Page 67 of Molly Boys

Everett let out a quiet gasp at the use of his given name on Archie’s tongue and the feel of his roughened hands on him through the material of his shirt. His own hand dropped from Archie’s face to grip one one of his solid upper arms, and his gaze dropped to Archie’s mouth. He leaned in, his lips hovering just above Archie’s.

That one moment felt like an eternity, poised at the edge of an abyss, knowing they were both about to take a long and terrifying plunge into the unknown. But there was a trust that existed between the two of them. Archie couldn’t say how and when it had been forged, but he knew they both felt it.

They were safe with each other.

Before he could think about what he was doing, Archie moved a fraction and his lips pressed against Everett’s. For a moment it felt like the ground beneath his feet tilted and then the world righted itself. Everett’s lips were soft and warm, yielding under his own.

The sluggish throb of alcohol sang in his veins but instead of being muted, the sensations burst into life and colour. His need and desperate desire for the man in his arms eclipsed everything, including his reservations and good sense.

Archie’s arms slid around Everett’s waist, pulling him in close. He skimmed one hand up Everett’s spine to grip the back of his neck firmly. Everett’s mouth fell open on a gasp and their tongues met.

The taste of him ignited every last nerve in Archie’s body. He stumbled forward, pressing Everett against the wall. There was not an inch of space between their bodies as they pressed together, desperate for any amount of friction.

It was like being consumed by an inferno. The need blasted through Archie as he felt Everett’s hardened cock grinding against his own through their layers of clothes. He couldn’t stop, he didn’t even try. His mind had simply ceased to function.

He became a creature of sensation only.

Everett’s hands lifted and grasped Archie’s dark, wavy hair, gripping tightly and introducing a tantalising hint of pain that only heightened the pleasure. Tongues tangled as they devoured each other in desperation. Hands grasped at each other as they rutted together, each savouring the heady pleasure.

Suddenly Everett cried out, the sound all but lost to the feverish movement of Archie’s mouth. A moment later, Archie felt his own release rip through his body, the experience so intense it almost sent him to his knees. Releasing Everett, he braced his hands against the wall either side of Everett’s head.

They both breathed heavily as Archie buried his face in Everett’s shoulder. His heartbeat thudded loudly in his ears, and beads of sweat gathered at the back of his neck and under his arms. He could feel the cool wetness of his semen in his smalls, damp and unpleasant, a stark reminder of what he’d just done… of the line he’d just crossed.

There was no going back now.

He stepped back, panting as his gaze rose to meet Everett’s. Everett looked just as shocked as Archie felt. Archie’s gaze dropped to the front of Everett’s trousers to glimpse the tell-tale damp patch of his own release.

The enormity of what they’d done, what they’d just experienced, crashed in on Archie like a storm and without a word, he grabbed his coat and hat from the sofa and fled the room.

A couple of moments later, he stepped out into the freezing night, knowing that Jack would be safe in Everett’s hands. The door clicked mockingly as it closed.

Archie ran.

19

Archie lifted his head and winced at the sharp pain throbbing in his temple. He blinked blearily, trying to focus on the face that had appeared at the doorway of his office.

“Morning, Inspector.” Constable Merritt walked into the office and set a cup of tea on the desk in front of Archie as he eyed the two-thirds empty bottle of whiskey sitting at Archie’s elbow.

Archie grunted. There was a stabbing pain in his left eye and all he wanted to do was lay his head back on his arms folded on the desk in front of him and go back to sleep. He swallowed slowly and sat up in his chair.

“I have the information you requested yesterday.” Merritt smiled widely.

Damn it, as much as he liked the man, he was entirely too jovial for this early in the morning.

“Yesterday?” Archie repeated and wished he hadn’t. His mind flashed back to the night before and his heart rate picked up. Not ready to examine the consequences of what he and Everett had done, he forced himself to brush the memory aside and instead picked up his tea and took a slow sip.

“You asked about a fellow named Baxter whose family owned an ink factory?”

“That’s right.” Archie took another sip of his tea, letting it wash away the sour taste of the stale whiskey. “What did you find?”

Merritt retrieved his black notebook from his pocket and flipped it open as he began to read.

“Edmund Baxter, son of Harold Baxter, the owner of H.E. Baxter and Sons. Company has been in the family for several generations. From what I understand, they supplied ink to the royal family for a time but for several years the business has been in decline. Edmund is an only child. His mother and both of his younger sisters passed. They used to live in a fairly grand house on Coburn Street, Mile End, but they’ve recently moved to a smaller house in Stepney.”

“That would stand to reason if their family business has been in decline.” Archie scratched the thick stubble that was almost the beginning of a beard.

“That was my thought, Inspector.” He tore a piece of paper from his notebook and set it on the desk in front of Archie. “This is the address of their factory. It sits along the Thames.”