by Ava March
Was this all Oliver wanted? To tie him up and suck him off? He ignored the twinge of disappointment and reveled in the heady rush of sensation as a climax barreled closer and closer. His body drew tight. His panting breaths echoed in his ears. His hand flexed around the end of the cravat as he resisted the almost overpowering urge to free himself, to grab the back of Oliver’s head and urge him to take even more.
With a crude popping noise, Oliver abruptly pulled free. Air brushed across Vincent’s wet, aching erection.
“More,” Vincent demanded, lifting his hips.
Oliver’s eyes were heavily-lidded, glazed with desire, with stark, undeniable need. Yet Oliver shook his head. He dragged his forearm across his mouth, using his shirtsleeve to wipe his very wet and very red lips. “No more of that.” He spoke as though he was more trying to convince himself than give an order.
Oliver shifted off the bed. He closed his eyes for a moment, hands fisted at his sides. A deep breath expanded his chest, the air shuddering on the exhale. When his lashes swept up, the stark, unbridled need in the dark depths of his eyes had dimmed just a fraction.
“Oliver,” Vincent growled. “What do you plan to do next?” Obviously, Oliver wasn’t done with him yet. At least he better not be. If he intended to leave Vincent like this, skin beaded with sweat and poised on the brink of a climax…
A little furrow creased Oliver’s brow. “It really bothers you that you don’t know what comes next.”
It hadn’t been a question, but still, Vincent answered. “Yes,” he bit out through clenched teeth. He lifted his shoulders from the bed and watched as Oliver went back to the trunk.
He should have known. Oliver had left it open.
Oliver leaned down. His trousers stretched across his firm, round arse. Vincent flexed his bound hands.
“All right then. I’ll tell you. I’m going to fuck you.” Straightening, Oliver turned to face him. “With one of these first.”
Vincent’s eyes flared. He recognized each object. An elegant jade dildo with raised bands along the length. A short, fat steel plug. And a long, thick black marble dildo—Oliver’s favorite toy.
How could he have forgotten he had packed that one?
Vincent’s gaze didn’t leave Oliver as the man put the three toys on the bedside table.
Oliver pulled a bottle of oil from the bedside table drawer. “Legs up,” he murmured, as he got back onto the bed.
Taking a deep breath, Vincent did as he was bid, drawing his bent knees up toward his chest. He made a mental note to be on his guard the next time Oliver made a large purchase for his bookshop. He was sensing a pattern…that involved him getting buggered.
Oliver opened the bottle, then went still. He frowned. “Stop thinking, Vincent. The only thing you need to do is enjoy. No responsibilities whatsoever.”
Easy for you to say. Well, it was easy for Oliver. He gave up control so easily, so effortlessly, it was like drawing breath for him.
“All right. I shall try.”
“Thank you.” Oliver pressed a kiss to his shin. “That’s all I ask.”
Oliver poured oil onto his fingertips. His touch light and teasing and oh, so damn luscious, he coated Vincent’s entrance. Tracing the perimeter. Swirling over the sensitive flesh. And then he slipped one finger inside.
Vincent’s eyes drifted shut. He let out a groan, his body clamping around that digit, eager for more. The thought of getting buggered never held much appeal for him. The actual act though…
Shifting his hips, he bore down on Oliver’s finger, desperate for the full length. Desperate to be filled. Oliver pushed a second finger inside. Another groan rumbled Vincent’s chest. Then Oliver pulled free.
Vincent’s eyes flew open. He would have never guessed it of his lover, but the man was a damn tease.
Oliver reached for the bedside table again. “Which one should I choose?” A rhetorical question if ever Vincent heard one, so he kept his opinion to himself. Oliver’s hand hovered over the black marble dildo. “This one’s my favorite, but you already know that.” His voice dropped to a dreamy murmur, as if lost in a decadent memory. “Almost rivals your cock, but it’s not quite long enough.”
