Bound to Him (Bound Series Book 2)

by Ava March

  Vincent twitched.

  Had that been a poorly suppressed giggle?

  He had no idea Vincent was ticklish. The man seemed much too hard-willed to allow such an involuntary reaction. But now he knew, for he had just found the spot. Right there, under his arm, that little spot right there—

  “Oliver,” Vincent protested, twisting away from his touch. He yanked the sleeves from his wrists and threw the shirt to the floor.

  “You’re ticklish.” He stored the knowledge away, savoring it like a precious treasure. He loved to know such intimate details about the man he loved.

  In answer to Vincent’s stern frown, he dropped to his knees and unbuttoned Vincent’s trousers, his fingers quick and efficient. Then he tugged the trousers and drawers down his long legs.

  Oh. Shoes. Mustn’t forget those. The evening shoes seen to, he divested Vincent of the last of his clothing.

  Shifting up onto his haunches, he moved to stand. But the semierect cock at eye level proved an irresistible lure. One swipe of his tongue across the broad head pulled a groan from Vincent, an encouragement Oliver couldn’t resist, either. Hands braced on those strong thighs, he crouched and tipped his chin up, captured the head with his lips and took Vincent inside, swallowing him to the root.

  He looked up, caught Vincent’s glittering blue gaze and pulled back, a slow hard suck, savoring the glide of his lips over silken skin, and then pressed a light kiss on the tip before shifting up to stand. Oliver coasted his hands up from Vincent’s thighs, over the rippling muscles of his abdomen and to his chest, combing his fingertips through the light smattering of dark hair, reveling in the luxury of being able to touch—his tongue slipped out to tease one copper nipple—and to taste.

  Pressing his nose to Vincent’s chest, he took in a deep full breath of him. Clean male skin, the barest trace of cool night air, the slight hint of sweat and musky arousal. A quiver shook Oliver’s body. God, he had missed this man so much.

  Before the emotion clogged his throat and distracted him from his purpose, he took a step back. “Turn around.”

  Perhaps with time Vincent could gain the comfort to respond without the telltale hesitation. But as this was Vincent’s first foray into unknown territory, Oliver forgave the lapse and waited patiently for the man to heed his command.

  “Oh, and hands on the wall. And don’t move them until I give you permission to do so.”

  He heard the shuddering breath expand Vincent’s lungs. Bowing his head, he braced his hands on the wall, his legs shoulder-width apart.

  That would never do. The man was pressed much too closely against the wall. With a tug on his hips, he moved Vincent into position, pulling him back so his arms were straight and his lower back curved invitingly.

  He trailed his fingertips there, over the sleek sweep, and then moved down lower, just barely touching the crease of Vincent’s arse. The firm globes clenched. Hell, Vincent’s entire body tensed, from his taut calves to his bulging biceps. The refusal could not have been clearer.

  Stepping closer, Oliver wrapped his arms around Vincent’s waist, sliding one hand down to lightly stroke his now very limp cock. “Nervous?”

  Vincent cleared his throat. “A bit.”

  “There’s no reason to be.” He dragged his lips over Vincent’s shoulder blade and gave into the urge to rub his trouser-covered erection along the cleft of Vincent’s arse. Vincent tensed once again. Ah, hell. He couldn’t keep the man in suspense any longer. “Relax, Vincent.” Nipping at his lover’s skin, he smoothed his hands down his sides, slow and patient. “I’m not going to bugger you. That’s not what I want. Not tonight. But maybe in the future and only if you really want it. In fact, maybe I should only fuck you if you beg for it.”

  What a scandalous and utterly delicious thought—one day hearing the words Fuck me, Oliver. Please from Vincent’s lips. And if he applied himself sufficiently, he was certain he would hear them. But not tonight. This was all much too new to Vincent. While his lover had verbally given him leave to take him, Oliver couldn’t help but feel that neither of them was quite ready to stray so far beyond their usual roles.

  “Then…what do you want?”

  “Umm,” Oliver murmured, kissing a path down the strong line of Vincent’s spine. “This.”

