by Ava March
“So where’s yours?”
Marsden was getting an extra smack on the arse later for that cheeky comment. Then again, knowing his friend, it would only encourage him. “My coat is in the carriage. Unlike you, I only had to walk twenty feet to reach the hell.” He stopped at the streetlamp and flicked his fingers, motioning to his driver waiting for him a few buildings down the road.
His team of four bays pulled up next to him. “Lord Oliver’s apartments,” he informed his driver as he stepped into the carriage.
Marsden’s knees brushed his as he settled on the bench opposite him. The driver snapped the whip, and the carriage lurched forward. Only the soft light from the streetlamps they passed broke the darkness, the golden glow cutting across Marsden’s profile; it illuminated the long curve of his lashes behind his spectacles, the high arch of his cheekbones, and the slightly parted full lips. How had Vincent managed to go four weeks without those lips wrapped around his cock?
“God, I missed you.” The desperation in Marsden’s whispered words sent a thrill through him.
Marsden shifted forward, as if to move to sit beside him. Aware of the open shade on the window, Vincent lifted one leg and pressed a foot over his groin, holding him down, keeping him on the opposite bench. Marsden instantly submitted, settling back, yielding to the pressure, his legs falling open. Vincent rotated his foot, rubbing the sole of his evening shoe over Marsden’s rapidly hardening cock. “Were you good, boy, in my absence?” he asked, voice pitched low but with a hard edge that would have Marsden panting in no time.
Marsden’s tongue darted out, a quick swipe across his lower lip. “Yes.”
He pressed harder, pulling a grunt from Marsden. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, milord.”
“Hmm.” He passed a hand over his jaw as he continued to rub Marsden’s cock through the placket of his trousers, the soft wool sliding easily over silken skin. It didn’t feel as though Marsden had worn drawers. One less piece of clothing for the man to remove when they reached his apartments. “Are you certain? Did you take yourself in hand?” He knew the answer, but couldn’t resist the urge to voice the question. To torment Marsden. To make the man squirm with a mixture of embarrassment and pure, stark need. To ratchet up the anticipation hanging in the air between them, so heavy he could feel it.
“Ah…I…”
“Yes or no, Marsden. Did you pleasure yourself in my absence?”
He lifted his hips, seeking even more pressure, and speared Vincent with a hot stare. “Yes.”
“And what did you do, exactly?”
“Stroked my cock until I climaxed.” The words rushed out of Marsden’s mouth, the sharp pants of his breaths filling the closed carriage.
“That was all? Did you penetrate yourself?” At Marsden’s quick nod, he asked, “With what? Your fingers or one of your toys?” Marsden possessed a collection that rivaled the quaint little shop off Bond Street that sold a nice array of paddles and leather goods, in addition to the usual erotic offerings. A collection Vincent had taken great delight in watching Marsden sample on more than one occasion.
The faint light from a passing streetlamp gave him a glimpse of the blush staining Marsden’s cheeks. “Both.”
“At the same time?”
His dark eyes flared. “N-no.”
Vincent tsked. “A shame. Perhaps we shall need to try that.” He dropped his voice to a low rumbling growl. “See if you can take it.” Marsden’s breathy whimper shot straight to his groin. The man was so wonderfully responsive, so eager to please, so absolutely beautiful. So perfect. Warmth blossomed across his chest, a lush, comforting sensation that had nothing to do with the lust spiking his senses. Vincent tamped down the grin and instead kept his features schooled in a hard mask that approached disinterest. “Would you like that, boy?”
Even with the motion of the carriage, he could feel Marsden’s body vibrate as the man fought to remain still, his hands curled in tight fists on his thighs. “Y-yes, please, milord.”
The thought of Marsden naked on the bed, his golden skin flushed with arousal, knees drawn up to his chest, working his fingers alongside a slim dildo in his tight arse… Vincent swallowed back the grunt. Damnation. Yes, indeed, he would definitely need to coax Marsden into giving it a try. “But not tonight. I have other plans for you.” He laid a hand on the greatcoat folded at his hip, over the hard length hidden in the pocket. The man would get stuffed full, but with only one object at a time tonight. He glanced out the window. “Almost there. Best get yourself under control.” He gave Marsden’s prick a light tap before moving his foot back to the floorboards.
