by Selina Kray
“You have my word.” She tilted her chin upwards, inching toward him.
“And my gratitude, Mrs. Fitz.”
With that he raced for the stairs, taking them two at a time as he climbed to the third floor. Tim left his brain no room to speculate as to the whys of Hiero’s visit, too eager to be reunited with him after another frustrating day. After matching every one of the thirty-eight listings in Mr. Crook’s ledger to a living child, Tim had been forced to conclude Little Bean had never been delivered to the orphan asylum. Unless Han’s spies uncovered another orphanage the Daughters donated to—unlikely given how many babes they put into Mr. Crook’s charge—Little Bean had been kept somewhere on their compound. Which meant Tim must go back to pounding on brick walls for information.
With Han volunteering to act sentry outside the Daughters’ compound that night, Tim had retired to his apartment to strategize and reconsider his options. Not that he expected to accomplish much of either now—somewhat of a relief, given the day’s frustrations.
Tim exorcised himself of his case-related thoughts as he paused to adjust his clothes and smooth his hair. Wisps of smoke with the unmistakable aroma of Hiero’s cigarettes snuck through the cracks in the door. Just as he did whenever he visited Hiero’s dressing room at The Gaiety, Tim shut his eyes and listened, letting his ambitions for the evening play out against the blacks of his lids. Whatever transpired always bettered Tim’s peepshow imaginings, Hiero more inventive and inimitable than the limits of his mind.
Tim couldn’t keep himself from grinning as he swung in. Dimmed lamps lined a short corridor, the end of which bloomed with candlelight. As he shut and locked the door behind him, Tim felt something akin to Mrs. Fitzgibbons’s earlier swoon. He shed his overcoat, hanging it beside a fur-trimmed cape whose provenance stoked his excitement. He petted the collar, reveling in the feel of it against his bare skin. A quick adjustment to relieve the pinch in his tightening trousers, and he entered the parlor...
... to find its spartan atmosphere transformed. A fire blazed in the small hearth, enhanced by the closed curtains, smothering all but a brilliantine line of sunset between them. Swathed in a sateen throw and adorned with a small feast, Tim barely recognized his table. A sultan’s boudoir’s worth of fabrics draped over every piece of furniture, and a plush carpet textured the floor. Peacock’s-tail pillows turned his favorite armchair into a throne. A crystal decanter of garnet-red wine and two slinky glasses rested like the crown jewels atop a tray on his desk.
And slouched across the far seat of his divan, a sleeping beauty.
Hiero, debonair in a red velvet smoking jacket, paisley cravat, and black silk trousers, curled around a gold-and-green brocaded throw probably meant as a cover. His cigarette, now naught but ash, had burned a hole in the cloth. His squinting face betrayed an intense concentration; his staccato, panting breaths warned Tim off waking him. But even in the throes of a dream, his wild handsomeness affected Tim. If he’d had any artistic talent, he would have sketched Hiero then and there: languid yet vulnerable, enthralled but untamable. A rare lapse in a life spent on guard against such intrusions. Tim took the compliment.
And wondered what to do. He didn’t care to disturb Hiero but considered he might be more comfortable on Tim’s bed. Tim admitted to himself how he longed to see him there, snug under his mother’s favorite quilt. How many nights had he fantasized about Hiero stealing into his bedchamber, stripping in the moonlight before blanketing Tim with his long, sinuous body?
He leaned on the far edge of the divan as he shed his jacket and boots, letting the scenario play out in his mind’s eye. Let his fingers wander across the top of the wooden frame, tangle in the sin-black waves of Hiero’s hair. Tim felt Hiero’s tension ease as he petted his proud head. His shoulders drooped and his breaths evened when Tim slipped his hand down to caress the rich brown skin at his neck. Hiero’s arms sagged and the throw flopped to the floor. Tim approached slowly, cautiously, sliding in to replace the cloth before easing Hiero against him.
He floundered under the crush of his weight, too much for him to lift.
A soft moan purred in his ear. Arms still heavy with sleep anchored around him, pulling him down against the cushions. Hiero clung to him as if adrift on a roiling sea, shivering even in the parlor’s balmy climes. Tim hugged him close, kissed his perspiring brow.
“They’ve come for me,” Hiero mumbled.
“Who’s that?”
“The creepers.”
