Page 57 of King's Man

But then Sam leaned forward, pressing his lips to the nape of Nate’s neck and slipped his arm around his waist. Firm fingers closed around his aching cock. Nate bucked and cried out, helpless, as Sam ruthlessly drove him over the edge until he was sobbing his release into the mattress, spilling over Sam’s hand. With a stifled shout Sam followed, surging forward with such force Nate’s legs gave way and they sprawled together, Sam gasping against his shoulder, mouthing silent words into his skin as his hips jerked and eventually stilled.

In the aftermath, Nate drifted like kelp in the tide, buffeted by wave after wave of emotion. He clung to the only things he could hold on to — Sam’s hand stroking his arm, Sam’s heartbeat pounding against his back, Sam’s love anchoring him to the world.

∞∞∞

They slept.

Sam knew it was foolish, but he was too wrung out to resist. So, he slept with Nate’s back pulled against his chest, holding him close as if that could keep him from leaving. As if loving him had ever been enough to keep them together.

When he woke to the early dawn, Nate didn’t stir. He was breathing in the steady rhythm of deep sleep, dark hair sprawled across the pillow. In the thin light, Sam could see finger marks on his shoulders, marks he’d put there, and swallowed a pang of guilty pleasure; Nate had wanted it hard. Sam would have preferred tender, but perhaps it had been for the best.

Today they’d return to London. And this would be over.

He rolled onto his back. Three uneven beams supported the low ceiling, their dark wood black in the gray light. Outside, he could hear the patter of rain and somewhere a rooster was greeting the soggy dawn. By dinner they’d reach the Swan. They were only twenty miles away now, an easy day’s travel if the rain let up. And then the job would be over, Nate would sail for Boston, and Sam…

He didn’t know what he’d do.

Return to the Bowl, return to the Claims Commission in hopeless pursuit of compensation? Drift? He turned his head. Nate’s bare shoulder caught the light, golden with the summer sun of home, and Sam felt a despairing ache. He longed for Rosemont, he longed to return with Nate, to lay with him on the riverbank and send politics to the devil.

But that wasn’t all.

He longed for the life he’d once led, a life of purpose and service to his community. Of respect.

The war was over — the great question of their time decided — and he’d lost. Lost the argument, lost the war. The fight had cost him his wealth, his honor, and ultimately his home.

Must it cost him his future too?

Return to Rosemont would be impossible; he was attainted of treason and banished from Rhode Island forever. But there were other places in America, places where no one knew the name Samuel Hutchinson. The whole open frontier…

A surge of brash hope had him sitting upright.

Who was to say that he and Nate couldn’t live someplace else, the arguments of the past put aside, and work together for the future of their country? God knew there was work to be done now that America had embarked on this new and perilous path. Maybe Sam could help; he was still a lawyer, after all. And who better to guard against the tyranny of the mob than a man who’d once been its victim?

His heart raced. Surely it was possible? He was tempted to shake Nate awake and ask him, but he slept so peacefully that Sam decided to let him have his rest. This could wait. Instead, he brushed a kiss against Nate’s shoulder and slipped out of bed.

Not even the sodden morning could dampen his spirits now. Dressing quickly, he retrieved the oil — Nate, you thieving genius — from the floor by the bed and tucked the incriminating evidence back into Nate’s portmanteau. The scattered chaos of his belongings made Sam’s pulse quicken with memories of last night’s hurried search and he cast a glance over his shoulder, reconsidering waking Nate with more than a kiss. Even remembering that lithesome body beneath him made his prick grow heavy and full.

But, no, Nate needed his sleep and there would be time. He grinned like a fool. Back home, they’d have forever — plenty of time for Sam to love Nate as tenderly as he wanted and as hard as Nate demanded. Still smiling, he started shoving Nate’s belongings back into his bag: his shirt, still damp from the river, rolled-up stockings mud-stained from their ridiculous romp in the road. He smiled at the memory. And Nate’s precious book. Sam turned the small volume over in his hands. French, by the look of the title. Nate spoke good French and Spanish. Latin, too. That quick mind of his collected languages like dogs collected sticks. Sam didn’t have the ear for it, but Nate used to translate as he read aloud. He flicked through the book — yes, it was all in French — and a piece of paper tucked between the pages fluttered to the floor.

Stooping to pick it up, Sam found his attention snagged by familiar words.

…Rosemont, RI.

A hollow drumbeat pounded in his chest as he stared at the letter. The words slithered about on the page, he couldn’t quite catch them, and had to read them several times before their meaning sank in. It was a letter addressed to Lord Marlborough and it listed Americans — both refugees in London, and others still living in America — who had opposed the war and were likely to oppose the Continental Congress.

His own name was among them.

For a moment, he didn’t understand. Why did Nate have this? Then realization landed like a punch;thismust be the document Nate had stolen from MacLeod’s strongbox.

Head spinning, his mind darted back to his meeting with Talmach as he reassessed the man’s military bearing, his suspicious gaze, and Nate’s deference to him. The scales fell from his eyes and he saw the cold clear truth: Nate Tanner was not in England drafting trade deals for the Continental Congress. At least, not only that. Nate was also gathering information about dissenters. Loyalists. Tories. King’s men.

Men like Sam.

His throat tightened, eyes pricking. What a cock-led fool he’d been. To think, only moments ago, he’d imagined they could put the conflict behind them and work together for their country’s future. He and Nate, side by side.

Now he knew that was impossible.

Because Nate was still fighting the war.

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