Page 57 of A Gentleman's Wager

“If that’s your desire.”

“I don’t… Is it not yours?”

“What I want—”

Was clearly everything.

“—is entirely more wicked.”

“We’re two men, everything about this is deplorable.”

“And yet, you just can’t bring yourself to resist.”

Lucerne gasped as he allowed his member to be uncaged. It bucked at the trace of fingertips along it’s stem and wept pearlescent tears.

“I want you, Lucerne. I’ve waited so long. Since the very moment we met.”

“We were children.”

“I was thirteen and plenty cognisant of what you did to me, and what I wanted to do to you.”

“And as you say, now you have me. So, take off your clothes, and show me what that means.”

Vaughan did not delay. He pulled his shirt and waistcoat over his head as one. Beneath, his body was lean, but muscular. His torso tapered neatly at the waist, while his arms and shoulders were strong from his love of fencing, the same sport that gave him his oft-admired thighs. However, the most striking feature of his near nakedness was the pale silvery line across his left side. Curious about it, Lucerne traced its length with both fingertips and tongue. “This is new.”

“An unpleasant scrape.” Vaughan tilted his head to watch Lucerne’s exploration. His pupils gleamed beneath the shadow of his eyelashes, while his lips curled into an aggressive smile. “Deuced Italians. I swear they’ve fire for blood.”

“No doubt the fury was provoked.”

“Ah, you wound me.” He clapped a hand to his heart.

Lucerne placed his own hand over the top, relieved that whatever implement had caused the wound hadn’t done more damage, nor robbed him of this moment. They stared at one another as if frozen. Then their bodies collided, the heat of it creating a film of perspiration between them.

Vaughan wriggled out of his breeches and helped Lucerne to do the same. “You know what I want, but will you allow it?”

Lucerne hid his face in Vaughan’s dark ringlets. They smelled of rich herbal perfume. He knew the answer in his heart but couldn’t yet say it aloud.

“I won’t demand it of you. Pleasure can be had in many ways.” His agile fingers caressed Lucerne’s stomach, then danced lower and tangled themselves within the golden thatch of his pubic hair. Eagerly, his erection reared towards Vaughan’s hand.

“It’s not like you to be so silent.”

He wasn’t confident about what he might say. Instead, he kissed Vaughan’s neck. Licked the salt and scent from his skin, then lay back and gazed dreamily at the canopy above as Vaughan’s head dipped and his lips found Lucerne’s inner thighs. So many nights he’d envisaged lovemaking such as this, had battled with his bodily desires, and society’s doctrine. He was no less conflicted now, yet he wouldn’t stop this. His cock throbbed with need. His head swam from overmuch brandy and emotion. Vaughan closed his lips over the head of his cock before releasing him, only to swallow him again to the root in the manner Lucerne had tried to imitate earlier and failed to accomplish. It was magnificent.

He sought his lover’s head. Stroked his hands through the cascade of ringlets. Had any woman ever been so skilful in their sucking? He felt every pull, every lap from the crown of his head to his toes.

“Turn over, Lucerne.”

He chose not to think, only to comply, rolling onto his stomach as well as his erection would allow. Vaughan began to massage his back, starting at the shoulders and working down his spine in increasingly tight circles. It unknotted the muscles, freeing him of nervous tension. Then he repeated the movements, once with his hands, then again with his lips, finally coming to rest at the base of Lucerne’s spine. Vaughan’s cheek rested against the warm skin of his arse. Would he?

He would. Precisely as he’d promised.

The very tip of Vaughan’s tongue dipped into the cleft between the two muscular globes. A sharp fanning of arousal caused Lucerne to shiver. Vaughan licked a firmer, deeper trail, brushing lightly over the surface of Lucerne’s puckered hole. He gasped in shock as blood rushed hot into his face.

His cock ached. Beneath him the sheet grew damp. The tickle of Vaughan’s touch came again, and again, bringing agony and sweetness. Until finally, he moved, making the mattress sigh as he stretched to reach something from the pocket of his discarded waistcoat.

What he produced was a small vial. Uncorked, it released the sweet scent of almonds. Vaughan poured a puddle of liquid into his palm.

“What is that?”