Tim feared he’d taken fever. When he reached up to feel his brow, Hiero clasped his hand. With a sharp intake of breath, his head flew up. The fight rushed out of him when he saw Tim, who wasn’t sure if he was entirely awake.
“You came.” Hiero sighed, rubbed their cheeks together.
“I rather hope so. It’s my apartment.”
“Your...” He turned to take in the room. “So it is.”
“One might even come to the conclusion you were waiting for me.”
Hiero burrowed against him, tucking his head into the crook of Tim’s neck. Not a disagreeable position.
“I was, yes.” A weak chuckle. “Surprise.”
“And a happy one at that.” Tim stroked a warming touch up and down the length of his back. “Are you quite well, my lovely one?”
“Tired,” Hiero said in as straightforward a manner as Tim had ever known of him. Which led him to suspect something was deeply wrong. “I’ve slept poorly these past nights.”
“Then take your ease awhile longer. I’ve some notes to compile, then I’ll have a wash. Clean off some of the day’s disappointments.” Tim nudged him forward, all he could manage. “Come, you’ll be more comfortable on the bed.”
“Mmm...” He’d already begun to drift off.
Tim wrenched the two of them upright, which sent the right signals to the semiconscious part of Hiero’s brain. He let himself be tugged to his feet, staggering the few paces into the bed chamber before collapsing onto the mattress. Tim folded the two ends of the quilt around him. Fortunately it was wide enough to almost double-wrap Hiero at the top. Tim pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, a promise to be fulfilled at a later hour.
He watched over Hiero for some time after, struggling to silence the noise of questions that deafened the normal workings of his mind. Answerless questions asked of an enigma, no better, Tim knew, than screaming into the void.
Chapter 13
Hiero drifted awake to the clink of a spoon against the side of a bowl. Kip reclined against the baseboard of the narrow, creaky bed in which Hiero had been entombed. The cover that shrouded him was thin and starchy, its stained edges sign of being well-loved. Under the nose-itching scent of laundering soap lingered a fresher, earthier smell. Not quite that of Kip’s skin or sweat, but in the same family.
And then Hiero understood why. He suddenly felt no rush to rise or escape from the cocoon of near warmth the quilt provided. Even if it ended midcalf, his slippered feet jammed between the bottom edge of the mattress and the wooden board. Through a curtain of hair, he watched Kip scarf down what was likely his second, perhaps third, bowl of pudding, a berry trifle Minnie had seasoned with orange liqueur instead of sherry. Swathed in a familiar teal-green robe and nothing else, his taut-muscled limbs splayed and his damp hair mussed, he looked every inch the gentleman of leisure. If that leisure involved gymnastic bouts of sex.
“I’d wondered where that had got to.” Hiero wriggled onto his back into a pose he hoped looked inviting. It did, if Kip’s answering leer was any indication.
“If you’d wanted to keep it, you shouldn’t have insisted I wear it.”
“At Berkeley Square, not on walkabout.”
“Then you shouldn’t have bought me a second one.”
Hiero scoffed. “Sticky-fingered imp.”
“Overgenerous clotheshorse.”
“Do try to barb your insults, my dear. Otherwise I might get the idea you’re actually fond of me.”
“I confess I am rathe
r partial to your presence. Especially in my bed.” Kip scooped up the last bit of trifle, then set the bowl aside. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
“It has been brought to my attention by a certain injured party that I’ve never ventured here before.”
“Ah.” With a soft chuckle that in no way masked his delight, Kip shifted to his knees and slid off the robe. Much as Hiero suspected, he wore not a stitch beneath. “And dare I ask what you think of the place?”
“A temple.”
“Really?”
“No.” After Hiero raked his gaze down Kip’s lean, powerful frame and back again, two things became apparent. First, he’d developed an unnatural obsession with freckles, and second, Kip had spent a portion of Hiero’s sleep time preparing himself. His semihard cock glistened as it thickened. A sparse trail of coppery hair dusted his navel and grew dense as it swirled around the base of his shaft, lacquered to his skin by a coat of oil, leaving Hiero to imagine how far back and how deep the coating went. “Your magnificent self, however...”
“Flattery. Hmm. A diversionary tactic?”
“Does your attention feel diverted?”
