Page 35 of The Soldier's Scoundrel
Oliver was silent long enough that Jack knew he had made his meaning clear. “Is that so?”
“It most definitely is.” Jack fixed his eyes on the road ahead.
“But what if I don’t want help with my boots?” Jack didn’t need to turn his head to know that Oliver was smiling as he spoke. “What if I prefer a servant to assist me?”
Jack snorted. “If after less than two days in a sleepy village you’ve managed to find someone willing to do what I have in mind, I’ll tip my cap to you.”
Oliver turned his head to look directly at Jack, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “You don’t think I know how to find someone willing to . . . remove my boots or perform whatever other services I require?”
“Services, eh?” How very coy. He made up his mind right then that before the night was through he’d hear Oliver beg for Jack’s attentions with lascivious clarity. He would hear the filthiest words come out of that pink mouth. To hell with euphemisms.
“Whatever you prefer to call it, then. I haven’t lived like a monk, you know. I’ve managed to . . . have my needs met on four continents. Anything can be gotten for money.”
Was that a hint of chagrin Jack detected? The man’s very kissable mouth was now quirked up in a sad little smile barely visible under the brim of his hat. Not for the first time, Jack wondered if he had underestimated Oliver Rivington. “Four continents?” he scoffed. “You paid to have your cock sucked on four continents?”
“Well, I was there for other reasons, of course. War, you know. Not exclusively for, ah, untoward purposes.”
Oh, Jack was definitely going to enjoy hearing him say the filthiest things. “Naturally. I never assumed you had made some kind of Grand Tour of cocksucking and buggery. But still, four continents? And you paid? A man who looks like you?” He glanced over again, and even in the fading sunlight he could see Oliver blush. “You gentlemen have no sense of what money is worth. It’s madness to pay for something that many men would willingly do for free.”
“Let me understand.” Oliver’s voice was faint, whether with amusement or injured pride Jack could not tell. “You’re taking issue with my spending habits? Not my moral character?”
“Yes.” No. The truth was that Jack felt strangely discomposed imagining Oliver in compromising situations in cities circling the globe. While he should only have felt aroused—which he most certainly did—he also wanted to punch all those foreign bastards in the stomach. He decided he was not going to investigate that urge overmuch.
“For what it’s worth, none of them did half the job you did.” Oliver’s voice was so quiet that Jack could hardly hear him.
Jack tried to sound like someone who wasn’t half mad with arousal. “So you paid to have your cock sucked inadequately? That’s even worse.”
Oliver laughed at that, he laughed so hard Jack was worried that the horses would startle. Then Jack started laughing too, and by the time they reached the inn it was anybody’s guess which of them was in a greater hurry to get upstairs.
“Christ, you’re handsome when you smile,” Oliver said as soon as they reached Jack’s room and the door was safely closed behind them.
Jack didn’t know what kind of response to make to such arrant nonsense. Instead he pushed Oliver onto the bed and climbed over him and pinned him in place, pressing himself against the other man’s hardening arousal. “I want to know what else you paid for on four continents. I want to know what else you like.” Other than being manhandled, that was, because Jack could feel Oliver’s cock stiffening more and more, even as he spoke.
“I’m not certain I ought to tell you. You’ll only scold me for being a spendthrift.” Oliver wriggled a little under Jack’s body to let him know exactly how much he might like being scolded.
Jack felt himself growl, a rumble in the back of his throat. No, no, no. He needed to stay in control of this encounter. Turning into a mess of base desires wouldn’t achieve that. After the past few days he was in a sorry state of arousal, but Oliver’s cock was hard too. “Do you want me to fuck you? Is that something you’d like?” He had tried to keep his voice casually filthy but instead the question came out as an entreaty. Please say yes.
“God, yes,” Oliver whispered, and it was a hair’s breadth away from begging.
“Say it.”
But Oliver’s eyes only widened.
“I’d like to know how you managed to debauch yourself on four continents without being able to say cock or fuck.”
“Gestures, for the most part,” Oliver said softly.
Jack took hold of Oliver’s wrists and pressed them into the mattress on either side of the other man’s head. “Hear me now, Oliver Rivington. You will not use gestures with me.” And then he bent his head to take his lover’s mouth in a hard kiss.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
There wasn’t even time for Oliver to wonder whether he ought to feel self-conscious about his scars. Without so much as breaking their kiss, Jack’s hands deftly undid buttons and pushed aside fabric until Oliver was quite comprehensively naked. Jack knelt on the bed, staring down at Oliver with a look that was utterly indecent. Whatever the condition of Oliver’s leg, it certainly wasn’t causing Jack any misgivings.
Feeling bold, Oliver reached up to untie Jack’s cravat, only to find his hands mercilessly clamped down on either side of his head once again. “I’m not done looking at you,” Jack growled.
Oliver nearly whimpered. He felt shameless, like he had been waiting his entire life to have his body pressed ruthlessly into the mattress by a self-confessed reformed criminal in a Yorkshire inn. And maybe he had, because lying here, exposed and willing, he felt more himself than he had in months. “We can both look at one another.” He halfheartedly strained against Jack’s grip.
