No Limits

by Nicki Bennett

  “Special?” Kit purred. “Did you have something particular in mind? You know how I like to please.” He kept his gaze locked with Jonathan’s as he lowered his mouth to swipe his tongue playfully across one peaked nipple before moving lower to nip at the tattoo that adorned Jonathan’s lower belly.

  Jonathan fought to keep his eyes from fluttering closed as Kit’s lips and teeth worked their tantalizing way down his body. “Any time, any way you touch me is special,” he murmured hoarsely, his eyes dampening with the power of his emotions. “Just… put your mouth on me, kitten.” He shivered as Kit lapped over the head of his cock, curling to catch the droplet of fluid that leaked from its tip.

  Kit took no time at all in granting Jonathan’s wish, closing his lips around the engorged head and sliding down the thick shaft. He consciously relaxed his throat and swallowed, letting the hard cock fill his mouth and throat until he had taken Jonathan in completely. Just as slowly, just as deliberately, he worked his way back up, until only the tip remained inside his mouth. He lapped teasingly across the slit, savoring Jonathan’s unique flavor.

  Tremors quavered through Jonathan’s groin as the hot moistness of Kit’s mouth settled over him like wet silk over steel. He called out wordlessly when the head of his cock bumped the back of Kit’s throat, then dragged through the damp friction of lips curled over teeth until only the head felt the catlike rasp of Kit’s tongue. “Gonna melt,” he groaned, gripping his thighs to keep from clutching the bobbing brown curls. “So hot… so good.”

  Kit lifted his head, amusement getting the better of his passion for a moment. “Nothing’s going soft down here, my liege,” he pointed out as he stroked the hard shaft.

  Devon had to chuckle at the bereft expression on Jonathan’s face when Kit stopped his attentions to make his comment. “Here, mate,” he called, tossing the tube of lubricant to Kit. “Our king looks like he’s going to blow a few fuses if you don’t get back to business.”

  Kit caught the tube with a grateful grin and popped the cap, returning his mouth to its previous occupation as he again coated his fingers with the slick gel. The eagerness with which Jonathan parted his legs would have made Kit smile if he could have around the mouthful and more that currently spread his lips. He accepted the silent invitation, trailing his fingers over Jonathan’s sac and down to his entrance. He nudged at it gently, waiting for the muscle to relax and admit him.

  Bending his knees to open himself completely to Kit’s touch, Jonathan gasped when the first lube-slick digit slid into him. He thrust his hips upward, pushing his cock deeper into Kit’s throat and impaling himself completely on the slim finger at the same time. “More,” he moaned, the feeling of fullness only serving to whet his hunger even further.

  Kit sucked harder, pulling on Jonathan’s cock as strongly as he could. He added a second finger, sweeping the tips repeatedly across Jonathan’s prostate.

  “More,” Jonathan demanded, rasping unevenly as he clenched around the probing fingers. He could feel his climax building, the muscles in his thighs and groin tightening as he chased it, but it remained just out of reach. He ached to be stretched further, filled deeper, sucked harder, purged of the last remnants of anger that still heated his blood. “More,” he repeated, his voice breaking on the desperate plea.

  Kit had no idea what was driving Jonathan’s pleas. Usually by now Jonathan would have broken, but he gave him what he wanted, adding a third finger to the two already stretching Jonathan’s sheath and letting his teeth drag up the cock in his mouth as he bobbed his head. His own desire thrummed loudly in his veins, but he ignored it in favor of Jonathan’s pleasure.

  Satiation danced just outside Jonathan’s grasp. His head tossed blindly from side to side, his hands clenching and releasing as Kit’s fingers fucked him. He opened his mouth to plead for more, but only a strangled moan escaped with his tortured breath.

  Inspiration striking, Kit lifted his unoccupied hand to Jonathan’s nipple, pinching it firmly, hoping that would be enough to push him over the precipice and into release.

  Jonathan’s entire body tensed as ecstasy exploded through him, firing through every nerve like a burst of lightning. His cock jerked and poured out its hot cream in pulse after pulse, his muscles jumping with each aftershock.

