager, ready.
Would Peter be as willing? As eager or ready for what Gareth and Arvel had in mind?
Arvel reached up, took Peter’s head in his hands, and pulled him down into an openmouthed kiss as Gareth removed his finger and replaced it with the blunt head of his cock.
Peter worked his tongue deeper into Arvel’s mouth, then pulled away.
“Damn it, mercenary, if you’re going to do it, get on with it,” P
eter ordered.
Gareth grinned, then pressed home, his hand wrapped around Peter’s hip to hold him in place. For a moment all three men froze, giving Gareth time to work his cock deeper into Peter’s incredibly tight ass.
“Oh God!” Gareth laid his forehead on Peter’s back and huffed out a breath. “So tight. Christ, this is good, sweetling.”
Peter groaned.
With a last push, Gareth seated himself fully, his shaft buried to the hilt inside Peter. Peter’s body tensed, then relaxed, signaling Gareth of his readiness.
Gareth took his first stroke, canting his hip, and raked over Peter’s sweet spot.
“Oh fuck, you bastard!” Peter cried out.
Gareth held Peter tight, kept him from moving for a few quick strokes, and then released him.
“Fuck our pet, soldier.” Now it was Gareth’s time to order.
∙•∙
Oh God. Gareth was inside him, and it felt better than he’d remembered. Too good. He feared he’d want this again and again, never tire of having Gareth’s cock shoved up his ass, riding him, sending him into spasms of ecstasy.
Peter shook his head, beads of sweat flying from his soaked hair. He took a deep breath and resumed plunging into Arvel.
Lying against Peter’s back, Gareth rode him. When Peter thrust in, so did Gareth—on the draw out, Gareth slid nearly to the tip, then followed him back down. As if they were part of the same creature, they rutted like some mythological beast.
Peter had never, in his limited experience, done this before, been fucked while fucking. It was intense, tinged with a shade of erotic and forbidden, and so wonderfully wrong.
This rivaled the time with Logan and Drake, when they both had him. The entire experience had stained him, had driven home to him that he truly enjoyed having more than one lover.
The perfection of this moment built his ardor to new heights.
Beneath him, Arvel received his cock. Behind him, Gareth delivered his.
Peter, trapped in the middle, his entire body alive and on fire, tensed, held, and then exploded as he shot his release into Arvel’s tunnel.
∙•∙
This was what Arvel had waited for, and it had been worth the wait. To see the faces of both men, their pleasure painted boldly there, its beauty almost too much to bear.
He shuddered when his stones pulled tight as Peter slammed deeper, pressed into him by Gareth’s push. Just knowing Gareth’s cock, that he’d felt inside him so many times, now rode Peter’s channel, sent Arvel over the edge.
With his heart thudding in his chest, he reached down between him and Peter, his fingers around the base of Peter’s shaft. When Gareth’s sac struck the tips of Arvel’s fingers as it slapped with each thrust against Peter, Arvel spilled across his own belly, white ropes of cream, his head thrown back as a glorious mixture of pain and pleasure devoured his body.
∙•∙
Gareth pounded him, his cock’s friction both a delight and a damnation in Peter’s ass. With one hand, Gareth pulled Peter nearly upright on his knees, and with the other he turned Peter’s head to accept his kiss.
Peter opened, and Gareth plunged his tongue inside. Peter sucked on it, hard and unrelenting, until Gareth shuddered and emptied into Peter’s channel.
All three men gasped for air. Peter collapsed to the side, taking Gareth, his cock still embedded in Peter, to the bed with him. A moment later, Peter squeezed his ass and Gareth slipped away.
Tangled in the quilts and each other, covered in sweat and lovers’ cream, the men fell asleep.
Chapter Twenty-One
Caelin sighed.
Duke Marden, Logan, crossed the hall and climbed the stairs alone. Small miracle that, and rare to find the duke without his master of arms beside him.
Jealousy, like a raven, pecked at Caelin’s mind.
What had Master Drake done to win the place of honor at Logan’s side? Perhaps some great feat of swordsmanship or held off an advancing army single-handed.
Caelin didn’t doubt it. The man’s face, just as scarred as his was now, held both fascination and fear for Caelin. And something else, something that played at the edges of Caelin’s mind—curiosity.
Was there more to the two men’s friendship than duke and master? Perhaps the quiet looks passing between them meant more than just what occurred in the daily running of the castle. Perhaps…
“Caelin? What are you looking at?” Joss’s voice brought him out of his musings.
“Nothing.”
“You were staring at my da.”
“Just wondering where Master Drake is, that’s all. Don’t usually see one without the other.” Caelin tried to sound as if it didn’t matter to him, and hopefully he could fool two young boys.
“My da’s training the men this afternoon.” Joss sniffed. “He’ll join us at table for the evening meal.”
