A Fashionable Indulgence (Society of Gentlemen #1) (11 page)

Julius wasn’t quite sure when Harry had started giving the orders, and didn’t care. He kicked away the soft leather shoes, peeled off his silk stockings.

“Now your breeches.” Harry’s cock was red and rampant, and his strokes were pushing it toward Julius. “I want you bare.”

Julius pushed down breeches, stripped off his drawers, stood naked and erect and waiting. Harry sat up enough to pull off his own shirt, with much less ceremony. He was much hairier than Julius, darkly furred over chest and arms.

“What now?” Julius’s voice was barely recognizable in his own ears.

Harry gave his cock a slow, deliberate stroke, all the way along. “Tell me what you want.”

“Anything. Whatever you like.”

“No,” Harry said. “I mean, I want you to say what you want. If you want to suck me, or bugger me, or me to do anything to you. Or if you want to kneel over me, bring yourself off while I watch, and spend all over me—”

“Jesus!” The words had gone straight to Julius’s balls. He grabbed the base of his prick for a tight squeeze before he humiliated himself. “You can’t—you want that?”

“I want
you
to tell
me,
” Harry repeated. “You never say what you’d like. Tell me.”

I want you to decide, so it’s nothing to do with me. I want to remain untouched by it. I want it to be out of my hands, not my choice, forgettable.

I’m a coward.

“I, uh…” He had to clear his throat. “That. As you said.” Harry gave him a look, and Julius scrabbled his manhood together. “Lie back.”

Harry reclined on the rug, one hand on his stiff ramrod, deliberately provocative. Julius swung a leg over him. “Hand off.” Harry grinned and released himself, throwing his arms back over his head, and Julius knelt, sitting back on Harry’s belly, warm skin against his thighs and arse and balls, Harry’s rigid prick bobbing behind, just touching.

“How do I do this?” he blurted.

Harry raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. Julius glared. “I know how to toss myself off, you ape. I meant—never mind.” He stroked himself, watching Harry watching him.

He wanted other things. He wanted Harry’s legs round him, tight flesh and pressure. He wondered if he could let himself be fucked, a thing he’d loathed on his one attempt at it, but with Harry’s eager passion he could almost believe it might feel like a shared pleasure, not a violation. He was extremely tempted to thrust into Harry’s mouth now.

He couldn’t do any of those things and talk as well. Harry wanted him to say something. And Julius wanted, wanted so much it cramped his chest and hurt his heart, to break his years-long silence, but he had no idea what to say.

He knelt over Harry, fisting his prick, both their breaths rasping, feeling the wordlessness close in. How could he still be alone when they were this close?

“Help me,” he whispered.

Harry’s eyes widened. His tongue darted out and over his lips. “Shall I start?” Julius nodded, and Harry gave him a smile that was rueful and affectionate and aroused all at once. “You’re beautiful.” It sounded so simple when Harry said it. “Perfect. And I want to see you come. I want to suck your prick and rub my own, but I
can’t.
” He gave a little helpless shove of his hips against Julius’s weight to illustrate. “What do you think it feels like, when you’re stroking your cock over my face and I can’t even reach mine?”

Jesus. He wasn’t going to last long at this rate, which would be a relief, but also a failure. Julius tipped his head back and loosened his fingers till he was barely touching himself. “You must be aching for it. I fear you’ll just have to watch me.”

“Cruel fair.” Harry grinned up, so uncomplicatedly happy, and Julius felt a bubble of unfamiliar joy expanding within.

He smiled back, almost incredulously. “Provocative boy. Shameless little…oh God, Harry. I will miss you.” His hand was moving faster, without his conscious will, but he needed this. “I want you.”

“I’d like to see you spend on me,” Harry murmured. “Do you want to?”

“God. Yes.”

“Say so.”

“I want to spend on your face and your mouth and in you and oh Jesus, Harry.
Harry.
” Julius doubled over, clutching himself with frantic force, the pleasure hitting unstoppably so that his balls hurt with the force of the climax and, yes, his seed shot white over Harry’s face and neck and dark-furred chest, and Harry flailed with the impact as if struck, gasping along with Julius.

Julius remained bowed a moment, shoulders heaving, his entire consciousness shrunk to the ache of his prick. When he could control himself, he raised his head, saw Harry watching him.