His fingers tightened around the end of the cravat in his hand. While Oliver’s prick certainly did not rival his own in size, it damn well felt huge when it was in his arse. He was suddenly acutely aware of his own hard prick resting on his abdomen. The weight of it, the length and the width. How did it feel to Oliver when Vincent buggered him? How would it feel to be stretched that wide, stuffed that full?
A heavy jolt of lust shot straight to his groin.
“But not tonight.” Oliver’s hand closed around the plug.
As he liberally coated the steel with oil, a thread of nervousness seeped into Vincent’s gut. Oliver had barely prepared him. At its widest point, the plug appeared almost as thick as Vincent’s own cock. “Oliver…”
He must have heard the warning, for Oliver said, “Trust me, Vincent.” A little smile playing on his lips, Oliver pressed another kiss to Vincent’s shin. “I’m not about to just shove it inside of you. I’ll go slow.”
True to his word, Oliver went slow, pushing the blunt, narrow tip of the plug inside him. Just that bit of penetration. Teasing Vincent’s hole. Slowing pushing in just a fraction of an inch more then pulling back out. Oliver caressed the back of his thigh with his other hand. The long, slow sweeps of his palm were the perfect accompaniment to the luscious strokes. But rather than lull his senses, each thrust made him hungry for another. Another longer thrust. For more stretch. But Oliver kept to his frustratingly slow pace.
Arching, Vincent lifted his hips into the next stroke. “Oliver,” he said, coming dangerously close to a plea.
The man shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Oliver,” he growled, with a tug against his bonds.
“I want this to feel good for you. And it will, if you’ll let me do it my way. Trust me. I know how big this plug is.”
Vincent’s brow furrowed. He had shoved that plug inside Oliver on more occasions than he cared to count, with little more than a couple of hasty fingers worth of preparation. “Do you not like it when I—”
“Oh, I like it.” Oliver pushed the plug a bit deeper on the next down-stroke. A wicked grin tipped his lips. “But I’ve also had considerably more practice at this than you. And well...” Another fraction of an inch deeper, but nothing near to what Vincent needed. “I’ve discovered why you’re so fond of playing with my arse.”
Vincent clamped his eyes shut. Dear Lord, Oliver was staring at his hole. But shutting his eyes only made him more aware of the slow, slick glide of the steel in and out of his well-oiled arse.
“You’re gorgeous, Vincent.”
Thick and heavy with wonder, the compliment washed over him, ratcheting the lust soaking his senses even higher.
Oliver kept slowly deepening the strokes. Vincent let out a grunt at the hint of stretching pain. He lifted his head, trying to see how much more he needed to take, but his erection, jutting stiff and hard between his legs, obscured the view. A drop of fluid dripped from the crown, falling to his abdomen. He gasped as that hint became true stretch.
“Relax, Vincent,” Oliver whispered. His harsh panting breaths matched Vincent’s own. “Let it in. It will feel good.”
In and then out. More and more with each stroke, pushing him beyond anything he’d ever felt before. Vincent’s head fell back onto the pillow. He clenched his jaw against the pain swamping his senses. His nerves screamed in protest, but damnation, it felt good.
A groan ripped from his throat as he was stretched unbelievably wide. Then the sharp lance of pain eased as the thick width slipped past the tight ring of muscle and the metal base settled against him.
Oliver gently jostled the base.
“Fuck!” Vincent shouted, as he fought back the climax suddenly gripping his ballocks.
“Feel good?”
He struggled to cat
ch his breath. “You needn’t sound so smug.”
His lover let out a little chuckle and pressed on his knee. “You can lower your legs but keep them spread.” He shifted off the bed.
“What are you going to get now?”
“Nothing.”
Oliver pulled his shirt from his waistband, and then whisked the garment over his head, revealing the sleek lines of his flawless chest and the flush warming his golden skin. Vincent didn’t miss the way Oliver’s hands shook the barest amount as he tugged on the placket. He pushed down his trousers and drawers in one hasty shove, freeing his beautiful prick. The tip was damp with moisture, the length so rigid it jutted from his body.
