by Helena Maeve
“I’m not trying to seduce you, moron,” Arthur gritted out, but the hold on his upper arms didn’t lessen. Klaus was frowning, his gaze incendiary in ways Arthur knew he should have found worrisome but didn’t.
“I won’t be your mark.”
Is that all?
Arthur scoffed, want pulsing inside him like a second heartbeat. “Why do you think I came back?”
“Fear.”
“Wrong.”
“You’ve been a prisoner too long. You don’t know who to trust anymore,” Klaus went on, undaunted. He had already made his mind up. With enough time, he’d cobble together the evidence to prove himself right.
You think you know everything.
Arthur tore free of his grip, tempted to kick the pseudo-antique flower pot by the door. “If I wanted to be free of you, I would’ve left last night. Gone off to Syria or Lebanon. I know people, too. Shit, you think I don’t know how to stay afloat by myself? I was making five figures doing exactly what you do for scraps. I know how to survive.”
Klaus thinned his lips, hands folded into fists at his sides.
“You’re one to talk about fear,” Arthur went on. “Is there nothing more to you than being someone’s grunt?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Arthur quit pacing. “Do you have no—desires of your own? Do you just take orders?”
“My desires are irrelevant.”
“Not to me.” He covered the distance between them slowly, his sneakers making soft, squeaky noises on the mosaic tile. He half expected Klaus to retreat. Always one to push the envelope, Arthur hooked a finger into his belt and tugged him forward. “Not to me.”
Klaus bridged the gap, his breath hot on Arthur’s cheek. “I was sure you left.”
“I almost did,” Arthur said. “Turns out I lack willpower.”
He couldn’t be sure if he was the one to start it or if Klaus tipped his head just right to slot their lips together. It didn’t matter because suddenly they were kissing and Arthur hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this. How desperately he’d wanted to feel Klaus give in until he was trapped between him and the wall, his mouth bruised and his breaths coming in sharp, heaving little bursts.
Fuck. What are we doing? His heart seemed to have relocated somewhere inside his throat while his brain stuttered over the not-so-complicated fastenings on Klaus’ shirt.
“Here?” Klaus panted between kisses, his lips wet.
Arthur nodded frantically and shoved his shirt down, baring broad shoulders and perfect skin to his touch. He hadn’t come back for this precisely—he wanted to believe he wasn’t so easily led—but he couldn’t deny wanting Klaus to bend him against the wall and rut against his ass through the too-thick intermediary of cotton and denim. It didn’t have to be reasonable. It didn’t have to make sense.
His new jacket fell swiftly to the floor, followed by the dull metal clang of his belt buckle. Klaus seemed to lose patience halfway through and knotted a hand in his T-shirt to yank him back. His hips flush against Arthur’s, he fastened his mouth to Arthur’s nape and sucked a bite into the fragile skin. It was a primal wrestling match as they groped and pulled at each other, but there was no question of besting or winning.
Arthur wound up with his cheek against the wall and his hands above his head—both of them clutched in Klaus’ brutal fist.
“I can’t,” Arthur choked out, “I don’t have anything—”
“Wouldn’t last anyway,” Klaus growled in his ear. He proved it half a beat later as he nudged his thick length into Arthur’s cleft.
It was a heady sensation—of being pinned down and cradled all at once, of being used and somehow protected. Arthur rocked back, urging Klaus to move against him as hard or as fast as he needed to. He didn’t want gentle.
He didn’t need restraint.
He wasn’t ready for Klaus to slip a hand between his legs and palm his cock, though, and air seemed to flee his lungs with that delicious burst of friction. He wriggled in Klaus’ hold, not entirely sure if he was trying to get away or get more. Klaus grasped his length in a tight fist and Arthur’s lizard brain took over.
“Yes,” he panted. “Yes, yes…oh, Christ…”
Klaus wasn’t the only one who couldn’t last.
Arthur dug his fingernails into his palm, cresting like a breaker on the shore. He barely heard himself cry out, ears ringing with the force of his orgasm, much less registered the grunt that rippled over his spine as Klaus followed suit.