  Chapter Nine

  Wet heat probed between his arse cheeks. Vincent’s eyes flew open. Shock swamping his brain, he went up onto his toes, but with a firm tug on his spread cheeks, Oliver pulled him back down. Oh…God…the man was licking his arse. Long strokes, dragging the flat of his tongue from just above his ballocks and over his entrance, painting a line along the entire crease.

  A hot, wet, thoroughly indecent line.

  Oliver had wanted to do…this—Christ, he didn’t even know the name for it—since he had removed his trousers at that brothel?

  Holy hell.

  His muscles were tensed, poised to jerk away, to escape the intimate intrusion. Yet he clenched his teeth and held still, determined to prove true to his word, to let the man do as he pleased with him, even though he never felt so vulnerable, so exposed in all his life.

  But it was damn hard. That wet tongue swirled over his flesh, tracing his entrance, and then…

  “Oliver.” The name came out on a strangled yelp as the man sucked hard. His spine locked, jolts of sensation seizing his nerves. His brain screamed that such a thing was beyond the pale, but his cock didn’t mind in the slightest.

  Arousal licked at his groin in time to the rapid flicks of Oliver’s tongue. Sweet and lush, forbidden to its core, and so very different from anything he had ever experienced. It spread up over his ballocks, engulfing his prick in a wash of pure heat, suspending him between acute self-consciousness and blinding pleasure.

  Humming a low, entirely too erotic purr, Oliver intensified his efforts, licking, nipping, and sucking, until Vincent couldn’t hold back the groans clogging his throat.

  When that amazingly skilled tongue swept up the crease to his lower back, Vincent almost, almost, almost begged him not to stop. The words were right there, on the tip of his tongue. But he kept his jaw clamped tight as Oliver licked a path up his spine.

  Soft wool brushed his legs as Oliver moved to stand behind him. Hot, sticky pants bathed his shoulder blade. The musky scent of his arousal poured off him, so thick Vincent could taste it.

  “I know you’ve never let another man bugger you, so I won’t even ask. You already told me so once before. But…” The hand kneading his arse shifted, fingers drifting into the crease, sliding over the moisture there. “Have you ever penetrated yourself?”

  “No.” The word popped out of his mouth before it even formed in his head.

  “Haven’t you ever wondered how it would feel? Ever been curious?”

  Vincent fought to drag air into his lungs as Oliver swirled the tip of his finger over his entrance. Slow and decadent, a slippery wet caress that obliterated any attempt to hold back the truth.

  He squeezed his eyes closed tight. “Yes,” he admitted on a low, ragged breath. God, yes, he had thought about it. His mind had wandered down that forbidden path more than once before he’d yanked it back. But even under the cover of darkness, when he was alone in bed, stroking his prick to orgasm, he had never given in to the impulse.

  “Well, wonder no more,” Oliver replied, the grin clear in his far-too-smug voice.

  A finger pushed, sliding easily inside and lighting up nerve endings Vincent didn’t know he possessed. His eyes flew open, his cock jerking its approval, fluid beading at the tip.

  “You’re so tight. So hot, Vincent,” Oliver moaned, wrapping his other arm around his waist, the linen of his shirtsleeve almost too rough against Vincent’s highly sensitized skin. Oliver straddled one of his legs, grinding the hard arch of his arousal against his thigh, as he kept up those agonizingly sweet thrusts.

  Another finger joined the first, filling him, stretching him wide enough to cause a slight burn, probing deep, until…
>
  “Fuck!” Vincent slammed his fist against the wall, fighting off the white-hot surge of a sudden, impending orgasm. His ballocks lurched up closer to his body.

  With each stroke, Oliver rubbed that spot inside him, pumping more pleasure into his already overloaded senses. All traces of modesty gone, he hung his head and rocked his hips, fucking himself on Oliver’s fingers. No wonder Oliver begged for him to fuck him. It felt goddamn unbelievable to have his arse filled.

  The notion ticked the edge of his mind, encouraged by the hard, demanding rub of Oliver’s erection against his thigh. But could he throw aside his pride and beg to be taken? Bend over and plead for Oliver to ram that pretty prick of his deep in his arse—

  Lust slammed into him, a startling undiluted wave, so potent he would have crumbled to his knees if not for the support of the wall before him.

