Simply Pleasure (3 page)

The captain fell to his knees and kissed Peter's hand. “When I've made you hard, perhaps you would consider fucking me.”

Peter undid the buttons of his breeches and let the placket fall open. His cock was already semi-hard. He pulled his shirt over his head and cupped his balls, offering his cock to the captain's willing mouth, and let himself enjoy it.

A little while later, he had the man stripped and lying on his bed. Peter crawled all over him, kissing him, tasting his dripping cock, licking his nipples, sucking his balls, and using his tongue on his puckered hole. The captain was in heaven, his pleasure and gratitude at being fucked enormous. When Peter finally eased his cock inside the other man, he took his time and gave his partner all the tenderness and care that Val denied him.

Eventually they lay side by side in the big bed listening to the sound of the ship's bell and the reemergence of the majority of the crew on deck.

“Are you sure there is nothing I can do to thank you, Peter?”

He stiffened. “I don't want your money.”

The captain came up on his elbow, his face reddening. “That's not what I meant, I—”

Peter lightly touched his mouth, stopping the words. “I'd be delighted if you could lend me some of your books, and there is one other thing . . .”

Half an hour later, after the best wash he'd had in weeks, Peter was allowed back into the cabin he shared with Val.

“Where the devil have you been?”

He stared up at Val, who was sitting on the top bunk, legs dangling over the side, arms crossed over his chest.

“You sound like a nagging wife.” Peter delved into his pocket and threw a small packet at Val, who reflexively caught it. “Here you are.”

“It's opium.”

“Now you won't have to soil your aristocratic hands touching me.” Peter bowed. “Good night, Val.”

He took off his clothes and stretched out on the lower bunk. “And by the way, I told Mr. Harrison the name of your father, so you don't have to do that either.”

He closed his eyes, determined to go to sleep and forget the silence from the bunk above him. What had he expected, a thank-you? Val would rather choke to death than ask for help or ever acknowledge what Peter did for him. And he was a fool to keep doing it. When would he realize that the man he loved would never love him in return?

“Peter.”

He opened one eye and realized Val was crouched on the floor next to his bunk.

“Peter . . .” Val's trembling hand gripped his bare shoulder.

“What?”

Val climbed in beside him, his larger frame pushing Peter against the wall. His arms came around Peter's torso, and he buried his face in the crook of his neck.

“What's wrong?” Peter whispered and stroked his lover's hair. “Did you have the nightmare?”

Val shivered and pressed even closer. “Couldn't get away from him, had to endure and . . .” His whole frame shuddered.

“It's all right. You'll never have to see Aliabad again, or be in his power.”

Silence fell broken only by Val's harried breathing.

“What if my father is still alive, and he didn't search for me because he knew what I'd become?”

“He won't care, Val. He's your father. He loves you.”

“You don't know that. That's why I didn't want to tell Harrison my real name.”

Peter kissed his ear. “If he's alive, he'll want you back. I'm certain of it. I couldn't allow you to destroy a chance of finding your family again.”

“Because you have no one.”

“I'll be fine. I have very marketable skills.”

Val pushed him onto his back and loomed over him. “You intend to leave me and find work in a brothel?”

“What else can I do?” Peter tried to smile. “I'm sure you'll be the first to admit that it's probably time we went our separate ways. We've been living in each other's pockets for years.”

Val cupped his chin. “You can't
leave
me.” His fingers dug into Peter's jaw. “I can't survive without you.”

“You'll have to, Val.” Peter drew a steadying breath. “You'd hate having me following you around.”
Wanting you, needing you . . .

“If you don't agree to stay with me, I won't agree to reconnect with my family.”

“That's ridiculous.”

“I swear I won't do it, unless you come with me.”

“And what if your family objects to taking in a stray whore?”

“Then they aren't worth knowing.”

“Val . . .”

“I mean it. I'll damn well kill myself if I can't stay with you.”

God,
it was so tempting to agree, to submerge himself into Val's needs, Val's life, Val's bed.

