Chapter 27
“I hope you know,” Christopher said over his shoulder as they ascended the grand staircase with all due haste, “that I have no idea what I’m doing.” His fingers were hard at work unwinding the knot at his throat, a task made all the more difficult due to the wet fabric of his cravat and the shake in his hands.
“I had some notion that you might be . . . untested,” James said. His gaze was fastened to where Christopher was unknotting his cravat. “It only made sense, given your circumstances.”
“And you?” Christopher managed to release the length of linen from his neck and let it fall to the carpeted landing. It was thrilling, this scandalous undressing in the middle of the manor, never mind that they were completely alone. He stopped two stairs above James and turned to regard him, happy to be the taller one for once. “From your previous comments, I gathered you have been tested thoroughly. Or was that another slight dissembling on your part? I don’t mind either way, of course.”
James’s hands went to Christopher’s hips and held him there. His eyes were as dark and velvety as the night. “I have given pleasure to others, men and women, though I have never allowed myself the same luxury. If you catch my meaning.”
Christopher caught it well. He imagined Har-ding trysting with some lucky lass in a barn of an evening, or a lordling in some dim cloakroom. Curiously, the thought did not inflame him with rank jealousy—-though it did inflame in other ways. How gallant James must have seemed to never require any reciprocation. An unfortunate but necessary abstention.
“Practiced, yet untouched,” he murmured, and caressed James’s face. James, bless him, turned into the touch like a cat. “Do you wish to remain so? Or will I be permitted to . . . ?” He bit his lip and hoped his virginal coyness was not too silly. “To fumble about?”
James didn’t seem to mind the coyness. He pressed a kiss to Christopher’s palm. “I think, as you so wisely pointed out, that our happiness should be shared. I want to be very generous with you, and am willing to accept whatever you might give me.”
If Christopher had not already resolved to hand his heart over to this man of his, that would have clinched it. He gave a merry laugh and held James by the hand, tugging him up the stairs to his rooms. “A fair bargain! If you promise to guide me.”
“Always,” James said, and Christopher could hear the slight smirk in the word.
When they reached the bedroom, Christopher locked the door out of long habit. That done, he turned to James and demanded more kisses. Despite his relative newness to the thing, he felt he was quickly excelling at kissing—-at least, the tenor of James’s breathless gasps against his lips made it seem likely.
They did not make it to the dressing room, instead undressing each other in a more frantic fashion right there in front of the bedroom windows. Christopher spared half a moment to worry about whether they should draw the drapes, but when he looked out over the empty, rolling hills that stretched beyond the Abbey, he considered that it -really didn’t matter. They were safe here, and at any rate, they would soon be gone without a trace—-just like their clothing.
“I think,” he said as James peeled his shirt over his head, “that we will have to leave En-gland. Where would you like to go?”
“Mm. You did say you loved Philadelphia.” James’s lips skated over the bare skin of his neck. Christopher shivered. “Shall we go there first?”
“Philadelphia, then, and perhaps beyond. Oh, but we must bring Orion; I won’t leave him behind.” Christopher nearly tore the waistcoat from James in his haste to disrobe him. “And I’ll need to write to étienne, get some clothes fit for America. I’ve already made arrangements to gift him the house in Bloomsbury. Hopefully he’ll accept it as payment for a new wardrobe. And I suppose we could take anything that’s not nailed down in the Abbey and distribute it while I still have some claim to it. Do you think your sister would appreciate a belated wedding present? The silver service isn’t doing anyone any good sitting in my cabinet.”
James stripped him of his binding waistcoat with a growl. “Can we not speak of étienne or my sister right now?”
“Ah, yes.” Christopher smiled at him fondly. “I nearly forgot: you plan to ravish me.”
“Then I must be doing a poor job of it,” James said, and kissed him until he forgot everything but that fact.
Christopher’s anxious mind had supplied plenty of worries about this moment, when he and James were bared to each other. His body had been hidden away for so long, it seemed impossible that it could be revealed with anything less than total calamity. And yet, when the last stitch of clothing was cast away and he stood there in nothing but his skin—-nothing horrible happened. He was braced for it, naturally, and watched James’s gaze rove over him in tense silence, but when those dark eyes at last returned to his face, there was only a soft awe there that Christopher had never known.
“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” he said.
Christopher reached for the tempting landscape of James’s stomach, letting his fingertips trail over its lithe planes. “What lies. You must have glanced in a mirror once or twice.”
