By: Ava March | Other books by Ava March
Published By: Loose Id LLC
Published: Mar 08, 2011
ISBN # 9781607379652
Published By: Loose Id LLC
Published: Mar 08, 2011
ISBN # 9781607379652
Word Count: 30,437
Available in: Epub, HTML, Microsoft Reader, Mobipocket (.mobi), Adobe Acrobat, Mobipocket (.prc)
DescriptionGenre: BDSM LGBT Historical
Previous Book: Bound to Him
Lord Oliver Marsden’s life is perfect...well, almost perfect. His bookshop is doing well, his bank account isn’t empty, and his nights are filled with a deliciously dominant man...who tends to be a bit too domineering outside of the bedchamber. But Vincent loves him and that’s all that should matter. Right? And of course, Vincent still firmly holds the reins of control. Yet while Oliver feels Vincent is finally ready to give himself fully to him, to make good on the offer Oliver refused a year ago, the looming threat his lover could someday be forced to marry keeps him from tugging the reins from Vincent’s grasp.
Then Vincent receives a letter that changes everything. Oliver seizes the moment and pushes Vincent toward a night neither of them will ever forget. Yet come dawn, Oliver awakens to an empty bed. Lord Vincent Prescot knows he loves Oliver. The man’s his best friend and he trusts him. So why does submitting to Oliver leave him so shaken? It doesn’t take him long to find the answer, yet his solution could drive his lover away for good.
Reader Rating: (13 Ratings)
The familiar press of hot, silken skin against his thigh roused Vincent from sleep. For a moment, he kept his eyes closed and soaked up the feel of the soft breaths tickling the hair on his chest, the weight of the sleek yet honed body sprawled half over him, and the arm slung across his waist. A combined sensation that had not gone the least bit stale after a year and a half with this man, and one he knew for certain he would never grow tired of.
With the barely audible grunt of one in a deep sleep, his lover shifted, pressing closer. A smile stole across Vincent’s mouth. That was most definitely an erection, hard and insistent, the heat of it practically branding his thigh.
Desire flared under his skin, rousing his sleep-fogged senses. Blood rushed to his groin. What had once been the beginnings of a pleasant morning erection now pushed against the blankets covering him and Oliver. He blinked his eyes open. Light cut through the breaks in the forest green drapes but didn’t fully penetrate the night shadows clinging to the corners of the bedchamber. Judging by the crisp yet weak golden quality of the sunlight, dawn had just arrived. Plenty of time before his housekeeper arrived to cook breakfast and tidy the bedchambers.
A gentle nudge to Oliver’s shoulder and, taking the coverlet and sheet with him, Oliver rolled onto his back. Beautifully compliant, even in sleep. The chill December air hit Vincent’s skin, but he didn’t bother getting out of bed to light the fire in the hearth. Within a handful of minutes, the heat quickly building within him would make the warmth of a fire feel like a hot summer day.
Shifting onto his side, he levered up onto a bent elbow. Oliver’s chest rose and fell in a relaxed, rhythmic pattern. A whisper-light flick of Vincent’s fingers pushed the tousled waves of his overlong hair from his eyes. At the sight of Oliver’s hard cock jutting from the dark thatch of hair on his groin, Vincent smiled. They hadn’t played last night, merely crawled into bed together. One of the benefits of visits to his Rotherham estate—with so many nights at their disposal where they had the luxury of sharing a bed, they could take one or two or more to simply sleep together. But judging from the state of his pretty cock, Oliver definitely appeared up for some play.
Far be it from Vincent not to indulge him.
His gaze traced the length of Oliver’s body, as various options flittered through his head. He wasn’t of a mind to fetch anything from the locked trunk beside the dresser. That would require getting out of bed. However…
Leaning over the side of the mattress, he snatched the wrinkled white cravat from the floorboards. Carefully and slowly, he moved Oliver’s arms over his head. The long, black fan of his lashes resting against his high cheekbones did not even flutter at the change in position. The man slept as soundly as he had as an adolescent. Back when they had shared a dormitory at Eton, even a full-blown thunderstorm wouldn’t wake him.
