Page 29 of Duke for the Summer

“I mean, tell me what you’re comfortable with,” Nate added. He smoothed a strand of hair off Jacopo’s forehead. “If it’s your first time—“

“It’s not. I’m—I’m maybe not good at this. I’m not very experienced. But I want—I want whatever you want, Nate.”

Nate’s gaze trailed down Jacopo’s body. “Is that so?” He put a hand on him, gently, his fingers feather-light. “Because I really want you to fuck me.”

It was a miracle that Jacopo didn’t explode right there. “Yes,” he said, or thought he said, over the blood roaring in his ears.

Nate kissed him, hard and breathless, and Jacopo kissed back, losing himself, letting himself be taken over. Nate was stroking him, brisk, expert strokes that had Jacopo dancing too close to the edge. He groaned in a mixture of relief and frustration when Nate took his hand away.

There was the crinkle of a wrapper. Nate had gotten a hold of a condom somehow–another first for Jacopo–and was rolling it onto him, and Jacopo was grateful for the novelty of it, for the barrier between them, because it took his mind momentarily off of Nate’s hooded eyes and the intent look on his face and the way his teeth grazed his lower lip. The lubricantthat had so embarrassed Jacopo before had appeared as well, and he felt the coolness of it, muted through the latex, as Nate spread it over his cock. Nate was doing something to himself with his other hand, something that Jacopo couldn’t see, but the slick sound of his fingers working there, in that most intimate of places, suffused Jacopo with dark heat. He wanted to touch him there, wanted to see Nate’s face while he did it. He wanted–God, too many things, and now Nate was sinking onto him with a little sigh and it was too much, the tight heat of his body was sweet torture and Jacopo knew he couldn’t last, could barely breathe, or think, or remember who he was.

Nate began to move, rocking above him slowly, and Jacopo pressed his face against Nate’s neck. A whimper escaped his lips. This was impossible, he was going insane; his whole world was the little sounds Nate was making and the way his abdomen flexed and the glazed look of pleasure in his eyes. Even when Jacopo closed his eyes, trying to concentrate, trying to stretch this out, to think of anything else–English verbs, Latin declensions–agricola, agricolae, agricolae, agricolam–he was unraveling, the words were spinning away, and he barely had the presence of mind to gasp out, “Nate, I can’t, I–”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, just touch me.” And he laced his hand around Jacopo’s, bringing it to his cock, so that they were both stroking him off as Jacopo’s thoughts skittered away like a skein of broken pearls and his mouth fell open and he came.

*

Nate woke up to Jacopo scattering kisses down his neck, his strong, fine hands gripping his hips. It was dark in the bedroom, the summer night leaden and close, and Nate made a pleased little noise as he arched his back, pressing into Jacopo’s embrace.

“Okay?” Jacopo’s breath was hot against his ear, and hishand had crept down to the cleft of Nate’s ass, finding him puffy there and still a little sore. A good, satisfying soreness, like after a workout.

“More than okay,” Nate said, craning his neck to kiss Jacopo’s jaw, his throat. “I thought you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“I don’t.” His teeth grazed Nate’s earlobe, and Nate’s eyelids fluttered and his nails dug into the bedspread as Jacopo slid a finger inside of him. “But as you said, I like learning.”

*

Dawn was seeping in through the window, spreading over the two of them like oil as they lay entangled in the bed. “We should sleep,” Nate said between kisses. He traced a hand along Jacopo’s jaw, admiring the angles of him. “The girls will be back on the ferry in a few hours.” At least, he assumed they would be. He hadn’t checked his phone in hours, had no idea where it might even be. Probably on the floor somewhere with the box of condoms that he’d upended in his hurry and the mess of blankets that they’d kicked off during the night. The bedroom was a disaster zone, and so was Nate, his body shivery and aching in all the right places and his hair a sweaty shock, standing up from his forehead.

“Mm.” Jacopo kissed his collarbone, the dip between his pecs. Nate really hoped Thea wouldn’t want to go to the beach today; his chest was covered in rugburn from Jacopo’s beard, and he was running out of excuses for why he needed to keep his shirt on. “In a little bit.”

“I mean it.” He ran a hand through Jacopo’s hair, and Jacopo caught a hold of his wrist, kissing his palm, brushing his lips over his pulse. “We can’t look like we’ve been up all night.”

“Who could sleep, Nate? With you here beside him like this?” Jacopo settled over him, their noses grazing. His handcupped Nate’s dick, and somehow Nate felt himself getting hard again.

“You really do have a way with words,” he said, and sank back into the sun-warmed sheets as Jacopo leaned in and their lips slid together once more and–

A door slammed, somewhere below. Nate froze, his heart stuttering against his ribs. He hadn’t locked the front door to the castle last night. It had hardly seemed important with everything else going on. But now someone was tromping up the stairs–two someones, making the kind of elephant-like clamor that only a couple of hungover girls in stilettos can do.

“Naaaaaaate!” Thea was calling his name up the stairwell. “Nathan Bilbo Baggins Bartholomew Schaferrrrr, are you alive? Are you decent?”

“Oh my God.” Nate put a hand over his face. “That’s not even my name.”

“What should we do?” Jacopo asked.

Nate studied him for one last moment, the way the morning light gilded his features, the silver hair at his temples. Craning his neck, he kissed Jacopo, soft and deliberate. “Hold that thought,” he murmured.

“This one?” Jacopo’s hand was still on Nate’s erection, which, woefully, hadn’t gone down despite the encroaching danger of Thea on the stairs.

Nate chuckled. “Yeah, we’ll have to revisit that. Go hide in the bathroom for now. I’ll make some excuse to get them out of the castle, and then you can go home.”

“Nate.” Jacopo looked like he wanted to say more, but Thea was pounding on the door to the ducal chambers.

“I’m showering. I’ll be there in a second,” Nate called. Turning back to Jacopo, he forced lightness into his tone. “This was fun,” he said. “Let’s do it again soon.”

11.

Laid out on the sand, his fingers greasy from a spicy tripe and mystery meat sandwich that Gracie swore by as a hangover cure, Nate learned about the girls’ exploits the night before. From what he could piece together as Gracie and Thea talked over each other, they had gotten kicked out of the club after Thea had thrown a beer can at a guy for grabbing her ass, sheltered in a McDonald’s until sunup, and then gotten a ride home from a friendly fisherman who saw them wandering along the waterfront. Which explained why they had been home early. And why Thea’s hair smelled like chicken nuggets and saltwater and why she was filled with feminist rage.

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