Of all the ways to find pleasure in each other’s arms, upright and in the shadows was not something Arthur had considered. It was, however, exactly what he needed.
Chapter Twelve
The breakfast queue moved slowly, passengers still shedding the haze of sleep en route to the gleaming silver pots of tea and coffee laid at their disposal. Arthur busied himself with perusing the handwritten labels. He counted five types of coffee ground blended in three separate combinations before he reached the head of the line.
“Hooper,” he told the smiling, uniformed server as he handed over his room key.
When Sezin had mentioned that she’d gotten them tickets for the ferry, Arthur had pictured a cramped boat with plastic seats lining the aisles and the low drone of pre-recorded messages chiming through the PA. A five-hundred berth cruise ship with six different bars and a generous choice of evening entertainment was the furthest thing from his mind.
Yet there he was, in white linen trousers and embarrassingly comfortable boat shoes, dragging his feet around the lavish breakfast buffet. He had his pick of croissants and cereal, eggs poached or scrambled or sunny side up. He could opt to enjoy his breakfast under the stained glass dome of the restaurant or out on the sunny deck, each bite scored by the plaintive flock of seagulls circling overhead. Or he could take his tray back to the cabin, to pick at the generous fare in private.
With the server’s okay, Arthur negotiated the grand stairwell out of the restaurant and shouldered open the glass doors at its summit. The hinges didn’t dare creak. Outside, the sun was already blazing brightly. Arthur nudged his sunglasses down with the back of his clawed hand, balancing the laden tray in the other. The salty breeze tangled the folds of his open collar.
I could get used to this.
If only he wasn’t on the run and hyper-aware of every lingering glance, he might have been able to enjoy the unanticipated luxury of eating and sleeping like—well, like Klaus’ kept man.
The label didn’t sting as much as it might have done before Berlin.
Sooner or later, he had to start making his peace with the hand he’d been dealt. At least he was no longer being chased, his knee clicking as he struggled to outrun the SIS.
At least he was no longer treated like an unpinned grenade.
Progress.
He charted the lower deck at a leisurely pace. He had time. Klaus had loosened his grip since they’d left Istanbul yesterday morning. He seemed more relaxed, more patient. The change was so sudden that Arthur almost doubted its sincerity. He wished he could switch off his brain and do away with wariness, but even aboard the Caroline, he couldn’t pretend his pulse didn’t spike when other passengers held his gaze a beat too long. He remained suspicious of the staff and wary of unaccompanied travelers.
That’s called paranoia, hotshot.
His conscience could chide all it pleased. A small voice at the back of his mind would always insist that the young man taking pictures of the rippling waves and the old couple sunning themselves in matching, neck-to-toe summer outfits were out to get him.
He was equally convinced that the man at the other end of the open deck was watching him from beneath the arced rim of a baseball cap. He’d been there before Arthur had left the cabin in search of breakfast and he was still there now, stretched on a lawn chair and laboring diligently over a crossword puzzle.
Yesterday, he’d boarded the cruise two steps behind Arthur and Klaus.
He’d been wearing a cap, then, too.
Arthur brushed aside the thought as he eased the room card into the reader and leaned on the door handle. He could weave a whole web of threats and danger if he let his thoughts run wild.
There’s nothing out there. MI6 doesn’t know where you are.
Macias hasn’t sent anyone new.
He breathed a sigh of relief as the door clicked shut in his wake. Sezin had booked the cabin just right. It was small enough not to attract undue attention from the over-zealous staff, but large enough that Arthur had yet to feel confined. Sharing the space might have been an issue if his roommate didn’t look so good without clothes on.
Arthur sunk back against the door and blew out a low, appreciative whistle. The man on deck—who may or may not have been tailing them—was forgotten at once.
Klaus sprawled naked on the bed, bare skin lustrous in the soft morning light. He blinked one eye open over the barrier of his muscular, scarred forearm, the corner of his lips twitching up.
“I smell coffee.”
