The Captain and the Squire

by Catherine Curzon

  Tarquin leaned back against the wall, sighing. “Oh, you are a tempting devil!”

  And the answering smile was positively, wonderfully wicked. He stroked his tongue along Tarquin’s erection again in one sinuous movement then asked, “Do I have your permission, squire?”

  “Erm…” Tarquin’s mouth hung open. “Erm…my permission? I haven’t said what are you up to on the floor there, Mr. Hardacre? So…” Maybe this is how they do things in the city? Eager not to look like a country bumpkin, Tarquin squared his shoulders and said, “Yes, Chris, you most certainly have my permission.” And stroked his gloved fingertip down Chris’ cheek.

  Chris’ eyes fluttered closed and he gave a groan that could only be pure, heated desire. Then he looked up at Tarquin again and parted his lips into an O. With another soft moan he took the tip of Tarquin’s erection in his mouth and swirled his tongue over it.

  “You are…my God…you’re exquisite!” Tarquin moaned as he ruffled Chris’ hair, making him look as tousled as if he’d been for a romp in the hay. Now there’s a pleasing thought. Tarquin’s hips jerked forward and he moaned again, then apologized. “Sorry. Bad form.”

  But Chris didn’t seem to think so. Instead he clearly realized it was a hint and in one glorious, smooth movement, he took the rest of Tarquin’s erection into his mouth, his lips tight around him.

  “Good bloody God, man!” Tarquin’s knees nearly buckled and he grabbed for purchase on the first thing he could find—a metal ring on the wall where animals had once been tethered. The chain it was on clanked against the brickwork as Tarquin held tight, pleasure shooting into every part of his body. “Christopher Hardacre…oh, you ruddy marvelous chap!”

  This was so forbidden, so utterly wrong, that it made the whole thing blaze even hotter. And Chris was clearly rather skilled in how to make a man happy, his tongue laving over Tarquin’s body as his mouth moved back and forth.

  And it had been so long since Tarquin had been pleasured, so long since he’d been with a man—Tarquin tightened his grip on the metal ring. “Chris, you’re so naughty… I can’t hold back.”

  But the look in those blue eyes suggested that wasn’t a problem. As for the low growl of desire…that definitely sounded like encouragement.

  Tarquin tipped back his head and, gripping Chris’ mop of hair, gave himself over to the bliss that burst through him. His hips rocked forward against Chris and Tarquin panted as he flopped over, holding on to him.

  “You are a very talented man indeed,” Tarquin said. With exquisite slowness, Chris released Tarquin from his lips, licking his softening cock gently as he did so.

  That tongue.

  Tarquin leaned back against the wall. “Kiss me, Mr. Hardacre.”

  Mr. Hardacre.

  Chris rose to his feet and put his hands on the wall on either side of Tarquin’s shoulders. Then he leaned closer and kissed him. Not a prim, careful, sensible kiss, but a real kiss. A kiss that seemed to go to the very core of them.

  Tarquin was lost inside it and held Chris to him as closely as he could. Chris was still erect and Tarquin pressed his hips against him, enjoying the knowledge that he had aroused this wonderful man. Even when the kiss ended they didn’t move, their lips still brushing, their bodies held together.

  “Do I have the squire’s permission,” Chris murmured, stealing another soft kiss, “to do something about my predicament?”

  “Yes, you do. I’ll help if you like?” Tarquin teased the tab on Chris’ zip. “If I’m honest, I’d love to get my hands on you. And I still haven’t punished you for eating my plum!”

  “That ripe, juicy plum,” he breathed, brushing kisses along Tarquin’s jaw. “A cocky city boy like me, helping himself to your orchard? You should definitely punish me for that. You don’t have to ask.”

  Well, that makes a welcome change.

  “Are you sure?” Tarquin worked down Chris’ zip as slowly as he could bear.

  “You’re the squire,” Chris said. “You’re the boss.”

  Tarquin blinked. I am?

  He puffed out his chest and with a solid yank pulled down Chris’ zip in one movement.

  And discovered that Chris was wearing nothing under his jodhpurs at all.

  “Is that for me?” Tarquin asked, eyebrow raised as Chris’ perky erection appeared.

  “Who else?” Chris purred.

