by Lynn Lorenz
This had to end. Logan shouldn’t let it go on, shouldn’t be alone here in his chamber now that he suspected the truth.
Caelin wanted him.
And that meant the younger man had divined Logan’s preferences. And that meant a measure of danger to both Caelin and Logan.
And Drake.
Good Lord, what would Drake say about this turn of events? They’d shared before, with Peter, but Peter had been a man known to them, sworn to Marden and its duke. Caelin had given no such oath. Not yet.
“Caelin, you are most welcome. And now I have work to return to, so I must bid you leave.” Logan pushed off the desk and moved toward the door.
Caelin stepped in front of him.
Logan halted and looked down into doe eyes of such soft brown…
“Your Grace…” Caelin wet his lips, and his gaze narrowed to include the duke’s mouth. The young man leaned in, chin tilted up to receive a kiss.
“Caelin.” Logan spoke his words gently and carefully. “You are my son’s tutor. Nothing more. Whatever you think might happen here in this room, it cannot occur.”
Caelin rested his hand on Logan’s chest. “Why not?”
“Because I wouldn’t like it,” Drake drawled. He stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame, one on his sword. The stealth of Logan’s lover never ceased to amaze him. Neither he nor Caelin had heard the door open.
Caelin gasped and spun around to face him.
Logan rolled his eyes. “Really, Lord Drake. You’ll frighten the boy to death.”
“Frighten him? Aye, I’ll do more than that if he’s laid one hand upon you.” Drake growled, entered the room, and shut the door behind him.
Caelin’s swallow could be heard quite clearly above the rumbling in Drake’s throat.
“Stand down, my lord.” Logan grinned at his lover. “The tutor was merely thanking me.”
“With his lips?” Drake cocked an eyebrow.
Caelin looked from man to man, blinking and wringing his hands, his eyes wide with fear.
“Come, Caelin,” Logan murmured. “Leave us. I promise Drake will not harm you. He’s like a toothless old dog, barking but unable to bite.” He chuckled as Drake shot him a narrow-eyed look.
Caelin nodded briskly, then fled to the door, opened it, and disappeared down the hall.
Drake closed it behind him and turned to his duke.
“What, pray tell, just happened?” He put his hands on his hips and waited for Logan to answer.
“It seems I have an admirer.”
“The tutor?” Drake asked, brows raised and mouth open as he glanced back at the door. “What did he say? What did he do? What did you say? What did you—?”
Logan motioned for Drake to slow down. “Have no fear. He said nothing but that he wished to thank me. He did nothing more than place a quivering hand on my chest and bat his pretty eyes at me as if he were a lady of the court.”
Drake’s mouth twisted as he listened. “So he thinks you such a man to return his affections. Is there any danger in his knowledge?”
“Knowledge? Suspicion more likely. I said nothing but to accept his thanks. You were the one to declare your ownership of me.” Logan laughed and sauntered up to his lover. He ran a finger down Drake’s cheek, tracing the scar he’d rather trace with his tongue.
Drake shivered at his touch, and Logan grew hard.
“And I stated only the truth. That I would cut down any man who dared to touch you without your consent.” Drake heated stare burned into Logan’s heart, filling it with desire and need.
“And if I had touched him? Kissed those willing lips?” Logan slanted his eyes at his lover, giving him a look meant to incite Drake’s passion.
Drake pulled Logan to him with one hand and buried his other hand in the long tresses of Logan’s blond hair, pulling back his head. “Without me?” he whispered as he nuzzled Logan’s exposed throat.
“I am sworn to you, my love. You and you alone. Know that I would never have encouraged such a wounded bird.” Logan ran his hands over Drake’s arm and shoulder.
“No matter that he offered? Even such a very pretty little dove?”
“I love you and want no other. Not even as a dalliance with you.” Logan gasped as Drake bit his neck, sucking hard enough to raise a mark. He hissed a warning, and Drake released him. “Did you want him?” Logan frowned at the thought of his lover and another man.