“Very amusing,” James said, though the tips of his ears burned a bright red at the compliment. “You don’t have to be clever, you know. You could just accept what I say, since it’s the truth.”
Christopher looked away, his own face flaming now. “I’m afraid I’ve relied on cleverness too long to abandon it completely. What am I supposed to do? Let you just say whatever you like without a word of protest?”
James seemed to take this as a challenge, for he crowded in close to nuzzle against Christopher’s neck, unerringly discovering a spot beneath his ear that, when kissed, produced a load of gooseflesh and a breathy sigh. “Yes,” he murmured against Christopher’s hot skin.
Christopher didn’t see what was so special about his body—-a bit round, a bit soft—-but he would trust James’s judgment in this as he trusted him with everything else. For his own part, he could not seem to stop touching every part of James. The expanse of his bare back was a revelation; the jut of his collarbone was exquisite; there was nothing on earth more fascinating than the softness of the hair at the back of his head. Christopher dug his fingers into it and couldn’t seem to let go. James approved, if his increasingly urgent kisses were any clue.
“Bed,” he growled. What a thrill to hear his normally eloquent man reduced to single syllables. The reality was even better than his nocturnal imaginings.
Christopher laughed as he allowed himself to be herded backward until he hit the edge of his mattress. “Given up on poetry, have we?”
“There are other arts.” James gifted him that cryptic smile, and Christopher almost swallowed his tongue.
One little push from James and he fell onto the bed, laid out on the sumptuous blue silk of the coverlet, feeling very much like a prey animal that didn’t know enough to protect its belly. He stared up at James and caught his hungry look. Uncertainty still gnawed at him, but that look gave him courage. He was wanted, somehow. He was desirable just as he was.
He shifted on the bed, opening his legs slightly and raising one arm above his head. “Show me?” he asked, and it came out in a whisper.
James covered him like a blanket, his serious face hovering over Christopher’s, lips an inch apart. Their skin met at so many points, Christopher couldn’t catalog them all. He had been dreading any touch to his chest, but like this, with both of them unbound, the press of bodies felt as natural as breathing. He concentrated on James’s breath, in fact, matching its heavy, panting weight, and found he enjoyed it very much. James pressed him farther into the bed, and he went gladly.
“I have you,” James said, and kissed him.
Christopher went pliant under his ministrations, but not still. He couldn’t help the way his hips bucked up against James, or how his hands went straight to his thick hair to hold him in place while they kissed. He found he quite liked tugging at that hair; James made the most delicious sounds when he did so. They tasted sweet on Christopher’s tongue, and he swallowed them eagerly.
“You have me,” he agreed. It was the faintest murmur against James’s lips, and he felt them curve in response. “What do you intend to do with me?”
James pulled back just enough so they could look each other in the eye. He must have sensed the import of the question because the serious look was back in full force. Calculations were visible in his eyes as they roamed across Christopher’s face. “I could touch you,” he said, and demonstrated by slipping a hand down Christopher’s belly to cup between his legs. Christopher gave a gasp and arched into it, his entire spine shaping into a longbow. “Or I could taste you,” James continued, playing his fingertips along the wet hole he found there.
“Yes, either,” Christopher panted. “Both. Whichever you like.”
“Or,” James drawled, “I could do something I’ve never actually done before, and then we would both be treading new territory together.”
“Oh?” This intrigued Christopher to the point where he was prepared to part with that talented hand, at least for a moment. “And what is that, James?”
James moved away almost entirely, leaving Christopher to make a feeble whine as his hands slid from his hair. He received a kiss on his knee in apology as James crooked it up into the air. “Here,” he said in a way that illuminated nothing. He made a space for himself between Christopher’s thighs, slotting himself there with a look of deep concentration on his handsome face. Christopher watched him with great interest and wondered what the point of this new position might be. It wasn’t as if either of them had a cock, so why—-?
James’s hips pushed forward so that his own damp center kissed Christopher’s, their twin points of pleasure meeting in a way that felt both indecent and decadent. Christopher let out a shout, his hand clapping over his mouth before it could escape completely, and threw his head back against the coverlet. Oh, but it was heavenly.
“Seems promising so far,” James murmured.
Christopher removed his shaky hand with a low whine. “You’re a bastard.” Another thrust against his core had him keening even louder.
“Do you like it?” James was grinding against him harder now, setting a pace that could only be described as controlled. “Does it feel good?” His black hair was in his eyes, and there was a sheen of sweat on his upper lip that Christopher desperately wanted to lick away.