  “All of it?” Tarquin ran his gloved finger along the underside of Chris’ cock.

  “All of me.”

  “Every gorgeous inch? Lucky old squire!” Tarquin grinned, then closed his hand around Chris’ erection. He began to stroke. “Tell me how you like it.”

  “I like it however you want to do it,” was his reply. “How else would I like it?”

  Tarquin stroked more firmly, the thrill of holding an erection—and such a large and nicely shaped one, too—sending zaps of pleasure through him. With his other hand, he tugged down Chris’ jodhpurs to the top of his thighs, then grasped his buttock. It was just as Tarquin had hoped. Better, maybe, because even through his glove—oh, God, why am I still wearing my gloves?—he could feel the heat of Chris’ skin. “There… Your squire approves, Captain.”

  “I hoped you’d like a bit of spirit.” He caught Tarquin’s earlobe between his teeth again, his voice husky as he said, “Those gloves…”

  Tarquin groaned, the sensuality and naughtiness of their encounter a heavenly intoxication. And feeling that naughtiness in every fiber of his being, he released Chris’ buttock long enough to swing back his hand and give him a firm tap on his bottom. The answering gasp of pleasure was hotter even than the summer sun promised to be, and he felt Chris’ hips jerk toward him in response.

  I am the squire.

  And Chris clearly loves it.

  “I’ll do that again,” Tarquin said huskily, and this time his spank was just that little bit harder. And so was the thrust of those hips in reply. Tarquin shifted his feet, then remembered the riding crop in his boot. He pulled it out and stroked it up Chris’ leg, from his knee to his bared thigh. Tarquin’s heart raced. A spank with a hand was one thing, but should he really go about wielding a riding crop?

  Should one ask?

  Are there rules to this?

  “How do you want me?” The question was a whisper, hoarse with desire.

  “I want you hard,” Tarquin said. He would ask. It was only polite, after all. “And…with my riding crop across your arse.”

  That seemed to be the right answer, because Chris’ next kiss would’ve knocked Tarquin off his feet if he hadn’t been quite so…anchored. Tarquin kissed him back just as passionately, delighting in Chris’ soft, full lips, the scent of cologne strengthening on Chris’ warm skin. Tarquin pressed the crop against Chris’ buttock, testing him to see if it was what he really wanted.

  “Every time I pass your orchard, I steal something,” Chris teased him. “Are you going to let me get away with it?”

  “No, I’m going to spank you.” Tarquin was fairly sure he had the hang of it now. He released Chris’ erection, then kissed his neck. “Hold that metal ring. Your squire wants to see this arse of yours properly. And get your shirt off.”

  Chris took the slightest step back and for a moment Tarquin wondered if he had somehow overstepped the mark. Only when Chris put his fingers on the first fastened button did he realize that, far from resisting, his companion was peacocking instead.

  Tarquin pressed the riding crop more tightly against Chris’ buttock. He ran his tongue across his bottom lip. “Yes, very good, strip for your squire.”

  The shirt had hardly been fastened when his visitor arrived, but now, with teasing slowness, the last buttons surrendered. Chris paused for just a second then rolled his shoulders and peeled the sleeves down his arms and off, letting it pool on the tack room floor.

  No piece of fabric more erotic than that shirt had ever landed on the floor of the tack room. Tarquin took in a breath as he gazed at the sight before him. He’d seen Chris’
torso bared before, but there were no demure swimming shorts now, only the lewd, unfastened jodhpurs with that hard, ready cock emerging from them.

  “You’re a bloody handsome fellow, but you know that, don’t you, captain?”

  “I’m far too modest to say,” he replied, though his grin said it all. Then he asked, “So you want me to hold on tight?”

  “Yes, hold that metal ring tight.” Tarquin kissed Chris’ shoulder, then added, “If you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind anything for my squire,” Chris told him in that low voice, his smile utterly beguiling. He reached up and took hold of the metal ring, then, with a glance over his shoulder at Tarquin, stepped back and put his arms at full stretch, his back arched just enough for it not to be an accident. “Is this how you want me?”

  “Yes,” Tarquin said. Yes was all he could say, because this was just what he wanted, those arms so toned, and the muscles of Chris’ back tensing, all the way down to that wonderful rear. He cracked the air with the riding crop. “Ready, old bean?”