  He pushed back, impaling himself on Oliver’s fingers. But it wasn’t enough. “More.” Christ, Oliver had reduced him to begging, but he no longer cared in the slightest.

  Oliver let out a whimper, threadbare and breathy, and then worked another digit alongside the other two.

  “Yes, yes,” Vincent panted, flames licking his arse as he was stuffed full. So wonderfully, blissfully full. He rocked back, his erection bobbing between his legs with each thrust. Their heavy pants blended together until he couldn’t distinguish the sounds above the pulse hammering in his ears.

  Oliver abruptly yanked his fingers free; a slick, wicked rush of sensation that pulled a grunt from Vincent’s throat.

  “Don’t stop!” he protested, glancing over his shoulder.

  “I won’t. But I have to taste you again,” Oliver gasped, sliding down his body. “Turn around.”

  Vincent didn’t hesitate. Kneeling at his feet, Oliver grabbed his cock and sucked it down to the root. Those nimble fingers tickled his ballocks, tugged hard, and stopped just before crossing that line into pain, and then snuck behind. One hand braced on the wall behind him, Vincent widened his stance and tilted his hips, granting Oliver access to slip his fingers back up his arse. The lush drag of Oliver’s soft lips, the hard insistent penetration… The combined sensations were too much. The climax coiled down his spine, winding tighter and tighter. Then Oliver swallowed, the velvety muscles of his throat massaging the head of his cock. At the same moment, Oliver rubbed that sweet spot, and Vincent couldn’t hold back the orgasm any longer.

  Letting out a mighty roar, Vincent spilled himself down his lover’s throat, his muscles clenching around the digits buried in his arse in rhythm to the spasms racking his entire body.

  Oliver gently pulled his fingers free and then released his prick. With a swipe of his forearm, he used his shirtsleeve to wipe the trickle of creamy semen from his swollen, wet lips.

  He gazed up at Vincent, the most profound adoration reflected in his dark eyes. His cheeks were flushed, his forehead glistening with sweat, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the gray brocade waistcoat. Still on his knees, Oliver clasped his hands behind his back and bowed his head, dark waves tumbling over his face. His body went lax, the line of his shoulders visibly relaxing.

  “I am yours, milord.”

  Still reeling from the orgasm, Vincent could do nothing but marvel at how easily his friend gave up control. His trust was an awesome responsibility, and Vincent would never take it for granted again.

  “Love you,” Vincent murmured, reaching down to tuck Oliver’s tangled hair behind his ear. He glanced down Oliver’s body. The erection that had rubbed so insistently against his thigh tented the placket of his trousers.

  He would need to see to that, and he knew just how to do it.

  “Don’t move.” The edge taken off his lust, Vincent left Oliver kneeling on the ground and went into the bedchamber.

  Ignoring the rumpled bed and the clothing littering the floor, he lit a couple of candles and gathered the necessary supplies. With each step he took, his arse throbbed a bit. Nothing painful or uncomfortable. Rather, a pleasing burn that served to get the blood coursing through his veins once again. Hell, being the object of Oliver’s undivided attention had been quite the experience. One he would definitely need to repeat.

  From the top drawer of the chest, he selected the leather cuffs that had an attached length of chain and a black leather flogger. Then he went to the bedside table. He’d forgo the plug but did need the oil. He made to pick up the glass bottle then stopped at the sight of the empty silver tray.

  “Where is it?” he demanded, stalking across the bedchamber, the flogger and cuffs clutched in one hand.

  Oliver snapped his head up. “Pardon?”

  “The pin. Did you sell it?” He shouldn’t be such an arse about it, but he couldn’t help it. If Oliver had sold the pin, then that meant he had given up on Vincent. Completely. And the possibility hurt more than he could have imagined.

  Oliver ducked his chin and reached inside his waistcoat. “Never, Vincent. I would never sell it,” he whispered, holding out his hand.

  He had carried it with him, directly over his heart.

  Grabbing his chin, he tilted Oliver’s face up and leaned down to give him a quick kiss. “Good,” he grumbled, snatching the pin from Oliver’s outstretched hand. He turned on his heel and returned to the bedchamber. “Take off your clothes and get your arse in here, Oliver.”