“Not at the moment.” Kip unwrapped the cloying cover from Hiero, then prowled up the length of him, hovering just above his chest. “One thing in particular is stealing my focus.” He spread himself atop Hiero until he felt the press of every decadent inch of him. Hiero stroked his hands down the broad sweep of Kip’s back, purred as he curled them around his meaty buttocks. His answering erection prodded Kip’s thigh, which flexed in welcome. “Are you recovered from your earlier fatigue?”
“Bushy tailed as a spring hare.”
“Are you hungry? Would you prefer to eat?”
“Ravenous.” He pinched a tight buttock. “And no. I’ve a well-established preference for fucking.”
“Little wonder we get along so famously.” Kip carded his fingers through the waves of Hiero’s hair, an almost bashful smile playing on his lips. His moss-green eyes contemplated Hiero’s face, devoid of the searching quality that normally tinged his gaze. “I’m glad you’ve come. I’ve wanted for you.”
Hiero fought the hitch in his breath when he admitted, “So have I.”
“Good.”
The heat of his kiss came as something of a relief after that shiver of sentimentality. From the first brush of his lips to the full sweep of his tongue, Kip methodically unraveled him, paying Hiero the kind of lavish attention so few of his former lovers had. Pinned to the mattress by his compact but powerful body, Hiero was at the mercy of Kip’s talented mouth. Even his wisp of a mustache tantalized him when it tickled his top lip.
Lured deeper and deeper into passion by every clutch and caress, Hiero almost forgot to breathe under the onslaught of Kip’s sensuous lips. He gasped when Kip broke off to scrape his teeth down Hiero’s neck, only to mourn his absence and whimper him back, not ready to quit his long, luscious kisses. If only every day could end with Kip so wanton and willing, every night bear witness to scenes of sensual debauchery. Hiero felt drunk on Kip already, his head spinning and his limbs honey slow, the hot pulse of his loins set to a lazy rhythm.
The second time Kip eased away, Hiero chased after him, catching and worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He drank deep of Kip’s chuckles but hissed when Kip pinched a nipple through the cloth of his shirt with a pair of nimble fingers. A flick and a twist set him cursing. When Kip began to rock his hips in time with the twirl of fingertip around Hiero’s nub, his eager cock met and matched the grind of Kip’s shaft.
Eyes gone devil dark, Kip increased the pound and pinch until Hiero let out a growling moan. He dropped a kiss to Hiero’s tormented nipple, dragged it down the length of his chest until he hovered—panting, smirking, rapacious—over his sheathed erection. Kip rubbed his flushed cheek up and down the side of the prominent bulge, nipped the head through the silk.
“May I?”
Hiero, too breathless to speak, nodded his assent.
With the last of his strength, he hoisted himself onto his elbows for a better view of Kip easing his cock and balls out of the flap in his bed trousers. Hiero spread his legs that Kip might settle between them, moaned as he clamped a firm grip around his base. Reached for his gingery head to guide him down, not that he needed any encouragement. Kip’s mischievous expression before he licked the length of Hiero’s cock made him quiver with anticipation.
Hiero let his lids slide to half-mast, dulling his other senses so every lap of Kip’s tongue, every suck of his singular mouth, wrung double the pleasure from him. Kip’s masterful technique had stunned Hiero in their first encounters until he understood just how many had come before. That Kip now gave of himself in this way to Hiero, and Hiero alone, intensified his enjoyment. He took perverse satisfaction in imagining Kip with his forebears, on his knees in an alley, in a carriage, in a box at the theater, being schooled in the ways of the flesh by a dozen faceless masters. But Kip couldn’t ignore Hiero, couldn’t turn away from him. He kept coming back, desiring him, drawn to him by forces beyond their earthly plain, the only otherworldly power Hiero believed in. The greatest of all aphrodisiacs.
Hiero cried out as Kip deep-throated him, digging his nails into the nape of Kip’s neck as he rode the riptides of sensation. A hard throb in his bollocks warned of his imminent end. Hiero keened, bucked, only for his lover to strand him on the precipice. With a manic grin, Kip gave the head of Hiero’s prick a final, consoling peck, then lunged. Slamming Hiero back into the mattress and straddling his hips, Kip hung over Hiero until his fever cooled.
“Fiend,” Hiero panted even as the hard stop ignited a firestorm of pleasure within him.
“Are you denying me a chance to join in the festivities?”
