Page 17 of Introducing Mr. Winterbourne

“I spend most all my time up here,” he said. “The house is far too large for one man. I don’t know what Simon was thinking of.”

“Don’t you?” Lysander prompted, his tone dry.

“I suppose I do,” Freeman sighed. “It’s an illustrious address. In truth, I’d’ve been as happy in a hotel.” He glanced at Lysander over his shoulder. “Though I must say I’m glad of the privacy this evening.”

When they reached the top of the second flight of stairs, Freeman turned off onto a narrow corridor.

“Here we are,” he said, opening a door and holding it open for Lysander to precede him.

Lysander walked into a comfortable gentleman’s sitting room. A few leather armchairs were grouped about a low table. On the table, on a silver tray, a crystal decanter of wine gleamed in the candlelight like a great ruby.

Lysander stepped into the middle of the room and turned.

“This is nice.”

Freeman looked around as though that hadn’t occurred to him before now. Then he glanced at Lysander again and smiled. “Would you like some wine?”

Not really.

“Yes. Thank you.”

He watched as Freeman poured the wine, accepting the glass he offered with murmured thanks. He took an obligatory sip and stood there, in the middle of the room, unsure how to move things forward now.

He decided to be frank.

“May I ask you something?”

Freeman smiled. “Of course.”

“Have you done this before?”

Freeman studied him for several moments. “I have, yes,” he said. “Many times. Have you?”

Lysander’s face flushed so hard he was sure he must be scarlet. God, he was stupid! Why had he blurted out such a thing? Freeman was experienced, while he was near enough a virgin. This was humiliating.

Freeman saw his embarrassment. His expression softened with something—sympathy—that Lysander found unbearable, and he looked away, his pride smarting.

“Winterbourne—” Freeman said, then stepped closer, adding with gentle emphasis, “Lysander—”

Much as Lysander liked the sound of his given name in Freeman’s—Adam’s—mouth, he couldn’t bring himself to look at the man as he answered his question. Staring at his feet, he forced himself to admit his lack of experience.

“I sucked a man off once. And there was a boy at school. We used to”—he mimed the familiar jerking motion with his hand—“together, I mean. That’s it. Oh, and I tupped a woman once. To try it.”

“Lysander, look at me.”

Burning with shame and longing, he did as he was bid, and there it was again. That look. That passionate, intense look that made Lysander feel like parched earth getting rain after a long drought.

“You could not please me more,” Adam said softly. “I count it a privilege to be chosen by you for this. To be allowed to give you this pleasure.” He smiled. “And it will be a pleasure, Lysander, of that you can be sure.”

He plucked Lysander’s glass from his hand and set it aside, then he reached for the buttons of Lysander’s coat.

“Let’s have this off.”

***

ADAM TOOK HIS TIMEundressing Lysander, removing this final layer between them.

He was a beautifully made young man. Straight, strong limbs and long, lean muscles. That frankly handsome face became truly devastating when he smiled his incomparable smile, and Adam loved the lock of golden hair that flopped endearingly over his forehead.