Page 61 of Once a Gentleman
And it had at last dawned on him that he did return that love. He had fought it to the last, lying alone at night, his bed cold and empty and far too large, telling himself that he felt nothing but that thrill of desire that came with a new exploration of another man. That he simply wanted to be held and fucked and kissed, kept warm, pleasured through the long, chilly nights.
But at last he had to admit to himself that it wasn’t Andrew’s lovemaking he missed. It was Andrew himself: his smile, the way he would run his hand through Kit’s hair, his low laugh in the darkness when Kit said something to amuse him.
He missed the lovemaking too, of course, stroking himself off each night with Andrew’s name on his lips and two fingers pushed inside himself, trying desperately to make it feel the way it did when Andrew had him that way. But his longing ran far deeper than that, and Kit could no longer deny his feelings.
Andrew would be home within a few days, presumably. Would he still profess to love Kit when he returned? Kit prayed that he would. And if he did not, Kit would no longer be dependent upon him for his survival. He could simply go—presuming that Josiah had written to him in good faith, and that a bank draft would be waiting for him. He still had sufficient remaining from his wages to live until it arrived.
Kit dropped into the armchair before the fire, running his fingers through his wet curls to let them dry a little. Only a few weeks before, the prospect of three thousand pounds would have had him giddy with relief and joy.
Now, he felt conflicted. Could it be a bad omen: a sign that he would be leaving Andrew, because he would be able to?
The prospect of financial independence rang rather hollow now that he had rediscovered the less practical, but far sweeter, feeling of having a home with another person who cared for him.
Andrew could not return home soon enough.
