A Private Gentleman (11 page)
Read A Private Gentleman Online
Authors: Heidi Cullinan
felt dizzy, confused and afraid. And aroused. Between the distance, the stammer
and the revelation of Rodger’s meddling, he hadn’t been able to read the
question at all. Was Albert simply curious? Was he amused? Was he besotted?
Was he suspicious? Was he planning on reveling in the thought that a whore had
asked for him particularly?
And while he was wondering, why did Michael care about any of this?
Because even with the stammer, he could hear Daventry in Albert’s voice.
Because more and more every day the dark clouds of the past closed in on him.
Because somehow one night of sex with Albert had managed to take away
everything he’d built in sixteen years, and now that Albert was in the blue room
with him, he wasn’t sure that trying to fuck him again would do anything but
make matters worse.
Michael could bear no more torture. “Come to the edge of the bed,” he
demanded.
He watched Albert’s shape like a hawk, watched him hesitate, watched him
rise slowly, watched him smooth his clothing. He watched the blurred figure
move closer.
When Albert stepped into Michael’s field of vision, it was as if he stepped
through a magic portal, morphing from shaped blob into man, into the man
Michael remembered, only he was here now, not a memory but real. Dark hair,
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neatly combed, conservative clothes. Tall, wide frame. Same jaw as his father.
Long, almost pretty nose.
Lips, parted and wet, revealing a hint of teeth.
Hands, strong and smooth, resting on his hips, fingers curved inward.
Soft, beautiful brown eyes trying so hard not to let Michael get the better of
him, hoping so hard this would not be a disaster.
Michael stifled a sigh of relief.
Albert’s chin came up. “D-did you ask for m-me?”
Proud. So proud. So tender and gentle, yes, but proud, and so very strong.
Sitting in the center of the bed, Michael kept his eyes on Albert as he replied,
“Yes.”
A blush crept over Michael at the confession, but he decided it was worth it
when Albert smiled and reached up for the tie to his cravat.
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Chapter Five
Wes worked the complicated knot of his cravat slowly, not wanting Vallant
to see how clumsy his fingers were. He wanted his hesitant speech to be the only
awkward thing about him just now.
Vallant was beautiful. His pale skin shone in the light of the candles strewn
around the room. The room itself was nothing but sensual opulence—silks and
brocade, gilded surfaces and rich carpets. A scent of something soft and exotic
wafted around him—rosewood, he was almost sure of it. But Vallant was
without question the most enticing part of the scene. He wore blue silk and
nothing else, the garment parting to reveal a hint of skin. Wes’s focus lingered on
that exposed nipple, making him want to suckle it. Vallant’s golden hair gleamed
as it framed his face, inviting touch. His eyes were dark pools that promised a
host of erotic delights. His mouth was as sensuous as Wes remembered.
The last knot of the cravat came undone, turning the material into a long,
cream-colored length of fabric draped around Wes’s neck. He pulled it free, and
as the material slid away, Vallant came forward on his hands and knees,
prowling like a cat.
Wes reached for the fastenings of his coat. Vallant continued on, as the dark
sleeves of Wes’s jacket fell away before they sailed over to the chair to join the
cravat. Vallant was almost to Wes now, but he didn’t increase his speed,
apparently content to watch the waistcoat peel away.
He asked for me.
A Private Gentleman
Vallant was inches before Wes now, still crouched, but he rose as Wes undid
the buttons of his shirt. He slid up the length of Wes without touching him, his
breath teasing Wes’s skin—a whisper along his thigh, a hot, deliberate exhale
against the growing outline of his cock. He smiled as he passed Wes’s
midsection, lifting his gaze to Wes’s own. He took gentle hold of Wes’s hips,
slipping fingers to the top of his waistband. By now Wes had his shirt undone,
and he reached to the edges of the panels, pulling them wide, exposing his skin.
Vallant closed his eyes, leaned forward and opened his mouth over Wes’s
stomach.
He kissed, he laved, he nipped his way up and down Wes’s abdomen, his
fingers tugging at the waistband of Wes’s trousers. With his stomach quavering
at the gentle sensual assault, Wes let his shirt fall, and with no way to reach his
trousers and nothing else to do with his hands, he slid them into the silky blond
hair. Vallant sighed, then resumed his kissing as Wes massaged Vallant’s scalp.
“Mmm, Albert,” Vallant murmured against the top of Wes’s pelvis as he
took hold of Wes and made him hiss a breath. “Such a nice, firm cock. So big and
fat.” His hands slipped down the length of it, and his eyes tipped upward as he
drew back, running his tongue from base to tip before smiling and speaking
again. “I want to feel it in the back of my throat.”
Wes groaned, tightening his grip on Vallant’s hair. He met Vallant’s gaze as
long as he could, watching the pretty mouth close over him until the heated
sheath of his sucking became too much. He shut his eyes and gave over to
sensation.
