Page 12 of The Cordial Bride

Isabeau gave him the fisheye. “Taking the night air, brother?”

With his hands clasped in front of him—just in case an extra barrier was needed—Ian flashed her a bright smile. “Yes, it’s a lovely evening.”

She narrowed her gaze at him, seeing too much for his comfort. “Hmm.” She turned back to Fennic and curtsied. “I look forward to continuing our discussions tomorrow.”

Ian fell into step beside his sister as she left, six soldiers surrounding them, as always, for Isabeau’s protection. He hoped that the fact that they weren’t alone would be enough to make her hold her tongue. And at first, she said nothing, giving him hope that he wouldn’t have to answer any awkward questions.

“You smell like a brothel.”

He sighed inwardly, glaring at one of the guards who hadn’t managed to stifle a smirk. It was too much to expect she hadn’t noticed what he’d been up to or would let the matter slide. “That’s not a very ladylike observation, Isabeau. How would you know what a bawdy house smells like, anyway? And as it happens, you’re wrong. I do not.”

“Huh! Well, I suppose I must bow to your superior knowledge when it comes to such matters, but I do know the scent of sex. You better hope that poor boy has slipped past his aunt before she gets a whiff of him. Have you no self-control?”

“Apparently not.” He let out an audible sigh. “He’s a temptation I cannot resist, and it’s more than merely physical. I enjoy his company. I’m going to spend the day with him tomorrow while he prepares the ingredients he foraged today.” When his sister turned her head to give him an appraising stare, he quickly qualified his intent. “And I won’t be there to wheedle information out of him.”

She waved the suggestion away. “No, of course not. You are more honorable than that. I am disappointed in myself for even thinking of it. It’s just frustrating negotiating with these people. I had hoped it would be easier than this. Moorcondia has so much to offer. I thought I had a great deal to entice them.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to voice his possible path forward. He held it, though, because more than anyone, Calan deserved to be the one to hear it first. If the boy weren’t willing, then that would be the end of it. The idea that he might not be caused a pit to form in his stomach. Surprised at his reaction, he rubbed a hand across his abdomen and stayed silent for the rest of the way.

* * * *

Calan froze at the sound of footsteps approaching his door. As he lay in the dark, he pictured his aunt listening for any hint of noise coming from his room. This was an old pattern. The woman had always hated giving him any kind of privacy, preferring instead to insert herself into every part of his life. But he’d learned long ago that if he snuffed out the candles and stayed quiet, she would assume he slept and move on. This night was no different. After a few seconds, she walked away. He waited a little while longer before sliding his fingers up the shaft of his already hard cock. Not even Celia’s presence had been able to diminish his arousal. The vision of Ian was too strong, as was the memory of everything the man had done to him that day.

He shuddered at his own touch, reveling in the pleasure it brought him while calling up visions of his cock embedded in Ian’s mouth. Using actual experience instead of fantasies to egg on his orgasm was far better than what he was used to when gratifying himself. Now he truly knew what it was like to have another man’s hands on him, to be sucked dry, to be held and kissed. He couldn’t go back to his own imagination to find satisfaction ever again. He needed to be with a man. He needed to be with Ian.

Calan gripped the base of his cock tightly to choke off the climax that threatened to erupt too quickly. He wanted to make this last. It didn’t matter how often he’d come that day. He wanted more, was primed for it, as if he’d never orgasmed before in his life. Such was the lasting effect of a powerful lover. He felt as if the man had somehow infused part of his virility into him. His relative peace and calm at being a young man living with his commanding aunt was fraying. There was a restlessness in him now. Nothing about his life was enough. All that mattered was being with the count again.