  Kit swallowed rapidly, trying to keep up with Jonathan’s release. He pulled back, panting for breath, before lowering his head and licking the king’s cock the rest of the way clean. Aching now for his own relief, he rolled onto his side, fisting his engorged erection.

  “Here, now,” Devon protested, crawling forward to pull Kit’s hand away and push him onto his back. “After the yeoman service you just provided, we can’t make you take care of yourself too.” With a wicked grin, he pinned Kit’s shoulders to the bed and sucked the leaking cock into his mouth, his blond hair tickling Kit’s stomach.

  As worked up as Kit already was, it didn’t take any more than that. With a hoarse shout, he came hard, filling Devon’s mouth with creamy fluid. His panting continued, slowing finally as he regained control of himself.

  Called back from the wave of orgasmic bliss he’d been floating on by Kit’s shout, Jonathan rolled over on the crumpled bedding and captured his mouth, pouring all the love he felt for Kit into his kiss. He reached out to Devon, tugging him closer, urging him wordlessly to join them.

  More than happy to comply, Devon swallowed the last of Kit’s release and scooted upward, nudging Jonathan to join his mouth on Kit’s, their tongues swirling in a three-way dance of unspoken love.

  The sound of a phone ringing made all three of them tense, eyes darting to one another’s faces in steely resolve before Kit started laughing. “That’s my cell phone,” he pointed out, pulling away to answer it. “There’s no way the prick has my number. It’s probably the Orkneys. They said something about wanting to go out tonight.”

  He reached for his pants and grabbed the phone, tapping a button when he saw Bevan’s number on the display. “Hey, Bev, what’s up?”

  Kit nodded a couple of times as he listened to the invitation, then said, “Okay, see you there in about an hour.” Ending the call, he turned back to his lovers. “It seems the Orkneys have organized a welcome for the new actors now that Éamon and Glynn have arrived. Everybody’s meeting at the pub in about an hour.”

  Jonathan groaned quietly. “Can’t we just stay here?” he muttered half teasingly. “I’m not sure I can even stand, let alone contend with a pack of drunken knights!”

  “Come on, you homebody.” Devon laughed, sitting up and stretching. He felt full of energy and ready to indulge in some harmless inebriation with his friends. “Besides, I’m looking forward to meeting your new big brother. I didn’t get a chance to meet him when he was here to film the coronation.” He slapped Jonathan on the flank as he bounded out of the bed. “Let’s shower and reheat the food before we get going. I’ll stand the first round for all of us.”

  AS TEMPTED as they all might have been to start something in the shower, Kit reminded them sternly that they had less than an hour to get dressed and eat before driving to the pub. Reluctantly, they limited themselves to quick kisses, teasing touches, and promises of what they would do to one another when they got back home. Just under an hour later, Jonathan pulled into the parking lot of the quiet local bar the Knights of the Round Table favored when they were more interested in drinking than dancing.

  A chorus of welcomes arose as the three men entered the pub. The raucous shouts from the younger Orkneys, teasing them about arriving together, hinted to Devon that they had some catching up to do, so he waved to the table and headed straight toward the bar, thinking to order their first round of drinks before taking a seat at the crowded collection of pulled-together tables. He’d only taken a step or two when he froze in place, his head snapping back in a perfect double-take to stare at the figure seated in the middle of the chattering, laughing group.

  There, sitting among the cast as casually as you please, was Robert, a
rms extended along the back of the chairs on either side of him, not quite around Colm and Rhodri, but definitely hinting that he could—and would, Devon knew—take advantage at any moment. Devon’s face hardened as he called to Kit, asking for help at the bar.

  Kit frowned, wondering why Devon suddenly needed help to carry three drinks, but he shrugged and went to join him anyway. “What’s going on?” he asked as they approached the bar.

  “He’s here,” Devon hissed, nodding toward the table with barely restrained rage. “Robert.”

  Kit’s heart clenched. “Here? But Bevan said this was for the new cast members! What the hell is he doing here?”

