Page 57 of Restored

He came so hard, his vision greyed. Only as the final shocks of it ebbed did he realise he had Henry’s hair gripped tightly in his right fist, Henry’s head held tight against his thigh.

“Sorry,” he gasped, letting go.

Henry raised his head and blinked at Kit dazedly. He was a mess—lips swollen red and eyes wet from tearing up as Kit had fucked his face.

“Bloody hell,” Henry said hoarsely. “I’ve spent all over your bedcovers,”

Kit stared at him for a moment, then slowly grinned. “Have you?”

“I’m so sorry,” Henry muttered, his cheeks hot.

“Don’t be,” Kit replied. “I think I’m flattered.”

“Are you?” Henry breathed, blinking at him slowly. He rose up on his knees and repositioned himself over Kit, straddling Kit’s deliciously relaxed body, leaning down till their lips barely touched, and Henry’s broad, hairy chest skimmed Kit’s mostly bare one.

Kit squirmed a little, the intimacy feeling raw again, now that he’d spent and his mind had cleared. But Henry didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable. His grey gaze moved over Kit’s face hungrily.

“I can’t think why I never did that before,” he whispered. “It was glorious. Making you feel like that, watching you come apart.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t done that before,” Kit scoffed, though his voice was a little breathless. “You knew what you were doing.”

Henry’s mouth kicked up in a rueful half-smile that Kit remembered too well. He felt even more breathless seeing that smile.

“Yes, of course,” Henry said diffidently. “But not with you. And not with me—” He broke off, flushing red.

“Not with you what?” Kit asked.

“Not like that… on my knees. Serving you,” Henry whispered.

Kit blinked. “Oh,” he said slowly. “I see.”

They stared at one another for long moments, till Kit began to feel awkward. He was lying here with Henry—the man who had broken his heart so thoroughly, he had never allowed anyone else near it again.

Was he quite mad?

Kit shifted. He forced himself to smile at Henry—though it felt like a very stiff sort of smile—and said, “Do you mind if I get up?”

“Oh—sorry—yes, of course,” Henry said quickly, clambering off him.

Kit immediately rose and went to the wardrobe, pulling out a dressing gown—an outrageous saffron yellow one with black trim—which he pulled over his nakedness. He felt suddenly shaky. He wanted to wash and to be alone for a while.

He turned back to face Henry, who was now sitting on the side of the bed watching him with wary eyes.

“Well,” Kit said, with a smile that felt horribly stiff. “I think we can agree that you’ve thoroughly made amends now.”

“Christopher—”

“It’s been really quite an odd day, hasn’t it?” Kit said, speaking over him. “I certainly didn’t expect it to go like this. I daresay you didn’t either. But I don’t suppose it’s turned out too badly, all things considered. Perhaps we can say goodbye properly this time. And part as friends—or as near to friends as a duke and a whore can ever be.”

He thought Henry might smile at that. But he didn’t. He looked troubled.

“You’re not a whore, and I didn’t do that to make amends,” he said thickly. “Any more than you did it to punish me. Iwantedto do it. God, Christopher—I spent all over your bedcovers, just from touching you. If that doesn’t—” He paused and took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I’m making a mess of this.”

Kit stared at him. He couldn’t think how to respond.

Softly, almost inaudibly, Henry said, “I didn’t want to leave you. But Caroline was dying, and I had promised her I would give you up if she asked me.” He swallowed. “It was cowardly, sending Parkinson to tell you. I regret that more than I can say.”

The sudden prick of tears in Kit’s eyes surprised him—irritated him, even. This had happenedlifetimesago. It was ridiculous to weep over it now.