“I heard no objection when you were smiling around my prick.” He gazed up into Kip’s giddy, luminous face and forgave him everything. “Kiss me.”
“Not yet.”
“Rascal.”
“You’ve no idea.”
“Show me.”
He lifted his hips and, with painstaking deliberation, lowered himself onto Hiero’s shaft. Kip breathed out a blissful sigh, head and back arched as he sank down to the root. Hiero could have spent hours admiring him: the flush that rosied his skin, the damp tendrils of copper hair that framed his face, the jut of his thick cock. How completely he gave himself over to the rut—this thinker, obsessed with motives and minutiae, fucked with rare abandon. And this most beautiful part of himself, this emulsion of his inhibitions, he saved for Hiero alone.
With brutal slowness, Kip raised and lowered himself so Hiero felt every inch of penetration. He grabbed for a knee, a calf, cursing the fact they communed on such a cherished quilt. Kip caught his hand, crushed it, a tether that only amplified their indelible connection. Thoroughbred thighs set a pounding rhythm, but the true spark was in Kip’s expression. Hiero watched as arousal turned carnal, as pleasure became passion and ecstasy evolved into rapture. Hiero felt both one with his body and apart from himself, transformed into the implement that broke and remade Kip from within.
“Harder,” Kip urged, shifting his hips in search of the perfect angle. “Please, Hiero, make me feel it.”
“Anything for you,” Hiero panted. “Everything for you.”
With a deft maneuver, he flipped Kip onto his back. Kip’s brawny thighs hugged his sides as he found Kip’s sensate center.
“More,” Kip hissed, lifting to mingle their heavy breaths, couple their hot mouths. “Everything.”
Hiero hammered into him, chasing their bliss. Wild howls of joy staggered with moans licked Hiero’s ears and tickled his spine and stirred an answering pulse in his groin. Kip’s ebullient eyes, the phosphorus green of a sea anemone, locked with his as ecstasy overtook him.
Hiero burst with unexpected violence; marrow-deep pleasure infused his bones; stars singed his eyes. He sought shelter in the familiar slope of Kip’s neck as his body shook and his senses celebrated, Kip’s
dizzy chuckles vibrating his cheek in the wake of his own completion. They stayed tangled up in each other until the air chilled, then quickly resumed their embrace once under the covers.
Even held snug against Kip’s chest, Hiero struggled to sleep. Kip dropped off after an extended kiss that almost reignited them, but Hiero, despite the languor of afterglow, couldn’t quite rest.
Never one for self-reflection, he instead reconsidered his location. They were, he would admit only to himself, suitable apartments. Adequate for a man of Kip’s social standing and tendency to be consumed by his work. Not cozy, but not without character. Kip wasn’t the type to splash his personality across his walls. He showed himself in details: the tidiness, except for that one overflowing bookshelf; the shrinelike alcove stuffed with family portraits; the minuscule wardrobe of same-y suits, with the two Hiero had bought him in front of the others, in place of pride. His kindness toward his landlady despite her being so painfully besotted with him. His extra truncheon on a hook by the door, prepared to confront whatever dangers might threaten.
The makings of a comfortable life. One Hiero would never be a part of. One he saw no reason to lure Kip away from, no matter how loudly an inner voice protested that Kip belonged at Berkeley Square.
Hiero had always been kept. First by villains, then by Erskine, then Apollo. He’d expected, once he came into his own, to be the one doing the keeping. It was the only way he knew how to be intimate with someone. But from the first, Kip had resisted. Anyone could see he was his own man. Coming to this place, visiting the Yard, following Kip about as he led their investigations, it became increasingly clear to Hiero he hadn’t the first clue how to be with someone so independent. How to share, not captain, a life. That one day Kip would tire of him and sail off on his own adventures.
With a heavy heart, he shut his eyes, welcoming the darkness. But sleep proved as elusive as peace of mind.
Hiero emerged from the black fugue of his thoughts sometime later to find a gentle hand petting his head. He shifted so Kip’s warming touch might find his shoulders and the nape of his neck, but that only encouraged Kip to thread his fingers through Hiero’s hair. Like Solomon before him, Hiero knew a good deal of his strength and seductive power lay in his locks, which he kept unfashionably long for just that reason. He also knew Kip favored these types of caresses because he did not wish to stray to parts of Hiero’s body he’d been warned away from.