  “Ready.” And in case there was any doubt, he gave a wiggle of that glorious, tempting arse. “Give it your best shot.”

  Tarquin took a deep breath, then swung the riding crop against Chris’ buttocks, a tap more than a spank. Chris glanced over his shoulder again, one eyebrow raised.

  “Is there a butterfly in here, squire? I think I felt a flutter.”

  Tarquin quirked an eyebrow. “Harder, captain?”

  “Harder, squire,” was the reply, and there was that smile again, filled with the promise of what might follow. “Or is that the best you’ve got?”

  Tarquin kissed Chris’ shoulder. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.” Then he drew back his arm and this time gave Chris a good, hard thwack. And there was no jokey comment but instead his whole body seemed to buck at the switch of the crop, and the cry of pleasure Chris gave sent a fizz of excitement through Tarquin’s body. A glow of perspiration had settled on the muscular planes of Chris’ back and he tossed his head, planting his feet on the floor again, readying himself.

  Tarquin stroked Chris’ reddening skin. They were both enjoying it, Tarquin knew.

  “And again, I think…” Tarquin drew back his arm, pausing just a moment so that Chris could halt him if he wanted to. Instead he nodded, tensing his buttocks in one more bit of peacockery for his squire.

  And with a swish that cut the air, and a groan from Tarquin, down came the riding crop again across Chris’ buttocks. He gave another cry of pleasure, every muscle snapping taut, his back arching into a smooth curve like a classical marble. Tarquin had never seen anything quite like it, had never even dared to dream of it. Yet here it was, an extraordinary sight indeed in his tack room.

  “I think that’s enough for now.” Tarquin kissed his glove then stroked Chris’ behind. Emboldened by Chris’ clear reveling in his spanking, Tarquin rested his chin on Chris’ shoulder and kissed his neck. “Your erection needs attending to. Allow me.”

  Still stroking Chris’ buttocks, Tarquin ran the tip of his riding crop along the underside of Chris’ cock, his lips pressed to Chris’ neck. He could feel the racing pulse beneath his salty skin. It was racing for him. For Tarquin Bough. For the squire.

  Tarquin threw the riding crop aside and pulled his glove off with his teeth. Then he took Chris’ erection in his hand and stroked him, whispering through his kisses, “My lovely, handsome captain.”

  Chris’ lips met his with a fierce hunger and Tarquin felt his hips thrust once, sensing the effort it must be taking for him to hold back. Nobody had ever really done as Tarquin had told them before—it was just part of being Tarquin—but that had changed here in this tack room, with its scent of leather and saddle soap. That had changed as soon as Christopher Hardacre gripped onto that metal ring and didn’t let go.

  Realizing that Chris was restraining his climax, Tarquin intuited that he might be required to give Chris permission for that too. He broke from the kiss for long enough to sigh, “Come for me, captain…” then crushed his lips to Chris’ once more. He felt the force with which Chris’ cock thrust against his hand, sensed the need in his body as he finally surrendered to his orgasm.

  Tarquin slipped his hand around Chris’ waist, holding him up, and he kissed his sweat-sheened face. “Would you like to lie down on that blanket there, sweetheart?”

  Through his gasping breaths he managed to grin. “I think I need to!”

  Still with one arm around Chris, Tarquin grabbed a horse blanket from a nearby shelf with his free hand. He shook it out and laid it on the floor, then dropped to his knees, bringing Chris with him.

  “Well, that was unexpected,” Tarquin said.

  “I couldn’t believe my luck,” Chris admitted mischievously, snuggling against him. “First day here and I meet a gorgeous man who’s offering to smack my arse? I had an idea as soon as you appeared but… My sixth sense didn’t fail me!”

  “Well, you had threatened to nick my apples, so a spank seemed in order!” Tarquin chuckled and propped himself up on one arm. “Do you know, I’ve got Catherine the Great’s riding crop in my collection, and apparently that’s seen more than a few backsides, but I’d never actually tried spanking before. It was rather fun, wasn’t it?”

  Chris lay back on the blanket, one arm pillowed behind his head. He peered up at Tarquin, his eyes dreamy as he asked, “Are you teasing me, squire?”

  Tarquin dipped his head to kiss Chris’ biceps, then smiled at him. “Teasing you? What about?”