As he got back onto the bed, he grabbed the bottle of oil once again and poured a generous amount into his palm.
Unable to stay still, Vincent shifted. “What are you going to do?”
Oliver’s hand closed around Vincent’s cock, quickly slicking the length. Then he straddled Vincent’s hips and leaned forward, bracing a hand beside one of Vincent’s raised arms. With his other hand, he reached behind to grab Vincent’s prick, to hold it steady.
“…you will enjoy it. We both will.” Oliver’s earlier promise echoed in his head. Anticipation rushed through Vincent, stinging his nerves with the force of it.
“What am I going to do?” Oliver slanted his lips over Vincent’s in a quick, searing hot kiss. “This,” he whispered.
Oliver pressed down. He fought back the grunt and instead carefully sank lower onto Vincent’s cock. His lashes fluttered as he savored that initial thrust. The heavy thread of pain riding behind the pleasure, nearly overpowering it but not quite. The wonderful, all-encompassing feeling of being filled. Playing with Vincent had been divine, but this? Nothing could surpass this.
And knowing the plug was lodged firmly in Vincent’s arse? A groan slipped past Oliver’s lips.
When his arse met Vincent’s thighs, when he had taken every inch of his lover, he paused. Planting his hands on Vincent’s broad chest, he hung his head, let the sensations completely overwhelm him. Having Vincent restrained somehow lessened the urgency, the desperate need for more he felt every other time he’d been with Vincent. When Vincent was in control, Oliver never knew how long the man would gift him with pleasure. A few precious minutes or hours of intense sensation. Each thrust could be the last of the night. The unknown a heady pleasure all its own. Yet with Vincent his to do with as he pleased…
He slowly lifted his hips and picked up a rhythm of leisurely thrusts. Pulling up until the flared head teased his rim then sinking back down. Lingering over each stroke. He adored Vincent’s rough fucks. The absolute power and command behind every slam of his lover’s hips. Yet this…this was more than nice as well.
Leaning back, he braced his hands on Vincent’s thighs and tilted his hips, searching for…
There, there! An added jolt of pleasure coursed through his veins. A moan tumbled past his lips.
A low growl rumbled around him. “Fuck me harder, Oliver.”
He shook his head.
“Do it.”
For the first time…ever, he ignored a direct order from Vincent in bed. “Not yet,” he gasped, as he continued to ride his lover’s cock. Up and down. Long, slow, perfect thrusts that had the head of Vincent’s prick pegging his gland with each down-stroke.
Stronger and stronger, the pleasure built. He couldn’t stop himself from slamming down harder, his prick slapping against Vincent’s abdomen. Seeking more. Needing more. Yet, yet…
His breaths hitched in his chest. “Vincent.” The name was a plea, soaked in desperation.
Another growl, this one sharper, harsher. The muscles in the strong body beneath him bunched and flexed. Opening his eyes, Oliver lifted his head.
Pure lust blazed in the brilliant blue depths of Vincent’s eyes as the man sat up. The length of the cravat dangled from one cuff as he wrapped his arms around Oliver’s waist. In one fluid motion, he effortlessly flipped Oliver beneath him, the contact of the bodies unbroken. Oliver pulled his knees fully up to his chest, opening for Vincent as much as he could.
“Is this what you want?” Vincent demanded, as he slammed into him.
“Yes, yes. Please.” The words tumbled in a desperate rush from his mouth.
Hard and relentless and so wonderfully deep, Vincent pounded into him. Unable to do anything but serve as a willing vessel for Vincent’s lust, Oliver clung to his shoulders. His gasping grunts blended with Vincent’s. The bed creaked under the onslaught. Every muscle in his body drew unbearably tight, and then pleasure exploded across his senses. He climaxed, spilling onto his stomach. With an all-mighty howl, Vincent rammed hilt deep and came, filling Oliver with hot seed. Then he collapsed half on top of Oliver, his broad, sweat-slicked chest heaving under the force of his heavy breaths.