“You need to ask? Ah!” He shuddered as the sensations grew along with the slickness between their legs. He could feel the crisp hair on James’s calves as they brushed against his own downy blond ones, could sense the urgency in his hands where they held him open. The sinuous movement of his hips, the sound of his name in James’s thready voice—-it was all so very good. And so much.
Christopher needed him closer. His hands scrabbled for purchase, reaching for any piece of James he could get. He was rewarded with another deep, slow thrust, James’s roughened hands on his hips dragging him down. The contact was overwhelming. Their legs were entwined like the tines of forks tossed carelessly into a drawer, and James was bearing down on him with that steady, maddening pace.
“Christ,” James hissed as they rode together, “you were made to be fucked.”
Such filthy language should have offended, but Christopher found himself feeling very pleased. “Was I?” He grinned, flushed to burning, feeling the sweat and warm breath building between them. His solo midnight forays had been nothing like this; nothing could have prepared him for this onslaught of love, like every atom of his being was lit from within. He knew he wouldn’t last. “Fuck me till I’m spent, then, James. Come now, I’m nearly—-”
With a snarl, James yanked until Christopher was sitting more or less upright with James’s palms cupping his bottom, kneading the flesh there and rocking even harder against him. Christopher gave a squawk of surprise that devolved into a moan. He wound his arms around James’s sweaty neck and buried his face against his throat.
“James, dear god, James, please,” he whimpered. “I need—-” He had not the words for it.
“What?” James breathed into his hair. “Tell me.”
“When we were trapped inside that wardrobe,” Christopher said, hiding his hot face against James’s shoulder, “and you—-ah, you know.”
James carded his hand through Christopher’s hair to coax him to look up. He did so to find James furrowing his brow. “I . . . ? What?”
“Your fingers. In my mouth.” He was certain his entire body was scarlet from his face to his feet. “Can you do that again?”
James laughed. Actually laughed, a deep rumble that went through his whole body and poured into Christopher’s. It was as warm as brandy, and Christopher found he wanted to drink it every night. “You liked that, did you?”
“My trousers were a sopping mess when I finally undressed that night, thank you very much,” he returned with as much haughtiness as he could muster while perched in another man’s lap. “Very cruel of you.”
“I didn’t mean to be, truly.” James placed his hand against Christopher’s cheek, a gentle touch that turned into something else when the pad of his thumb brushed against his slick bottom lip. “I only wanted you to be quiet.”
“So quiet me now,” Christopher said, and was gratified to find two deft fingers entering his greedy mouth. He moaned around them.
“Seems to only make you louder,” James said with more than a trace of humor, “not that I mind.”
Christopher suckled at the fingers in his mouth, feeling James grind up into him once again. His eyes rolled back in his head with pleasure. After a few moments, the fingers slipped wetly from Christopher’s lips. He gave a little cry and nearly chased after them, but James shushed him.
“Let me,” he said.
He shifted his hold on Christopher’s arse, and a soaked fingertip brushed against his hole. Just the idea of being touched in his every secret place pushed Christopher over the precipice. He came off so soundly that he thought he might shake apart. Every limb seemed out of his control, and the noises he made were as loud as they were shameless. He clung helpless to James’s stalwart shoulders and let himself be carried into an ocean of rolling pleasure. Only dimly did he register his dear James’s own peak as evidenced by his sudden rigidity and the forceful, surprised puffs of his breath against Christopher’s neck. A telltale gush of fluid spread between their thighs, and though he was certain it would be uncomfortably sticky in a moment, for now, Christopher relished the sensation.
“What wonderful new territory you’ve charted,” he sighed.
James gave a shocked bark of laughter and squeezed him tight. “So you enjoyed that?” His voice was as soft as feathers.
Christopher let his forehead flop lazily to James’s shoulder. He felt positively boneless. “I enjoy you,” he murmured. “Give me a few moments, and I’ll enjoy you again.”
“Oh, will you now?”
Christopher fought off a yawn. “Mm. Your hands, you said, or mouth. I still haven’t had those yet. I intend to try them all.”
“I see.” James unwound their legs and laid Christopher back down, grimacing at the sizable wet splotch on the coverlet and rearranging him so that he needn’t lie in it. The fondness Christopher felt at that gesture threatened to undo him. He watched as James stretched out alongside him, his dark head propped up on his fist. “I will, of course, endeavor to provide whatever is required,” he said.
“As a good husband should,” Christopher agreed, and leaned in to kiss his smirking mouth.