by Bonnie Dee
Cyril clapped a hand to his chest. “Thank God. I thought perhaps I was the only one who felt so. It was only one evening. We hardly know each, and yet it seemed as if…”
“No. You weren’t alone. My feelings last night were very real.” Jody did not have to lie about that.
“Good! I’m glad to know we were both…in that moment together. Now, come with me.” Cyril took his hand, and Jody gladly followed him up the stairs once more.
Stripping naked to lie in Cyril’s arms felt like returning home, or at least what Jody had always imagined home would feel like. As a boy, he’d dreamed of having such a place, even a hovel, so long as it was with family who loved him. It was exactly this welcoming embrace he had imagined.
Closing his eyes, he sighed in contentment, an alley cat who’d come to rest on a plush pillow with a dish of cream nearby. He would delay talking about the gold until morning, at least, and for now pretend that this home was his.
Much later, after they had kissed until Jody’s lips were sore and they had reached completion by stroking each other’s cocks, Jody clasped Cyril close. They inhaled and exhaled in unison, the silence between warm and friendly.
“Tell me something about you that no one else knows,” Cyril whispered at last. “Tell me a secret about who you truly are deep inside.”
Jody racked his brain for what was safe to say and what must be kept hidden. “I always rather wished I could live on a farm tending animals or toiling in fields under the open sky. I used to have a dream in which I walked through an orchard in springtime. Blooming branches interlocked overhead so it was like walking below the arch of a white lace cathedral. I had never even seen such a place in my life, but in the dream, I knew precisely what an orchard looked like.” He shrugged. “Silly, I know.”
“No. It is a beautiful image. If anyone understands the pleasure of growing things, it is I,” Cyril countered. “Feeling the fragile life of those plants under my fingertips and smelling the rich green scent…mm, I cannot explain pure joy any better than that.” He drew Jody’s hand to his mouth and kissed the knuckles. “Until you, that is.”
Gentle rainfall tapped the windowpane like ghostly fingers beseeching entry. Jody snuggled closer to Cyril, and quiet peace welled within him.
“You’ve told me something very private, so I should do the same.” Cyril drew an audible breath. “I’ve been struggling to keep my financial ruin a secret, but everyone will know soon enough that I am going to sell Wiltshire. There is no money left to keep the house from crumbling to ruins. So there you have it, my humiliating secret.”
Jody lay very still, absorbing the information, which was worse than he’d surmised. “I am sorry to hear it. Is there nothing your extended family can do to help you?”
“It’s been mentioned repeatedly that it is my duty to marry an heiress, preferably an American who will be thrilled to buy the title of Lady Belmont. But I would not inflict a loveless marriage on anyone, including myself. Nor do I wish to breed children simply to pass on a title. I find it deplorable in every way.”
“What a difficult position you are in.” Jody wondered how he might turn the confession to his advantage and felt ill at the very thought of enticing Cyril to invest money he could not afford in a proposition that was imaginary.
As if reading part of Jody’s thought, Cyril continued, “I’d invest in your mining operation if I could and help both you and myself, but alas, I have nothing of value left. Not so much as an original Vermeer or diamond-encrusted chamber pot lying about. My orchids have become my bread and butter. Sale of the plants I raise puts food on my table. Can you imagine?” He gave a feeble laugh.
Jody could almost hear Lassiter whispering in his ear what he ought to say next—explain he’d downplayed the viability of the mine and it was quite possible an investment in the venture could triple in a short time. Suggest Belmont seek a loan from his family. With it, Cyril would soon have wealth enough to start a new life free of debt.
Instead, Jody said, “I want to confess something about myself beyond my foolish farming dream.” He drew a breath before he blurted, “I am not a good person. I have done things in my past for which I am ashamed. When describing my life to you, I glossed over several years during which I drank heavily. Drinking turned to opium use, and soon I became lost in a fog to escape life. I wasted my potential and my money on becoming numb. That is my shameful secret.”