There was a dribble of semen on Harry’s cheek, by his lips. As Julius’s eyes met his, his mouth curled, and he deliberately put out his tongue and licked at it.

“Oh God,” Julius said dizzily. “I, uh.”

He’d just brought himself off with his own hand. That was all. He’d done that a thousand times. Harry hadn’t even touched him. It wasn’t entirely clear how that had been one of the most erotic experiences of his life.

He leaned—flopped—forward, bracing his elbows on either side of Harry’s head, and kissed him, sloppy and soft and open.

“Mmm.” Harry bit gently at his lip. His prick was rubbing against the back of Julius’s leg, a reminder. Julius lifted himself off a little and bumped back against it, raising a questioning brow. What Harry wanted. How Julius could serve him.

If you ask to fuck me, I’ll say yes. You can have that if you just ask.

“Your hand,” Harry murmured. His arms came round Julius, brushing down his flanks, over his arse. “Use your hand.”

So Julius did, lying over the strong young willing body, feeling Harry’s unrestrained grunts and moans as he brought him off, body to body, skin to skin, and very carefully didn’t think about wanting more.

The next week was the most miserable Harry could imagine.

It had seemed such an inspired idea, the private engagement, hardly a deception at all. Julius had said,
Until you announce your engagement,
and it was not announced. Harry had broken no trust, technically.

And then Julius had said the things he’d said. It was Harry’s fault. He shouldn’t have asked, but he’d felt so wretched, needed some sign of affection so much, missed Silas so badly. He’d wanted Julius to show he cared, just a little, and it was as though he’d broken open some sealed pot and all its treasure had flooded out in sparkling gold that shouldn’t ever have been spilled and could never be put back in.

The plain fact was, they’d agreed it would be over when he was engaged. And he was definitely that.

Harry glanced at Verona as they rode together in Hyde Park. She was a very attractive woman out of deep mourning, with all the features he liked: generous bosom, rounded limbs, none of the ethereal slimness that so many young ladies struggled to achieve for reasons Harry couldn’t understand. She was just the sort of woman he ought to want to marry, and rapidly becoming the last one in the world that he wanted.

It was all sorts of things. For one, she didn’t seem to see him as a man at all, merely a sexless cousin. That might do for Richard, who barely seemed interested in acts of the body, but not Harry. He was a man, and resented being treated like a poodle, but he resented far more that she looked at him with pity.

He was sure she didn’t do it on purpose. She probably didn’t realize that she did it at all. But she did not see him as an equal, and Harry could not for a moment forget in her company that she was born to this world, and he nothing but a halfbreed mountebank from the streets. He didn’t feel like that with Julius. Julius was his ally in the fabrication; he knew and didn’t care. Verona was a mirror in which Harry was made to see himself lacking.

“Oh, look, Harry,” she said now. She spoke with the most comfortable tone, pointing out persons of interest, as one might to a child. “Over there, in the sprig muslin, that’s Miss Penhaigh, a cousin of Lord Jersey, you know. She’s walking with that terribly Byronic fiancé of hers.”

“Higham,” Harry put in before Verona could start describing a man with whom he’d been shockingly drunk more than once. “I’m well acquainted with him.”

“Oh, are you really? It’s lovely you have some friends. Shall we join them?” Verona directed her horse over without waiting for a reply and Harry urged his own mount to a brief canter to catch up.

“You’ve a good seat, considering,” she remarked, with just a touch of surprise.

Harry forced his most pleasant smile, reminding himself that she meant well. “Can’t let you down in front of your friend.” He glanced over, and realized that the engaged pair had been joined by a third, a slender male form with gilt-bright hair, and something inside his chest gave an odd lurch.

“I dare say you know Mr. Norreys,” Verona was saying. “He’s one of Cousin Richard’s intimates.”

“I know him very well, yes.”

“Oh, goodness me, Harry, at this rate you’ll know more people than I do! Aren’t you doing well!” Verona gave a little laugh. Harry laughed back, because he was pleased to see Julius, and they were both smiling as they reined their horses in to join the walkers.

Then Julius looked from Harry to Verona, one brow raised, and Harry felt his stomach drop again.

He’d remember. Even if Harry could keep this quiet for the next few months, Julius would remember all the times he’d seen him with Verona. He’d work out that he’d been lied to, Harry was sure, or worse, he’d believe that Harry had been falling in love with his cousin while he was with Julius, and that would be just as dreadful. And worst of all was the fact that he wasn’t.

