Page 19 of The Thief’s Lord (Catkin Trilogy #3)

Gareth

T wo days later, I was wishing for the umpteenth time that I was back at Baywaters with Dorset snuggling at my side, enjoying a pint, a pipe, and a book.

If your family would let you , a part of me spoke up.

Everywhere you go, Gareth, people are always looking to you and relying on you.

That was the lot in life for the Lord of Baywaters.

Since a young kit, I had known that I would have to one day lead my family.

With each advancing step toward the disaster that was the Battle of Marrasol, I came to grips with the very real fact that I would lose my father and take the seat.

Those were dark days lit by the hope of Landis and Hugh.

These days, another, paler light shone before me.

As Lord Elthorne entered the final round of negotiations with Estellia, and as they prepared for the historic signing of the treaty on the border of the two countries, I felt, more than ever, that the world rested on my shoulders.

Besides handling matters of state security, I had the difficult task of attempting to delicately observe the traitorous King’s guards without alerting the Night Blades and their unknown master.

As I had assured Dorset, we had known for some time that the guards had been compromised. It was no surprise to us.

Lord Morne , I thought. We all know who it is.

We simply need to unveil the bastard at the right time.

Until then… I sighed, massaged the back of my neck, and contemplated the ceiling of the office I used while at the castle.

It was an understated, smaller room with simple thick windows, plain walls, and a low ceiling.

A small storeroom of records, perpetually guarded, held the most pertinent information to our recent investigations.

Even now, I sat there, elbows deep in piles of documentation that I painstakingly reviewed.

Lord Elthorne’s information scraped from Estellian gossip.

Distant rumors trickling their way in from various country spies at the negotiations.

Other notations and reports from the guards who accompanied Landis and Alan to the Lower Rime.

The king and his mage were still overseeing the restoration of the Lower Rime.

It was a slow process, but a welcome one.

Even more importantly, it kept Landis busy and placed him in the public eye.

Many toms and mollies would now view their young king as well-meaning and competent as opposed to some faceless unknown factor to contend with.

Hugh, of course, was helping in any way he could.

The gregarious knight was spearheading my investigations into the King’s guards.

At face value, Ser Hugh might appear to be the worst candidate for an undercover operation, but Hugh had his own way of sussing out toms. More words might be exchanged at a pub over two pints of beer than in a formal interview.

And there was Dorset. Dorset. At the thought of the redhead, I sighed and leaned back in my chair.

Godsdamn Dorset. The gorgeous redhead haunted my dreams every night.

It was made worse by the fact that every morning I awakened to find Dorset snuggled against my side.

How many times had I found myself curled around Dorset’s spare frame or kneading Dorset’s firm ass? Gods. Damn. It.

And of course it’s Dorset that is driving me crazy , I thought.

Ever since that day in the garden, Dorset has gotten…

quieter. He’s planning something, that is for certain.

Even Alan and Hugh have noticed. Certainly, it has been difficult for them to embrace the tom who was once the enemy.

I would expect a certain amount of suspicion, but now…

I shook my head. Now we are all worried.

Dorset is up to something. If only he’d tell us.

Faced with such a dilemma, other toms might be tempted to escape responsibilities.

Other toms might complain. I did not, but I did, on occasion, wish for a simpler life that was not to be.

A life where Dorset shared his heart openly with me, where he included me in whatever plans he was mulling over.

I could press him for details, but I had a feeling that he would only clam up further.

So, here I was, gazing at the ceiling and doing my best to focus on the problem of Dorset while not getting distracted by his delicious scent, the memory of his lightly muscled chest against my own, the curl of his red mane wisping against my nose…

Standing up, I began to shuffled the papers into their respective satchels and envelopes.

Resealing the lot carefully, I returned everything to the storeroom, locked the door, checked in with Andersen and his soldiers who stood watch outside the office, and strolled back to my suite where Dorset waited for me.

Maddening Dorset. The enigma that was my Little Mouse.

“You are absolutely cheating, Little Mouse,” I said in mock outrage.

“And you, your Grace, are counting cards.” Dorset smirked at me, teasing me with the slow syllables of his words as though he were tasting my formal title.

Usually, I hated the way most people reminded me of my station—the way they looked at me, addressed me, and treated me.

Dorset, however, was so different. The way his tongue curled around the words had me aching.

As his lips moved and his tongue flicked out sensuously, heat began to tingle along my skin.

I stared across the small card table I had set up and squinted at him suspiciously.

For our evening entertainment, we had decided on a game of primero.