“All right. If your family is willing to accept me, I will accompany you. But, eventually, once you are established, you have to let me make my own way in the world.”

“Agreed.” Val leaned in and kissed Peter on the mouth. “I think I'll be able to sleep now.”

“Then, good night.”

Val didn't retreat to his bunk, just lowered himself down onto Peter and instantly fell asleep again. Peter wrapped his arms around his difficult and contrary lover, and tried to follow his example. Instead he lay awake, breathing in Val's unique scent, and wondering why he couldn't simply tear himself away from this man. Why he'd allowed himself to be persuaded to stay . . .

He'd make sure he stayed only long enough to see that Val was happy in his new life before moving on. Otherwise, it would be too painful to endure. He knew Val loved him, and he also knew he'd never admit it. The brothel had scarred him too deeply to allow him to accept that he could truly love another man. Peter understood that better than any other person living.

Val sighed and slid his hand into Peter's hair, his fingers tangling in the strands, trapping Peter as surely as a spider in a web.

And he was caught. Even worse, he wasn't even going to struggle as his captor sucked him dry. His love was a peculiar thing that had flourished in the most parched soil and insisted on surviving. Peter let out his breath and his eyelids grew heavy. Fate would decide their future. At this point in his existence, he was too scared to pull free of Val, and too weak to live without him.

In the future, that would have to change, but for now he would simply appreciate the fact that Val had sought him out with his worries, and now lay sleeping his arms. Such small things, but enough to keep his fragile hopes alive.

2

Compromising Positions

It was strange to be on dry land again. After months at sea, Valentin found himself still unconsciously swaying to the nonexistent roll of the ship. The scent of rain in the air and the low dark clouds didn't help his mood. Southampton was an unimpressive port, the waters of the bay dark and stinking, the population not much better. He'd never thought he'd miss anything from his days in the brothel, but at least he'd bathed regularly in the plunge pools the Romans had left behind in the ancient city.

He shivered and shoved his hands into the pockets of his borrowed coat. It was odd that he had absolutely no recognition of this place, this supposed
homeland
of his and Peter's. The voices around him sounded coarse, their language indecipherable, and far less melodious than those he'd become used to. God, had it come to this? Was he homesick for captivity and slavery?

“Val? Are you coming?”

He looked over at Peter and saw his own vulnerabilities reflected in his best friend's angelic features. They were being escorted to an inn near the waterfront to await news from London. Mr. Harrison walked ahead of them conversing with the ship's captain, a man who threw Peter rather too many shy, adoring glances for Val's comfort. What if the captain offered Peter a home before Val was able to? Would Peter renege on his promise and leave him?

He nudged Peter's elbow and spoke in Turkish. “Did you fuck Captain Ford?”

“What if I did?” Peter kept walking, his serene expression undimmed, his gaze moving about the grim buildings and the big ships with unconcealed curiosity.

“He obviously likes you.”

“And what's wrong with that? I am quite likeable, you know.”

There was an edge to Peter's answer that Val didn't want to acknowledge was aimed at him. It wasn't his fault that his longtime friend fancied himself in love with him. He certainly hadn't done anything to encourage it.

“You promised you'd stay with me.”

“Oh, for God's sake, Val, the poor man is highly unlikely to keep me on board his ship now, is he? What would people think?”

Val stared straight ahead and concentrated on maintaining his balance on the filthy cobbled streets. His shoes were too thin and his feet were already freezing into two blocks of ice. He wanted to turn around and run away, even throw himself on the captain's mercy and ask to be taken somewhere else,
anywhere
but this grim, depressing place where he was supposedly from.

Peter touched his shoulder. “It's not quite how I pictured it.” He shivered. “I've never been so cold in my life.”

The captain chose that moment to look back over his shoulder to check that they were still following. His gaze rested briefly on Val, who returned his regard with a sneer and then moved to Peter. He slowed his steps and Val tensed.

“You're cold, Peter?”

Did the captain speak Turkish, or was he simply more observant than he looked?

Val smiled. “Why, do you want to take him to bed and warm him up?”

