Page 41 of A Gathering Storm
Nicholas throat bobbed as he swallowed. “No?”
Ward ground his hips against Nicholas’s, relishing the man’s swift indrawn breath. “No. Not if you take your time.”
Nicholas went very still at that, and Ward frowned, puzzled.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Nicholas said. “Only when you say you need to take your time—well, that’s something only a gentleman would say.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning people like you have plenty of time—and privacy—for these things, Ward. The rest of us aren’t so lucky.”
Ward didn’t know what to say to that, but Nicholas didn’t seem to require answer.
“When Gabe first came to Porthkennack, he was lodging with Mrs. Bridges. My mother was still alive then, and living with me at the cottage. It wasn’t till sometime after we met—one night when we were both drunk as lords—that we discovered our . . . mutual interest. But even after that, we had nowhere private to go. So we would meet at night, down by the mill stream, or walk over to the sands together and find a secluded spot in the dunes.” He shrugged, looking away. “Our times together were always rushed. Furtive. We always had to be watching, listening in case someone came. When you talk about ‘taking your time’—it’s never been like that for me. It never could be.”
Ward thought about that, and about what Nicholas had said about being buggered. About how painful and humiliating it had been. He lifted a hand to Nicholas’s chin, turning him back to meet Ward’s gaze.
“Did you evenwantto be fucked that time you did it?” he asked at last. “Or did you just agree to please your lover?” Ward winced at the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. As usual, without the softening effect of a sympathetic inflection, he sounded too harsh, too blunt. But Nicholas didn’t seem offended by the question.
“Mostly, I agreed to please him,” he admitted, making no move to pull away from Ward’s gentle touch. “But I was curious too.”
“And did he use anything to ease his way?” Ward whispered. “To stretch you?”
Nicholas tried to look away again, plainly mortified, but Ward’s fingers tightened, and he stilled. For a long moment, Nicholas gazed at him unhappily, then finally he whispered, “He smeared some lard on his prick to help it in. But we had to be quick.” He swallowed, then added, “I hated it. I was bleeding after.”
“God, Nicholas,” Ward whispered, stroking the man’s jawline with his thumb. Such a strong, angular face. He wanted to examine every bit of it. Wanted to see every expression Nicholas had and catalogue them, every one, as though the man were a scientific mystery to be unravelled.
It was a terrifying feeling—Ward barely recognised himself. He’d never felt like this before about anyone, not even Alfie. Oh, he’d felt lust and even an easy sort of fondness for his erstwhile lover, but when he looked at Nicholas Hearn, he felt turnedinside-out. And now, as the man nestled his face into Ward’s hand, stroking his cheek against Ward’s palm like a cat seeking affection, the ache in Ward’s chest was physical: an unfamiliar, unwanted, wrenching tenderness.
Why couldn’t he want Nicholas in the easy way he’d wanted Alfie? That desire had been strong, but it had only been a physical need. An appetite, compelling as hunger or thirst. He felt the same intensity of physical desire for Nicholas, but there was something more besides, something much more dangerous to his peace of mind.
Nicholas’s eyes were closed, his coal-black lashes brushing lightly against Ward’s fingers. His cheek was warm and roughened by dark stubble, and when he pressed his lips against Ward’s palm in an unexpected kiss, his mouth was soft and plush.
A moan escaped Ward, and at that sound, Nicholas’s eyes flew open. It was no wonder—a moan from Ward was more like a bark after all—but his look of surprise changed to one of desire so quickly that Ward didn’t have time to feel embarrassed.
“Why are we still talking when I could be kissing you right now?” Nicholas asked in a low, driven tone.
Ward’s eyes widened and he croaked, “I have no idea.”
“Me either,” Nicholas whispered and leaned towards him.
Ward looked suddenly so flustered that Nick couldn’t help but smile. The man was all assured experience when he talked of fucking and being fucked, using oil to stretch and prepare a lover, taking time to make everything pleasurable and good. And Nick had no doubt Ward knew what he was talking about—he was clearly very experienced, far more experienced in such matters than Nick. Yet the thought of a simple kiss seemed to make him as nervous as a maid.
As for Nick, well, kissing at least he knew how to do. He mightn’t want women as bedmates, but he’d kissed plenty in his time, playing the part of a lusty lad when he’d had to. And of course, he’d kissed Gabe. He’dlovedkissing Gabe. More than Gabe had liked kissing him back, he knew—Gabe had always been keen to get on with things, hurrying towards completion as though he were in a steeplechase, galloping hell for leather for the finish line.
Nick traced the pad of his thumb over Ward’s mouth, loving the faint drag of damp flesh as he parted those delicious lips. So comely and so complicated, this lad. All that fire in his belly.
“I’m good at kissing,” Nick murmured, dipping his head. “I’ll show you how. Then you can show me how to do the things you’re good at.”
“All right,” Ward whispered.
Nick brushed his lips across Ward’s, then, smiling, returned to press their mouths together more thoroughly. He framed Ward’s face with his hands, tilting the man’s chin up as he muscled closer.
He liked the contrast of Ward’s slender, strong body with his own broader one. Liked too the similarity in their heights. Ward was only two or three inches shorter, so they were chest to chest, groin to groin, making everything easy and good.
Nick slid his tongue against Ward’s, loving the thick moan that elicited. He did it again, and again. And then, finally, Ward mimicked him, tentatively entering Nick’s mouth with his own tongue, his hands going to Nick’s hips, tugging him closer, impatient for more.