Page 47 of The Fulbourn: Pitch & Sickle

Silas raised his head and was sheepish as he spoke. ‘I got a bit carried away. I hope your shoulders aren’t bruised from the wall.’

‘Oh I have bruises all right, but not from the wall, and not on my shoulders.’

The teasing did not sit well with Silas. ‘Shit, I was too rough, I knew it. I don’t know what possessed me –’

Pitch stopped him with a kiss, wondering if he could ever tire of this man’s lips. ‘You are still inside me, we have just fucked each other to our knees, and do you see me complaining? If you were too rough, I would have let you know.’ He paused. ‘You have some experience lying with men, evidently.’

‘Evidently.’ Silas was still caressing him, featherweight touches along his back.

‘Your skills are quite satisfactory, I’d say.’

Silas’s eyes widened. ‘Satisfactory?’ He was incredulous, and it was adorable. But he recognised he was being teased quickly, and went all loose-limbed with relief. He laughed. Heartily enough that it dislodged his cock from where it was very comfortably slackening inside Pitch. ‘Oh, damn. I didn’t mean to do that.’

‘Well, you had to get out of me eventually, I suppose.’

Silas glanced up from beneath lowered lashes, a coy pose he rarely adopted. ‘A shame that. Wouldn’t you say?’

Pitch grinned like a cat with the cream. Far too much cream really. It was slick between his arse cheeks and thighs, and cooling fast. ‘My goodness, Mr Mercer, you’ll make me blush.’

Silas snorted. ‘I’ve already succeeded there. You are quite pink in the face.’

They were both so damned full of queerly shy smiles and furtive glances. Still clinging to each other despite how fucking uncomfortable it was now, damp and sore, the corset pinching at him and his hip starting to murmur its discontent.

It was ridiculous to be so bashful with one another. This was hardly the first fuck for either of them. Silas, it turned out, was no virgin dead man. But they were both jittery, far too giggly and silly, and Pitch was suddenly terror-struck that they may not get to fuck like this again.

If he could have locked them in this room until no one remembered they existed and Samyaza’s halo became someone else’s problem, he’d have done so.

Sobered by his thoughts, Pitch let his hands fall from where they clasped Silas’s neck. ‘Right then. You may just need a quick wipe down, but I am a dripping, reeking mess. Jane will kill me for what I’ve done to her dress. I need to change. Do you think –’

A hard knock came at the door, and they both jolted.

‘Oh shit.’ Silas was on his feet, bundling Pitch with him like a babe in arms.

‘Set me down,’ the daemon protested. ‘I have legs I can use.’

Soft laughter came from behind the door. ‘It’s only me…Ada. Now, I’d be mildly insulted that you didn’t watch a minute of the show if that scream hadn’t told me you had found far better ways to entertain yourselves.’ Muffled chortles followed. Two people stood outside the door. ‘Just thought we’d check everything was truly all right.’

‘Bloody hell, were we that loud?’ Silas whispered. He released Pitch, keeping a steadying hand against his back as the daemon’s supposedly reliable legs betrayed him with a wobble.

‘We werethatloud.’ Pitch cupped his mouth, calling out, ‘We are fine, thank you. I had a dreadful fright, that’s all. I was convinced that I saw a snake, but it was just my husband.’

Peals of laughter came from beyond the door, and from behind the bamboo screen. He’d spoken loudly enough that those last to leave the now relatively subdued little theatre had caught his words too.

‘Christ, you are terrible,’ Silas moaned, bending to fetch his trousers, his rosy-pink cock limp and glistening between his thighs.

‘And you like it.’

‘Where is your evidence of that?’

‘Running down my legs.’ Pitch enjoyed every inch of the mortified blush covering Silas’s cheeks.

‘It is such a pity you must leave us tomorrow,’ Ada called. She had definitely enjoyed a few gins. ‘For I think, Thaddeus, your acerbic wit would be a perfect fit for our stage.’

Silas mouthed a horrifiedDid they hear that too? Pitch’s answering smirk had him pressing his trousers over his face, sending a fresh moan into the fabric.

Pitch settled his skirts and strode over to the door, wincing as tender places made themselves known. Riding a horse on the morrow was going to be a challenge.

‘Don’t you dare open that door,’ Silas hissed, dancing from foot to foot as he rushed to pull his trousers on.