Page 38 of The Lawrence Browne Affair
“You don’t want to . . . ” Georgie’s voice trailed off in some confusion as Lawrence spun him so he was leaning against a wall.
“Oh, I want to, all right.” He went to his knees, watching Georgie’s eyes darken.
Lawrence kissed the length of him through his breeches. Ever since he had felt Georgie’s mouth on him the other night, his filthier imaginings had been focused on the need to bring Georgie pleasure, to watch and feel him come unraveled under Lawrence’s hands and mouth.
“By all means, then,” Georgie said, sounding a trifle hoarse. “I certainly shan’t stop you.”
Georgie watched Lawrence flick open his trouser buttons with more deftness than he might have expected from someone with such large hands. But he had seen those thick, calloused fingers build batteries and telegraphs and other things he hadn’t even known existed a month ago, and now they were working with the same deliberate precision on Georgie’s trousers. Lawrence’s gaze was similarly focused, as if Georgie’s cock were as worthy of study as a stack of electrodes or a tangle of wires. The intensity of his expression was something Georgie could almost feel on his flesh.
The last button was undone, and Lawrence raised his eyes to Georgie’s face, as if asking permission.
“Please,” Georgie whispered, hearing a neediness in his voice that he wished weren’t there. But that ship had sailed around the time Lawrence had fished him out of a muddy ditch, if not even earlier.
Lawrence’s hands went to Georgie’s hips, tugging the trousers down a few inches, just enough for his cock to spring free. He was already hard, had been almost from the minute Lawrence had knelt. And now Lawrence’s hands were on the bare flesh of Georgie’s hips, his fingers splayed, his thumbs resting on the crease where belly met leg. He was staring at Georgie’s cock as if it were a puzzle that needed solving. Georgie could feel the heat of Lawrence’s breath on his sensitive flesh.
Lawrence licked his lips, and Georgie let out a choked noise.
“Never done this before,” Lawrence muttered.
“I’m sure you’ll muddle through, somehow,” Georgie managed. “Cocksucking, you know—it’s right there in the name.” He knew he was babbling, but he was desperate and didn’t care.
Then, finally, finally, Lawrence leaned forward and kissed the head of Georgie’s prick. Just a soft kiss, but lingering. Georgie hissed when he felt the tentative touch of a tongue. He spread his palms on the wall behind him, wishing there were something to grab, but needing to stop himself from taking hold of Lawrence’s hair and pushing into his mouth.
Lawrence traced a line of open-mouthed kisses down to the base of Georgie’s cock, each kiss soft and wet and maddening. Then he slid his hands back, so they were cupping Georgie’s arse, and kissed the places where his hands had been—the bones of his hips and all the ridges and furrows around them. Georgie had never thought of those places as being in the least sensitive, but the feel of Lawrence’s lips, the tip of his tongue, the scratch of his beard, all combined to make him feel like he was being turned inside out.
And that was all before Lawrence paid any serious attention to his prick. The instant Lawrence’s mouth closed over that aching tip, Georgie swore. He felt Lawrence give an experimental pull, a gentle suck, one hand wrapped around the base of Georgie’s cock and the other clamped firmly to his arse.
Georgie groaned. “More. Please. Take more of it.” And Lawrence did, tentatively at first, then sucking him nearly all the way down. Lost to all reason, Georgie threaded his fingers in Lawrence’s hair, gave a little tug, a little push. And Lawrence, far from being put off by this small aggression, actually moaned, a contented hum, around Georgie’s cock.
Georgie couldn’t take his eyes off Lawrence as those soft lips encircled his cock, moving up and down in a rhythm they were both figuring out as they went. But when Lawrence cast his gaze up at Georgie, his misty blue eyes dark with lust, Georgie couldn’t take it anymore.
“Stop. Please.”
Lawrence stopped. Of course he did. Georgie knew at that moment that he could have asked Lawrence for a thousand pounds or a specially commissioned incendiary device or permission to host a gathering of circus performers at Penkellis, and Lawrence would agree. Georgie was not the only one who was utterly lost.
“I want you in my mouth,” Georgie said, tugging Lawrence to his feet and steering him backwards to the sofa. “I need to taste you.” When the backs of Lawrence’s legs hit the seat, he collapsed, sprawled out on the sofa, legs spread. Georgie dropped to his knees, unfastened his lover’s breeches, and had the head of Lawrence’s cock at the back of his throat in a heartbeat.
Christ, how long had he wanted this? Since Lawrence had pressed him up against the wall that first day, probably. Maybe longer, somehow. Maybe Georgie had always wanted to kneel before a man he adored with every mote of his being, maybe he had always wanted to love a man with his mouth and his tongue and all the rest of him, and he had just never admitted it to himself.
Calloused fingertips caressed his ear; a rough baritone murmured absolute nonsense. Georgie took his own straining prick in his hand and gave it a few tugs. Lawrence must have seen, because he growled, “Yes, do that. Do it for me.”
Georgie nearly whimpered. He stroked himself, he sucked Lawrence, and any composure or reserve he had ever possessed was quite gone. He was lost; he was as helpless as a ship tossed by the waves. When he felt Lawrence’s cock harden by another impossible degree, when he heard something that sounded like a garbled, obscenity-laced warning, that pushed him over the edge too, and he was spilling his desire into his hand at the same time Lawrence came in his mouth.
He kept up his sucking and stroking until he felt strong hands on his arms, pulling him up, so that he was sitting on Lawrence’s lap, being kissed fervently. Reverently, even.
Georgie knew then that he would go back to London, or wherever the next part of his life took him, and this man, this thing that was growing between them, would be the standard by which he’d judge the rest of his days. And it would all come up short, because this was the best and happiest and safest a man like him could ever possibly feel. And if he were half as clever as he thought he was, he’d run like hell.
He didn’t, though. Instead he kissed Lawrence back, searching kisses that weren’t about pleasure so much as contact. They were sweet and slow, the sort of kisses that weren’t supposed to be for men like Georgie, men who were crooked and wrong to the very core.
And then Lawrence took him to bed and peeled off his clothes with a care that brought tears to Georgie’s eyes, and held him until he fell asleep.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
The carriage arrived without any warning while Georgie was fussing over the arrangement of knickknacks on the chimneypiece and Janet was still sweeping out the great hall. At the sound of wheels on the freshly graveled drive, they exchanged a wide-eyed look.
“Run to get his lordship,” Georgie told Janet. “You”—he gestured to one of the new footmen—“go outside and hand the boy down from his carriage and attend to his luggage.” He fished coins out of his pocket and handed them to the footman. “And pay the driver.”
Georgie heard voices coming from outside, but Lawrence had still not come down. Finally there came the sound of footsteps from the direction of the tower, too light and fast to belong to the earl.