Captain Ford blushed, and Val had his answer. Of course he was being stupid, any merchant ship that went to Turkish ports would need someone who spoke the language if they were not to be misled by the natives.

Peter shoved him to one side and smiled at the captain, ignoring Val's scowl. He continued in English. “It is rather cold. Is it far to the inn?”

“Not far.” The captain turned his shoulder, blocking Val's view of Peter. “I'm sure Mr. Harrison will find a tailor and equip you against the horrors of an English winter.” He shuddered himself. “Even I'm cold and I'm used to it.”

They continued to walk together and Val followed along behind because there was nothing else he could do. Fear gnawed at his innards. What if his family didn't want him after all? He glanced ahead at Peter who was smiling up at Captain Ford. If they were abandoned again, would he have the stomach to return to whoring? He knew Peter would do anything to survive, but Val wasn't sure he could do it anymore.

There was a closed carriage with four fine matching black horses on the street outside the inn. A groom held the horses' heads, his livery a dark blue that sparked something deep in Val's memory. His steps slowed as he saw the crest on the polished door.

Mr. Harrison was already inside the inn conversing with someone dressed in the same livery. He beckoned Val to join him.

“This carriage has been sent by your family to take us to London.” Mr. Harrison's smile was wide. “We'll eat here and then push on to the city.”

Val nodded and allowed Mr. Harrison to shepherd him and Peter into a private dining room where they were supposed to enjoy a good, stodgy English dinner. The food was even worse than that on the ship. Not that he could eat much; he was far too tense for that.

Just as they entered the luxurious carriage, the weather chose to improve and faint streaks of sunlight filtered through the layers of dark clouds. Val hated small spaces and immediately put down the small window on his side so that he could at least breathe.

“We'll stop at an inn on the way for the night, and be in London tomorrow.”

Mr. Harrison smiled at his companions and Peter and Captain Ford smiled back. Val continued to look out of the window as they pulled clear of the docks and drove inward through the town and onward to what looked like green fields and rolling hills. He couldn't remember ever seeing such lush pasture before, although he must have done. Strange how almost all his memories had disappeared . . . Had he been too frightened to even try to remember what he'd once had in case he lost his mind?

He closed his eyes and leaned back into the corner of the carriage, but he couldn't sleep. If the carriage took them straight to his father's house, what would await him there? He couldn't bear to ask Mr. Harrison if his father was still alive.

“Val?” Peter touched his knee. “Are you all right?”

And what if Peter left him too?

Opening his eyes, Val noted that Mr. Harrison was fast asleep and that Captain Ford had eyes only for Peter. Reaching across, he stroked Peter's thigh and felt the muscle harden beneath his touch. He carried on stroking, his thumb moving inward and upward until every other touch brushed the underside of Peter's balls.

“Val . . .” Peter's mouth brushed his ear. “This isn't a good idea.”

Ignoring Peter, he slid his hand up to cup his friend's balls and rubbed his thumb over the growing swell of his cock. A slight sound drew his attention to the only other awake occupant of the carriage whose gaze was riveted on the motion of Val's hand.

Val didn't stop and look down at what he was doing. Instead he engaged the captain's eyes and held them locked to his.

“Mine . . .”
he breathed the word into the charged silence. Captain Ford hastily looked away.

With a smile of satisfaction Val withdrew his hand and turned back to the window. The sun had set and the carriage was slowing down. Mr. Harrison woke up and soon they were being escorted up the stairs to the bedchambers reserved for them by Valentin's family.

As soon as the door closed, Peter turned to him.

“What was that all about?”

“Touching you?” Val shrugged. “I thought you liked it.”

“Not when you're trying to prove a point.”

Val cupped Peter's chin and held him close. “But you
are
mine, aren't you?”

“You're the devil, Val.” Peter lowered his lashes, but not before Val had seen the truth there.

They undressed silently and crawled into bed, Peter pointedly ignoring Val, who waited until his friend fell asleep before pulling back the covers and heading for the door. He pulled on his shirt and listened to the sounds of activity inside the inn before stepping out onto the landing.