“Already?” Groaning, Marsden tipped his head back and ran his hands through his hair, further disheveling the dark waves. “Hell. Should have brought my greatcoat. Would have hidden it.” He sucked in a long controlled breath, as if he were steeling himself for something unpleasant. Then he spread his legs wider, grabbed his ballocks through his trousers, and tugged, hissing sharply through his clenched teeth.
Ouch. That had to have hurt. And not in a good way. “Yes, you should have,” Vincent said with a chuckle, as he put on his own coat and did up the buttons to hide his straining erection.
The carriage slowed to a stop at a familiar three-story building that looked more like a boarding house than bachelor apartments. He turned a blind eye to the bent wrought-iron rail on the stone steps leading to the front door with its peeling black paint. Instead, he focused on the two dark windows on the top floor. In just a few moments, they would be in that apartment, and he would have Marsden all to himself without having to worry about the judging eyes of others upon them.
As Marsden reached for the brass lever on the door, Vincent laid a hand on his forearm, staying him. Questioning eyes so rich and dark they almost approached black met his. He tucked that errant wavy strand back behind Marsden’s ear and murmured, “I missed you, too.” Then he winked. “Now get your arse inside so I can fuck you.”
Chapter Two
Panting, Oliver squeezed his eyes shut tight. Vincent’s “other plans” clearly involved tormenting him until he had been reduced to a quivering pile of need. Deprived of Vincent for four long weeks, his senses soaked up each sensation, savored them like the most treasured of gifts, while simultaneously frantic for more. If Vincent kept this up much longer, he’d climax before his lover worked his big prick into him.
“Please, milord.”
Vincent chuckled, a low throaty rumble. He drew a line down the oil-slicked crease of Oliver’s arse and paused once again to linger over his hole, slowly tracing the puckered flesh. His skin tingled, the ring of muscle relaxing under Vincent’s touch, ready for more. Then the tip of his finger slipped inside, rewarding him with the barest hint of penetration.
Oliver let out a moan of pleasure, his body tightening greedily around that digit. After being teased for what felt like an hour, though in actuality fifteen minutes could not have passed since they had entered his bedchamber, Vincent was finally giving him the tiniest taste of what he had been promising.
Needing more, Oliver pushed back and almost lost his balance. The muscles in his thighs tensed as he fought to keep from sliding off his bed. Vincent had him naked and kneeling on the bed, his calves dangling off the edge, his chest pressed to the mattress, his arse on full display. The precarious position restrained him far more than the leather cuffs binding his wrists behind his back.
A large hand grasped his hip, steadying him. “Don’t move. You will get what I give you and thank me for it.”
Oliver’s breaths stuttered. He loved it when Vincent spoke to him in that hard, commanding tone. “Yes, milord.”
“Good boy.” Vincent went back to toying with him. Up and down, a slow, luxurious caress, just the pad of his index finger sliding along the crease, driving him to distraction. The decadent sensation kept him suspended on the knife-edge of anticipation, every fiber in his being acutely aware of the man standing behind him and what he might choose to
do next. The unknown, the wait—a heady thrill all its own. One he was absolutely addicted to.
He clenched his fists as Vincent skimmed past his entrance again. The ballocks hanging between his spread thighs tingled, tightened, begging for attention. As Vincent drew another line down his crease, he couldn’t help but arch his lower back, lifting his arse, hoping for a touch, an accidental brush of Vincent’s fingertip, anything.
He received a hard smack on his left cheek. The sting flared, radiating across his bum and down his groin to envelop his ballocks in a wash of heat. Biting his lip against the exquisite blend of pleasure and pain, he groaned.
“Did you like that?” Vincent demanded.
“Yes.”
“Do you want more?”
“Yes.”
“Of what? This?” A long finger pushed inside him. One thrust, in then out. So quick and fleeting, it only served to sharpen his appetite for more. “Or this?” Vincent smacked him again.