“Your father must be a fine warrior.” Perhaps he could learn more from the boys.
“He is! My father is the finest swordsman in the country. He was a famous mercenary before he came here.” The boy’s chest puffed out like a sparrow’s feathers in winter.
“He saved my life!” Tomas added. “Killed ten men to save me!”
“It was only four, Tomas. You mustn’t tell stories,” Joss reminded him.
“Four, you say? My, that is a lot of men.” Caelin smiled at the two lads. “Are you sure?
“Aye, I was there, wasn’t I?”
“But you had your eyes closed.”
“Drake didn’t want me to see him kill them. But we led four horses back, and I heard Peter speaking of it when they thought I’d fallen asleep.” Tomas folded his arms and gave Joss a sharp nod.
Joss turned his attention back to his tutor. “It’s true. Four men. They’d kidnapped Tomas and planned to steal him away to Duke Weathers, but my da stopped them.”
“Indeed.” Caelin cleared his throat. He had no intentions of going up against a man such as Drake. As the son of a nobleman, he’d been trained in sword work, but he couldn’t match the level of a mercenary. No, there were other ways of winning the duke, ways he’d learned among the monks at the abbey.
He stood and closed the book. “Lesson’s over. You boys can run along.”
Without any further questions, they leaped to their feet and ran from the hall, dodging around a servant to get to the door of the keep. Caelin watched, then wasted no time in leaving the table and heading to the bottom of the stairs.
If he didn’t hesitate, perhaps he could speak with the duke in his chambers. About the progress of the boys.
He tried not to rush up the stairs but maintain a respectable pace. No reason to have anyone wonder what he was up to or question him along the way. It wasn’t as if he were doing anything wrong—he just wanted to thank the duke for allowing him to remain at the keep and teach the boys.
At the top of the stairs, he turned toward the duke’s rooms. A guard stood at the duke’s door. He glanced at Caelin, tensed, and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. Caelin wanted to turn around, but he’d come this far.
The guard watched as Caelin approached. “My lord.” The guard gave him a small nod of his head.
Caelin nodded back. “I wish to speak to the duke.” He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. No need to wonder about his ruined face. There was nothing to interest anyone there.
The guard knocked. “Your Grace, a visitor,” he announced in a loud voice.
Caelin’s heart stopped beating as he counted out the time until the door opened.
Logan opened the door, then recognized Caelin and smiled.
“Good day, tutor Caelin. What brings you to my chambers? Are the boys giving you a fit? They can be a handful.” He stepped back and motioned for Caelin to enter.
Caelin entered, leaving the guard behind, and clasped his hands together to keep the duke from seeing them shake.
“Not at all, Your Grace. The boys are well-behaved and quick to their studi
es,” Caelin quickly explained.
“That’s well. I’m working on the ledgers now. Is there something you need?”
Caelin licked his lips and looked up at the duke from under his long eyelashes. Perhaps the duke could see past the scars to appreciate his eyes. He’d been told by more than one person of their loveliness.
∙•∙
The duke gazed back at the young man giving him very peculiar looks. Then his eyes widened, and he cocked an eyebrow upward. A picture formed in his mind.
“Caelin, why are you here?”
Caelin swallowed. “I came to tell you thank you.”
“You’ve already given me your thanks, tutor. There’s no need to give them again.” He walked over to the desk and leaned against it. If what he suspected were true, best to let Caelin run to the end of his rope and not leap to any conclusions.
Caelin took a step closer and fingered the gap of his shirt. It could have been a nervous gesture, but that, combined with the half-lidded looks and the licking of his lips, gave Logan no choice but to conclude that Caelin wished a dalliance.
Good Lord.
How old could Caelin be? Twenty? Twenty and two?
Had he ever been so young or so obvious in his ways? Logan caught the chuckle in his throat before it bubbled out to embarrass the young man.
“But I feel so grateful.” Caelin’s full lips pulled up in a seductive smile.
Oh aye, Caelin had learned much among the monks, or had he learned those subtleties prior to being sent away to the abbey? Logan thought after he’d joined the abbey, if he wagered a coin.
Logan had to admire the man. Despite his wounds, he tried to give his best to the cautious dance between men. And Logan could see the attraction—he could see why those monks had wanted Caelin.
Lithe, long-haired, large brown eyes like a doe, and skin so pale milk would seem dark next to it. Lips as full and firm as any pillow filled with the finest goose down only added to his allure.
Logan’s gaze came to rest on Caelin’s scarred cheek. A gift from his father, no doubt meant to help the boy by making him less attractive. His father had been a fool. Caelin was like flame to a moth, drawing any hapless creature in to dance around him. No scar could dim Caelin’s light or keep a man from desiring him.