A few deft flicks of the cravat and Oliver’s wrists were secured to the mahogany headboard, the knot loose enough so one quick tug would release it. When Vincent had purchased the estate from his father over two years ago, he hadn’t given much thought to the furnishings. His only interest had been the unwavering belief that he could turn the property into a thriving investment. The bed, though, with its four sturdy posts and intricately turned spindles spanning the width of the headboard and footboard, had proved as valuable to him as the vein of coal he had found in the northwest end of the property. And Oliver’s reaction when Vincent restrained him between those four posts indicated the man had far more fondness for the bed than anything that generated income.
Sitting back on his heels at his lover’s side, he took in the results of his handiwork. A corner of the sheet had tangled around one of Oliver’s calves, the rest of him bared to Vincent’s view. His legs were casually spread, one knee slightly bent. His arms stretched over his head put his flawless chest on full display. The white linen around his wrists presented an enticing contrast to his golden skin. Vincent let out a low grunt of satisfaction. The man had a body made to be bound and a soul that craved it almost as much as he craved Vincent himself.
He reached out, slowly whispered a hand down Oliver’s sleep-warmed chest, the skin soft and smooth beneath his palm. With effort, he resisted the impulse to pinch those copper nipples. To twist a hardened tip. To make Oliver shudder and gasp with pleasure. To make him beg for more. But it wouldn’t do to wake him just yet.
His attention slid back up to Oliver’s face. On anyone else, his features would almost approach average, but somehow he simultaneously embodied both beautiful and handsome. A hint of a morning beard darkened his jaw, his full lips slightly parted…
Vincent leaned down, brushed his lips across Oliver’s in the barest brush of a kiss, their breaths mingling ever so briefly. Then he moved along the bed to settle on his knees between Oliver’s legs. With one hand braced on the mattress, he bent down, wrapped a gentle hand around the base of that pretty prick, and lowered his head. Light and soft, he dragged his tongue across the crown, waiting, every sense attuned to his lover.
Oliver let out a breathy moan, more sigh than sound, and lifted his hips slightly. Vincent opened, let the slick head slide past his lips. The short, little, lazy nudges of Oliver’s hips as he fucked Vincent’s mouth indicated the man hadn’t awoken yet. Vincent kept his mouth languid and yielding, only occasionally sucking on a downstroke, allowing the flames of desire to build within Oliver, within himself.
It didn’t take long for a salty tang to tease his tongue. Vincent’s cock, hanging hard and heavy between his thighs, jerked in response. Another moan, this one more sound than sigh, and Oliver spread his legs wider. Vincent released his hold on the base of Oliver’s prick, cupped his ballocks, drawn up tight to his body, and rolled the weight of them in his palm. Then he drifted his fingertips down, past the smooth expanse of skin to his entrance. Pressed but didn’t penetrate.
Oliver’s thrusts stuttered. Glancing up, Vincent caught his gaze. His eyes were heavily-lidded, mere slits, the dark depths glittering with lust. Hollowing his cheeks, Vincent sucked hard as he dragged his lips up the length. Oliver arched with a moan, tugged at his bonds, and moaned again. His cock hardened even further in Vincent’s mouth. Vincent kept sucking as he began bobbing along the length. Increasing the pace, urging him onward.
Oliver had the edge of his full bottom lip captured between his teeth, desperate need pulling his beautiful features. Vincent swiped his fingers at the base of Oliver’s cock, gathering the moisture that had slid down the length. The moment Vincent brushed his entrance, Oliver pulled his knees to his chest, hips canting up, the request clearer than if he shouted.
“Please, Vincent.” Thick with need, his whispered words trembled on the air.
© Ava March, March 2011
All Rights Reserved
Reader Reviews (2)
Submitted By: eightbitsprite on Jan 30, 2013Once again, the blurb for a short story does not quite accurately represent the actual plot. The dynamic between the heroes is fine -- it's just that, being the third in a trilogy, there is really no point in jumping into the story here. And for some reason, I feel like the world wasn't nearly as substantial as the other stories. Maybe because the setting for this one is more limited.
Submitted By: helpmaiden on May 21, 2011Ava March has not disappointed me. Hot and Thoughtful