  Seeing Devon and Kit whispering together at the bar, Jonathan excused himself from Blythe’s embrace and walked over to join them. “What’s wrong?” he asked, following their gaze to the group at the other end of the table and recognizing Robert from earlier that day. “What the fuck is that prick doing here?” he spat, turning his back to hide his anger from the rest of the cast.

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, Kit had to smother a laugh. “I just asked the same thing,” he explained, the tension returning to his face and his voice as he glanced over his shoulder again. “Surely Niall didn’t make a last-minute casting change.”

  Devon’s face hardened at the thought. “If he did, then for the first time I’m looking forward to Lancelot being exiled,” he rasped.

  The bitter words sent a pang of pain through Jonathan’s chest. Not being the type to dwell on what he couldn’t change, he’d tried to forget the fact that Devon would be leaving the production before he and Kit, at least temporarily, but Devon’s comment made the impending loss all too real. Unwilling to lose even a moment of the time they had left together to Robert’s influence, Jonathan scowled. “He can’t be one of the new actors, Devon—what role could he possibly play? Besides, Niall’s said all along he didn’t want to cast the series with typical Hollywood stars.”

  “Look,” Kit interrupted, “we’re not going to figure anything out hiding here by the bar. Let’s just go over and meet everyone. There will be an explanation for why he’s here. And if we’re wrong, and he’s been cast for something, we’ll deal with it. He is not going to get the better of us. If nothing else, somebody needs to warn the Orkneys.”

  “Remember, you’re not alone, Devon,” Jonathan added, his hand lingering for just a moment on Devon’s as he took his beer from his grasp. If it had only been the familiar knights at the table, he might have given Devon a quick kiss, but he hadn’t met the newest cast members yet, and he especially didn’t want to give Robert any more ammunition to use against Devon.

  Devon nodded once, his jaw clenching as he walked toward the table. He wasn’t going to give Robert the satisfaction of letting him see how much his presence had unsettled him. “So, which one of you is our king’s brother?” he asked, looking around at the new faces.

  “I guess that would be me,” a strawberry blond man spoke up, “as I’m playing Kay. I assume you’re Lancelot, since your friend looks too young to have fathered a son yet. Éamon Driscoll,” he added, extending his hand.

  “And I’d be your son.” A younger man stood and offered his hand as well. “Brodie Stewart, otherwise known as Galahad. Pleased to meet you, Dad!” he added with a grin.

  Devon smiled broadly, taking Éamon’s offered hand and clapping Brodie on the shoulder with his other. “Well met, my son!” he said, marveling again at Niall’s casting acumen. Brodie’s fair looks gave him a resemblance to a younger Devon, and the aura of innocence he conveyed despite their surroundings convinced Devon he would make a perfect Galahad. “Though I’ll have you know Lancelot was a mere lad when he fathered this whelp,” he retorted to Éamon.

  Robert watched the exchange with barely veiled derision. Deciding to enjoy the opportunity Devon had handed him, albeit unwittingly, he turned to the boy he had seen at Devon’s side earlier in the day. Brodie was attractive enough, but the brunet was the one who held Devon’s—and therefore Robert’s—interest. “If he decides to replace you, I’d be happy to finish training you properly, since I know he’s made a mess of it.” He deliberately pitched his voice so that only the kid could hear him.

  Kit stiffened at the insinuation in the older man’s words, but he knew enough from what Devon had told them not to rise to the bait. Instead, he ignored the comment and extended his hand to Éamon. “Kit Webster,” he said by way of introduction. “Percival. Care to introduce the rest of the newcomers?”

  Éamon grinned as he shook Kit’s hand and nodded toward the large dark-haired man at his side. “This big drink of water is Glynn Aherne, Bors to you. And James Synclair, who’ll play Mordred, ill-fated love child of our king and this lovely damsel.” He gestured toward a fair-haired man about Kit’s age who was speaking with Anwyn Davies, the actress cast as Morgause, mother of the Orkney knights as well as, though neither knew it yet, Arthur’s half sister.

  Waggling his eyebrows at Anwyn in a flirtatious leer, James chuckled. “I could almost wish I’d been cast as King Lot instead. Anwyn is far too young and beautiful to be my mother.”