Oliver slung his arm over Vincent’s back and let his eyes drift closed. A smile curved his lips. Good thing they weren’t at his bachelor’s apartment. That howl would have woken the entire building.
It was many moments later when Vincent lifted his head. “Next time you need to travel on business, I’m going with you.”
Oliver forced his sated brain to process his lover’s words. He chuckled. “If you insist.”
His lover shifted onto his elbows, and then he let out a grunt. Oliver was about to ask if he had pulled something—the evening’s activities had definitely approached strenuous—when the source of that grunt occurred to him. He did his best to keep the lascivious smile off his lips. “Do you want me to help you with that?”
The question earned him a scowl. Vincent pushed up onto his knees and reached behind him. “I can manage it on my own.” He took a deep breath. A harsh wince pulled his brows, compressing his lips into a straight line. “I’m going to feel that for a week,” he muttered, dropping the plug onto the floor.
Oliver couldn’t stop the possessive growl from rumbling his throat. “Love you.”
“I love you, too. Now up with you.” He swatted at Oliver’s hip. “Unless you plan to sleep with your head at the foot of the bed.”
It took some effort to coordinate his muscles and limbs enough to turn around, crawl to the pillows, and tug back the coverlet. He should play Vincent’s role, remove the cuffs from his wrists and ankles and offer him a wet towel to clean up, but, well…Vincent seemed content to handle that part on his own. So he merely laid there and waited for his lover to douse the candles and return to bed.
The mattress shook, jostling him back from the edge of sleep. Strong arms wrapped around him and pulled him close to a wonderfully warm body.
He rubbed his cheek against Vincent’s chest. “You should know that wasn’t how I had intended the evening to end.”
“You didn’t plan to splatter us both in seed?”
“Well, yes, but I wanted to make you come first. You never do when you’re buggering me. And I wanted to toy with the plug a bit more. To give you the best of both sides, at the same time.”
The beginnings of a chuckle shook Vincent’s chest. “You are welcome to try again. But not now and not too soon. Those cuffs won’t be available for a few weeks…as they’ll be on you.”
A fission of anticipation skipped through him. He never would have guessed he’d enjoy dominating Vincent so much. Definitely an enjoyable experience. But being cuffed and bound for Vincent’s pleasure? His lashes fluttered. “Promise?”
“Most assuredly.”
* * *
Thank You
Thank you for taking the time to read Deliberately Bound. I hope you enjoyed the story.
To find out more about my books, or to sign up for my new release e-newsletter, visit www.avamarch.com.
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Deliberately Bound is a short story in the Bound series. To learn more about Bound by Deception (Bound #1) and other books, please turn the page.
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Bound by
Deception
Bound #1
Lord Oliver Marsden has a secret. He's been in love with his childhood friend for years, though Vincent's never shown an interest in him beyond friendship. Ruggedly handsome, wealthy, and successful, Vincent is everything Oliver is not. And Vincent doesn't prefer men.
Then Oliver discovers Vincent hires a man during his visits to a London brothel. Desperate to be with Vincent, Oliver orchestrates a deception, switching places with the brothel's employee. When Oliver arrives at the bedchamber, he's in for another surprise. Restraints and a leather bullwhip? Apparently Vincent isn't as conservative as he appears.
Lord Vincent Prescot has a secret of his own. One kept locked away and only indulged once a month. But this month's appointment is different. The mysterious man is so perfect, so beautiful in his submission, rousing protective instincts Vincent can't deny. Yet he refuses to believe he might truly prefer men, for it could mean the end of his hopes of earning his father's respect.
Will betrayal destroy them or will they be bound together by deception?
Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: BDSM theme and elements.
For purchase links, check out Ava’s website.
Copyright 2008 Ava March
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Discover the Brook Street Trilogy
Regency London – where polite manners and spotless reputations reign supreme. Yet behind the closed doors of three elegant town houses along Brook Street, passion and lust reign as gentlemen dare to risk scandal by falling in love…
