Page 26 of To Sketch a Scandal (Lucky Lovers of London #4)

“I’d like to, though it’s hard to say for sure.” He didn’t seem especially comfortable with the turn in conversation, and changed both subject and tone quite abruptly. “I can’t believe you chose to draw me again. You ought to be sick of my face by now, after all the times we paired up in class.”

“Hate to break it to you, Matty, but you don’t have the sort of face a fellow gets sick of.

” With one hand still nestled between Matty’s legs, he reached the other over to gently caress the line of his jaw, examining the angle of it and absolutely ignoring the thudding pulse of Matty’s lifeblood fluttering beneath his fingertips.

“In any case, there’s nobody else here to draw, is there? ”

Flicking from the drawings up to Warren, Matty’s eyes were like pools fit to wade right into, their depths perfectly cool or deliciously warm, depending on what was needed.

Warren wasn’t sure which he needed. Every inch of his skin seemed desperate for the heat of Matty’s, while a fire burned low in his belly and begged to be quenched.

There remained a small part of Warren that wanted to resist his response to that look.

Odd time for resistance, of course—it might have been more useful before he accepted a very heated invitation to the chap’s house, then further invited himself into his bed.

So long as they kept quiet, the chances of being caught at anything in this private corner room where the landlady believed Matty a staunch upholder of English law were slim to none.

But it was not exactly a good habit to get into, cozying up to men whose circumstances barred them from membership to The Curious Fox.

Matty was so sweet, so self-deprecating, so enticingly strange that it was hard to believe he was trouble sometimes, but he was.

Casually as Warren had found warmth between his knees, Matty began running light fingers over the grip Warren still had on the pencil, as if inspecting it.

The light, teasing touch brought into relief the more solid points of contact at their shoulders and bent legs, not to mention Warren’s hand, still nestled, plenty warm now.

They were settled in together very warm and close, mere inches and a bit of gumption away from snatching back the pleasures they’d had stolen from them in the alley.

Warren tipped his head back and closed his eyes, trying to master the roiling of his desire enough that he could decide once and for all whether he intended to indulge it.

That task was not helped by Matty nuzzling some scruffy almost-kisses in the sensitive space he’d opened up under his chin, the first move either of them had made without any story to excuse it.

The sparkle of warm sweetness between them swelled sharply, like Matty had thrown a shot of gin on gentle flames.

“This isn’t a good idea, mate,” Warren managed on a tight breath. “I know I half-started it, but maybe I shouldn’t have.”

“I know.” Matty nipped gently just under the curve of Warren’s jaw. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” Warren asked, and there was begging in it, desperation for Matty to find some way to make it alright.

“I keep having the idea,” he said in a low voice, rough and breathy enough to stoke the flames higher. “Even if it’s not a good idea, I keep having it. Over and over. Do you?”

His lips were a hair’s breadth from Warren’s ear. Warren gripped at Matty’s leg like it was his lifeline. “I do.”

“So, I just wonder,” he whispered, the words so quiet that Warren felt more than heard them, “if it wouldn’t be better to get it out of our systems now.” He flicked his tongue very lightly. “What do you think?”

Warren thought that was fucking terrible logic.

But it sure sounded good, didn’t it?

Warren tipped his head a bit farther to the side, a tiny adjustment that Matty took advantage of immediately, letting his sketchbook slip to the floor and opening his mouth to better caress Warren’s neck.

Warren had surely notched a bedpost since that ill-fated alley meetup, but it must not have been memorable, because he suddenly felt like he’d been strictly celibate from then until now, waiting for this moment like the faithful type of lover he poked fun at.

“Just once, then?” he whispered. “Get it out of our systems.”

“Just once.” Matty unknotted Warren’s cravat for better access. “Then it’s all strictly business.”

“You mean strictly art.”

He felt Matty smile against him. “Warren, are you implying my scribbles can be called art ?”

“If it will keep you doing that,” Warren panted, “I’ll build a bloody museum for it.”

Matty sat up to look at him properly. He was still smiling.

Though the curtains were closed, daylight made an appearance at the edges of them.

It was day, the bed was slept in, and Matty was smiling.