A strangled gasp shook his throat. A drop of fluid leaked from his aching cock.
“Or something else? Tell me what you want.”
The truth rushed out of his mouth. “You. All of you. Everything.”
Vincent chuckled and smoothed a palm over his arse, soothing the smarting skin. “All in good time, boy.”
Soft wool whisked past his bare foot as Vincent stepped around him, his evening shoes clicking on the floorboards. Dragging his face across the coarse woolen blanket, Oliver turned his head to the left. Through the tangled hair hanging over his eyes, he squinted, willing his eyes to focus across the room without the aid of his spectacles. Vincent stood before the straight-backed wooden chair in the corner of the bedchamber. He reached into an inside pocket of his greatcoat folded neatly over the back of the chair.
Tall, broad of shoulder, and with a powerful build, Lord Vincent Prescot defined “ruggedly handsome.” Six months and Oliver still couldn’t fully believe this man had chosen to be with him. Vincent had discarded his black greatcoat and navy evening coat shortly after they’d arrived at Oliver’s apartments, but other than that, he was still fully dressed. He hadn’t even removed his cravat yet, which meant he planned to make Oliver wait a bit longer until he fucked him.
Settling in for the wait, he shimmied slightly on the bed, pulling his knees more securely under him. The old bed creaked.
“Marsden,” Vincent said, the warning clear in his tone.
Damnation. Handsome, intelligent, and wealthy. Did the man have to have excellent hearing as well?
Vincent turned from the chair and stopped beside the bed. With the lightest of touches, he combed the hair from Oliver’s eyes and tucked it behind his ear. The gesture made Oliver’s heart clench. The man possessed such great strength, but could touch him so gently, so tenderly, at times it almost felt like Vincent loved him.
Vincent held out his other hand. “A gift. For your collection.”
The dildo appeared to be carved from a single piece of jade. It must have cost Vincent a small fortune and explained why the man had not worn his greatcoat into the gambling hell. The candlelight played over the highly polished green stone, highlighting the four graduated raised bands encircling the length, each one a bit larger than the next. It couldn’t be more than seven inches in length and even at its widest point, less around than an average man. Oliver had noticed how Vincent preferred toys that were shorter and thinner than his substantial cock. He much preferred Vincent over a toy, and after weeks of nothing but dildos, plugs, and his own fingers to keep him company, he wanted the real man tonight. Still, those bands on the dildo were sure to feel divine.
His arse tightened in anticipation. “Thank you, Vincent.”
A smile tugged the corners of his lover’s firm mouth, but he kept it from fully curving his lips. Vincent moved back to his position behind him. “Up with you now.”
With one hand on his shoulder, Vincent effortlessly pulled him up off the bed. For a moment, he swayed backward on his knees. Instinct had him tugging on his restraints, needing to catch himself. He felt the heat from Vincent’s body a split second before his shoulder blades touched the smooth silk of his waistcoat.
“I have you,” Vincent murmured, wrapping an arm around Oliver’s waist, holding him securely against the wide expanse of his chest. The tip of his ring finger just barely touched the dark hair on his groin. Chin resting on his shoulder, Vincent’s warm breath tickled his ear, sending shivers down his spine.
Before he could turn his head and press his mouth against Vincent’s, give him the kiss the man had held back all evening, cool stone tapped his parted lips. He immediately opened his mouth, taking the dildo inside.
“That’s it. Get it nice and wet. You know where that’s going, don’t you, boy?”
Oliver gave a short, eager nod. He hoped he knew where it was going. Just allowing him to suck on it would be cruel. Vincent might push Oliver to his limits, tie him up, spank him, and whip him, but cruel he was not.
“I’m going to bury it in that tight little arse of yours,” Vincent growled.
Oliver whimpered, the sound so needy and desperate, but he didn’t care in the slightest. He gathered as much saliva into his mouth as he could, then swirled it over the hard length with his tongue as Vincent slid the dildo in and out.
