Chapter Twenty-Two
WHEN HIS FIRST conscious thoughts on waking no longer circled around casting up his accounts but on his hungry, rumbling belly, Kit deduced he was on the mend. In fact, he was well enough to note that, from the play of bright colour on the ornate ceiling above the bed, the hour must be late.
But as he immediately discovered, brilliant morning light wasn’t merely streaming through the chink in the drapes. It was under the bedclothes with him, exhaling soft puffs of air, its pale, elegant form folded around his own like a second skin.
Kit’s hunger stretched in a new direction.
That damned white nightgown, now rumpled and formless, had no right to be so beguiling. So as not to disturb the sleeper, Kit laid his palm gently upon the thin layer of linen covering a lean arm draped across his chest. Lando hummed, wriggled, then settled once more, and Kit’s morning cockstand responded happily.
His hand didn’t stay still for long; his fingers itched to explore, to travel where his mouth couldn’t, not while Lando slumbered. As he skimmed them lower, skirting under the bunched hem of the garment, he imagined he was kissing Lando through the tips of them, nuzzling at his warm creases and intimate folds, pressing his lips up against miles of flawless skin.
His wandering hand’s first discovery was a weakness for a taut slim thigh hitched across his, for warm supple flesh curving into a soft swell of buttock. He swept slow circles up and around the firm meat of it, each stroke laying down a new layer of intimacy as his fingertips grazed ever closer towards the shallow divide dipping between one perfectly rounded buttock and the other. Lando hummed again, a contented rasp low in his throat as he burrowed deeper into Kit’s side. If Kit’s cockstand were the yardstick—and it was starting to feel as if it approached that length—then he was definitely on the mend.
When the pad of his finger skimmed across Lando’s entrance, Lando’s breath hitched, and he raised his leg higher. When his prick dug into Kit’s thigh, and Kit answered with another drift of his fingers down Lando’s divide, Lando snuffled a laugh.
“Pritchard would vouch I am loathsome when awoken before I have requested it. But you are forgiven. Your touch is better than any of my dreams.”
In one glorious manoeuvre, Lando divested himself of the nightgown, then shifted over, aligning his body above Kit’s. Resting on his elbows, he looked down between them, Kit’s chest and belly dark and hairy, his own milky and smooth. Their cocks greeted each other for the very first time, and Lando almost purred with pleasure. “We are like night and day, you and I.”
“More like alabaster and rough-hewn granite.” Kit scratched a nail across one of Lando’s pale nipples before sliding his fingers higher up Lando’s chest to cup his chin. The man had barely sprouted a whisker overnight, whereas Kit already sported what some boasted as a full beard.
He groaned as Lando rolled his hips above him. “You are unreasonably handsome, Lando,” he teased. “And you wield your beauty like a sword with which to slay me.”
Lando’s laugh was throaty and full of want. “I had no idea rough-hewn granite could be so poetic.”
He rolled his hips again, his long pale prick gliding alongside Kit’s thickly veined one. “You are no stranger to a sword yourself,” he pointed out, then dropped his lips to Kit’s to deliver a soft kiss. “And I want your sword,” he whispered in a breathy gust. “So, so much. I want your sword to lead this dance.”
Kit’s wide eyes said all where his voice failed. His lover’s meaning was unmistakeable.
“We have the necessary in the chevet,” murmured Lando, kissing a trail along Kit’s jaw, his throat, his shoulder, his… Ye gods, yes. Take the lead . Be buried deep inside Lando.
Assailed by his urgent need, Kit heaved himself up to reach for the oil. Then barked a yelp as the ribs on his left side screamed a protest, his hip bone rattled in its socket, and his right temple throbbed a chorus of disapproval. Ye gods, no. He flopped back down against the pillows.
“There is nothing I would like more,” he confessed with a frustrated growl. “But I fear…I have a grave concern that the level of vigour required for proper swordplay may cause my head to topple clean off my neck.”
Lando giggled against his shoulder, and Kit joined in before groaning as his hard length brushed once more against Lando’s.
“Damn you, if you do that one more time then,” Kit said, arching up into him, “I wonder whether I might live quite well without it.”
In one swift motion, Lando was up and straddling his hips. He leaned forward to plant his mouth on Kit’s. “I have become exceedingly fond of your head. I do believe we should preserve it a little longer. Allow me to assist.”
