20. Please, Your Grace #2
Connor had cherished him, not just today, but yesterday and the day before, too. The big things, the little things, the arm on his shoulders, the gifts, the care to make sure they didn’t drive when they shouldn’t, the pride he showed his friends. He gave and gave and gave.
Jonathan couldn’t equal that, but tonight he’d give as much as he could. “How do you want this tonight, Connor? Tell me.”
“I want.” He halted, then started over, his words a whisper aimed at the duvet. “I want you in me. Bare.”
Jonathan didn’t think that much mess was a thing he’d want for himself, but he hadn’t thought about wanting to cuddle and he was greedy for it now, so who knew what was coming down the road to flatten him. “You want me to come inside you? Say yes or no, Connor.”
He met Jonathan’s stare, eyes wide and pleading as he licked his lips and nodded. “Yes.”
Nothing seemed to embarrass Connor tonight, so he might as well ask the next question. “Do you also want me to pretend that you’re my manservant?”
“Yes,” Connor’s flushed deepened and he licked his lips. “That.”
He’d been right.
When he squeezed Connor’s chin, he felt the hinge of his jaw open and his lips part as he panted in Jonathan’s hand. He shouldn’t have this much authority over another person, not like this, he was going to mess this up, he was going to make a mistake.
He took a breath, the deep shuddery kind that felt like walking on rocks.
For Connor. Connor wanted this. He needed to get out of his head and get this right. “Then why are you shirking your duties? You haven’t turned down my bed.”
Connor liked the command, that would be the meaning of the way his nostrils flared and he scrambled to stand and pull back the duvet as soon as Jonathan left the bed.
The white towel slipped to show one hip bone, and parted on Connor’s thigh, and in general was dangerously close to becoming irrelevant.
“Stop.”
Connor froze, arms extended and hips canted back as he leaned across the bed, a snapshot of his back and shoulder muscles creating hills and valleys in front of Jonathan. The only thing he couldn’t see was Connor’s amazing glutes.
He let the moment stretch, until he saw the small relaxation as Connor pressed his forearms into the mattress, letting his imagination take him deeper.
“I require you to remove your towel.”
He stood, and the towel dropped to the floor.
“Now my drawers.” He thought that was the correct term. Connor’s immediate compliance and his trembling hands as he reached to ease the black lace down Jonathan’s thighs confirmed his choice.
When Connor crouched to slide them off, Jonathan wanted to tell him to drop to his knees and open his mouth, but also to get on his back on the bed and get ready, or to get on his hands and knees. He didn’t know how many ways he wanted to thrust into this man. So many. But he’d wait.
“Continue your duties.”
Connor rose, bowed his head, then turned and bent toward the bedding again.
He slid close enough to Connor’s back that he could smell his own bodywash on that wall of skin, the sneaky, thieving man. He breathed on the rise of Connor’s shoulder blade. “You’re new here, aren’t you? I haven’t seen you before.”
Connor froze.
One finger, he’d start with no more than that. He drew a line between the two ridges that defined Connor’s shoulders, then trailed his touch down until he was only a mere inch above where he wanted to push between those delicious juicy mounds.
“You look fresh from the country. Is that where you’re from?”
“Yes, milord.” Connor breathed the words with reverence.
There was a solitary hair, light brown, not causing any trouble at all, decorating the base of Connor’s spine. Jonathan pulled it. “You shall call me Your Grace.”
Connor jerked, and moaned, and then his head dropped forward, in penance, perhaps. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“City life will be challenging for a fresh young farmer.”
He wouldn’t laugh at Connor, but the things this man made him say, the crazy shit that came out of his mouth because of him, un-fucking-believable. But Connor wanted this, and he wanted to give Connor everything, so he stood on his toes and whispered more of it close to his ear.
“Will you like learning to serve me?”
Instead of touching Connor, he trailed the chiffon gathered at his cuff along the ridge of Connor’s shoulders and then he side-stepped to continue letting that fairy-wing white fabric slide down Connor’s arm, brush through the golden strands of hair that grew more thickly on his forearm.
Connor’s fingers clenched in the duvet, then opened, and clenched again, all while Jonathan let the chiffon and nothing else touch him.
Why hello my cock, you like watching this man grab for things he can’t have yet, don’t you?
He started the journey in reverse, but when his cuff reached the center of Connor’s back, he added his fingertips and followed the march of Connor’s spine down, down to the bubble rise of that butt.