Verona went rigid at so little as a hand under her elbow. She was revolted by his touch; she regarded him with a light contempt that would make any man’s cock shrivel. She’d never want him, Harry was quite sure, and oh God, he was doomed to a loveless marriage with a woman who wouldn’t ever choose to fuck him.

Why would the rich force these things on themselves? With all the advantages in the world, why would they enter into marriages of pure misery?
Maybe I could talk to Gideon,
Harry thought wildly, as Verona smiled at Higham’s fiancée. Maybe he’d understand…except of course he wouldn’t care, because Harry wasn’t a true Vane, and his worth lay in marrying Verona. That much was clear.

Maybe there was another eligible cousin in the mass of family. Perhaps he could ask Richard. Except then Richard would wonder why he was looking for a woman…

Harry sat on his thoroughbred horse, in his fine clothes, a gentleman escorting a lovely young lady through Hyde Park, and felt the misery roil inside him like gut ache.

“I saw you in the park today,” Ash remarked. “Was that your cousin?”

“Verona. Probably. Yes.”

“Well, don’t sound so downhearted,” Ash advised him cheerfully. “She’s prettier than my brother.”

“That isn’t saying much,” Harry muttered, glaring into his glass of port. They were at Quex’s, sprawled in the upstairs rooms because it was too damned loud downstairs and Harry had a headache. Francis was at the tables; Julius and Richard had gone to Almack’s to dance with the Misses Martindale until Lord Maltravers was driven into paroxysms of jealousy. Harry had declined. The last thing he wanted was to watch Julius dancing with smiling young ladies.

“No, true, most people are. I say, Harry, is there an understanding there?”

“With my cousin?”

“Well, you have escorted her a good deal,” Ash pointed out.

“I have, haven’t I.” Harry tossed back the port. “Understanding? No.” He didn’t understand her at all. Why had she even agreed to marry him? Why could she not make just a little more effort, or be a little less grating? How was it that Julius could be so startlingly, dictatorially offensive and it just made him laugh, while Verona’s every light comment cut like a salt-edged blade?

Ash frowned a little. “You look awfully miserable, you know. Is there anything wrong? Uh…” He hesitated. “Julius can be difficult at times.”

Harry was tempted, in that instant, to tell him everything. Admit the lot, that he was slavishly obeying his grandfather in the hope of an inheritance, intending to marry a woman who despised him, lying to the man who’d done everything for him…

And then Ash would turn away with a look of contempt freezing his open face, and Harry would lose his good opinion forever.

“No, no. I’m a little tired, that’s all.”

“Well, you’ve been burning the candle at both ends. No hurry, you know, you’ve the rest of your life to mix in society.” Ash glanced round as the door opened to admit Julius, magnificent in old-fashioned black silk knee breeches. “Oh, good evening. Superb coat. I was just going to meet Francis.”

“An extraordinary coincidence,” Julius said with great solemnity, as Ash put down his half-drunk glass of port and headed out. “Give him my regards when you discover him.”

“Don’t be unkind. That was Ash being tactful,” Harry said. “How was Almack’s?”

“Tiresome. I have been buttonholed by every bore in London tonight, including at least three downstairs as I attempted to fight my way up here. How was your evening?”

Dull. Miserable. He didn’t know what it had been like, because he’d spent most of it with his thoughts squirreling in frantic circles. “I missed you,” he said instead, and saw the concern in his lover’s eyes.

“Harry.” Julius came over to his chair. “My dear, will you not tell me what’s wrong? It is entirely obvious that something is troubling you. May I not help?”

“You could kiss me. The way you did last week.”

Julius frowned. Harry put out a hand. “Please, Julius. I don’t feel as though you’ve kissed me nearly enough.” He’d come clean afterward. He had to. He’d tell Julius everything and ask his advice, and Julius would understand. He’d probably know what to do, even. But at this moment, a little drunk and churning with misery, he wanted Julius close, and that would make it all better for just a little while.

Julius dropped to one silk-clad knee by the chair, his face as serious as though he were about to ask for a lady’s hand. He put cool fingers to Harry’s cheek, slid them round into his hair, pulled his head forward. Harry leaned into the movement, and Julius’s lips met his. Slow and soft, mouth opening gently, tongue sliding in as though he’d been kissing Harry all his life, and Harry leaned into it, need making his eyes water.