Page 51 of A Gathering Storm
Nicholas swallowed. “Tell me what to do. I’ve never—” He broke off, looking so suddenly unsure that Ward found himself reaching a hand out to him.
“Just come here,” he said. “Come inside me and lie with me.”
“Don’t you have to turn over?”
“No, we can do it like this. I want to do it like this.” Ward smiled. “I like looking at you.” He lifted his knees to his chest, exposing himself even more, and Nicholas whimpered.
“Come on,” Ward urged. “I’m yours.”
Nicholas nodded, still looking nervous even as he shifted on his knees to align his cock with Ward’s entrance. And then, at last, he was pushing into Ward’s slick hole, slowly filling Ward’s arse with his thick, blunt cock, eyes closing and head falling back as the sensation of burying himself deep inside Ward took him over.
“Oh God!” Ward gasped. “That’s good. So good.”
It was better than good. It was everything. Being filled, possessed—in that moment, Ward felt like he’d never be able to have enough of it. Wanted it to last forever.
Nicholas’s expression was all amazement. “You feel extraordinary.” He pulled back and thrust again. And again, and again, until he was fucking Ward the way Ward most loved, with deep, rhythmic thoroughness. Owning Ward’s body and using it for his pleasure.
He fell forward, bracing himself on his elbows on either side of Ward’s head, and took Ward’s mouth in a savage kiss. Oh, but this man loved to kiss! And now Ward did too. He opened to that seeking tongue, letting Nicholas plunder his mouth as he was plundering his arse, relishing the friction of Nicholas’s flat stomach against his cock, which Ward realised with something like wonder he hadn’t even touched yet.
Despite the lack of attention to his cock, Ward’s crisis was building fast. He felt the churn and surge in his balls that told him he was about to come. He broke the kiss to tell Nicholas, but Nicholas spoke first, panting, “I’m going to spend. Can’t stop it—”
“God, yes. Do it—” Ward hissed, giving himself up to the pleasure, holding nothing back. The final stuttering strokes of Nicholas’s cock sawing in and out of him shoved Ward over the edge, and he came long and hard, a guttural cry in his throat that Nicholas silenced with his mouth. Wet heat splashed his stomach and filled his arse simultaneously, his own spend and Nicholas’s too, mingling with the coconut oil and their sweat, leaving him sticky and satisfied and thoroughly marked.
“Thank you,” Nicholas whispered in his ear. “That was . . . well worth waiting for.”
Ward was smiling as he drifted off into a doze.
FromThe Collected Writings of Sir Edward Fitzwilliam, volume I
I embarked upon my studies at Cambridge—philosophy, mathematics, and natural sciences—with the woolly notion of taking up a career as a clergyman. It was my father’s idea and a common road for a second son. Long before I graduated though, I knew that the Church was not for me. On leaving Cambridge, and following a long argument with my then-disapproving father, I enrolled at King’s College London to undertake further studies in the fields of chemistry and natural philosophy. It was there I wrote and published my first scientific paper and began—in my spare time and using the professors’ equipment whenever they would allow it—to carry out practical work into the subject which gripped me at that time: identifying a more effective electrolyte for the production of electrical power.
The next morning, Nick woke early. A thin beam of sunlight had found its way into the bedchamber through a tiny aperture in the velvet curtains, falling across his face and dazzling him when he cracked his eyelids open. He groaned, lifting his arm to block out the blade of light. As he did so, his fingertips brushed against warm skin. Surprised, he turned his head.
Ward.
The man lay beside him, completely naked, contentedly sleeping.
In sleep, Ward’s face was calm in a way it rarely was in wakefulness. Awake, the man was always thinking about something, fine brows drawn together in concentration. Nick rather liked his distracted look, but there was something uniquely appealing about this peacefully dozing countenance. Something oddly innocent too. Though innocent was the last word Nick would have used to describe what they did the night before, and the shameless, wonderful way Ward had seduced him.
He had been inside Ward, and somehow, amazingly, Ward had loved it as much as Nick had. The sensation of Ward helplessly spilling between their bodies while Nick fucked him, his cock buried deep in the man’s tight arse, had been, without doubt, the single most wonderful thing Nick had ever experienced. So astonishing that it had even made Nick wonder if he might one day allow Ward to fuck him in return, despite having vowed never to allow that to be done to him again. But if he did it with Ward the way Ward had shown him last night, with coconut oil and all that preparation . . .
Christ, just the thought of it had him hard as stone again, and wanting more. He stroked his cock, curling his fingers loosely around his shaft while he watched Ward’s sleeping face.
His moving arm made the covers shift, and soon enough, Ward was stirring. He gave a raspy sort of moan and blinked his eyes open, giving Nick a puzzled, bleary look for a moment before he seemed to realise where he was and smiled.
“Morning,” he croaked. Strangely, Nick found his mouth curving just at the sound of the man’s voice. No one could call Ward’s voice beautiful, but Nick had grown used to it now. It was part of who he was. A reminder of how strong he was, and the obstacles he’d overcome.
“Morning,” Nick murmured. “Did you sleep well?”
Ward’s smile was slow and sleepy. “Like a top. What time is it?”
Nick considered the brightness and angle of the sunbeam penetrating the gap in the drapes. “I’d guess six or so.”
Ward grunted and rolled away from him, reaching for his discarded pocket watch. Having retrieved it, he flicked it open.
“Not far off,” he confirmed. “Ten past.”
“Do I win a prize?” Nick teased.