Page 23 of The Lawrence Browne Affair
Surely Lawrence ought to protest, but he couldn’t find the words, and he didn’t want to find them anyway. Instead he settled for somehow not rubbing his cheek against Turner’s palm like a cat.
“Listen,” Turner said, his voice silky. “I’ll spell this out for you. I want you badly. I won’t try to persuade you to do anything you might regret, but I also won’t hide how much I want you.”
Turner didn’t step any closer. He left a sliver of space between their bodies, and Lawrence knew that was for him. Turner gave him that space to do with as he pleased. Lawrence could leave that space empty, for the cool night breeze to blow between them, or he could close the gap. Neither choice would be wrong.
Lawrence didn’t know whether it was nerves or desire that was causing his pulse to thunder so, but surely Turner could feel it. Good God, the man could probably even hear it, it pounded so loudly in Lawrence’s ears. But Turner stood still, his only movement the slow and rhythmic stroking of his thumb along Lawrence’s cheekbone.
It could have been a minute that passed, or maybe it was an hour. The sun was quite set by the time Lawrence got used to the idea of Turner’s touching him, when the proximity of the other man’s body seemed . . . not quite comfortable, but not dangerous either. Christ, but he wanted this. And however much he feared that this desire was madness, Turner didn’t seem in the least deranged, and that seemed enough to hold on to.
Perhaps some things were simply easier in the dark, because when he felt Turner’s stance shift, tilting ever so slightly towards Lawrence’s own body, he knew it for an invitation, and didn’t move away. He felt the other man’s breath on his face, soft against his beard. Turner’s hand slid to the back of Lawrence’s head.
And then it was only a matter of Lawrence leaning mere inches forward, skimming his mouth against lips that were already there, waiting for him.
Georgie felt Radnor’s soft exhale. Not capitulation but agreement. He pushed up onto his toes and wrapped both arms around the earl’s neck.
Their lips met, a whisper of flesh against flesh. It was more the suggestion of a kiss than an actual kiss, but Radnor gasped anyway. Georgie forced himself not to ask for too much, not to plunge his tongue into the earl’s hot mouth, not to grind their bodies together. This had to be at Radnor’s own pace or not at all.
Slowly, tentatively, Georgie brushed his lips across the other man’s mouth. The scratch of the earl’s beard sent a shiver of desire coursing down Georgie’s spine. Radnor must have felt it too, because Georgie felt the man’s huge hands clamp down hard on his hips. Taking that as assent, Georgie teased his tongue along the seam of the earl’s lips.
He found himself being steered backwards, then pressed unremittingly against the tree trunk. One of Radnor’s arms was braced on the tree near Georgie’s head; the other hand grasped Georgie’s hip.
Georgie groaned in pleasure, and Radnor abruptly stilled.
“Damn it.” The earl’s voice was rough but gentle and Georgie felt his heart clench. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” Georgie managed. “Don’t stop.” Please, he wanted to say, please press me into every tree and wall in the kingdom. He ran his fingers through Radnor’s long hair, tugging the other man’s head down to meet his own. He kissed the corner of the earl’s mouth, sucked on his soft lower lip.
Radnor growled and one of his hands slipped lower, cupping Georgie’s arse and drawing him close. Georgie gasped at the pressure of the other man’s jutting cock. They were outside, in the dark, utterly alone. They were two men with nothing to worry about but a pair of rampant cockstands.
Georgie allowed his tongue to slip into the other man’s mouth, probing, teasing. Radnor tasted of cider and salt, smelled of sweat and dirt. Georgie moved his hips in the hint of a rhythm, nothing fast or hard enough to bring relief, only enough to let Radnor know what he was thinking. To let him know it was an option.
“Fuck,” Radnor growled into Georgie’s mouth.
Radnor crowded Georgie’s body, one of his massive legs coming in between Georgie’s. Georgie dipped his head to kiss the other man’s neck. He ran his tongue along the soft skin where neck met beard, and Radnor must have liked it because Georgie felt an alarmingly hard cock being pressed into his hip. He managed to get a hand between them and grasp Radnor through his buckskins.
“Do you want me to—”
Radnor grabbed both of Georgie’s hands and pinned them to the tree on either side of his head. That would be a no, then. But this, being held in place and—ohyes—kissed ruthlessly, relentlessly. This would do very well. Now it was Radnor’s tongue slipping into Georgie’s mouth; it was Georgie gasping and writhing in pleasure.
The bark of the tree bit deliciously into the backs of Georgie’s hands. Radnor’s grip was bruisingly tight on his wrists. Being held against the tree by such a large man had a lot in common with being crushed by a ton of bricks. An almost painful surge of want hit Georgie when he realized Radnor was finally owning his desire. He was letting himself go, just a bit, but Georgie wanted to be there when Radnor let himself completely off the leash. He wanted to get to his knees and take that thick cock into his mouth; he wanted Radnor to bend him over the nearest desk or table or fence and—
“Wait.” Georgie wrested his mouth away. There was a sound that didn’t belong out here in the still, bleak Penkellis garden. For the briefest moment he thought he heard wheels crunching along the badly graveled path.
Radnor stopped immediately. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling against Georgie’s. “What do you want?” It might have sounded rude if Radnor’s mouth weren’t against Georgie’s ear, if his voice weren’t low and needy, raspy with desire.
“Listen,” Georgie whispered. “Is that a cart?”
Radnor let go of Georgie’s hands, then stepped away. The night air felt bitterly cold as it came between them. “I don’t hear anything.”
Georgie didn’t hear it anymore either. But he had heard something similar the other night when he was prowling about the house. After a lifetime of skulking about at night, Georgie knew better than to doubt his hearing. He also knew better than to ignore his instinct about something being amiss, and there was something decidedly amiss at Penkellis.
CHAPTERNINE
It rained all bloody night and straight through into the morning. When Lawrence woke he threw back the curtains and saw his trench filled with water. It would drain, but not today. After a good night’s sleep, he was doubting the wisdom of burying the wires after all. Perhaps there was a better way to have wires span a great distance. Or perhaps this project was doomed. Standish certainly seemed to have his doubts about its practicability. But Lawrence wanted to hold out hope. He didn’t know if it was because having Turner here had given him an inkling of what life would be like with a little less loneliness, but he found that he needed this device to work. He was prepared to spend the day puzzling over that matter, when he pushed open the door to his study and discovered Turner at his desk.
Somehow he had thought the man wouldn’t show up after last night, that he would have vanished, like a dream. Like a madman’s delusion.
But instead, he was sorting a stack of papers.