“Nay. I want only you. My days of reckless behavior are over. You satisfy my every longing, my duke.” Drake licked a line up to Logan’s ear and took his earlobe in his teeth.
Logan groaned. “My lord. I have such a need for you.” He pressed his manhood into Drake’s side in proof.
“Aye, as do I for you. However, the day’s shadows grow long, and we will be called to the table soon.” Drake released his ear, gave it a final lick, and stepped back.
“Damn. I hate waiting.” Logan ran his hand over the bulge in his breeches, hoping to lower it.
“As do I, Your Grace, as do I.” He grinned and turned to the door. “Logan.” He paused and looked back over his shoulder. “That tutor…”
“Aye?”
“He must go.” Then he left the room, closing the door behind him with a sharp slam.
Logan slumped against his desk and shook his head.
How had this happened? He’d merely done the right thing, taking in the young man, assigning him as tutor to Joss and Tomas, and now look at where they were.
Drake threatened. Caelin terrified.
And Logan stuck in the middle with not a single idea of what to do about it all.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Peter stared into the fire as he decided his next course of action. His mission loomed foremost in his mind, and the new knowledge of Gareth’s past with Weathers only added to his dilemma.
It had been nearly a month since he’d left Marden. A long time with no word of what he’d found. Would they send a soldier for him? Best to take some action before it came to that.
He’d need to leave soon, return to Marden and report to the duke and Drake what he’d found—nothing. Not a single breath of Weathers or his men. Still, Drake had been right when he said it might take more time to discover the duke’s intentions, but how much time was too much?
Who would decide there was no danger here in the north? Could anyone ever say that with conviction? He doubted it. A man such as Weathers wouldn’t let a few mountains or a river stop him.
“Come along, Peter. We’re almost done preparing the ground for the garden. Your strong back will make the work go faster.” Gareth clapped Peter on the shoulder.
Peter pushed out of the chair. “Of course.” He followed the mercenary out of the lodge and around to the side, where Arvel had begun working. The young man chopped at the earth with a hoe, breaking up the rich soil.
They took up their spades and began working. Within an hour’s time, the two men had removed their vests and worked in just their shirts as the sweat dripped off them.
“I’m glad I’m not a farmer, Peter.” Gareth stopped and straightened, resting his arm on the end of his shovel. “My heart’s not in it.”
“Neither is your back,” Peter replied as he stepped on the blade and pushed down with his foot.
“Aye.” Gareth sighed. “Arvel should halt his work, for he tires.”
Peter glanced up at their lover. Arvel’s face was bright red, his breath panting, and his shirt drenched with his sweat. “Indeed. He looks quite done in, Gareth.”
Gareth dropped his spade, went to Arvel, and touched him on the shoulder. He reached for the exhausted man’s hoe, shaking his head and pointing to Arvel, then to the house. Arvel frowned, wiped his brow with the sleeve of his damp shirt, and glanced at Peter.
“Go, pet. Take to the creek and bathe in the cool waters.” Gareth ran his hand over Arvel’s cheek.
Peter nodded and shooed him with his hand. “We’ll finish here, pet.”
Arvel nodded, took th
e hoe, and tramped off to the stable to put it away.
“He doesn’t like being treated as an invalid.” Gareth watched his lover as he left.
“He isn’t an invalid—he’s quite capable of much. However, he’s not built for hours in the sun. He’d be better served to take his rest and conserve his strength.”
“You’re just worried he might not cook tonight’s meal.” Gareth chuckled.
“I’d thought of that, to tell the truth. The notion of eating your cooking…” Peter pretended to gag.
Gareth reached down, grabbed a handful of dirt, and tossed it at Peter, showering his shirt with clods of soil.
“Ho!” Peter danced backward, arms flung out.
Gareth charged him, tackling him around the waist and driving him to the ground.
Peter struggled against the weight of the larger man, his cock stiffening at the rough play. Gareth’s laugh warmed Peter’s heart, even as they struggled in the dirt, and Gareth wrapped his hands around Peter’s wrists, holding them over his head and against the ground.
“Let go of me, mercenary,” Peter ground out through tight lips.