  The last lingering bit of panic left him as he placed the jade cravat pin back in its place in the dented little silver tray. He heard the sound of bare feet against floorboards and looked up. Hell, the man could get his own clothes off in a trice, but it had felt like forever when he had removed Vincent’s.

  “Shut the door,” he instructed as he took the oil and moved it to the washstand so it would be within easy reach. He set the flogger on the foot of the bed and held out the cuffs, the chain dangling from his grip. “You know where I want you, boy.”

  Erect cock bobbing with each step, Oliver moved directly beneath the iron hook in the ceiling positioned one pace from the foot of the bed and two paces from the washstand. Hands fisted at his sides and a flush tingeing his bare golden chest, he bowed his head and waited patiently for Vincent’s next command.

  He belonged to Oliver. There was no doubt about it, but in this moment, Oliver belonged to him. A fierce surge of possessiveness gripped hold of him.

  Mine.

  He would take Oliver to dizzying heights of pleasure. Push the man to his limits, but never take him one step beyond. For Oliver trusted him to do nothing less.

  “Hold out your arms.”

  Once Vincent had both cuffs buckled about his wrists, he lifted Oliver’s arms. As he reached up to slip the end link of the chain onto the hook, sharp teeth nipped at his chest.

  Vincent took a quick step back and stared at Oliver, whose head was bowed once again, the perfect image of submission with his wrists bound and arms stretched over his head.

  Impudent whelp.

  He kept the chuckle inside and instead spoke in a hard tone. “It appears you have forgotten your place, boy.”

  “My apologies, milord.”

  Was he smiling beneath that curtain of dark hair?

  “We’ll see how sorry you are.” Vincent stepped behind him, grabbed the flogger, and smacked the flat end against his own hand.

  Oliver started then let out a low moan. “Yes.” His hips rocked back, presenting Vincent with his round arse, the perfect canvas for a few strikes of the flogger.

  Arousal seeped anew into his blood, ratcheting higher and higher. His cock hardened, lifting from his body at the prospect of what was to come. But before the lust grabbed hold of him completely, he took a deep breath, settling his pulse. He needed to keep his control firmly in hand else risk actually hurting Oliver. A flogger wasn’t a child’s toy. It could cause serious harm if not wielded with an eye toward inciting pleasure and not true pain.

  Oliver shifted his weight, rattling the chain. “Vincent, please.”

  Starting slowly, he slapped the leat
her against first one round cheek then the other.

  “Harder, please, milord.”

  “Harder than this?” He drew back his arm and let the leather strike that now pink cheek again.

  Oliver arched, shuddered, gasped. “Yes, yes. Harder.”

  And Vincent gave him what he begged for. The leather whipped through the air. Satisfying smacks filled the room as that round arse turned a most becoming shade of scarlet. He alternated the rhythm, not wanting Oliver to tense in anticipation of the blows. And his lover took it all, pleading for more, his sleek, honed body writhing in ecstasy under the onslaught. The most beautiful sight to behold.

  When Oliver’s gasps turned ragged, when his head tipped forward and the pleas stumbled over each other, Vincent stopped.

  Sucking in great pulling breaths, he dropped the flogger and moved to stand before him. Sweat trickled down the center of Oliver’s chest. His cock was arched up, the damp head brushing his flat lower belly that glistened with the proof of his arousal.

  “Don’t stop. More…please, Vincent. Please.” He shimmied, rattling the chains and thrusting his chest out.

  Vincent grabbed hold of one of those flat copper nipples and twisted. “Is that what you want?”

  “Ah, yes!” Oliver threw back his head, his body arching in a bow of undeniable pleasure.

  Unwilling to give up his grip on that nipple, he grabbed the back of Oliver’s head with his other hand and crushed his mouth over his. Kissed him fiercely, thrusting his tongue boldly inside, sweeping the hot depths of his lover’s mouth, drinking in his gasping moans.

  After delivering a sharp nip to his full bottom lip, he pulled back and met his lust-filled gaze. “Or perhaps you want something else?”

  Before Vincent could think twice, he dropped to his knees and took hold of that pretty cock. Not pausing to even flick his tongue over the head, Vincent opened his mouth and took Oliver inside.