Convincing Arthur (6 page)

dazed Arthur from against the tree and took his place. Turning his back to him,

Thornton hiked up the tails of his shirt and coat to expose his arse and braced one hand

against the trunk.

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Arthur's jaw dropped as he watched Thornton reach around to slip a finger into

his own arse, preparing himself. Legs slightly spread, breeches around his knees, hips

tilted back invitingly, that finger disappearing into his oil-slicked entrance…

He clutched the base of his prick and squeezed hard, pushing back the orgasm,

determined not to spill his seed until he'd buried his prick in Thornton's arse.

Thornton thrust once, twice, and then pulled back one cheek and glanced over his

shoulder, spearing Arthur with a hot stare. “Have at it.”

As if he needed any encouragement. He took up a place behind Thornton and

grasped his slim hips. His cock bobbed, pointing straight at that pink hole. But first, he

couldn't resist the urge to drag his prick along Thornton's slick crease. His flushed

crown an alluring contrast against the pale skin. Thornton quivered and pushed back.

“Please. Fuck me,” he begged.

He pushed inside. Thornton grunted, his body tensing. With only the head

engulfed, Arthur paused to drag air into his lungs against the near-blinding rush of

pleasure. Hell, Thornton was tight. Too tight, his mind vaguely registered, as he

glanced down to Thornton's skin stretched taut around his thick length. Even though

his body demanded he pound into the other man, he gritted his teeth and eased back,

pulling free. He well knew what it felt like in Thornton's position when matters were

rushed. Thornton's whimper of protest turned into a low moan of gratitude when

Arthur pushed the crown slowly back inside.

He tried to give Thornton a moment to adjust to the invasion, but the man bucked,

working himself on Arthur's length. Hot, clinging friction caressed his cock, shoving all

thoughts that didn't have to do with possessing the other man from his mind. With a

low growl, he jerked Thornton closer, settling hilt deep, then picked up a determined

rhythm.

Thornton's dark head was bowed, one bare hand clutching the tree's trunk, his

knuckles white. He met Arthur stroke for stroke, driving against him, his hoarse moans

urging Arthur onward. Sweat pricked Arthur's brow, dripped down his neck beneath

Convincing Arthur

33

his collar, made the backs of his hands itch under his gloves. The hem of his greatcoat

slapped against boots.

He felt alive in a way he had never felt before.

And he reveled in it, basked in it, gave himself over to it. Let the raw urge to

dominate consume him.

Thornton reached back with his free hand, grasping Arthur's upper thigh, tugging

hard, demanding more. “Harder, Arthur,” he gasped.

He tightened his grip on the man's hips, fingers digging into his flesh, and

slammed into him. Hard and relentless. Skin smacked against skin. Harsh, primal

grunts filled his ears. Hell, he wasn't going to last. “Stroke your cock. Make yourself

come.”

Thornton's dark head bobbed once. That hand left Arthur's thigh and disappeared

between his legs. He tried to hold off, to wait until Thornton found his release, but the

orgasm coiled down his spine, tingling his ballocks, teasing the base of his cock.

“Harder,” Thornton gasped. “Fuck me harder. Oh…
hell
.”

Thornton's body clamped around his cock like a damned vise. Arthur let out a

shout, ramming hilt deep, the climax racking every muscle in his body.

Resting his forehead on Thornton's shoulder, he closed his eyes and struggled to

catch his breath. Beneath him, Thornton's back heaved just as rapidly as his own. He felt

the man shift subtly. Then a warm hand palmed the side of his neck, fingertips drifting

into his hairline to massage his sweaty scalp.

“Feel better?” The soft words drifted around him.

“Yes,” he replied on a content sigh.

“Good.”

That lulling hand slipped away. Thornton eased forward enough for Arthur's

drained cock to slip from his body. When the man moved to the side to tug up his

breeches, Arthur turned and rested his back against the tree trunk. He watched as

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Thornton made quick work of righting his clothes: tucking in his shirttail, buttoning the

placket, grabbing the gloves that he had discarded at some point from the ground, and

pocketing the glass vial.

Still in a daze from that explosive orgasm, his mind felt clunky and slow as he

struggled to make sense of the situation. One minute they had been walking through

the forest and the next he'd been pounding into Thornton. He glanced around. The

surrounding trees blocked the view of the field, but still, anyone could have come upon

them. Too focused on Thornton, he would have never noticed a set of prying eyes until

too late.

He'd never done anything so reckless in all his life.

But it was exactly what he had needed to yank him from the melancholy cloud

forming over his head. Given Thornton's comment, he had to assume the other man

knew it as well.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. The smooth leather rubbing against his cheek

reminded him he hadn't even taken the time to remove his gloves. He shrugged.

Thornton hadn't seemed to mind, though.

Thornton gave his greatcoat a snap. Dried leaves fluttered to the dirt path. Then he

slipped the coat back on. “Do you plan to walk back to Ramsey House like that?” he

asked, tipping his head in the direction of Arthur's groin.

He glanced down, then rolled his eyes, the beginnings of a chuckle rumbling his

chest. “No. Of course not.” Still leaning against the tree, he tucked his limp prick inside

his drawers, did up his breeches, and buttoned his greatcoat to hide the stains on the

placket. Ruined, no doubt. Oil stains would be impossible to remove from buckskin. Oh

well. Fortunately he had thought to pack another pair.

“Breakfast awaits.” Thornton made to walk down the path, then stopped to flick

his fingers, beckoning him. When Arthur didn't immediately heed his command, he

said, “I can't very well carry you. You're going to have to walk, but it's not far. Not even

a half mile. Surely those muscles of yours can get you there.”

