He tried to thrust into Andrew’s mouth, to take control of this—this uncontrollable wildfire of sensation running riot throughout his body—but the strength of those arms defeated him, and he subsided against the door, as much at Andrew’s mercy in this as he had been spread open and speared on his cock.
Andrew brought him off quickly, tightening his throat around him and using his tongue to devastating effect, swallowing every drop of Kit’s spend while Kit curled over him, almost sobbing from the intensity of it. He might have slid to the ground without Andrew’s grasp on him. He could only stare down, shaking from it, as Andrew let his cock slip from between his lips. And then licked them.
“Come on, love,” Andrew said, voice husky and low. “Bed.”
Kit didn’t resist.
The house felt more silent, more still, than usual for that hour of the morning.
Was it still only morning? Yes, most certainly, because when Kit had distantly caught a few chimes of the hall clock a few minutes before, there had been many of them. Eleven, perhaps. Not even noon yet, he thought.
And he had already come running back to Andrew. He hadn’t lasted until bloody lunchtime.
He stirred, and Andrew’s arms tightened around him. He pressed a kiss to Kit’s hair. They lay entwined on Andrew’s bed, still half clothed, Kit’s boots lost along the way with his coat and waistcoat, and Andrew clad only in the trousers he’d been wearing when he opened the door. He’d had a shirt too; Kit believed it had torn rather badly in the process of yanking it off and flinging it to the floor.
And now Kit had his head pillowed on Andrew’s bare chest, tucked into the crook of his neck. The skin beneath his cheek felt hotter than his own, the arm around his back—under his own rucked-up shirt—strong and firm enough to hold Kit up through anything.
He hated how safe he felt, how enclosed, hidden away from the world. After years of being entirely alone and friendless, this peaceful sanctuary, and the strength and shelter of the man in it, felt like balm to his soul. He wanted to snuggle down into Andrew’s chest, cling to him, close his eyes and never face reality again.
And for a few minutes, or even a few hours—possibly even a matter of days, if he continued to hold Andrew’s carnal interest for as long as that—he could bask in this contentment.
But it could never last. And if he allowed himself to believe in it, he would grow accustomed to it all too quickly. He would learn to depend upon it. And then Andrew would yank the rug out from under him. Not with intentional cruelty, of course. He would be smooth, smiling, a gentleman about it, telling Kit he was sure they both agreed their liaison had run its course, and that his services as his secretary would be most welcome to continue—unless of course Kit preferred a letter of reference,et cetera.
And so he hated how happy this made him, and hated himself for allowing it in the first place.
He could not quite bring himself to hate Andrew. Not when that hand stroked his waist so gently, and the other held his own pressed to Andrew’s chest.
Kit shifted again, and Andrew lifted his head to peer down into his face. “Are we quite stuck together? We could wash, if you like.”
They were stuck together, a little. After he’d sucked Kit’s brains out through his cock he’d led him to the bed and held him close, wrapping his own hand around Kit’s and both around his own cock, thrusting into Kit’s fist until he spilled all over everything in reach, including Kit’s bare stomach.
“I think I need a real bath, by now,” Kit murmured into Andrew’s neck. He didn’t want to move. The hip bath in the scullery was hardly worth the effort when he felt so very comfortable. Stickiness be damned.
The far end of the corridor on the other side, past the stairs, did boast the nearly unthinkable luxury of a water closet, with a small bath adjoining that received some water piped in, but it would be cold and dismal. And inducing the servants to carry sufficient hot water up the stairs might be beyond Kit’s skill in household management. Everyone would suddenly suffer from sprained wrists simultaneously, a mystery Kit had observed on the one other occasion he had dared to request it.
“I’ll ring for Samuel, and he’ll see to it. But not quite yet. I don’t think I’ve finished making a mess of you.”
Oh, God, he might not survive it. If this were an example of Andrew’s stamina, Kit no longer wondered how he managed to bed a different man, or woman, or several at once, every night of the week.
And that lowering thought dissipated some of the haze that had descended upon him.
“You’ve gone all stiff, love. And not in a way that suggests you’re amenable to the idea. What’s the matter?”
Kit could hardly answer honestly, that it made him sick with jealousy to think of how many others Andrew had held this way, cradled to his chest like something precious.
And though he might not be capable of hating Andrew, he could certainly be angry, and he couldn’t help himself when defensive venom sprang to his tongue.
“It had just occurred to me to hope the maids had remembered their duties for once and placed fresh sheets on your bed since the last man you fucked in it,” he said, even more unpleasantly than he had intended.
It was Andrew’s turn to go quite stiff and still. “I beg your pardon,” he replied, too evenly. “I know the household is somewhat haphazard. But you are the only lover I’ve ever brought to this room since I have lived in this house.”
Kit popped bolt upright, dislodging Andrew’s arm from around his back and bracing himself on his chest. “I begyourpardon, you cannot possibly expect me to believe—”
“Indeed I do expect you to believe it,” Andrew snapped, his eyes bright and his jaw tightening. Slashes of color appeared along his cheekbones. “It is the truth. Just as everything I have told you has been the truth.”
“Everything? Really? And this particularly is not something I can credit!”
The world spun around him sickeningly, and Kit fell flat on his back, Andrew hovering over him, hands pinning his shoulders to the bed. He had been flipped so quickly he hadn’t even realized what had happened. He didn’t move; not only did he know how outmatched he was, but shock kept him frozen.