Rubbing his palm gently up and down Jody’s bare arm, Cyril asked, “You no longer visit the dens?”
“No. Nor do I drink. At least not to excess.”
“It was a hard lesson from which you have learned. Think of it that way and do not shame yourself for it.” Cyril leaned close to press a soft kiss to his mouth. “I am glad you are free of the spell of the poppy. I have seen the hollow-eyed appearance of the opium-addicted. It would distress me greatly for you to suffer that way. You are a good person, Toby. Of that much, I am certain.”
If you only knew. Jody clamped his lips tight. He could tell no more about himself than he already had done. But at least he had been able to share one truth.
Again, they lay in stillness for a bit, their breathing falling into sync.
“I have nearly completed my father’s assignment and must sail for India soon,” Jody said. “This may be the last night we are able to spend together, so may I ask something of you?”
“Anything.”
“Will you make love to me? Not merely with your hands or mouth. Will you come inside me?”
Cyril paused. “I have never done that before, or had it done to me. Does it hurt? I wouldn’t wish to cause you any pain.”
Jody chuckled. “You won’t, I promise. I crave it—with you.” He’d never mention the times he’d taken no pleasure from a buggering, enduring fucking as a necessary chore, a means to accomplish an end. Now, he longed for the sensation of Cyril’s cock in him. “My arse is already clenching in anticipation. Feel it.”
With that encouragement, Cyril slid his hands down Jody’s naked back to cup his cheeks and spread them. He traced a finger down the seam, found the opening, and gingerly probed.
Jody groaned and pushed back onto it, his sphincter pulsing at the sensation.
Immediately, Cyril withdrew.
“If you don’t care to, that’s all right,” Jody assured him.
“No! I do. Just let me know what you like, please.”
His plaintive politeness was so endearing, it nearly did Jody in. He wanted to give Cyril a brand-new experience, something he’d never known before. “Like this,” he replied gruffly.
*
Cyril was so nervous, excited, and utterly aroused that he almost couldn’t function. He had fantasized about doing this act, but never imagined he’d feel close enough to a man to wish to couple in such a way. This was not a hasty hand or blow job exchanged by strangers. To Cyril, at least, it felt like something too personal, too intimate, to share with just anyone. And now, here he was with Toby lying beneath him, gazing up with trusting eyes and expecting Cyril would take charge. Very well, then, he would pretend he knew what he was doing and plunge right in—metaphorically speaking.
He stroked Toby’s cock first, to make certain he was as primed for orgasm as he could be. No need to do the same for himself. The mere idea of what he was about to do had him rock hard. After a few moments, he slid his hand down to fondle Toby’s sac, then he slid his fingers again to the dark, forbidden entrance.
“Have you any sort of oil?” Toby asked.
“Oh yes. Of course! I didn’t think.” Cyril nearly leaped off the bed to go find some substance to ease his passage.
“No worry. Relax, dear heart. I will wait right here for you, exactly as you’ve left me,” Toby teased.
A backward glance at the man’s supine position, knees drawn up and pelvis tilted to reveal every bit of his body, was enough to make Cyril practically race to the water closet, where a cabinet contained toiletries. He shoved bottles this way and that in s
earch of something other than medicinal liniment. That ointment spoke of sore muscles and was not attractive at all. He knew he had some oil that was more fragrant… Ah, there it was, a small bottle of sandalwood oil he’d once purchased on a whim, just in case he should ever need it.
Cyril returned to his bedchamber with the vial already uncapped and spilled a measure into his palm. The sweetly spicy foreign scent rose to tease his nostrils. He stroked slick hands over his cock, then knelt on the bed and applied an equal measure of oil to Toby. Easing his fingers into that oh-so-tight opening made his heart pound. He was actually salivating. He felt like a bull mastiff ready to snap its chain and attack. He really must calm himself.
