Page 42 of A Gentleman Never Keeps Score
“Thank you, Miss Russell,” he said.
He found Hartley sprawled on the sofa, reading a newspaper. His head was pillowed against one arm of the sofa and his bare feet were propped up at the other end, crossed at the ankles.
“I thought it was the servants’ half day,” Sam said.
Hartley folded the newspaper and got to his feet. “It is, but if I want her to eat a hot meal I have to pretend to want one. Otherwise she eats bread crusts. It’s shocking.”
“She?”
“The new cook. Sadie. Well, she’s more of a cook-housekeeper, really.” Hartley seemed looser and happier than Sam had ever seen him. “And, well, not to put too fine a point on it, I have every reason to trust her discretion.” His cheeks flushed. “Not that your coming here means that we’ll have need of discretion. Perhaps you really did come to make a delivery.” He glanced at the parcel Sam still held under his arm.
“Ah. Well. I thought you might need cheering up, so I brought you something. But you seem in fine fettle, so perhaps I won’t—”
“Don’t you dare,” Hartley said, stepping toward Sam and reaching for the parcel. Sam held it over his head, well out of Hartley’s reach. “I love presents.”
“No, no,” Sam said with a sad shake of his head. “I’ll save it for a rainy day.” Hartley was inches away now, one slender arm still raised toward the parcel and the other resting on Sam’s shoulder. Sam felt a rush of heat at the unexpected contact. He rested a steadying hand on Hartley’s hip, ready to pull it away. But Hartley didn’t flinch.
“All right, I’ll give it to you. But if you don’t want it or if you’re cross with me for thinking it was something you might fancy, I’ll take it away.”
“Now I’m curious as well as greedy.”
Sam huffed out a laugh and handed over the parcel. He watched nervously as Hartley undid the string, hardly daring to breathe. Hartley was carefully picking at the string and the paper as if he needed to save them for later use, as if he weren’t going to toss them into the fire or put them in the dustbin or whatever rich men did with rubbish. Finally, Hartley had peeled back all the layers of paper and stared at the object in his hand.
“I—” Hartley cleared his throat. “When you said you brought something to cheer me up, I thought maybe some boiled sweets. Not an enormous glass prick.”
“It’s not enormous,” Sam said before realizing this was not the best ground on which to protest.
“It’s very pretty,” Hartley said dubiously, holding it out so it caught glimmers of firelight.
“Kate picked it out,” Sam said, because apparently his brain had just stopped working at the sight of Hartley holding that thing. “I mean, I told her what I needed and she got it.” Sam might be foolish fond of Hartley Sedgwick, but he wasn’t fool enough to show his face in the sort of place that sold things like that. It was one thing for a woman to make that kind of purchase, but it was entirely more conspicuous for a man to do so. A girl like Kate could pull her cloak up to cover her head and come and go almost invisibly. Moreover, he knew he could trust her.
“She buy a lot of glass penises for you?” Hartley asked blandly.
Sam nearly choked. “I never saw one of those things until yesterday. But I’ve been thinking about how you said you liked being fucked, and how it’s a pity you can’t be. I thought it might be of use.”
Hartley raised his thin, pale eyebrows. “When you thought about precisely how this might be of use, did you let yourself imagine it in detail?”
If Hartley hadn’t been sliding his hand up and down the glass prick, Sam might have given a different answer. “You’d better fucking believe I did,” he said. “Jesus.” His own flesh and blood prick leapt to attention at the thought.
Hartley’s hand slid up the fake prick, his thumb skimming over the head, his eyes fixed on Sam. “Would you want to watch me?”
Oh, would he. His mouth went dry at the thought of it. “You offering?”
Chapter Seventeen
Hewasoffering. Hartley could hardly believe it, but there it was. “I can’t promise that I can go through with it, but at the moment the idea feels inspired.”
When Sadie had announced that Sam was downstairs, Hartley’s stomach flipped in some unholy combination of anxiety and relief that Sam still wanted to see him, even after Hartley had alienated him at Friars’ Gate. Sam showing up was good; Sam showing up bearing gifts was better. The fact that the gift was a literal cock wasdelightful. No, more than that—it was kind and thoughtful and dear, because he was trying to give Hartley something he couldn’t otherwise get. Sam was a lovely man who did lovely things, and he likely deserved someone who wasn’t a colossal mess.
Well, if he wanted to be with a colossal mess, Hartley was going to make it worth both their whiles. He brought the glass prick up to his mouth and gave it a long, slow lick, watching Sam’s eyes flare at the sight. God, he loved watching this man get worked up. It was so subtle, just a slight quickening of breath, a bite of his lower lip. With other men, men who wouldn’t recoil in fear, maybe he let himself go, using his big hands and his strong body to take what he wanted. That was possible, Hartley conceded. But he knew that Sam liked this, liked the challenge of restraining himself. Well, Hartley liked watching Sam hold himself back. He liked it very much indeed. So much, he took the glass prick into his mouth and sucked the head.
“Oh fuck,” Sam whispered.
Hartley took Sam’s hand, meaning to lead him to the chair or the sofa or anywhere he could proceed to do lewd things with glass cocks. But Sam’s fingers closed around his own so lightly, so gently, that Hartley was momentarily unable to draw in a breath. It felt so good to have someone else’s hand around his own like this. Sam brought Hartley’s hand up to his mouth. He was moving slowly, carefully, his eyes on Hartley for any sign of upset. Hartley gave a little nod to show that whatever was happening, he liked it. Then Sam bent his head to kiss Hartley’s knuckles. The feel of lips on skin should not have felt like anything terribly special. Certainly it oughtn’t to have sent desire spreading across his body like butter melting on hot bread. And there was more than desire; there was a wash of acceptance, of affection, of a whole host of things that Hartley hadn’t known he wanted.
“Come over by the fire,” Hartley said, getting his hand free. “Can’t do this with clothes on.”
He hadn’t ever been completely naked with Sam. He hadn’t ever been naked with anyone since—then. But this was totally different. This was Sam, and Sam was safe. Sam wouldn’t do anything Hartley didn’t want. Hartley went to the door and turned the key in the lock. When he turned around he saw that Sam had taken his coat off and was sitting by the fire, his hands resting on the arms of the chair. He watched Hartley unbutton his waistcoat as if he were witnessing a miracle.
