Page 2 of Vanquished By A Viscount
He loved Gray for his sunny outlook on life, and for the enthusiasm he poured into everything he did, including what he was doing now. It was astonishingly impressive how deeply he could swallow and how he didn’t seem to mind gagging a bit as he did so, which created the most intoxicating sensations. Charlie tightened his hold on the headboard with one hand and gripped Gray’s hair again with the other as his climax raced at him.
The expected burst of pleasure was halted sharply by a knock on the door in the front of Charlie’s two rooms.
“Broxbourne, are you up?” the deep voice of Charlie and Gray’s fellow classmate, Luther Comstock, sounded from the hall. Comstock knocked again, then said, “You aren’t entertaining, are you? It’s Sunday. You’re not supposed to be worshipping cunny on the Lord’s day.”
Charlie gasped and pushed Gray back. Gray choked in earnest as he lost control of his actions, then coughed. Charlie’s wet cock popped up but quickly began to flag as Charlie scrambled to get out of bed.
“You do not have to answer the door,” Gray croaked quietly, then reached for the glass of water on the table beside the bed.
Comstock knocked again. “Come on, Broxbourne,” he said, humor lacing his voice.
“He won’t go away until I answer him,” Charlie said, dread spilling through him as he searched for his banyan, throwing it on. “You know how Comstock is.”
“Comstock,” Gray scoffed with a sneer, then took another drink. “I wonder what he’d say if I walked out with you like this.”
Charlie glanced over his shoulder at Gray as he tied his robe. The sight of Gray kneeling with his knees spread wide, his cock iron-hard and standing out invitingly, his lips red from stretching around Charlie’s member, had Charlie instantly weak in the knees. But not exclusively for good reasons.
“Stay quiet and don’t give us away,” he whispered as he started for the bedroom door.
“Charlie,” Gray appealed to him. “You fuss like an old woman. What’s the harm in letting everyone know?”
The fact that Gray did not have a ready, realistic answer to his own question struck fear into Charlie’s heart.
“Broxbourne!” Comstock continued to pound on the door.
“Not a peep,” Charlie whispered to Gray, then left the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.
He shook his head and pressed a hand to his queasy stomach as he rushed to answer the door. As soon as he cracked it open enough to see Comstock, but not so much as to be an invitation for Comstock to come in, he hissed, “Quiet down, man! You woke me from a sound sleep, and you’ll wake the rest of the house too, if you’re not careful.”
Comstock merely laughed at him. “You’ve got a tart in there, I know it,” he said, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Come on, then. Give us a look.”
Comstock tried to push into the room, but Charlie held his ground in the doorway. “Why are you here so early?” he asked with a frown.
Comstock continued trying to look into the room for a few more seconds before giving up. “I know you’re not the saint you make out to everyone that you are, but I know you don’t have a lightstocking in there either.”
“I do not,” Charlie snapped.
“More like you have some comely catamite to suck your cock and offer his bum,” Comstock said with an entirely different sort of knowing grin.
Charlie prayed his face didn’t flush as red as he feared it did. Gray wasn’t exactly a boy, but he did have a boyishness about him.
“I do not know what you mean,” he said curtly. Then, before Comstock could continue with his insinuations, he went on with, “Why are you here, Comstock?”
Whether he was relenting on the basis of not wishing to expose Charlie or whether he had some other reason, Comstock gave up his teasing and produced a letter from the pocket of his jacket. “This was misdelivered to the dormitory for you on Friday.”
Charlie recognized Barbara’s handwriting on the letter’s address at once and snatched it from Comstock’s hand. “It was delivered on Friday, but you’re only bringing it to me now? At this hour?”
Comstock shrugged. “We’ve all had quite a bit occupying us, what with the end of term and all.”
Charlie huffed and glanced down at the letter. Barbara’s handwriting had the slight spikiness that it sometimes had when she wrote to him while particularly distressed. “Thank you,” he told Comstock, then backed into the room, shutting the door behind him. Rude though it was, he locked it for good measure.
“I see how it is,” Comstock muttered from the hall. His footsteps retreated toward the stairs.
Charlie moved away from the door, tearing into the letter. It began with his sister’s usual, fond greetings, then launched straight into a story of their cousin’s neighbors slighting her by failing to invite her to a dance.
Relief flooded Charlie to the point where he moved to lean against the table near the window of his front room. Barbara frequently wrote to him of all the great tragedies she endured as a girl of fourteen at the mercy of their cousins. In truth, she had a good life and was surrounded by people who cared for her and saw to her welfare. Reading between the lines of her letter, Charlie was able to determine the reason she had not been invited to the ball was because of her tender age and nothing more.
Once the letter was finished, Charlie lowered it and stared into his room with a sigh. He cared for Barbara more than anyone in his life. He would have turned the world upside down to make her happy.