The large hand on his abdomen moved up his chest. Two fingers found one of his nipples and pinched. Hard. Sweet, luscious pain shot across his chest. Then Vincent twisted. Oliver shuddered, his cock arching up to brush his lower belly, his ballocks tightening even further against his body. Desperate to touch his lover, he stretched out his fingers and located the hard bulge of Vincent’s erection pressing against the placket of his trousers. He feathered his fingers over the impressive length, wanting to wrap his mouth around it, to feel the hot satiny skin, to have the taste of Vincent on his tongue. Air hissed as Vincent sucked in a breath, proving he wasn’t as unaffected as he pretended to be. He thrust his hips, pressing his prick into Oliver’s hand. Oliver stroked him as best he could through his trousers, all the while sucking on the hard jade as Vincent tormented his nipple.
“Enough.” Vincent pulled the dildo from his mouth. “Down,” he commanded, carefully lowering Oliver’s shoulders to the mattress.
Vincent passed a hand down his spine then pulled back one cheek. A slick, hard head pressed against his entrance. He relaxed into the pressure as Vincent pushed the dildo inside. One, two, three… Oliver squeezed his eyes shut and grunted against the burning stretch as the largest band eased past the ring of muscle…four. Vincent shoved the phallus deep, eliciting a moan from Oliver. Hell, it felt so good to be filled, to have that itch scratched.
“Hold onto it.” Vincent tapped the base, and the vibrations teased Oliver’s passage.
He obediently clenched his muscles around the hard length.
“So pretty.” Vincent traced his stretched hole. “Do you have any idea how debauched you look with that dildo shoved up your arse? You love it, don’t you? Tell me.”
“Yes. Oh, God, yes.” A spasm racked him as he focused on keeping his arse tight, on holding the jade in place. “Please, please. Fuck me with it.” Need clawed at his throat so hard he could barely get the words out.
Vincent let out a muttered curse. He heard fabric rustle. Vincent was taking off his waistcoat and shirt; Oliver just knew it. And beneath the sounds of linen shifting and floorboards creaking as Vincent moved behind him were the deep pants of Vincent’s breaths. The erotic sound ratcheted Oliver’s lust even higher.
Vincent grabbed his hip. Those pants had turned heavy, harsh, blending with Oliver’s own. He let go when Vincent pulled on the dildo. He silently counted the bands as they slipped out—four, three, two, one—and the head slipped from his body.
His eyes flew open. “No. Don’t stop. More. Please.”
Vincent gave him what he begged for. Long fingers digging into his arse cheek, holding him open, he picked up a steady rhythm. All the way in, then all the way out. The cont
inual pattern of withdrawal and re-entry made each thrust feel like the first one of the night. Stretching him wide, stuffing him full, a delicious rush of sensation. Oliver pressed his forehead to the mattress, pleas for more falling from his lips as he fought to stay still, to simply take what Vincent gave him and not rock back into each long, plunging thrust.
His cock ached. He was so hard it hurt, in the most intense, pleasurable way. Sweat prickled the small of his back, dampened his hands clenched in fists. His nerve endings shimmered with the need to climax, every muscle in his body drawn tight, poised for orgasm.
“You want more?” Vincent snarled.
“Yes, yes, please.”
“More than this?” He pushed the jade inside him again. In then out.
“Yes, please. I want your cock. I-I need it. I need you,” Oliver begged, beyond desperate.
“Then take it.”
“Ah!” He screamed as the impossibly broad head of Vincent’s cock stretched him to his limits. In, in, in—he kept pushing deeper and deeper, the long length filling him in one determined stroke. Heat rolled through his body. Sweat tickled his scalp. The sharp mix of pleasure and stretching pain, of finally having what he wanted, made the climax he’d been fighting to keep at bay clutch the base of his cock.
With a feral growl, Vincent tugged him closer, pressing his arse to his groin, settling hilt deep, forcing Oliver to take it all. He struggled to catch his breath, the intense sensations almost too much. By God, it felt as if his prick were touching his throat. Then Vincent pulled back and pumped into him, again and again.
“Yes, yes,” he gasped. “More.”
Vincent smacked him on the arse, the sound cracking through the air, the sting flaring deliciously through his body. “That’s it. Beg for my cock. Tell me what you want.”