Convincing Arthur

35

He shook his head, his lips quirking. The teasing glint in Thornton's eyes

completely ruined his attempt at indignation. With a poorly concealed grunt, he pushed

from the tree.

As he followed Thornton back to the house, their morning together tumbled

through his head. He would have never predicted a morning like today's. And not just

the reckless fuck against the tree. Everything, from the moment he had walked through

the front door of Ramsey House, had been exactly what he needed. Everything… His

gaze settled on the man in front of him. Everything…including Thornton.

And therein lay a worry.

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Ava March

Chapter Four

Leopold pulled out his pocket watch. Five minutes until supper. Slipping the

watch back into the pocket of his waistcoat, he glanced to the coffered ceiling. Likely

Arthur was still exactly where he had left him. Should he go fetch him or wait to see if

Arthur exhibited his usual punctuality?

A rapid tapping sound cut through his indecision. He slapped a hand on his thigh,

stilling his leg.

Enough.

Arthur could not have forgotten about him. The man was in his home, after all.

Still, a little nudge never hurt anyone.

He stood from the leather armchair, crossed the study, went out into the corridor,

and made his way upstairs. Upon their return to Ramsey House that morning, Jones

had mentioned a delivery for Arthur. Leopold hadn't seen him since he'd disappeared

inside his bedchamber with a comment about having to tend to some business. Surely

nine hours was more than enough time to deal with whatever his office needed.

If not, then Leopold would drag him away from his work. He couldn't very well

spend time with the man when he was closeted alone in his bedchamber. Rather

interfered with his plans for their short holiday together.

Convincing Arthur

37

This morning had given him a treasured glimpse inside Arthur's head. He had

listened to every word from Arthur's lips, heard the lonely, hollow tone in his voice,

melded it with those flashes of desolation and confusion and pain across his handsome

face, and pieced together what the man valued above all. Fidelity and love. Two things

Leopold had waited ten years to give.

Now to get Arthur out of his bedchamber so he could start convincing him of that.

How exactly he would go about it, he wasn't quite certain. Straight out telling Arthur
I

love you and only want to be with you
seemed…well…forward? No, not the right word.

Too soon, perhaps? He let out a sarcastic huff. Obviously. Arthur had only spent one

night under his roof. No, the more honest answer was fear. He could still vividly

remember the acrid taste of rejection as he'd waited for Arthur to arrive last night. A

decidedly unpleasant experience, and one he had no wish to repeat. And he didn't yet

know how Arthur thought of him, besides as a willing bed partner, of course. Nor

would he know until he spent some more time with him.

He rapped once on the door. The answering silence made unease nip at his belly.

He pushed it aside. He needed to stop worrying Arthur would bolt back to London.

Arthur hadn't seemed at all out of sorts on the walk back to Ramsey House. Quiet, yes,

but the startled expression from last night had been completely absent. Perhaps he had

decided to rest before supper. He himself had collapsed on his bed once he'd realized

Arthur would be unavailable for the afternoon. It had done wonders to revive him from

a morning spent with Arthur. A morning that had involved rising before dawn, a long

walk, and a quick fuck.

Hand still fisted, poised to knock again, he brushed his fingertips over the

abrasions on his palm. Lest he think he had dreamed the last part, he had the scrapes

from the tree's rough bark to prove it.

His buttock muscles clenched at the memory of Arthur's thick cock slamming into

him. The hint of a lingering ache only served to heighten his appetite for more than a

few moments with Arthur. Quick, hasty, and decidedly rushed moments. The

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Ava March

encounter had served its purpose: wiping that worried furrow from Arthur's brow and

focusing his attention on Leopold and not that damn prig. But unfortunately neither the

time nor the place to indulge in anything more.

Tonight, though, held distinct possibilities. But first, supper.

A second, louder knock earned him an “enter.” Leopold opened the door to find

Arthur seated at the desk situated on the other side of the bed, a pencil in hand and

head bowed over a stack of paper. The fawn silk waistcoat stretched across his broad

back. He had discarded his coat and rolled his shirtsleeves to his elbows, exposing his

strong forearms. The glimpse of bare skin made Leopold want to see more, but when he

stepped inside the room, he left the door open, lest he give in to temptation again.

“Good afternoon,” Arthur said, his attention clearly not on Leopold. He made a

notation with quick, deliberate motions.

“Evening,” he corrected. He glanced about the room. The bottle green coat Arthur

had worn earlier today graced the foot of the bed. Unless he excelled at tidying a bed

and smoothing every crease from the coverlet, it appeared he hadn't rested.

“Barrington, have you been working all day?”

Arthur turned the paper over, set it on the neat stack at his elbow, and moved to

the next page. “Yes.” Another quick scratch of his pencil.

“But you're on holiday.”

“That matters not to my clients.”

“It matters to me. Supper is to be served. Aren't you hungry?”

“Supper?”

“Yes. We're having pheasant. The one you killed.”

Arthur lifted his head and looked to the window beside the bed. Leopold followed

his gaze. The drapes were drawn back, exposing the twilight dark sky. “My apologies,

Thornton. I hadn't realized it was so late.” With a tired shake of his head, he tidied the

stack of paper he'd been reading and put it and the one at his elbow into the desk

Convincing Arthur

39

drawer, along with the pencil. He stood and pushed the chair back in its place. “If you'll

give me a moment, I just need to wash up and change.”

“It's not a formal affair, I assure you.”

Arthur flicked his fingers in the direction of his groin. Not exactly the wisest thing

for him to do, as it focused Leopold's thoughts on the reason why the placket was

darkened by what could only be an oil stain.