“In good time, sweetling.” Gareth grinned down at him, so sure of himself, so handsome. Peter couldn’t deny his attraction to the man and marveled that only a month before he’d thought his life over, thought himself a dead man. Now he could feel again, although he had no name for those feelings.
Not love. He didn’t love Gareth or Arvel.
Affection, perhaps. Aye, he had great affection for both men. Perhaps as great as his affection for Drake and Logan.
But it wasn’t the love he’d felt with her.
He stilled beneath Gareth as his heart filled with her memory.
“Peter?” Gareth looked down into Peter’s eyes.
“It’s nothing. Old memories.”
Gareth held him still, not letting him go. Peter liked the weight of the man on top of him, the soft puff of his breath, the intent look in his blue eyes.
Peter rose up enough to kiss Gareth’s lips. Soft, gentle, inviting.
Gareth opened for him, letting Peter’s tongue delve inside, swiping and tasting his mouth. Letting him control the kiss, despite keeping control of Peter’s body. Gareth pressed into Peter, and Peter surged back, their movements as slow and easy as their kisses.
No need to rush. Peter wanted to enjoy this time with Gareth. Being taken by him last night had been more enjoyable than he’d wanted to admit. He’d known it would only be a matter of time before he submitted to the big man, and it had been good, but had that been because of Arvel’s participation?
Peter needed to know if he alone could move Gareth or if Gareth needed Arvel’s presence.
“Shouldn’t we ask Arvel to play?” Peter looked up into Gareth’s steady gaze.
“Nay. He needs his bath and his rest.”
“We could wait until then.”
Gareth’s gaze narrowed. “Have you changed your mind, sweetling, and no longer desire my touch?” His eyes darkened, and if Peter didn’t know better, he’d say they held hurt.
“Nay, not changed. Just…” Peter sighed. “I wanted to be sure you wanted this with me. Alone.”
Gareth smiled, then bent down to kiss him. “Peter. I have no need to augment my desire for you with Arvel or anyone else. Do you desire Arvel without me?”
“Aye.” Peter nodded.
“It is the same for me. I love Arvel. You know that—I haven’t been shy about stating my feelings for him to you.”
“I know that.”
“But what you’re wondering is what are my feelings for you? What are your feelings for me and Arvel?”
How could the man hit the mark so well? All the things Peter struggled with…
“Oh, I see. You question also.”
“Aye, Peter. I question also.” Gareth rolled off him and lay next to him in the dirt as he stared up into the sky. “I’ll tell you this. I care for you, Peter. I desire you. Love? In a way, aye, I love you, but not with the depth and fullness of my heart as I do Arvel.”
Peter stared up at the clouds passing over head. “It’s much the same for me, Gareth. I care deeply for both you and Arvel, but I’m not in love with either of you.”
“Perhaps that is why this arrangement of ours works.” Gareth shrugged. “I don’t know, but it’s not mine to question. As long as Arvel is content, I am content.”
“So if Arvel didn’t want me anymore, you’d turn me away?” Peter’s gaze slid over to the man next to him.
Gareth grimaced. “It wouldn’t stop my wanting you, but it might stop my actions. If it would hurt him, aye, it would be over.”
“Fair enough. I only want to know where I stand in all this.”
“Are you concerned about not feeling love, Peter?” Gareth reached over and took his hand, giving it a squeeze.
“Nay, it’s not for me. I had love once, and ’twill have to be enough for me.” Peter knew he’d been fated to this loss, and he accepted it without railing or complaining.
“Are you happy?”
“As I can be, I suppose.” Peter shrugged. “I’m fine. Don’t trouble yourself over my lack of love. I am content to be here, to share your bed and Arvel’s.”
“Are you content to share your body with us?”
“I am.” Peter pulled Gareth’s hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Most content.”
Gareth chuckled. “Then can we continue?”
“Continue?” Peter grinned.
“Our little tussle here on the ground.”
“Here?”
“It’s a garden, isn’t it? And there is seed to be sowed.” Gareth laughed and rolled back on top of Peter. Peter wrapped his arms around Gareth and held him close.
