Page 22 of Enlightened
“Just gone five.”
“I slept three hours, then,” David exclaimed, shocked.
“Did you see Chalmers?” Murdo’s gaze, dark as pitch and soft with concern, was so reminiscent of the nightmare that David’s heart began to race again. Breaking eye contact, he burrowed closer in, needing the physical reassurance of Murdo’s body, warm and alive and close to his own. He slid his arms round Murdo’s waist and pressed his face into the other man’s neck, breathing in his familiar, heady scent.
For a moment, Murdo was very still, as though surprised. Then his arms tightened round David’s cold body, and he turned his head to press a kiss against one temple.
And right then, David felt a bolt of unexpected gratitude. Gratitude that he and Murdo were alive. Alive and here, together, now.
A profound understanding settled on him of what it meant to be alive. What a privilege it was. What it meant to share the moments of his life—even the difficult moments—with someone he loved.
Someone I love.
Murdo.
The revelation remained unspoken, the unused words even harder to utter thanWill you hold me?Easier by far just to stay where he was, holding on to the flesh-and-blood man, imperfectly communicating his feelings by touch.
After a long while, he realised he hadn’t answered Murdo’s question.
“Sorry, I’m still half-asleep, I think. I did see Chalmers. He made a request of me. I’ll need to talk to you about it later.”
“We can talk about it now, if you like.”
“No, first I—” David paused, struggling again to find words. The ones he picked sounded raw and desperate. “First, I need you.”
He lifted his head, knowing his face would give everything away. He didn’t even try to disguise his feelings, though. He just let Murdo see it all, the despair and the grief, and the sharp, pressing desire. Because what was the point in hiding it? What was the point of having the gift of life—and the gift of knowing how precious it was—if he couldn’t share it all with this man?
Murdo met David’s eyes, and his own gaze gentled. “I need you too,” he whispered, and he dipped his head to capture David’s lips.
It was just breathing at first; their lips resting together, the air from their mouths mingling. Impossible intimacy. Impossible tenderness. So unbearably sweet it was a barb in David’s heart. He felt it like physical pain, like physical joy.
They broke apart briefly, staring at one another, then David leaned in and took Murdo’s mouth again, but this time his kiss was hungry, devouring, and after a moment’s hesitation, Murdo returned his passion. Their tongues twined, Murdo’s clothed body moving against David’s naked one, his big hands tracing over David’s cold skin.
As good as Murdo’s hands felt, David was glad when the other man finally pulled away long enough to shed his clothes. He watched Murdo hungrily as the man quickly stripped, moaning his gratitude when they were finally skin to skin, loving the satiny drag of flesh on flesh and the prickle of Murdo’s chest hair against his own mostly smooth torso. He loved the breath-stealing pleasure when their cocks first met, the prod of Murdo’s blunt cockhead against the base of his own shaft, the firm press of all that heft as Murdo canted his lean hips up. They ground their shafts together, their mouths meshed in a deep, desperate kiss—breathing the same air, moving to the same frantic rhythm—and it felt like mere moments till David was crying out his release, Murdo’s answering groan following a heartbeat behind.
Afterwards, they lay in companionable silence for a long time. At last, though, Murdo turned his head on the pillow.
“So, what did Chalmers want?”
David repeated what Chalmers had told him about Kinnell’s visit to Charles Carr, and his request that David deal with moving the trust administration.
“I have to get to London as soon as possible,” he said when he was finished. “I want you to take me with you tomorrow.” He noted Murdo’s faint frown and added, “I cannot rest easy until I’ve fulfilled my promise, Murdo.”
“David Lauriston to the rescue once again,” Murdo observed, his tone very dry. “You’ll be wanting me to saddle my best white horse for you, will you?”
“I’m merely undertaking the duties of my office as trustee—” David began, breaking off when Murdo sighed.
“All right, all right,” the other man said. “I know better than to try to dissuade you once you’ve made your mind up. You’ll have to pack your things this evening though. We leave at first light.”
Chapter Eight
Another carriage journey. This one, though, was farther than David had ever travelled before. Until now, he’d had no cause to go anywhere that involved more than two days by carriage. London was taking the better part of a week, and it felt like the longest week of David’s life.
Murdo had assured David that if the inns Murdo had reserved had no spare bedchambers, no one would blink an eye at the two of them bunking together. David had almost looked forward to the prospect, only for it to turn out that, by some twist of fortune, the innsallhad spare bedchambers. Not to mention nosy landlords and fellow guests who traipsed the corridors at all hours of the night. Consequently, David and Murdo had spent the last five days in torturous proximity—together all day in the swaying, closed-in carriage, knowing they could be interrupted at any moment, only to be separated each night.
They’d passed the time talking. At long last, Murdo began to break some of the careful conversational rules he’d set months before, when David had first gone to Laverock House. Not that David could really call them rules. Murdo had never explicitly said there were things he would not discuss. He was just good at making it plain when he wasn’t happy talking about a particular subject. And he was never happy talking about his family.
Until now, it seemed. On this journey, he finally began to speak about them—about his siblings, anyway. About his older brothers, dutiful Harris and pompous Iain, neither of whom Murdo much liked, and about his three younger sisters, all of whom were married to men handpicked by Murdo’s father. He learned about Murdo’s late mother too, a kindly but distant figure from Murdo’s childhood who’d had no time for her youngest son as she coped with pregnancy after pregnancy, a succession of new babies and stillbirths, until she finally succumbed to the rigours of childbirth when Murdo was thirteen.