Giddily, Kit gazed at his lover as he reached across him to the chevet. His mouth watered as his greedy eyes feasted on Lando’s lithe form. A form Kit had fallen stupidly in love with; whatever the outcome of the next few days, his heart would never return to its former dimensions.
“I’m right, you know,” he breathed, “You are unfairly handsome.”
Once more, Lando straddled him. The sweet musk of jasmine filled the air as he massaged oil into that hidden part of himself, moaning softly. His other hand was at his ballocks, fondling them. His lips parted as his breath quickened; his cheeks flushed with warmth. Sore limbs and throbbing head forgotten, Kit’s own cock leaped, and he pinched himself, wishing he could feast on the spectacle for hours but fearing he would burst with desire if he did.
“More of that, Lando, and I may spill before I am even inside you.”
Biting his lip and flicking Kit a naughty glance, Lando’s palm curled around his length, and he self-pleasured. As if Kit wasn’t there.
“Now you are making sport of me.” Kit arched his back towards nothing, seeking out relief, and cursed.
A single pearl beaded at Lando’s tip. He swiped it with his thumb, bringing it to his mouth. He licked his tongue across it. “And you are making a king of me.”
It was time; Kit could wait no longer. Sensing it, Lando’s hand left his own shaft to hold Kit’s in place. Then, very deliberately, he lowered both his gaze and his body.
Kit watched himself—nay, tortured himself—disappear inside his lover. Only the tip, at first, but so hot and tight, melting Kit from the inside out. His lungs filled with the heady, musky scent of jasmine, and already, he spiralled to high oblivion.
“Yes,” he breathed.
After a beat, during which Kit thought his expanding heart might cease to function entirely, Lando pressed deeper. Then barely eased back before sinking down again. A long shuddering sigh escaped him as his channel accepted the blunt intrusion, sending a rush of heat all the way to Kit’s toes.
“You are magnificent,” he whispered.
Lando’s dark pupils, ringed in silver, met Kit’s as he sank to capture his lips. “And you are…ah…substantial.”
Lando rode him with the same elegance and expertise as he drove forward his sleek black stallion. Under Kit’s hands, his thigh’s ropey muscles flexed and softened, flexed and softened as he rocked back and forth. Kit’s bones dissolved to nothing as Lando let out a blissful low hum, his silvery-blue eyes fluttering closed, his pale hands gripping the thick fur on Kit’s chest. Injuries be damned, Kit raised himself up and tugged Lando down, clasping his flushed face between his strong hands, plunging his tongue into the sultry treasure of his lover’s mouth.
“This…” he panted, his soul full of Lando, “…is too much.”
Kit’s need for release was building fast. Lando’s, too, Kit knew from the tautening of his belly, the tension in his thighs, the choppiness of the rhythm. One of his hands found Lando’s weeping cock, clumsily he fisted it, loving the sounds pouring from his beautiful lover, loving how Lando’s head fell back, loving their shared sweet surrender.
“Yes.” Lando cried. “Yes, Kit.”
Stuttering and shuddering, Lando rode him through his crisis and beyond until Kit’s member could take no more. Where he began and Lando ended, Kit knew not, and as Lando spilled across his chest, his neck, his face, he’d have been hard-pressed to remember his own name. All he knew was to drag his lover against him, to crush him against his chest, and hold him close as if he’d never be parted from him.
*
FOR HOURS AFTERWARD they lay entwined. Though the sheets were sticky from lovemaking, neither were desirous to move. They talked of nothing and everything, of how Lando’s release matted Kit’s furry trail, of how he insisted nothing compared to that first sinking down onto another man’s cock, not even a willing open mouth. How they were well-matched for height. How Lando had lain every night in this bed since Kit was brought home and much of each day too. How he had cleaned and dressed Kit’s head wound under Jasper’s instruction while Kit slept. How he’d ordered new velvet ribbons for Kit’s hair in every conceivable shade of midnight blue and a few in a bright magenta, too, simply because he could. How he’d like to bind Kit’s wrists up in his pearls and ride him as he’d just ridden him. How Kit would never again breathe in the scent of jasmine without recalling this precious moment and the precious man with whom he shared it.
Their fingers were interlaced. Lando’s head made a pillow of Kit’s chest, while once again his thigh found a home across Kit’s hips. One of Lando’s slim calves even snaked around a sturdier one of Kit’s. If his time was suddenly called, Kit would shuffle off his mortal coil a happy man.
So, it was with a heavy weight resting upon his heart, he felt obliged to spoil things.
“I must make a confession, Lando.” Staring up at the plain white plaster ceiling, his head felt clearer than it had in days. “A grave one.”