Connor shuddered, but he waited. All that body at his command was intoxicating.
“You look like you were well fed back in your village.” He traced his palm slowly over the rise of that gorgeous flesh, the curve that begged to be handled, and under, until he reached the crease of flesh and thigh.
“Yes.” Connor’s next sound was a sigh of pleasure and he widened his stance. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“I can’t have my new valet going hungry.” His fingertips brushed Connor’s balls, firm and tight against his body already, so he turned his hand to cup them.
The weight made him want to sink against Connor’s back and add his own cock to the crease between Connor’s legs, but Connor wasn’t taken apart yet, and he deserved to be. “Have you eaten a man’s cock before?”
Connor half-turned toward him, wobbling slightly as if his knees were uncertain of what to do. “Please let me. Let me.”
“No.” He squeezed the back of Connor’s neck to keep him facing the bed and urged him forward. “Get on the bed.”
Connor’s knees proved that they still worked, but without the athletic coordination of earlier in the evening. This man wouldn’t be able to jump or dive, only clamber and collapse, ass raised and legs split apart.
The urge to fuck into Connor drove him forward to put his knee on the bed and his hands on those dents at the top of Connor’s buttocks.
He wanted to plaster every inch of his skin to Connor’s skin and fuse together while he took this big man as his own, but the way Connor’s head rested on one arm made him pause.
His profile was beautiful, damp curls and flushed cheeks, parted rosy lips as his chest moved with each panting breath. He looked like he was on the edge of bliss. But he wasn’t undone, he wasn’t slack or sated, he wasn’t reduced to nonsense.
Jonathan could wait.
“Dukes don’t do the work. Others do it for them. Grab your ass and present yourself.”
Connor did. Those big hands pulling his buttocks away from his hole were gorgeous to see. The lamplight showed him that his goal was already pinkish-brown and, he thought, softened up.
He trailed a hand down Connor’s spine, using touch to follow the bumps because he couldn’t pull his gaze away from that pucker.
Thousands of nerve endings there, and he wanted every one of them to send a thank you note when he finished. He’d done everything but this, he’d finger-fucked and dick-fucked and dildo-fucked, so what was a little tongue-fucking. It was doable. For Connor.
He started with his lips on the meatiest part of Connor’s ass, next to where Connor’s spread fingers held himself open.
There was a fading mark, and he suckled hard enough to make it dark again.
He’d caught Connor twisting to check the original mark in the mirror and had promised him a fresh one.
Delivering on that was an easy beginning.
Connor groaned, muffled by the bedding, and Jonathan realized the cravat fabric had drifted between Connor’s legs and must have brushed his balls.
If he touched Connor’s cock, this little game would be derailed, but the fabric could be his partner.
He travelled the slope of Connor’s butt in a direction his mouth had never gone, into the valley of Connor’s ass.
He’d stolen Jonathan’s body wash, citrus and rosemary and expensive, and Jonathan was able to bury his nose in Connor’s crack and inhale and mean it.
His tongue traced the line of darker color shading Connor’s skin to where it ended at the flexing circle and brushed the muscle there.
When Connor bucked under him, the strength in those firm buttocks nearly dislodging him from his goal, he only had to mutter stop to still the other man’s movements.
He really shouldn’t have this much power.
He lapped once, twice, and heard Connor’s high-pitched approval.
He lapped again, and circled, like he’d do with the head of a cock, and Connor made that noise again.
His heart sped, knowing he was getting this right.
Making Connor sound like that increased the urge to poke his tongue at that spot, and simultaneously his own cock was telling him to hurry and get on to the next bit, please and thank you.
All parts of him wanted to push into Connor, fingers and tongue and most of all, his bare, uncovered dick, like they were competing individually in a race to cram into this place that begged to be opened and filled.
He wanted to hurry up and win, but at the same time he wanted to stretch this moment for as long as possible.
He licked and circled, and then when he pushed his tongue against that flexing hole, Connor made a noise like an extended yip. He felt like his own cock was linked to Connor’s responses, each little whine tightening a vise around his balls, each moan gripping him as firmly as a hand.
Connor bucked him off again, moving like he was on an exercise mat seeking a muscle burn.
He let his teeth graze the curve of one of Connor’s warm, pinkened buttocks, and hoped his voice landed somewhere between silky and menacing. “I will leave you aching for it if you misbehave, little farmer.”