Strip primero, to be precise. In the course of the last five hands, I’d lost my cravat, waistcoat, and cotton shirt.

Dorset had lost his own shirt and jacket.

At the sight of his lightly muscled chest and the pale pink nipples, my voice came out low and raspy.

“Are you…mocking me, Dorset?”

“…And if I am?”

I swept aside the cards. The rounded face of Nyria, the blazing mien of Solas, and the cool visage of Ziran. The card table rocked and tipped over as I dove forward. Dorset tried to get out of his armchair. Too late. Before he could leap sideways, I caught his wrist.

With breathless laughter, he tugged away, lightly kicking swatting me.

For a few seconds, we tussled, but he never tried to fully slip free, preferring to tease me with sensuous sweeps of his tail.

There was a mischievous light in his eyes that darkened with lust that matched my own.

Finally managing to catch both of his wrists in one hand, I dragged his blue kerchief necktie off from around his neck, I loosely bound his hands together.

A small smile still painted his lips, even as his iris’s consumed the green rim of his eyes.

Judging by the rising length of his cock in his breeches, Dorset liked the direction that our game had taken.

Tugging upward on his arms, I forced him closer to me and made him rise on his toes.

This sent him off balance and ensured that his playful kicking would do no actual harm.

Now that my Little Mouse was entirely disarmed, I surveyed my captive.

“Now, I have you where I want you,” I murmured.

“I was the one who won,” Dorset mildly protested.

“You were caught. You lose.” I added, “But… when I win…” I leaned forward to huskily whisper in his ear. “You shall win as well.”

With that, I twirled him about, leaned forward, and looped his bound wrists over my head and around my neck. Stretched against me, Dorset squirmed, rubbing his ass against my more than ready cock. The minx. He was probably attempting to destroy my self-control. I was not having it.

By straightening, I pulled him flush against me, allowing him to wriggle as much as he might please. At the same time, my hands fell to his waist to unbuckle his breeches’ belt. Dorset squawked with put on protest and tugged at my neck.

“You b-bastard, Gareth,” he breathed, the words grinding out of him unwillingly.

“Hm?”

I hummed in his ear even as my hands now caressed the curve of his half-erect length through the thin cotton of his small clothes.

Palming him briefly, I roused him until his curses faded into moans of desire.

His balls tightened beneath the touch of my fingers.

Delicious scents rose, engulfing me with the fresh scent of death’s door, honey, and smoke.

I buried my nose in the crook of his shoulder and inhaled.

My hips shuddered, rubbing against the curve of his ass instinctively.

My fingers slipped under the edge of his underpants and tugged the edge of his underclothes further down. Dorset’s cock slipped free, but I let the cloth trap his balls, drawing another protesting moan from him. I grinned. It was time to distract my little mouse.

“How’s this?” I growled in his ear.

Dorset shivered as I thumbed his moistened tip and dragged his pre-cum along his thickened length.

Jerking on his cloth bonds, Dorset groaned loudly.

I teased him with my touches, traced a trail along his bared shoulder and up his neck.

I wanted to kiss him, drive him tortuously over the edge, and take him when I could barely hold back.

Again and again. I would remind him that, whatever plans he laid, I would be waiting for him. I would be there.

With a soft cry, Dorset choked out a garbled plea.

Something about not being able to hold on.

As he slumped against me, panting, I quickly unhooked his arms, pulled him into my own, and then tossed him onto the large four poster that dominated my private rooms. The red curtains had been drawn back.

I stood for a second and surveyed Dorset who regained a semblance of control.

The redheaded tom propped himself up on his elbows and eyed my waist where the iron length of my own desire still remained trapped under my belt buckle. He jerked on his bonds, uselessly, and then tried to reach out to my buckle.

Roughly shoving him onto his back with one hand, I pinned him down with one hand, placing weight on the necktie restraint. With my other hand, I removed my belt and clothing. At the sight of my cock springing up, Dorset licked his lips, eyes wide. His chest rose and fell faster.

“Are you going to give it to me?” he asked, voice roughened with need.

“Did I win?” I countered.

Dorset’s lips formed words that failed to emerge. I flipped him over and smacked him smartly with the palm of my free hand. His pale ass cheeks reddened lightly. Dorset gasped and squirmed.

“Not the belt?” he asked with a groan. “I can take it.”

I bet he could, but I preferred to rely on my hands. The more I touched Dorset, the closer I came to that glorious edge we sought together.

“I want to feel you, Little Mouse,” I whispered. “This is what you want as well, isn’t it?”

“I want it,” he breathed. “Gareth—please.”

So, I gave it to him.