  “You’ve never done this before?” Chris shifted and pulled his jodhpurs up over his hips, leaving them unfastened. Then he stretched, like a cat settling before a warm hearth. “Honestly?”

  “I haven’t, no! I’ve thought about it, but it’s never really come up before—if you’ll pardon the pun.” Tarquin combed his fingers through Chris’ tousled, sweaty hair. “I’m glad, though—that was bloody good fun!”

  Chris looked so decadent there on the rug, sated and happy and glowing, those jodhpur-clad legs stretched before him. Tarquin had been the one to do this, to turn this sculpted, vibrant man into the sleepy, satisfied figure who now reclined on the floor beside him.

  Am I having an affair?

  No, it’s not an affair. We’re not in bed together. We’re still wearing clothes. More or less.

  And we haven’t…consummated.

  “I could happily stay here all day.” Chris closed his eyes and gave a long sigh of contentment. “Getting to grips with the squire next door.”

  “That’d certainly be fun, but you’d have to help me feed the sheep and milk the cows this evening!” Tarquin blew a puff of air at one of Chris’ tousled locks, which quivered before flopping down on his forehead. He opened his eyes and met Tarquin’s gaze, then slipped one arm around his neck and pulled him into a gentle kiss.

  “I might be a city boy canary,” Chris told him, “but I’m sure I could milk a cow if the situation demanded it.”

  “I have a feeling you probably could!” A filthy chortle escaped Tarquin and he buried his face against Chris’ bare shoulder. Then he whispered, “How do you look so gorgeous, Chris? You’re so…toned. Your figure is just perfect.”

  “Rowing and riding keep me looking halfway presentable.” Chris’ arm was still around him and Tarquin felt the soft brush of his fingertips, sketching out shapes on his crisp shirt sleeve. “And the odd glass of something naughty. And the occasional cropping.”

  “You’re full of surprises, Hardacre.” Tarquin stroked Chris’ chest, fascinated by the manly hair Chris sported. Just the right amount too. “A beautiful singing voice, a fondness for a spanking. Gosh, I do hope you stay in Bough Bottoms! You’re a marvelous sort of chap to have around the place.”

  “It’s very, very different to London.” Chris chuckled and opened his eyes. They danced with merriment, but did Tarquin see the barest hint of a shadow? The chap’s left his old life behind, he’s bound to need a moment or two. “I feel like I’m sort of
…decompressing? Coming up to the surface for a big breath of fresh air.” He drew Tarquin to him for another kiss. “I want to stay, so put a word in for me with Miss Piggy?”

  “I most certainly will,” Tarquin said softly. As he gazed into Chris’ large blue eyes, something changed within Tarquin. Something he couldn’t have put a name to—he could only explain that it was as if he’d put on someone else’s spectacles. Everything was sharper, somehow, more defined.

  Am I having an affair?

  Because if Chris stayed, Tarquin would be living permanently next door to the very handsome man who he couldn’t stop kissing. This wasn’t going to be a one-off, Tarquin finally realized. It would be torture to want Chris as much as he did and avoid another encounter like this.

  It feels like an affair.

  Tarquin ruffled Chris’ hair, then, just as his lips were hovering above Chris’ face, he heard a furious squeal from the stable yard. Tarquin glanced up.

  “That’s the Oracle!” he said under his breath, as if that wasn’t obvious.

  Chris nodded, still dreamy. “Is she telling me to sling my city-slicking hook?”

  “I don’t know! I hope not—it’d be very rude of her after that delightful serenade you gave her last night.”

  The Oracle squealed again and her trotters clipped across the yard, back and forth. Fear lanced through Tarquin.

  “I think… I think someone might be out there. You know pigs can be fearsome guard dogs? Guard pigs? Quick, get dressed!”

  It seemed to take Chris a moment or two to clear his head enough to understand exactly what Tarquin had just said, but once he did, he sat bolt upright and reached for his shirt.

  Someone was outside, Tarquin was sure of it, and if someone was outside then it was only a matter of time before they made their way to the stable yard and found this far-from-innocent scene.

  Thank God I didn’t get undressed.

  Chris leaped to his feet, fastening buttons and zips with an astonishing speed. He nodded toward the door and asked, “Are you expecting anyone?”