Sitting back on his heels, Cyril breathed slowly and took the opportunity to simply appreciate the beauty before him: Toby’s dark hair against the pillow, the contours of his handsome body, and, loveliest of all, his indigo eyes glowing as he regarded Cyril. He reclined so comfortably, so trusting in this open position, offering himself, and believing that Cyril would care for him. That was what this act must be about. Not Cyril’s overwhelming lust or what he felt he needed. He would slow down and take his time to make certain Toby enjoyed every moment of their joining.
After that, everything flowed quite naturally. Cyril massaged oil into more than Toby’s arse, spreading slick fragrance over his torso and kissing generously as he worked a hand up and down his shaft. Only when Toby was whimpering softly and begging, “Go on. Do it now,” did Cyril finally move into position over him and place the tip of his cock where it longed to be.
Gritting his teeth to keep from thrusting too soon, he ever so slowly guided his length into the channel that awaited him. Oh God, yes. It was hotter and tighter than he’d ever imagined it would be. But not wet enough still, so he slowly withdrew and slathered even more of the sandalwood oil on himself.
The second time, he glided inside inch by inch, pushing and filling until he could go no farther. He looked down at the point of their connection and marveled at the sight.
Gasping with pleasure, Cyril slowly withdrew, then paused before thrusting again. He looked at Toby and asked, “Is this all right? Shall I go on?”
“Yes, silly man. By all means, fuck me harder. I want you to.”
That was the key that unlocked him. Cyril began to move, thrusting gently and slowly at first, but soon harder and faster. He braced his hands on either side of Toby to support the full weight of his body, and his belly rubbed against Toby’s erection, giving the other man the pleasure of each stroke as well.
Cyril was too stimulated to prolong the moment of climax. But each second he experienced was meaningful. He savored the texture of Toby’s flesh, the pulsing rhythm of his own body, and the soft moans of encouragement his partner gave. I shall treasure this memory forever, he promised, just before he lost all conscious thought and dissolved in a fireworks burst of pure energy.
How was such bliss possible? Cyril wondered as he collapsed into a boneless heap upon his lover. And how had he managed to exist without it for all his life? Two questions without answers, and the most important question remained: How will I go without these feelings after Toby has gone?
But since the conundrum was unsolvable, Cyril pushed it from his mind. They were together now in these sweet moments of sharing a bed. It was enough. He would not allow future disappointments to ruin present happiness.
Cyril rolled off Toby to get him a clean cloth from the washstand. He offered a drink of water, smoothed the sheets, then took his place beside his lover once more.
*
Languid hours passed. Jody made no move to leave even as dawn light shone through the window. He knew their time together must come to a permanent end, but he would postpone it as long as possible.
One more hour.
Just another fifteen minutes.
He rested his head on his hand and watched Cyril sleep, eyes moving rapidly beneath their lids, lips pursing, then relaxing as if he kissed Jody even in his dreams. How had Jody imagined on first meeting that Cyril was not a memorably attractive man? Now he saw nothing but beauty in those sweetly rounded features.
Cyril stirred, stretched, opened his eyes, and Jody knew he could put off rising no longer. He patted the leg draped over his hip. “I’m afraid I must go now.”
“Breakfast first. I’ve learned to fry kippers, and there is a fresh loaf of bread in the pantry. Fruit too. And coffee,” Cyril enticed.
Surely he could stay around long enough for breakfast. Sitting at the kitchen table sharing coffee and sections of the daily paper sounded wonderful. What would be the harm in remaining a few hours longer?
Because it will become that much harder to go, and the mood you’re in right now, you’re likely to confess everything in an attempt to wash your filthy conscience clean.
“I’m sorry. I simply must go.” Jody slipped away from Cyril’s embrace and started to gather his clothing.
Cyril sat up, sheet pooling around his waist, and regarded him somberly. “You won’t leave London without seeing me again. Promise you won’t. At the very least, we should have a proper goodbye.”
