Page 13 of The Demons of Wychwood

WICKED ABANDON

I collected a bedside lantern and turned to Kit, who stood waiting inside the passage opening in the closet, I passed him the lantern, then I stepped inside. Kit gave the lantern back to me and then closed the panel behind us. The candlelight flickered, throwing an intimate light ahead of us. I felt the warmth of Kit tightly at my back in the confined space, and a giddy rush of excitement made me grin wide as a cat. It hit me then that the man of my dreams was just as much of a dirt bird as I was, and he was willingly joining me to peep.

“You ready, milord?” I whispered.

“Yes, yes,” Kit replied. I swear his lips brushed against my neck as he said those words. It made my bollocks jump. I moved on, stepping carefully and wiping away the strands of cobwebs that were thick in this particular uncharted passage. I turned and made my way to more familiar passages, noting the directions I’d left on the walls with the stick of chalk during my first visit. Using my arrow markers, I led Christopher Havelock to room one.

I placed the lantern at a safe distance so the light wouldn’t shine through the peephole, and then turned to Kit to observe his handsome face, silhouetted and curious.

“You ready?” I whispered. He nodded. I was relieved to see we were not to be disappointed as I slipped the peephole cover aside. Two men sat naked, opposite one another on a messy bed, their legs entwined. One fellow looked to be in his thirties, his head of bright ginger hair and a thick red walrus moustache were stark against his milky pale skin. His lover was a younger man by the look of his clean-shaven face. He was dark-skinned and built like a boxer, all thick muscles on his chest and arms like corded steel cables. They cupped each other’s faces and stared reverently into one another’s eyes. I moved away and let Kit have a look.

“Oh,” he gasped a whisper. “Freddie Fortesque and Will Johnson!” he said quietly. “Johnson attends my boxing club,” Kit revealed and then he went silent. I waited beside Kit for several minutes, content to be by his side.

“This is…quite lovely,” he whispered, his voice sounding tender and intimate in the close confines of the secret passage. “They do seem fond of one another as a man would be fond of a woman,” he observed. I smiled at how innocent my Lord sounded. Kit seemed mesmerized by watching the fellows making love, but we couldn’t stay here all night, there were other pleasures to be seen. I put my warm cheek to Kit’s and felt his body convulse, just the once. I could smell that heady scent of Lemon pomade and the musk of his skin. Our breath was brandy scented and mingled at such close quarters. Without saying a word Kit understood what I wanted, and he moved aside to let me see. Freddie and Will were kissing slowly, as if they had all day, their hands exploring bare skin, running fingers all over each other’s bodies. They weren’t in no rush to spend their seed and go back to carousing downstairs. Kit was right, what the men were doing together was lovely, intimate, private.

I leaned back and gestured with a nudge of my head and then collected the lantern. We moved off and over the next hour we saw the many ways men loved one another, some with tenderness, and others through giving and receiving pain with their pleasure. I’d wanted Kit to see that even when the bed play was rough or involved bondage, the dominant man didn’t just use his partner and leave as Edward Napier did. There was usually a bond of trust between men who chose to express their love that way.

We were standing close together taking turns looking through the peephole for room fourteen where the lovers were putting on a spirited display, laughing and wrestling for dominance, the winner spearing his lover with his meaty prick, but then getting bucked off and flipped to be impaled himself. This aggressive bed play was accompanied by kisses, the filthiest of talk, and a lot of laughter. Kit was pressed close and keen as punch to see what the fellows were up to, so we took turns. They were loud enough to wake the dead, and so we were lucky Wychwood didn’t have a neighbours for a few miles. I tried to step aside so he could have full access to the peephole. But Kit wasn’t having it. He gripped my hips and held me in place, his prick hard against my arse. I rested my brow on the wall and tried to stop myself from groaning at the welcome hardness.

“They’re…having a lot of fun,” Kit whispered, a smile in his voice.

“Aye, milord. What did I tell ya?”

“I wish I’d have seen such delightful bed play before,” he admitted. “It would have made me feel…less alone.”

I thrust my arm behind us both and pressed it to Kit’s arse, pushing Kit closer to my back.

“You ain’t alone, Kit, you got me now!” I whispered and then worried I’d said too much. Kit didn’t say nuffin’, and there was an added weight to the atmosphere in the confined space .

The grunting, rutting, and rhythmic bashing of the bed against the wall made quite an orchestra. Kit was hardening against my arse and seemed unable to stop a soft grinding motion of his hips as if he thought I wouldn’t notice. I noticed, by God, I noticed! My own prick was like a bludgeon in my smalls. I wanted so much to reach back and take him in hand. It seems we were on the same page cos Kit rasped,

“Oh Felix! You make the demon awaken in me,” his voice was low and secretive.

I turned and eased him back, so he was flat against the back wall.

“Gods! Don’t you get it yet? That ain’t no demon, Kit. That’s desire and lust, and it’s God-given. You really think the men you’ve seen tonight have a sickness?”

“Yes, no, I…I don’t know,” he said shakily, his breaths shallow, and his arms splayed in surrender.

“Yeah, you do know. Looks like you’ve got a choice, milord,” I said my hands gripping his muscled hips to steady us both, “You can listen to the naysayers, the clergy and the bullies, like this Edward Napier, or you can listen to what’s going on in here,” I said placing my palm over his heart. “And here,” I added, placing my other palm over the bulge at his crotch. Kit’s chest rose and fell as if he was being chased. And maybe he was…in his head, running from his feelings and his truth.

We were stuck in this narrow passage hearing the grunts and moans of men loving gloriously on the other side of the wall. There was nowhere left to run. The lantern I’d left on the floor gave us a dim light and it reflected in Kit’s haunted eyes. His breathing was laboured, and his chest heaved under my hand while the hardness in his trousers pulsed and lengthened. I traced the shape of his prick. It was a pretty mouthful, not as big as the angry weapon Napier waved about like a ceremonial baton, but it was plenty big enough for me.

“You can touch me if you want,” I said softly as I kept my eyes on my captive.

“I…I can’t…If I do I won’t be able to stop,” he whispered desperately, keeping his arms in a crucified pose.

“Who said anything about you stopping?” I kissed him then, not like I’d seen Napier kiss him—all greedy and animalistic. I was gentle and tender, treating Kit’s mouth as if it was made to be worshipped. He seemed surprised by my thoughtfulness and whimpered sweetly. His body relaxed under my touch. He canted his hips and pushed his erection into my palm and when I gave his prick a squeeze through the fabric of his trousers, I thought his knees might give out.

“Yess,” he hissed.

I pulled away and said, “Shall we take this back to room ten? Will you let me show you what it feels like to be loved, even for half an hour?”

“But…but Edward!”

“I wrote the numbers back on the door of room six and rubbed them off the door for room ten. I’ll lock our door. It’s up to you. You can make him wait and enter as if you’d just arrived, or you can stay with me.”

“But if I don’t meet Edward, he’ll make me pay.”

“He’ll have to find you first!” I said slyly.

The fear seemed to ebb away. Kit’s smile was warm, and his eyes reflected the candlelight. He kissed me once more and I knew wordlessly what he’d decided. I retrieved the lantern, and we carefully made our way back to room ten.

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