“Out with it, my darling,” Lando answered sleepily. “Confession is to be encouraged. It empties the soul, making room for more sin.” His fingertips trailed down Kit’s bare flank to rest at his hip. “And sinning with you has become my very favourite way to pass the time.”
Kit’s own hand closed over Lando’s, stilling it. Was it too late to change his mind? He could confess to weariness, dizziness, hunger, or a sore head. He could feign ignorance of the whole beating, and Lando would be none the wiser. A head wound was an excellent excuse for convenient amnesia.
Except, past deeds had an annoying way of catching up with one, whether one sought them out or not. His temple throbbed, serving to remind him that Clark had not forgotten him, and that wily Jasper, coming to his aid, might know there was more to the episode than opportunistic thievery. And his dear, honest Lando, with whom he could not deny he had fallen deeply in love, deserved to hear the truth.
So if not now, when?
“The ruffians who set upon me,” he started. And exhaled deeply. “They were lying in wait when I returned to my former lodgings. A dogged Bow Street runner, determined to bring me to account, paid them for their services. I…I am a wanted man, Lando, no better than my assailants.”
Already, he felt washed clean. Even if he now faced a mountain to climb to regain Lando’s trust. And a silence to fill; once he had begun, he couldn’t stop.
“I have rather made a mull of things. I do not deserve your forgiveness but seek it anyhow. Your belief in me and your fondness has been misplaced. I fear my previous actions may put our scheme in peril. This runner will not stop until he has a noose around my neck.”
Lando said nothing, but neither did he move away. If Kit hadn’t just admitted his duplicity and shallow nature, he would imagine the other man slept.
When Lando eventually made a sound, it was very much like a low chuckle. “Poor Pritchard. I shall be quite swimming in lard this evening.”
What the blazes?
“He wagered me a florin that you’d not spill unless I held a knife to your throat.” Lando twisted to press his lips against Kit’s chest. “I disagreed. A most scrupulous heart beats underneath this irascible shell. This very fine and um… quite hirsute irascible shell.”
Kit cursed. Every time Kit thought he had the measure of him, Lando surprised him anew. “My lord,” he spluttered. “I am at a loss to understand your mirth. My head must ail me more than I first believed.”
The cool hand on Kit’s hip strayed lower, commencing a lazy and thoroughly undeserved stroking of his ballocks.
“Your head is fine.” Lando rubbed his nose along Kit’s pelt, breathing him in. “And I am not your lord, even when you are demonstrating your irascibility perfectly. I have been abreast of our perseverant Mr Clark since you first disclosed your habit of picking pockets. Which, of course, was a truth you were courageous to share, given that you sought my assistance at the time.”
“How the devil do you know his name?” Kit cried. The ballock stroking continued unabated. “And stop distracting me!”
His lover seemed even more amused. “Were you not paying attention when I described my brother Robert’s varied attributes? There is very little he can’t unearth if he puts his mind to it.”
“But…what was…did he?” Ugh. That hand. This man. Never mind being unable to think straight, Kit’s mind zigzag-hopped all over the place.
Taking pity on him, Lando withdrew his ministrations from Kit’s tenderest parts to raise himself onto his elbows. His damned silvery eyes glittered like precious diamonds. How had Kit ever believed them cold and icy?
“I have a confession of my own, Kit, darling. Do you recall your feeble attempt to blackmail me?”
“I’ve tried to block it from my memory,” Kit bit out. “I was an ass of the highest order.”
Lando inclined his head. “Be that as it may, I am a cautious man, as one who is breaking the laws of the land by lying here with you has to be. I don’t share my bed with anyone, you understand.”
“Glad to hear it.” He’d be sharing it with no one except Kit from now on if he had any say in the matter. Even if his smart lover was damned annoying.
“My loyal Jasper has been trailing after you since we arrived in London. On my instruction. For both your protection and mine.”
So that’s why the great one-eyed lug had insisted he personally deliver Kit to Sindell Street that first time. And to the tailors.
“I suppose I should be grateful,” he grunted in a most ungrateful fashion. “Your suspicious nature has saved my life.”
“It has.” Lando nodded. “Thus, I’m grateful to myself.”
He sounded a tiny bit smug. As well he might. Shaking his head, Kit smiled to himself. Annoyance was futile as, indeed, was any sort of defence against this man.
“And I don’t have an irascible shell!”
“You are blessed with a lot of hair though.”