  The slender blonde grinned at him pertly. “Flattery will get you anywhere, though not until after Morgause wears herself out mooning over Arthur,” she countered, her gaze passing over the other new arrivals and stopping to linger on Jonathan. “You can see why I have no trouble with that,” she added with an appreciative smile.

  The group around the table chuckled. “You may not have any trouble,” Colm joked, “but I’m not so sure Percival and Lancelot will care for that too much. They tend to be a little… possessive of our king.”

  Devon frowned and directed a quelling glance at the youngest Orkney. The three of them had become comfortable enough being open among the rest of the cast, but the last thing he needed was for Robert to set his filthy sights on Jonathan the way he already had them trained on Kit.

  “So that’s the way the wind blows, is it?” Glynn asked, speaking for the first time. “Nice to know it’s a tolerant cast. Not every set is.” As he spoke, he leaned back in his seat and draped his arm around the back of Éamon’s chair.

  Anwyn glanced across the table at Blythe and Elsinore, the dark-haired actress portraying Morgaine le Fay. “Why are all the good ones already taken?” She pouted even as she winked to Blythe and Ellie. “I have a feeling we’re going to be kissing a lot of toads if we expect to find a prince on this set.”

  “There are so many lovelies in this cast, though,” Robert drawled. “I wouldn’t know where to begin if I had the choice.” His gaze lingered on the three women present before moving to Kit and then on to Devon, an air of challenge on his face.

  Kit’s face tightened in anger. “Then I guess it’s a good thing you don’t have one.”

  Rhodri glanced up. “Have you met before?” he asked. “I know the get-together was supposed to be cast only, but when Robert stopped by to introduce himself on set, we asked him to join us. I mean, how often do you get the chance to drink with a legend?”

  “His reputation precedes him,” Kit told Rhodri, his expression hardening even more as he thought of all the suffering this man had put Devon through in the past week, and the however many years before that. Kit downed his shot and looked at Devon and Jonathan. “I need another drink. I’ll be back.”

  “That sounds like an excellent idea,” Robert declared, rising from his seat and heading toward the bar in the wake of Devon’s intriguing sub. He hadn’t had a new toy with so much spirit since he’d broken Devon. He would enjoy breaking this one in too. After he was finished putting his former sub back in his place.

  Seeing Robert trail after Kit, Jonathan pushed his chair back roughly and followed, muttering a curse under his breath.

  Several heads turned in surprise at their king’s unusual behavior. Addison Nichols’s bushy eyebrows rose as Devon caught up with Jonathan and gestured angrily toward the bar, but the older man shook his head when Rhodri started to follow them. Somet
hing was definitely going on between the four men, but the actor playing Merlin sensed that whatever it was, their friends needed to work it through in private.

  Catching up with the young beauty as they neared the bar, Robert rested a heavy, claiming hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I was right,” he growled. “Devon still doesn’t have the slightest idea how to train a sub. No boy of mine would dare act the way you have tonight. It’s time you learned some manners.”

  Jonathan didn’t arrive in time to hear what the other man said to Kit, but he saw the grimace of disgust that crossed his lover’s face. “Get your fucking hands off him,” he snarled, wedging himself between Robert and Kit. He wished for once he hadn’t left Excalibur at Devon’s—he’d like nothing better than to take this prick’s hand off at the wrist for daring to touch Kit.

  Robert arched a challenging eyebrow. He had expected Devon to object—after all, the boy was Devon’s—but he hadn’t expected a challenge from this quarter. Seeing Devon arrive, he turned his attention to his true quarry. “You know what they say about lending out your sub, don’t you?” he asked conversationally. “You get him back, but he’s never quite the same. Of course, since you’ve already made that mistake, I’ll borrow him for the evening and teach him some manners for you. You sure as hell haven’t taught him any.”

  Before Devon could respond, Jonathan knocked Robert’s hand from Kit’s shoulder and caught a handful of the older actor’s shirt. “You filthy hyena,” he rasped. “Aren’t you man enough to find someone yourself? You’ve got no business with Devon anymore, and you’re not welcome here. I suggest you leave—now.”