He sucked on two fingers before raising his hips and pressing them against his hole. The burn that came from sliding them in only added to his pleasure. He fucked himself, imagining that it was Ian’s dick doing so and jerked his shaft with hard, sure strokes. The orgasm ripped through him within seconds, causing him to levitate his lower half off his mattress. He nearly bit his lip bloody holding back a cry that threatened to blow the roof off. Jamming his fingers in as far as they could go, he scraped against his prostate to goose the last drops of cum out of his cock. When it was over, he lay panting in the dark, still clenching his shaft and fingers remaining half in his hole. Only a day ago, this would have been the perfect ending to his evening. He would have slept soundly and started the next day as his happy self. Now, it was almost cruel in how it lacked something vital. This self-pleasuring was apparently a pale imitation of what sex could truly be.

Nevertheless, lethargy took hold of him. With slow movements, he forced himself to clean up using a rag he kept for this very purpose. No cum would stain his sheets, and he’d already washed his tunic and trousers of the evidence of what he’d shared with Ian at the fountain. He wondered if the count was bothered by what those who saw to his laundry knew he’d been up to. Probably not. A man like Ian could do as he liked, and no one would think twice about his seeking pleasure with anyone at any time. As he drifted off to sleep, Calan fantasized about what it would be like to live like such a man—not as him, of course, but as his lover. To be free and open had not been something he’d dared dream of. Now, he couldn’t help but do so.

* * * *

Calan felt only a little guilty about not asking his aunt’s permission to have Ian with him in the workshop. He rationalized it by thinking she had the council negotiations on her mind and didn’t need the distraction of something so trivial. It wasn’t as if he were going to spill all the secrets of his aunt’s potions to the count, after all. He doubted the man would even understand half of what he would say, and Calan could be circumspect when necessary. Besides, Ian was too honorable to use Calan as a means to ferret out information. Isn’t he? Yes, he was certain that he was right about the man’s character. Despite being acquainted for only a few days, he trusted the count, whether it made sense or not. It was a gut-level instinct, and Calan had always been right to go with that feeling in the past. Of course, that was with plants. People were different—and yet not so much that he wasn’t sure of his perception.

None of that mattered anyway, because the sight of the man approaching him outside the front doors of the longhouse threw all rational thought out of his head and instinct was supplanted by pure desire. His heart thumped like a dog’s tail with happiness and his never-tiring dick stirred with interest. He’d dared to make himself come that morning to help keep himself in check. Apparently his cock hadn’t understood the purpose of the exercise. He was as hard and aching as ever.

Ian smiled at him knowingly. “Good morning, Calan.” Then, in a lower voice, he said, “I missed you, too.”

With lots of people milling around them, Calan feared his face would betray him. He looked at the ground. “You are incorrigible, my lord.”

“Guilty. But I thought that was one of the things you like about me.”

Calan gasped, yet also smiled. “I must get on. There’s lots of work to do today. I trust you will behave yourself while I do so.” He started walking toward home.

Ian fell into step beside him with his hands clasped behind his back as he was want to. “Of course, and I assume you will forgive me when I don’t.”

Before Calan could muster a response to that outrageous statement, someone called his name. Fredric, a widower more than twice his age who had made his interest in him known, came striding up to him with an obvious wheel of cheese wrapped in burlap tucked under his arm.

He stopped in front of him with a wide grin. “Calan, I’m glad I caught you. I wanted you to have the first sample of my latest batch.” The farmer held out the cheese as if offering him something of great value. And it was. Fredric might be a bit of a letch, but he did make excellent food from his dairy cows’ milk.

Calan took the offering. “Thank you, Fredric. Aunt Celia will be pleased to have it…and so am I,” he hastily added.

Fredric cast his gaze at Ian, who loomed by Calan’s side. “Of course, we of Shadow Valley take care of our own.” He rotated one shoulder. “I’ll be needing some more of that cream for my bursitis, if you don’t mind. I’m running low.”

“Sure thing.” Calan tried for a friendly smile with no inuendo. “Come to my aunt’s workshop any time.” Just not today.

Ian plucked the wheel out of Calan’s hands without warning. “I’ll carry that for you.” He sniffed at it. “Smells delicious, Master Fredric. Perhaps I can impose upon Calan to make me a sandwich of it for luncheon.”

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