Page 18 of The Wrong Rake
Harry clenched his jaw and closed his eyes for a moment. No, he would not run his fingers through his own spend as it left Beaumont’s body, push it back inside, follow that with his cock again, revel in the way he’d left his mark. No. He would do nothing so ungentlemanly.
Instead, he would rise at once, go to the washstand, and fetch a wet cloth to wipe away the evidence of his possession of Beaumont’s body.
His hand moved on its own, sliding over Beaumont’s hip and between his legs. Harry’s spend felt slippery and hot, and Harry’s finger traced over Beaumont’s slick hole.
Beaumont’s eyes cracked open to narrow slits. “Do you like the way I feel?” he asked softly. “I rather like it myself.”
There was only one possible answer Harry could give to that, and he bent down and took Beaumont’s red lips with his own, intending only a soft brush of mouths. The kiss went deep and filthy all at once, tongues twining, Beaumont’s arms wrapping around his shoulders again and pulling him down and down.
Two fingers pushed easily inside Beaumont this time, and emboldened by his lover’s muffled moans, Harry added a third. That earned him a frantic motion of Beaumont’s hips, fucking himself down onto his hand. Three fingers, and with no resistance at all. Harry’s cock had done that, hollowed out a space inside Beaumont that was meant only for him to fill, damn it all. His cock had already risen again, shoving insistently against Beaumont’s leg.
It was the simplest thing in the world to pull his fingers out and push his hips back between Beaumont’s thighs. His cock found that soft, still-wet entrance and slid inside, as naturally as breathing, until Harry was fully sheathed again. His eyes rolled back in his head at the feeling of it. Nothing, nothing in the world, had ever felt so bloody good. And now he knew he had all the time in the world; he’d spent once already, and he’d be able to fuck Beaumont for hours if he wanted.
Even better, he’d be able to see how many times Beaumont could spend during those hours.
Harry had never been a thoughtless lover, but for the first time, he found he truly cared more for his partner’s pleasure than his own.
He shoved down the little frisson of fear that brought on. He ought not to get himself entangled with anyone, particularly not another man. He’d hardly readjusted to being in England, let alone made any plans for employment or where he ought to live.
Beaumont let out a soft, almost pained little whimper, and all thought fled Harry’s mind but how to elicit that sound again.
He did, with a roll of his hips and a sucking kiss to Beaumont’s throat, and again, a harder thrust with his hand wrapped in that silky black hair.
Fuck his plans. He had all the time in the world.
***
Simon had never in his life been so very thoroughly fucked, and unless Standish wished to make their liaison a more lasting affair, he probably never would be again.
Good God, the man knew how to use that absurdly large prick of his. If Simon hadn’t been so certain he’d never fucked a man before, he’d have thought Standish had spent years providing services in one of London’s most exclusive molly houses.
The thought of sharing Standish made Simon rather sick to his stomach, a reaction he didn’t care to examine at the moment. But if it hadn’t, he’d have been attempting to hire Standish for Perdition. He’d double their profits in that part of the business.
Anyway, if Simon ever moved a muscle again, it would be a minor miracle. At present, however, he had no need. Standish had withdrawn from him at last, after forcing Simon’s exhausted body to produce two more climaxes and then finishing again himself; he’d cleaned them both with a damp cloth, and then had collapsed beside Simon on the bed, only wrapping an arm around his waist and drawing him closer when Simon dared to rest his head on his shoulder. And now Simon trailed his fingers through Standish’s chest hair, enjoying the texture of it, and the warmth of the big body pressed against him, and the quiet of the early afternoon now that everyone in the inn had finished their luncheons and settled down to digest.
Come to think of it, Simon could have done with a bite himself, but he was loath to disturb the current state of affairs. When would he have it again? Possibly never. His experiences with London dalliances hadn’t left him sanguine.
“I wish we didn’t need to,” Standish said with a sigh, shattering the silence. “But we must discuss your brother, and what to do about him.”
Simon wished he could’ve waited a bit longer to raise the subject, but at the same time…he’d saidwe. Did not that imply, strongly, that they would be solving the Adam problem together, approaching it as if they were on the same side of the issue?
It warmed Simon far more than perhaps it should have.
He turned his head a little and, screwing up his courage, pressed a kiss to Standish’s shoulder. The tightening of the arm around his waist was all the answer he needed.
“Adam clearly angered someone else, in addition to you,” Simon said. He’d been rolling the matter around in his mind as they lay there, and had come to a few basic conclusions. “And, as always, he seems to be desperately in need of funds. Surely there’s room there to find a way to force him to take some action to remove the cloud that has settled over your sister’s name. And the clearest path to that, I think, would be to convince him to return to Bath with me and reveal his imposture, claiming my own identity and forcing him to acknowledge his—and show everyone what a lying bastard he is. He can hardly pretend to be Simon Beaumont when the real Simon Beaumont stands beside him, can he?”
Standish laughed, Simon feeling as much as hearing it where he was pressed to his chest.
“Not to be overly difficult, but if one man may pretend to be Simon Beaumont, so can another. What if neither of you is believed? Ought I to say my name is also Simon Beaumont?”
Simon couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of him in turn, though he also raised his hand and smacked Standish’s chest, drawing out a yelp and a chuckle. “Don’t! For God’s sake, I think there are more than enough Simons in the matter already. And you are too absurd. Of course I would be believed. I’d pay all of Adam’s bills, which would ensure that the tradesmen believed me at once. And I’d ask everyone to please keep the matter quiet, so that our cousin the earl wouldn’t be touched by the scandal, adding some little fillip of additional gossip, some misbehavior of his that would make your sister appear most virtuous. Bath society would tell the story so widely Adam could never escape it again.”
Standish turned his head, and Simon twisted his neck to peek up at him, finding him grinning, eyes gleaming with mirth. “Do you really have an earl for a cousin?”
Simon winked at him. “I confess, a very distant cousin. And the only thing more unlikely than his even knowing I exist is, and I say this with no intention to offend, his having even a single acquaintance in common with your no doubt very amiable family. Which makes mentioning him entirely safe, I imagine.”
That infectious grin faded, replaced with an expression Simon could only call searching. He waited, his heart pounding away.
