Page 23 of The Wrong Rake
His stomach grumbling and his head beginning to ache, Harry took one final deep breath and stepped inside, deferring all of these questions for the morrow. They would save Amelia’s reputation and drag Adam’s through the mud—both prospects that gave Harry genuine pleasure, despite his worries—and then there would be time enough to think on it.
And to act.
***
It had been years since Simon had to sneak about in order to bed a lover. His room at Perdition was, of course, an entirely safe place to bring one; and even when he visited another gentleman’s lodgings, servants could be dismissed and doors locked.
The problem with sneaking was that theappearanceof sneaking damned one far more than the act of it.
With that in mind, he waited, after they had all retired from the dinner table, only until an interval sufficient to doff a coat and settle in by the fire had passed, and took the bottle of port he’d procured downstairs to Harry’s bedchamber door, knocking loudly enough that no one would think he had anything to hide.
Harry opened the door flatteringly quickly, as if he’d been pacing about and waiting for Simon’s knock rather than resting at his ease. Good God, but he made Simon’s breath catch, standing framed in the doorway like that, broad shoulders silhouetted by the branch of candles burning on the table behind him. Simon had slept a little while on the journey, but he’d spent several hours pretending to sleep and really brooding over Harry. Harry’s family was here, and Simon had essentially brought him home. This might very well be their last night together, and the thought left Simon flustered and anxious, his blood thrumming through his veins too quickly and making him lightheaded.
“I didn’t think to reserve a parlor,” he said, pitching his voice so that anyone in the corridor would hear. “But this port seemed drinkable, if you’d care to give your opinion on it.”
“Good, I’m not in a mood to be downstairs, anyway. Too much noise, and the journey gave me a headache. Come in.”
Harry spoke with a nonchalance that told Simon he’d had the same thoughts about providing a good excuse for the two of them to be alone in Harry’s room, and he stepped back to let Simon come inside.
But the moment he’d shut and locked the door, Harry’s casual ease evaporated. He snatched the bottle out of Simon’s hand, set it on the table, and wrapped Simon in his arms before he could so much as blink.
“Sitting beside you for so many hours without being able to touch you was torture,” Harry murmured into his ear, his hands roaming, sliding under Simon’s coat and mapping the contours of his body in a highly distracting manner. “I thought of putting Adam on the roof just to get him out of the way.”
His hot breath brushed over Simon’s ear, and he shivered, pressing his body to Harry’s as much as he could. He’d been half hard himself for a portion of the journey, memories of the day and night before cascading through his mind and combining with Harry’s nearness to have him all but twitching in frustration.
“Fuck Adam,” Simon said with feeling, and Harry laughed, a glorious rumble that had Simon laughing too, in sheer relief. He could make Harry laugh; Harry had told him so, in that lovely confession that had all but melted Simon’s heart on the spot.
“I’d infinitely rather fuck you,” Harry replied, and began to nibble on Simon’s ear.
“We’ll have to be much quieter than we were last night,” Simon said, rather breathily. Simon had screamed to the rafters the night before, and Harry hadn’t precisely been silent. When Simon ventured out to visit the water closet, he’d received the congratulations of several of the staff—something he’d kept to himself, for fear of making Harry too uncomfortable to repeat the process that had led to the noise. Here, though, that would be impossible. And Harry had covered his mouth for a moment yesterday…perhaps he could take a hint. “You may need to keep me quiet.”
“You know, I did think gagging Adam with his cravat would’ve been a waste of a very good idea.”
That drew out a deep, helpless moan Simon couldn’t possibly repress. And oh, indeed Harry could take a hint, for a moment later he had unwrapped one arm from around him and slapped his hand over Simon’s mouth, leaning up from his exploration of his neck to look him in the eyes. With Harry’s rough, hot hand covering the lower half of his face, Simon panicked for a moment, even though he’d all but asked for it; Harry’s other arm around his waist held him firmly, and no struggles would’ve availed him if he’d been unwilling.
But he was not, in fact, unwilling in the slightest. And the sharp frisson of fear, the tingle that went to his hands and feet and the sudden pounding of his heart, only set him alight, his cock stiffening to the point of pain and all his muscles, save that one, going weak.
He gazed into Harry’s glittering eyes and gave himself over. Other men had never had quite this effect on him. He’d had to cast them in the role of aggressor in order to have the release he craved.
But Harry needed no enhancement from Simon’s imagination. He embodied the qualities Simon had always created in his mind when he took himself in hand, or when he closed his eyes while lying with a mediocre lover.
“Not a sound,” Harry growled, and Simon nodded furiously, knowing his own eyes probably shone wide and bright over Harry’s hand, like prey.
Harry spun him about and walked him back toward the bed, toppling him onto his back and crawling onto the bed after him, hand still covering his mouth and jaw. He worked Simon’s cravat from around his neck, the task made easier by the way Simon had loosened it before leaving his own room, and tugged it free.
“I’m not really going to put it in your mouth,” Harry said, and tossed it aside. For a moment, disappointment smote him, but then Harry bent down and added, “I have much, much better things to do with your mouth. And besides, all that fabric would only hurt your pretty lips, Simon. But I’m going to keep you quiet other ways, never fear.”
And just as well, because the words trembling on Simon’s tongue and waiting for the opportunity to escape were ones he couldn’t afford to speak. He’d talk to Harry—later. But for now, he wanted to forget the unpleasantness waiting for them on the morrow, and push away the knowledge that their liaison would likely be short-lived.
Harry’s mouth replaced his hand, taking Simon’s in a kiss that he felt down to his toes—and in several other places in between.
Simon could barely muster the coordination to pull at Harry’s clothes, but he tried his best. Harry had no such trouble, baring Simon so quickly he hardly knew how it happened. If he ever needed to dismiss his valet—but that thought fled as Harry broke the kiss and sat up, breathing hard and eyes wild, straddling Simon’s waist. It was the work of seconds for him to undo his buttons, and then he was shifting up, his cock pressing at Simon’s lips.
The taste of him burst on Simon’s tongue as he flicked it out, salty and musky and perfect, and he opened his mouth and let Harry push inside, fucking into his mouth and nudging at the back of his throat. Simon gazed up, allowing his senses to fill with the thickness of Harry’s prick stuffing his mouth, with the sound of Harry’s harsh breaths, with the glitter of his eyes and the weight of him pinning Simon to the bed.
“I want you to spend like this,” Harry said, very low. “Arching up into the air. Don’t even try to touch yourself, Simon. I’ll pin your arms down.” Simon let out a garbled, obscenely muffled moan, and Harry grinned and leaned down, seizing Simon’s wrists and pressing them to the bed above his head with one hand, taking Simon’s jaw firmly in the other. “Looks like I’ll pin them down anyway. God, you want me to fuck your throat, don’t you? Like a whore. And then I’m going to flip you over and take you from behind, with my hand over your mouth again—”
Simon’s eyes rolled back in his head, and his whole body convulsed.
