Page 141 of Enemies with an Earl
A ravenous pressure coiled tight at the base of his spine, moments from consuming him. Felix didn’t stand a chance against it. Pleasure clamped its jaws down on him and swallowed him whole. His arse clamped down on Sam’s cock, and a hoarse roar ripped from the man beneath him. And what a sight it was. Head thrown back in pleasure, neck taut and straining, arm muscles bulging from the force with which he dug fingertips into Felix. That hold was the last push. Felix’s cock erupted. Surge after surge of bliss tore through him as he spent all over Sam’s chest and stomach.
He collapsed against his husband with a thud and grunt, melting into a boneless heap. A happy hum rumbled through Sam, his chest rising and falling so roughly it made Felix gently bounce with each breath.
“That was all right,” Sam said between ragged breaths.
Felix chuckled. “Not half bad.”
“A great effort by all involved.”
“Would shag again.”
Sam squeezed Felix’s arsecheeks. “Would totally shag again.”
Felix buried his nose in Sam’s neck, smiling against his husband’s skin. He’d get up in a moment so they could clean themselves off. But right now? He wanted to savor the greatest night of his life just a little while longer.
71
Xavier
Asharp,piercingachethrobbed in Xavier Kozington’s skull. Bloody fucking hell. How much had he drank last night? He groaned and immediately winced. Then winced harder. No noise. No fucking noise. And no movement. Not even wincing.
Some of the haze of last night flitted through his mind. Celebrating Bentley and Dalreoch’s wedding. His heart softened in his chest. What a bloody brilliant night. He couldn’t think of two single people more deserving of that happiness. Except perhaps his older brother, Reynard. Especially after what their father had done to him.
His muscles tightened on instinct, bracing at the thought of that man. He let out a slow breath and sank back into the plush mattress, forcing those nightmarish memories away. More of the night’s revelry floated back to him. Stuffing his face with all the delicious fixings the Bentley Cook had put together alongside his brother, Tim, and Bentley’s younger brother, Weston. That man was a fuckingTreatwith a capital T. And Xavier had been tasked at ensuring Ryker and Lady Camoys kept their greedy paws off the man.
Ryker didn’t serve any problem. The man knew not to come within an arm’s reach of Xavier. Or else Xavier would gladly knock his teeth out. But Lady Camoys. The woman was persistent. Fortunately—or unfortunately?—she had turned her sights on Xavier and his twin fairly quickly.
He shifted on the mattress. Christ, he was sore. It wasn’t the first time he and Tim had been propositioned. For some reason, women loved the idea of him and his brother sharing them. Different strokes for different folks, but the last thing Xavier wanted to see was anything of his brother’s stroked. At least he’d fulfilled his promise to Bentley and protected Weston.
Visions of the tall, broad Scotsman flooded his mind. Legs for days, lean and hard-muscled, more abs than any man ought to have. Every inch chiseled. And those eyes, a crystalline blue, hid beneath inky locks. He frowned. His imagination was really something. Guilt stirred in his gut. He ought not to fantasize about Bentley’s younger brother. That broke all sorts of mate’s code. His hands fisted the bed linens. Friends did not sleep with friends’ brothers. A rule Ryker had never learned. Not that the man had ever learned a single rule in all this life.
He should probably try to get up. Drink some water, get some coffee in him. With an inordinate amount of effort, he pushed himself up to sitting. He rubbed his hands over his face and brushed back his sleep-tousled hair. His fingers got stuck in it. Hell, it was much messier than usual. Knotted like someone’s hands had been tangled in it. His hands stilled.
A soft snore echoed through the chamber.
Xavier’s eyes shot wide.Oh no. Oh no. Ohnonono.
He glanced to his right. Where his gaze landed on the not empty spot in the bed next to him.
Last night flashed before him again. More vivid. Sweat-slicked skin. Tangling limbs. Groping hands. Exploring mouths. A head of jet-black locks thrown back, much-too-plush lips parted on a sinful moan.
Oh God, Zavi. What have you done?
Because lying there next to him, naked as the day he was born, was a set of broad shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist, lean muscles soft in sleep, delectable arse right there for Xavier’s viewing.
Weston Campbell.
