Page 16 of Moaning Under the Mistletoe
“It’s lucky I quite like it when you are high-handed.”
“You do?”
Oscar grinned. “You know I do. But—” The pause was going to kill Ambrose, well not literally, but he was holding his breath, so...
“One must be practical too.”
“Yes.” He let out the breath on a great whoosh. “I will endeavour to be more practical.”
“Excellent. I do like a practical lover, one with talented fingers.” Oscar’s eyes sparkled and his mouth tilted in a kissable smirk.
“Shall we go?”
“Yes. Take me away and have your way with me.”
Ambrose glanced around him, but the entrance hall was empty. He couldn’t believe Oscar could be so open about this, where anyone might hear them. Fuck it. He grabbed Oscar’s hand and marched back outside, dropping his grip on his lover’s hand to wave at a hackney. The one he’d arrived in had already gone but another one stopped, and he quickly gave them his direction.
Oscar clambered inside first. “Wasn’t that easy?”
“Excuse me?” He slammed the door behind himself, pleased to be hidden in the dark with him. His heart began to beat regularly, quick with anticipation, a more familiar sensation and one he much preferred to the uncertainty of before.
“Giving someone your address. It was easy.” Oscar made a little mewing noise. “Bennington.”
Having his name purred like that was like being caressed with silk ribbons. “Forgive me for the oversight.”
“I am glad you came to rectify the issue. I might have been forced to find entertainments elsewhere.”
Volcanic heat rushed behind his eyes. “We agreed that you wouldn’t.”
Oscar switched seats and cosied up against him, changing the heat from uncomfortable to swoon-worthy. “I do like it when you are possessive.”
“Did you...” He swallowed as Oscar traced his cheekbone with his finger.
“Did I what? Tease you on purpose to discover your response? Yes. Yes I did.”
“And?”
“I find myself enamoured with your answer.” He swung his legs onto Ambrose’s lap, tucking himself under Ambrose’s arm. “Will you be a jealous lover?”
“That depends.” Most of his blood was in his cock, but he managed to tease Oscar with the last remnants of sense in his head.
"On?"
"How much you push me.”
Oscar chuckled against his neck, hot breath sending shards of heat spiralling over his skin. “I think you might find I have boundless energy for ... pushing you.”
“Goddamn it. Why is this hackney so slow?” He needed to get Oscar in his bed, shoved down hard into the mattress.
“Goodness, Bennington. Anyone might think you were impatient to have me.”
“I am.” He wasn’t afraid to admit it. Oscar’s teasing was like nothing he’d ever experienced. Usually when he indulged like this, it was negotiated and planned and ended up being a useful release without emotion. Oscar made this ... fun. “Are you like this with everyone?”
“Oh, there’s that jealous streak again! Do you want to know that you are special?”
He gulped. He did, but he couldn’t risk admitting that, could he? A guttural noise slipped between his lips, giving away his feelings. Fuck. This was supposed to be a negotiated understanding. All these feelings weren’t sensible. He had an Earldom to think of. Oscar was supposed to be a temporary diversion until he found the next Lady to a suitable Countess and was forced to do his duty.
“I’m not special.” His mouth was dry as Oscar brushed his lips over his earlobe. “But I think you might be.”