He took one final moment of careful, deliberate action, putting Warren’s sketchbook aside more reverently than he had his own.

Then he leaned in and pressed that beautiful smile to Warren’s lips.

Warren’s eyes dropped closed and a sigh escaped him.

The kiss was soft, unexpected, and positively drenched in daylight.

Matty, for all his quiet, orderly ways, was clearly spurred by the sweetness to become quite bold, swinging a leg to the other side of Warren’s hips in a delicious straddle.

Without hesitation, they met in the deep, open-mouthed kiss that Warren had craved in the alley, but had seemed too intimate for a place like that. Here, though? Here it was perfect.

The warmth and weight of Matty, the curve of his arse in Warren’s instantly searching palms, was disorienting, nearly delirious.

Warren was two rather distinct creatures: one of duty and daylight, and another of bars and back rooms. To receive such a charged kiss at this hour, in this place, from this man who was barred from the half of Warren’s life he more readily belonged in, felt new and fresh and like something he could get used to…

His hands froze for just a second in their exploration. Damn. He could not get used to it, could he? This was a one-time thing.

Matty came up for air, eyes dizzily managing to focus on Warren.

“Alright?”

Warren just pulled Matty tighter to him. His hands and mouth became more forceful, but slower, really reveling in every touch and taste. Having just this one moment and no other made him greedy. He wanted it to last.

Matty, on the other hand, was well on his way to becoming an impatient blur.

Warren’s cravat and collar were on the floor before he knew it, Matty’s attentions turned to the hollow of his throat, hands reaching desperately into Warren’s clothes for the relief of skin-on-skin.

When Warren took a peek at Matty’s pretty face, he found his eyelids fluttering with barely-repressed want.

His desperation stoked Warren’s, but if this was all they had, they had to make it last. If Matty was allowed to set the pace, it was going to be over too soon.

Since Warren was perfectly happy in any configuration, and Matty’d displayed a liking for passivity in the alley, he didn’t overthink his impulse to take control.

The bed was too small and potentially squeaky for anything rough, but a few intense nudges and a bite on the neck got them where he wanted: flipped over, Matty flat on his back.

As suspected, Matty proved perfectly pliant. Warren took a long moment to look him over, at his kiss-reddened lips and tousled shirtwaist, half-mad with wantonness.

“You don’t get out much, do you?” Warren teased.

Matty shook his head.

“I should make you wait.” Warren ran slow hands down Matty’s chest, undoing one waistcoat button before picking consideringly at the next like he hadn’t quite decided what to do with it yet.

“Maybe take the time to draw you looking like this first.” He slipped the rest of the buttons out of their places, then confiscated cravat and collar while he was at it.

“Or like this.” He mussed Matty’s linen as well, revealing flushed skin that was just begging to be tasted, which Warren did, as agonizingly slow as he could manage.

“This really suits you. We’d make a masterpiece, if you could sit still long enough. ”

Matty hummed and arched his back, a nearly pained sound coming from his throat. He clearly wanted to be louder than was possible in a midday tryst such as this.

“Forgive me, Warren,” he whispered, ragged. “I don’t think I can take any more fucking drawing right now.”

“Just the fucking, then?”

“ Please .”

“Fine,” he said between kisses. “Next time, then.”

Their eyes caught for a moment, just one, before Warren distracted them both from his mistake by sliding his hand along the hard ridge and dampening velveteen that marked Matty’s excitement.

Matty bucked his hips and gasped at the touch, his eyes clamping shut.

Something in the intensity of the reaction had Warren instinctively pressing his free hand to Matty’s mouth just in time to catch the moan that escaped him.

“You’ve got to keep quiet,” Warren scolded in a whisper, even as he purposely made the situation worse with his most expert and artistic of grips. Matty whimpered against his hand. “If you can’t, I’ll have to use more extreme means.”

Matty tried to say something, so Warren let him, removing the relevant hand just long enough for Matty to gasp, “I can’t. I can’t keep quiet.”

“Well, then. What am I to do with you?”

“Extreme means, I should think.” He ran his hands up and down Warren’s back, clearly drinking in the modest fruits that came from lugging around ale barrels and market baskets all the time. “ Please .”