Page 55 of Once a Gentleman
“I think we’ve already discussed the fact that you arenotreplaceable,” Andrew murmured, and nibbled at his earlobe, while one hand began to roam down over Kit’s stomach, across the placket of his trousers, teasing its fingers between his thighs.
Kit tipped his head, offering what access he could to his throat given the fabric of his cravat, and Andrew took the hint, pressing kisses to the tender skin beneath his ear.
Well. That soothed some of Kit’s hurt, to be sure, and as Andrew stroked and petted him, kissed and caressed him, desire began to overtake any other feelings. Andrew’s fingers, even with his mouth playing Kit’s cock like an obscene instrument, had simply not been sufficient that morning.
Even though Andrew had taken him the night before.
In short, Kit had become a wanton creature, craving Andrew’s possession of him night and day, and even his self-disgust made no difference whatsoever in either his longings or his utter lack of self-control.
Andrew seemed to have much the same idea, and Kit found himself being eased down onto the end of the desk, bent over and propped on his hands, with Andrew already busy with his buttons. He had already shed his coat earlier and left it hanging over the back of his chair, perhaps with something like this in mind.
Well, honestly, very much with precisely this in mind.
“I wish I’d thought to bring something with me,” Andrew said. “But I suppose I can imitate your Oxford lover and use your pretty thighs, and bring you off with my hands. Or my mouth. Any part of me you can name, really.”
“He didn’t bring me off with his mouthorhis hands,” Kit replied on a breathless little laugh. “So you’d already be doing one better. But it’s not strictly necessary. That is,” and he gave a soft moan as Andrew eased his trousers and smalls down over his backside and began to knead and squeeze the exposed flesh, “you already did most of the work of preparing me earlier.”
And he reached over and yanked open the top drawer of the desk.
Andrew stopped, his hands frozen mid-grope, and let out a huff of a laugh. “You bloody little minx,” he breathed, and reached for the jar.
Kit spread his legs as best he could with the constriction of his trousers around his knees while Andrew slid two slick fingers inside him, crooking them at the precise angle to have him squirming and moaning and nearly losing his balance and toppling onto the desk.
Andrew wrapped his other arm firmly around Kit’s middle. “Better, love?” he asked, with that low, husky note in his voice that never failed to have Kit’s cock straining and his breath coming faster.
“Yes, but—my trousers are in the way—”
“You’ll prefer it like that, trust me. Just push your arse in the air for me, there’s a lad.”
Mortification sent heat flooding to his cheeks and a shock through his limbs, but it only made him harder, more ready, and he did as Andrew told him: he thrust his arse up and out, like a bitch in heat, and whimpered with desire as Andrew thrust his fingers in deeper, harder.
Distantly, Kit recalled that he had demanded that they keep his duties as a secretary entirely separate from anything else that might pass between them; that taking Andrew’s cock while bent over the desk he used for those duties, with one hand resting beside an open ledger, perhaps contradicted that.
When Andrew took his fingers away, leaving Kit empty and slick, and immediately pushed his thick cockhead between his cheeks to take their place, those thoughts fled.
Kit closed his eyes and impaled himself on Andrew’s cock.
The pressure of that large prick moving inside him, and the pressure of Andrew’s muscular arm bracing his middle, and the additional squeeze of the way he couldn’t really spread his thighs apart…he began to reach his peak almost at once, bollocks tightening and his untouched cock so very close to spilling every drop, marring the perfectly polished surface of the desk.
Oh, God, his spend would spatter all over the desk, perhaps the ledger too…and then it did, as Kit’s body spasmed and he pitched forward, Andrew taking his weight and still thrusting hard inside him. Kit blinked down at the ropes of pearlescent white on his desk and his pen and the accounting of Andrew’s wine purchases, and another shock of climax took him unawares. He moaned, and Andrew cried out above him, hips stuttering, and spent within him too.
It took clumsy maneuvering, with Kit’s trousers still binding his legs, and some soft laughter and several kisses, and Andrew’s gentle hands helping him stand, but somehow Andrew pulled out of him and managed them both until he dropped into the desk chair, pulling Kit with him and into his lap.
Andrew fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped off his fingers, tossing it onto the desk with the rest of the mess, and then obligingly wrapped his arm around Kit’s shoulders so that he could tip his head back and kiss and be kissed at his ease.
The hot press of Andrew’s lips, the enervation of pleasure…Kit closed his eyes and drifted in it.
At last Andrew released Kit’s lips and leaned his head back against the chair with a sigh that Kit felt down to his own bones.
He tucked his head against Andrew’s neck and kissed him just under his jaw. Andrew’s arm tightened around his back.
“Will you be here when I return?” Andrew asked quietly. “I won’t demand a promise, nor expect that your plans may not change in the interim. But will you at least tell me if that is your current intention? I don’t think I’ll be gone so very long, this time. Only a fortnight, if all goes well.”
Kit shivered, wrapping his own arm more closely around Andrew’s chest.
If all did not go well, as happened often enough when a man left home in a uniform, he might never return at all.
“I will be here when you come home,” he said. “I promise. Freely.”
“Thank you,” Andrew said, and turned to kiss the top of his head.
Neither of them spoke again, or moved, for quite some time.