Jody stopped with his trousers half on. No point in belaboring this charade of romance. Better a clean break before he walked out. But the words that came from his mouth were the opposite.
“I’ll see you again before I go. I promise. We’ll meet tonight at a public house near my hotel.”
Several hours later, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, Jody stood in Lassiter’s flat once more, but he was not the same person he’d been only the night before. No matter what the old man said, Jody was through with him at last. He had enough money saved to go far away from this wretched life. A ticket to America was not impossible. There, he might start a new life and actually become the sort of man Cyril believed him to be.
“Told you we were dipping in a dry well,” he said the moment he entered the room.
“You showed Belmont the documents?”
“He didn’t care. He’s not the sort to borrow money. The man’s barely squeaking by selling his fancy posies to make ends meet.”
“Fancy what?”
“Orchids. Collectors buy plants from him.”
“Really? How much are they worth?”
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter.” Jody stopped the drift of Lassiter’s questions. “We’ve got no connections to fence plants and couldn’t keep ’em alive while we tried to find a buyer. There’s nothing in the house worth taking. I checked. Alden’s tip about Belmont was a bust. You’ll have to extract the money he owes in some other way.”
“I certainly will make the man pay.” Lassiter rubbed his grizzled beard. “As for Belmont… We needn’t be through with him quite yet. You’ve been intimate with him. Time to put a little pressure on and make him see it would be in his best interest to pay you something, a reasonable tip for your silence. His family should be keen to hush up the affair.”
Jody had straddled a chair. Now he bolted up, knocking it over and making Lassiter jump. “That’s it. We’re finished. Don’t expect to see me again. I’m leaving town.” He walked away.
“By God, you’ve gone and fallen for your mark, haven’t you? Stupid boy, I taught you better.” Lassiter laughed with all the warmth of a snake attempting to chuckle. “Perhaps it is best you go. You’ve gone soft and are of no use to me now. Godspeed, my duckling. I hope you’ll fare well in the world without me to guide you, but I don’t hold out much hope.”
His rasping gurgle of a laugh followed Jody down the hall and rang in his head long after he was out of earshot. But Lassiter no longer had the power to hurt or control him.
Completely on his own at last, Jody felt nothing but relief.
Chapter Ten
Cyril met with his solicitor the following day to finalize the sale of his country house. An interested buyer had offered a cash settlement—an American, of course. The nouveau riche of New York owned homes everywhere these days, oceanfront “cottages” in New Eng
land built of marble where they might escape the summer’s heat, and also European estates purchased from destitute aristocrats such as himself. Apparently, Yankees loved fox hunting, pheasant shooting, and playing at being British country gentlemen.
He’d be sad to sign the papers, but seeing his childhood home fall into ruin was more upsetting. This way, the place would be renovated and enjoyed. Soon, word would spread, and society would know for certain Cyril had failed as a Belmont. It would almost be a relief to stop pretending. Now he would be free to travel—perhaps to India. He’d begun mulling the idea immediately after Toby left that morning.
All that afternoon, Cyril occupied himself playing cribbage with friends, including Judith and Prudence, but his mind was not on the cards. He counted the minutes until evening, when Toby had promised to meet with him again. Would his friend be pleased or taken aback if Cyril brought up the idea of accompanying him to India? Affairs weren’t meant to be prolonged. Perhaps Toby would quickly disabuse him of such a mad notion.
On the other hand, that slow, shy smile might curve his lips. Nodding emphatically, he might say: I would like that. Do come home with me.
With that prayer in mind and evening falling, Cyril went to the public house where he and Toby were to meet. He entered the crowded room and scanned the many occupied tables. A flicker of dread shot through him that he might wait all evening for Toby to arrive only to be disappointed. Perhaps this morning’s farewell had been their final parting.
But then he spotted Toby’s dark hair and a slice of his profile as a waiter placed a glass of ale on his table. Cyril’s heart rose and flew in dipping loops like a lark above an open field.