“Your sharp investigative skills are once again on point.” There wasn’t very much room between the bulkhead and the mattress on Arthur’s side of the bed. He angled the tray with care to avoid splashing coffee onto Klaus’ delectable backside. His hands didn’t shake as he poured him a cup. “Here. Unless, of course, you’re planning on lying in bed all day…”
“I was considering it,” Klaus confessed, but propped himself up onto the pillows all the same. He was unabashed in his nudity, a lazy grin painted on his lips as he took the proffered mug. “Any poison in this?”
Arthur smiled. “Of course.”
He doffed his glasses and kicked off his boat shoes before joining Klaus on the bed. For the sake of appearances, he left just enough distance between their shoulders to feign nonchalance.
So Klaus was naked. So they’d spent most of yesterday screwing around in their cabin instead of reconnoitering.
So sharing his space with Klaus was fast becoming an ordinary occurrence. It didn’t mean anything. Arthur was still his quarry. If he had free rein on the ship, it was only because short of jumping overboard he had no means of escape.
“I was thinking…we should check out the pool today,” Arthur mused. “Not that I don’t enjoy christening this cabin—”
“Again and again?”
“But it’s not really making the most of our time.”
“I’m hurt.”
Arthur responded with an eye roll. He had no desire to insist.
The cabin was comfortable and well-appointed. They had a TV for all their worldwide news needs and a direct line to the ship’s kitchens if they worked up an appetite in the middle of the night—something they’d already ticked off the list within sixteen hours of boarding the cruise.
They didn’t need to leave this room, this bed. They could just stay here until they arrived in Cairo—the first stop on the ship’s itinerary through the Mediterranean.
Klaus turned his head against the pillow. “You know, you don’t have to ask my permission. If you want to tan, you’re free to do as you please.”
“It’s not as much fun doing it alone.” Arthur fully intended to pretend that ‘free’ didn’t raise his hackles like a slur.
“We may end up giving the other guests an eyeful.”
Arthur smiled. “You think? I’m not so sure. You’re not getting any younger. You must be dog-tired by now…” If they’d slept four hours altogether last night, it would’ve been a stretch.
“And who’s to blame for that?” Klaus wanted to know.
“What do you think breakfast in bed is for? Penance,” Arthur informed him with a sage nod. “And nourishment. I can’t face round two on an empty stomach.”
“I think we took care of round two sometime last night.”
The memory broadened Arthur’s grin. “And rounds three and four…” He was sure that there was something profoundly wrong with him for recalling the tally with pleasure. He tried to remind himself that this was just temporary, that Klaus was simply doing what he needed to do to accomplish his task.
I only came back because you’re the lesser evil.
Bitterness curdling in the pit of his stomach, Arthur pressed a kiss to Klaus’ bare shoulder. Lesser evil or not, Klaus let him get away with it. Only the weight of his palm on Arthur’s thigh served to mark the stray display of affection.
“You okay?” Klaus asked, voice soft.
“Yeah. Just thinking.” About Klaus stroking his leg, about the click of his cup as he placed it on the bedside table.
Suspecting what came next did nothing to smother Arthur’s sharp inhale. His belt buckle fell deftly open with a few tugs. Klaus shifted to kneel between his thighs and slowly lowered his zipper. He took his time, ramping up Arthur’s arousal with every click of the metal teeth.
This time yesterday, he would’ve asked if it was okay. If he could touch Arthur like this.
In twenty-four hours, they’d made up for wasted opportunities and cleared up any hesitation on that score. Arthur hadn’t refused him once. He wasn’t planning on starting now.
Klaus pried him out of his underwear carefully, grip loose around Arthur’s fast-hardening dick. “What’s that you were saying about penance?” he teased.
Arthur made no answer, but his breath caught when Klaus dipped his head and slowly took him into his mouth. He didn’t mess around. Arthur had figured that out last night, when within minutes of finding their way to the cabin, Klaus had shoved him down to the bed and gone down on him until Arthur couldn’t speak, let alone compute what was happening.
It was nice to know that every blow job was like that, with Klaus in charge.