There was no one around, so he knocked softly on the door beside his, which was opened by Captain Ford. Before the captain could speak, Val whisked himself inside the room and closed the door.

“What do you want, Valentin?”

“You.” Val slowly took off his shirt, watching the other man's helpless reaction to the sight of his nudity.

“No, you don't.” Captain Ford shook his head. “Peter told me—”

Val cupped his cock and stroked himself. “Peter wanted to keep you for himself. That's hardly fair, is it?” He held the captain's gaze. “I can assure you that I'm far better qualified to give you what you need.”

He went down on his knees and set his teeth on the swell of the captain's buckskin breeches. “Show me your cock.”

Val smiled to himself as the captain fumbled to reveal himself, his fingers clumsy and shaking. “Very nice.” He stood up without touching the other man. “Now, strip, get down on your knees, and suck mine.”

For a second, Captain Ford hesitated, and then with a groan he started to tear off his clothes. He was soon naked and kneeling at Val's feet. Val wrapped his hand around his cock and rubbed the crown against the captain's mouth.

“Suck me hard.”

He threaded his fingers into the captain's long hair and pulled the ribbon free, urging his companion on until he was close to coming.

“Stop.” He eased his cock free of the captain's willing, but inexperienced mouth. “Get on the bed on your hands and knees.”

He followed at a more leisurely pace, gathering pre-cum on his fingers and deciding how best to make Peter's captain his. What would the man like? How far should he take him along the road to submission?

“Please,” Captain Ford whispered.

“What's your name?”

“Jason.”

Val put his hand on the captain's buttock and he quivered. “How would you like to be fucked?”

“I . . . don't know.”

Val smacked his arse. “How, Jason?”

“I don't mind, just—”

Another hard slap and the captain was moaning and angling his hips, presenting Val with his arse.

“Tell me.”

“Hard,” Jason groaned. “Hard and fast so that I'm sore and—”

Val spat on his fingers and pushed two of them deep inside. “Like this?”

“Yes, God, please, just—”

Val added moisture to his already wet cock and pressed the head against the captain's hole. He set his teeth as he surged forward, and fucked the other man as fast as he could. Reaching around, he ringed the base of Jason's shaft with two tight fingers, keeping him erect, controlling every betraying pulse and stopping him coming.

His own cock was ready and he shoved deep one last time and held still as each thick wave of seed jerked out of him. He pulled out and rolled Jason over onto his back. Walking over to the dresser, he used the soap and water set out on the washstand to clean all traces of the captain from his cock. He noticed how neatly his companion had laid out the contents of his saddlebags as if he was still on the small ship.

“Now, Jason. Make yourself come.”

He watched impassively as the captain wrapped his fist around his thick length and worked himself to an impressive climax, his back arching, his feet planted on the bed as he came all over his stomach.

Val sat beside him on the bed and trailed his fingers through the captain's leavings until they were dripping wet, and pressed them to his partner's mouth until he sucked them clean.

He dragged his fingers back to Jason's wet stomach and then down between his outstretched legs to rim his arsehole.

“Are you sore?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes.”

“Then you'll love this.”

Val produced the captain's hairbrush and watched the man's eyes widen as he tapped the bristles against the palm of his hand and then against the flat of the wood.

“Perhaps you'd better get on your hands and knees again, and this time, spread your legs wider. You wouldn't want me to miss anything important, would you?”

Val watched the poor captain shift on his seat in the carriage trying to find a comfortable spot and smiled. He knew the state of the man's arse, had used him hard several times and received not only the captain's fervent thanks, but a gold coin that would ensure that if no welcome awaited him in London, he would at least have some funds.

Peter should be grateful to him, really. The captain's desires were far too similar to Peter's own to make them ideal companions. Val's need to dominate his sexual partners was what both men wanted. It would be better for Peter to stay with him.

“We'll be there very shortly,” Mr. Harrison said. “What do you think of London?”

Val stared out of the window. “It looks like a filthy, disgusting hole.”