Page 44 of The Gambler's Prize
“Oh! Sorry,” he says. “Of course. Your turn.”
My turn? I panic at the idea of those pretty hands on my cock. Letting him take charge of my pleasure. Pleasure and Lord Florian Southland are not words that should go together. I look around at the red dirt, the trenches we’ve been digging, the spades abandoned on the ground, the parched and scrawny branches hanging over us, like I’m waking from a dream. My shirt feels wet and sticky and disgusting, soaked with Florian. I promised myself never again after the spanking. And here’s Florian lying spent and smiling under me, like we’re waking up in the same bed.
It’s shameful. I’m shameful. But it stops now. I won’t allow him control over me. At least I can prevent him from returning the favor. I spring to my feet, backing away, erection throbbingand complaining at being dragged away from my enemy’s receptive body.
“Boss, what’s wrong?” he says, looking worried.
“Nothing.”
He knows exactly what’s wrong with me. I need release, now. But not with him. Stars, not with him.
“Let me take care of you,” he says. “It’s only fair.”
“No!”
“Why?”
“Just… just go back to the house and change.” I take a breath. My ragged voice is scaring him. I must look and sound like a madman. “Please, Florian.”
I grit out the wordplease. Anything to get him to leave me alone with my shameful lust.
He shrugs, looking confused and hurt. “Fine. If that’s what you want.”
“It is.Go.”
He finally, finally, walks away. I finish myself off with angry strokes and take my release with absolutely no joy. When I’m done I lean against a tree, my breath fast and agitated, my head on fire.
This was not part of the plan.
Chapter 19
Grimes
Idon’t go inside until shadows start to fall. The house is quiet, no sound of singing from anywhere. That makes it feel empty, though I’m sure Florian is here somewhere. I get started on dinner, praying that when he appears he won’t mention what just happened between us. It would be a minor miracle given his personality, but I can hope. I haphazardly peel some vegetables, my mind elsewhere.
I’ve always been a strong man. Not just in fights. Until now, my self-control always overruled my sexual urges. I’ve never been able to understand people like Florian, people who surrender to the purely physical. Seeking pleasure wherever they go, with people they barely know, barely respect. Falling in and out of bed with strangers. Until him, I had no such temptation. I never fell for a pretty stranger’s wiles. Especially not for one I hate. But now I can’t stop thinking about him. The look in his eyes as he lay underneath me, offered to let me watch him climax. It’s sick. I’m betraying Jos every time I think like this. Every time I look at Florian’s tight ass in those little breeches.
Jos is too kind-hearted; he told me he disapproved of my revenge scheme against Florian, and I believed him. But that doesn’t mean that he would approve of what I’ve been doing, either. Letting Florian rut against me, take his pleasure from me. Spanking him when I knew fine and well it was for our own enjoyment, nothing to do with punishment. I’ve stopped short of kissing him, or letting him pleasure me, but who am I fooling? I’m involved now. Thinking about him as I get myself off. The man who put me in prison.
I’ve had a rough existence, but even so the night of Jos’ beating was the worst of my life. I came upon him being attacked by a prison gang and rushed in to help, taking several injuries myself. I was soon overpowered by the greater numbers, but the prison guards got there just in time to break things up. That’s as far as their assistance extended. The guards saw me lead Jos back to our cell, both of us stumbling like new-born foals. I was too wounded to even carry him. They knew he’d been badly hurt. They knew he had done nothing to deserve it, except refuse to join the gang. Still, no help was forthcoming.
Our cell door was locked at seven o’clock, as every night. Jos and I were alone inside the cell with no medical help. All I could do was watch over him and pray his head injuries weren’tenough to take him in the night. It was the longest sleepless night of my life. When the light of dawn trickled through the barred window and he blinked at me with a weak smile, I felt ill with relief. He survived through sheer luck and maybe the force of my prayers, though I’ve never really believed in such things. It should never have happened. He should never have suffered like that.
I hear fast footsteps behind me. Something covers my eyes: a hand. Another inmate, an attack. I ram my elbow into his stomach, turn, and shove the attacker to the floor.
“Fuck, Boss. I think you just broke my tailbone.”
It’s a plaintive, posh voice. A pale, long-haired young man looks up at me with big blue reproving eyes. The prison recedes to the past. My own kitchen comes back into focus, filled with all the little personal touches Florian has added from his shopping trips to brighten it up. He stares up at me, confusion on his face, real physical pain in his eyes. I’ve imagined punching him thousands of times, but now his real physical hurt is right in front of me, I recoil from it.
“Are you all right?” I say.
He rubs his back. His other hand is over his stomach; he’s winded.
“Yeah. I’m all right,” he says, short of breath.
I’m relieved. Because I need him for work. That’s all.
“Come on, get up.” I haul him to his feet and he holds onto me, still shaky.