“My seed or yours?”
“Both, if we do this correctly.”
Gareth’s rumbling laugh awoke Peter’s desire and his cock. It stiffened and pressed against Gareth’s belly. “Oh ho! He lives.”
“Aye. And he has need of you.”
“Need? What do you need, sweet Peter?” Gareth bit his ear and sucked on it, pulling a low groan from Peter.
“Your mouth, doing that. On my cock.” Peter wrapped his hand in Gareth’s hair and pulled on it, leading the man to his aching member.
Gareth moved down along Peter’s body, pushing up his shirt to taste the skin on his chest and capture a hardened nipple. Peter gasped and arched into the sucking, and his staff grew harder as if it were directly connected to his nipple and to Gareth’s mouth.
Peter fumbled with the strings to his breeches as Gareth moved lower, intent on his target. Together, they managed to loosen Peter’s clothing and push his breeches aside enough to free his straining cock.
“Mine, at last,” Gareth murmured as he wrapped his fist around the leaking flesh and swiped his thumb over the head to spread the precream. Then he let go and tasted his thumb, licking it clean. “Delicious, sweetling. You’ve earned your endearment.”
Peter laughed. “Have I? And you? Are you as sweet?”
“Ask Arvel. He would know.”
“I shall.”
“Or you could take a taste yourself.” Gareth winked at him, then took Peter’s rod in his hand and licked the fat head.
Peter groaned. “Christ, Gareth. Do it. I need you.” He buried his hand in Gareth’s hair and guided him downward.
Gareth opened and swallowed him as Peter jerked in answer to Gareth’s sucking. Long, hard pulls up and then a slight brush of teeth down, then long and hard again. Soft. Scraping, each movement building Peter’s arousal to breathtaking heights.
It felt so good, this physical pleasuring, but Peter longed for the time when such an act would soothe his damaged heart. A stab of fear and resolve pricked him. He’d never feel that way again, so he’d best accept it and learn to do without.
This would have to be enough.
Gareth cupped his stones and gave them a hard squeeze. The pain shot through him, and Peter reached his release, giv
ing his cream to Gareth’s waiting mouth.
After the last tremor had ended, Peter fell back, panting and enjoying the wave of contentment that washed over him.
“Thank you, Gareth. That was most satisfying.”
“I’m glad I could have serviced you in so pleasurable a manner, my lord Peter.” Gareth replied.
“And shall I return the favor?” Peter rolled on his side to gaze at Gareth as he waited for an answer.
“I think I’d prefer to spend my time on my back in the bed. With you between my knees and Arvel watching.” Gareth slapped Peter on the thigh and climbed to his feet. He held out his hand for Peter to take.
Peter slapped his hand away. “I’m not an old man to be helped up.”
“Really?” Gareth bent down, put his hands on his knees, and gave Peter a cocky grin. “If you can stand without assistance, then perhaps my skills are slipping.”
“Perhaps. But perhaps I’m a stronger man than our Arvel, who finds everything almost too much.” Peter winked and rose with ease. He straightened his clothing and tied his strings.
Gareth bowed and swept his hand toward the lodge. “You first.”
“Indeed. As is only right.” Peter returned the bow and started toward the lodge.
Gareth burst into laughter. “You’re a brave man, Peter, to not fear my sword at your back.”
“Ah, your sword at my back. That sounds well and good. Can we take up swords when we gain the bed?” Peter kept ahead of Gareth until he came to the door.
“I might consent to a duel, my lord.”
Peter opened the door and stepped inside, with Gareth right behind him.
He froze and his jaw dropped open. His mouth went dry.
Arvel lay stretched out on the bed, pale on the dark quilt, red hair spread out on the pillow, and his stiff cock in his hand.
Gareth’s voice puffed in Peter’s ear. “Damn our pet. I fear our duel must wait. He’s in need of a fucking.”
Peter laughed and stepped aside. “And he has his eyes set on you.”
Gareth growled and then launched himself at the bed and Arvel, who flung up his arms to welcome his lover.
