Page 41 of Once a Gentleman
Turner lifted his head and looked into Kit’s eyes, his own dark and intent in a way that sent a shiver down Kit’s spine.
“Tell me now if you wish me to stop this,” he said, voice hoarse with desire. “Otherwise I won’t stop until I make you mine. Tell me and make me damn wellbelieveit, Hewlett.”
Kit ought to have done as he was told, and informed Turner in no uncertain terms that this could go no further. That he wanted nothing to do with him, particularly did not want Turner’s thick cock driving into his body and giving him what he had ached for since he first felt Turner’s arms around him.
Instead, he swallowed hard and said, “Kit. Not Hewlett. Not now.”
Turner’s eyes widened, and the hand in Kit’s curls clenched, his other tightening almost painfully on his hip. “Kit,” Turner said, sounding breathless. “Kit, oh God,” and he dived down again, kissing Kit to madness, until all thoughts were gone.
He shoved Kit’s coat half off his shoulders, and then those hands tore off his cravat and worked their magic on his waistcoat buttons.
Turner didn’t trouble with removing anything else; he tugged Kit’s shirt out of his trousers and pressed his mouth to his stomach, nibbling his way to a hipbone while Kit squirmed, his cock straining toward Turner’s mouth. He went to work on Kit’s trouser placket, unbuttoning it and pulling it down, opening his smallclothes until cool air struck his cock and made him moan.
Hot breath followed an instant later. Turner glanced up, his eyes filled with some emotion not quite unkind enough to be called triumph, and then he sank down, taking Kit’s cock into his mouth and plunging it into his throat, swallowing him in one smooth motion.
It had been years, and even then the lover who’d performed this act for him had never had a tenth of Turner’s skill. Heat and pressure and the clever acrobatics of Turner’s devilishly expert tongue, swirling around the head of Kit’s cock and then teasing at the underside, until Kit could do nothing but clutch at Turner’s hair, burying his fingers in the thick strands, biting his lips to keep in words that he couldn’t possibly say, cries that would bring the whole house running.
His body convulsed, his back arching off the bed—and Turner let his cock slip from his mouth, bobbing in the air abandoned and so bloody close to spending Kit could have screamed.
“What—Turner, you bastard,” he gasped, and Turner laughed, rising up and propping himself on his hands, gazing down avidly at Kit’s face. His own was flushed and swollen-lipped and utterly irresistible.
“To begin with—Andrew. Say it, if you will,” he said, in that same tone of command he’d used on his impolite guest—a tone Kit found, to his horror, he couldn’t resist.
He swallowed hard, gazing into those piercing blue eyes. “Andrew,” he whispered. “You bastard.”
His eyes lit, gleaming with something that made Kit’s mouth go dry. And Kit couldn’t look away, not for anything in the world. A grin spread across Turner’s face, bright and genuine.
Kit’s heart gave a painful squeeze. Any hopes he’d possessed that he’d be leaving this encounter with that organ intact faded away and died.
“Well, Kit,” Turner murmured, making a shiver run down his spine, “you can spend in my mouth any other time. But I know damn well if I let you finish now you’ll change your mind,” he added with unsettling accuracy, as if he had studied the workings of that mind with far more attention than made Kit comfortable to contemplate. And then Turner’s face softened, and he reached up to stroke Kit’s cheek, fingers lingering at the angle of his jaw. “Have you ever been well and truly fucked?”
He had to look away at that. Impossible to meet Turner’s—oh, God,Andrew’s—penetrating gaze and tell him the truth: that he had indeed been fucked, but that ‘well and truly’ might be overstating the case.
Andrew leaned down and nuzzled the side of his throat, inhaling deeply as if breathing Kit in. He hummed thoughtfully against his skin. “I had been assuming you had, but if you haven’t—you needn’t do anything but nod. I am more than capable of taking infinite care with you,” he said, voice gone very low.
“I—it was at Oxford,” Kit managed, so overwhelmed by imagining whatinfinite caremight entail, from Andrew and in this context, that he could hardly speak.
Andrew chuckled against his throat and began to kiss his way up again, along Kit’s throat and jaw and moving toward his mouth. “Say no more,” he said, still laughing a little. “He probably thrust between your thighs and thought he’d given you the ride of your life.”
And Kit had to laugh too, because it wasn’t far off the truth and because Andrew’s wry tone held so much understanding, and no mockery at all.
How could it possibly be like this, how couldAndrewbe like this, so easy and so kind, when they had been arguing, with Kit on the point of breaking his nose and then leaving his house forever?
“It was more than that, but not much,” Kit admitted.
“Well, then, I’ll have to repair the lack.” Andrew reached his mouth at last, nibbling at his lower lip, coaxing him to turn his head back, stealing Kit’s breath away. “When I’m done with you, you won’t have any doubt that you’ve been fucked, my dear.”
Oh, and that—Kit’s breath hitched, as he realized that this ease had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with Andrew’s vast experience.When I’m done with you, my dear. He would be done, and a hundred men before him had heard Andrew murmuring those same practiced endearments in their ears…but Andrew had already kissed him again, so deeply and intoxicatingly that it didn’t matter.
It could matter later, but not now.
Andrew kept kissing him, nimble fingers busy with the removal of Kit’s remaining clothing, and again the wordpracticedcame to mind, but oh, Kit simply couldn’t allow it to matter, that this meant so very much to him and so very, fleetingly little to the man bending down to press kisses to his collarbone, and further, to tease a nipple with his tongue and glance up to see Kit throw his head back and gasp.
Kit tried to respond in kind. He tugged at Andrew’s coat, reached under to stroke his chest through his shirt, made a valiant effort to undo the complicated knot of Andrew’s cravat. But his fumbling hands couldn’t keep up with Andrew’s skill and focus. He seemed intent on stripping Kit bare as swiftly as possible, though he kissed and caressed every inch of skin he revealed, leaving Kit writhing beneath him and even less graceful as he tried to assist.
Hardly knowing how it had happened, and with his head spinning, Kit found himself stripped to the waist, with Andrew crouching by the bed and tugging everything else off his legs.
Then Andrew rose up, tossing Kit’s clothing carelessly aside and tearing off his own shirt and cravat as he stood, and Kit could only gape at him, heedless for a moment of his own sprawled, flushed, rumpled nudity.