Arthur slid a hand behind his head, more for balance than direction, and concentrated on not rocking upward. Klaus wore his hair too short for a good grip, but his nape fit perfectly into the cradle of Arthur’s palm. He hummed when Arthur rubbed the base of his skull, the vibration ricocheting through Arthur’s dick in the sweetest chain reaction.
“Fuck…yeah, like that. Do it slow.”
It was babbling, not input. Arthur had no illusion about steering Klaus into doing anything he didn’t care to do. He could plead all he wanted—if Klaus got it into his head to keep him on the edge for ten good minutes, like he’d done last night, he’d do it. The most Arthur could do was squirm against the mattress and curl his toes into the bedding, whining.
He stopped trying to smother his moans after the second time Klaus slid off to tongue at the glans until Arthur was close to tears, never mind coming. Pleasure surged through him when Klaus pulled up, quickly replaced by sinking disappointment.
“Why’d you stop?” he moaned, barely recognizing his own voice.
Klaus smirked and tugged his pants the rest of the way down his hips.
Arthur hadn’t thought of himself as skinny, let alone easily manhandled, since he was a teenager. Then again, he’d never really been attracted to men like Klaus—men with fists the size of anvils and biceps that begged to be employed.
He didn’t know what to do with the swell of yearning in his chest when Klaus hooked both hands under his hips and pulled him up. A flicker of annoyance sparked and died between one breath and the next. Yes, Klaus was stronger. No, Arthur wasn’t exactly operating at a hundred percent. But trust was a learning curve. Even as the mattress dipped beneath Arthur’s shoulders, he pressed his heels into the bedding and arched into Klaus’ strong grip. He was more than happy to pretend that the crooked smile Klaus shot his way wasn’t proof that he’d become utterly transparent.
To his credit, Klaus knew exactly how to stop his wandering thoughts. He didn’t need to suck him down all the way to bring him to the edge
Arthur watched, transfixed, as the head of his erection disappeared between Klaus’ kiss-swollen lips, the suction so delicious that his vision damn near blurred.
“Oh—oh, God.”
Klaus jerked him mercilessly as he mouthed the head of his cock, rough fingers scraping sensitive s
kin. Arthur had no choice but to take it, awkwardly immobilized with no handcuffs to hold him still.
He rocked into the strange angle as best he could, sweat sticking his T-shirt to his chest, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. Klaus seemed to know when he was getting close, and he eased off whenever Arthur’s hips pumped a little faster.
Arthur keened, a humiliating noise tearing free of his throat, and slumped, defeated, into the mattress.
“Gonna make me beg, you bastard?”
He didn’t expect Klaus to give him an answer—mystery was part and parcel of knowing him, biblically or otherwise—but he could have done without the smirk.
Klaus pulled off to lick his lips.
Arthur grimaced. He was so hard it hurt and the slap of his dick against his stomach when Klaus released him made his insides quake.
“Please,” he chanced, forcing the word out through gritted teeth.
“Would you like me to finish you off?”
He nodded hastily, half tempted to do the job himself.
“But I thought we weren’t making the most of our trip,” Klaus taunted. His accent grew more pronounced when he was aroused, but he seemed content to ignore his own hard-on in favor of tormenting Arthur’s.
And he was very, very good at it. Each slow, leisurely glide of his hands over Arthur’s chest triggered pathetic little shivers. He lingered on Arthur’s nipples, pinching and stroking with an absentminded touch, his spread fingers nearly spanning the breadth of Arthur’s torso.
“Get me off,” Arthur choked out. “Klaus, fuck, if you don’t—” He wasn’t sure how that threat was supposed to end and it was just as well that Klaus didn’t let him run his mouth.
He did allow Arthur’s hips to settle back against the bed, but only so he could stretch over him, flesh hot and solid against Arthur’s. Their cocks aligned, sliding rock hard against each other.
“Oh, fuck…”
Arthur pawed at him, arching fruitlessly against the bed because the contact was too much and he needed to come so badly that he didn’t realize he was running his crippled hand over Klaus’ back until Klaus had begun to move, thrusting against him in tight, delicious circles.