Very quickly, though, he had to hold back, because Vallant’s exquisite skill
risked his coming within the first minute of the experience. It was lovely, yes, to
have someone take the time to tease the tip of his penis, to apply pressure at the
base, to have such a wicked tongue and rigid seal of lips pleasuring him—but
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since he was accustomed to the need to be fast, to not be found out, it took some
focus to keep his body from rushing to release.
Vallant kept driving him toward the edge, gripping his hips, taking his cock
deep, holding it there and humming around the shaft, making soft, mewing
noises so submissive and carnal that they woke dark things in Wes. He wanted
to hold Vallant by the hair and pump roughly into his throat. Now. But he didn’t
let himself.
Vallant came off his cock with a soft pop to nuzzle Wes’s stomach as his
hand kept up a regular rhythm on Wes’s cock.
“Darling,” he said, breathless, never ceasing his kissing. “Darling, shh. Let go
now, and I’ll build you back up again later. I promise.” His tongue traced an
erotic path across Wes’s pelvis before he continued. “Let me taste you, love. Let
me drink you down. Let me drain you before I fill you up again. I will, I promise.
Trust me, darling. Trust me.”
And so Wes did. When Vallant swallowed him down this time, he gave over,
letting Vallant’s expert tongue and mouth bring him back to the edge. He fucked
that sweet mouth three times, then erupted into him. He clutched that blond
head as he fought for breath, as the orgasm made him dizzy and weak.
Vallant’s hands slid around him, drawing Wes down beside him onto the
bed and giving him a kiss flavored with his own semen.
For several minutes they languished there, simply kissing, Vallant leading.
But it was odd, because while he instigated everything, it was more that he
issued invitations for Wes to do things to him. Vallant began the kiss, yes, but to
lure Wes into his mouth as he made soft, desperate gasps. He pulled on Wes’s
shoulders, letting Wes push him down into the mattress. He tilted his head up,
encouraging Wes to explore his neck.
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Take me
, he said without words.
I am for your pleasure. Enjoy me. Try this. Try
that. Try all you like.
It was a heady elixir to Wes, and he accepted each one of Vallant’s overtures.
When Vallant arched his back, pressing their chests together and sending his
banyan over his shoulder, Wes pushed it away on both sides and rubbed the soft
fur of his chest against Vallant’s smooth skin. Their nipples brushed, and Vallant
moaned and arched again. Wes shuddered, grinding harder. A surge of power
filled him, fueled by Vallant’s plaintive, helpless whimpers, and the erotic sound
drove Wes into a state of lust he hadn’t known he had in him. With a grunt, he
ground his still half-hard cock against the apex of Vallant’s legs, shoving them
wider with his knees as he drove him deeper into the bed.
Without warning, Vallant went from soft and moaning to stiff and shouting,
his hands shoving at Wes’s shoulders.
Wes pulled back at once, ardor not just doused but drowned as Vallant
rolled away from him and curled into himself, tugging the blue silk tightly
closed.
“Oh God.” Vallant turned his face into the mattress. His countenance was
pale, and his whole body shook.
Wes sat back carefully on his knees as Vallant drew tighter and tighter into
himself. Wes tried to comprehend what had happened and what he should do.
Had he hurt him? Had he been too rough? Even as guilt rose, it tangled with
more confusion. Wouldn’t Vallant have behaved differently, if that were so? For
pulled hair, he would have winced. For too much pressure, he’d have directed
Wes to lift up. No, there was no way to match what he’d been doing with
Vallant’s response. This was something else. Something… God help him, but
Wes had no idea. Likely it would be best if he left.
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“Damn Rodger and his ideas,” Vallant whispered. “Damn me for listening to
him.” His hands ran up his face, covering his eyes. “God help me, I don’t want to
go to Bedlam.”
Wes, halfway off the bed with one foot on the floor, paused. Bedlam? He
glanced back at Vallant with new concern. Good Lord! Why—?
He thought back to his conversation with Rodger, with his easy familiarity
with blackmail and nonchalance over the thought of human trafficking. Was that
what this was? Was Vallant under some sort of duress? Had Wes unwittingly
become a part of it?
Concern kept him pinned to the bed, overriding the urge of courtesy which
required him to leave and allow Vallant some peace. Though a thousand
questions clogged his throat, his tongue remained as recalcitrant as ever. In his
own distress, he’d manage no coherence of any kind. He hovered for several
seconds, searching for some other way to communicate, but in the end he could
only reach over and gently, oh so gently, rest a hand on Vallant’s arm.
“H-hush,” he managed, the sound more caress than word. “Shh. Shh. It’s all
r-right.”
Vallant flinched at the touch, but only for a moment, and he calmed almost
immediately. On instinct, Wes left his hand there, testing for further reaction.
When none came, he let his thumb brush gently across the blue silk.
Pulling one hand away from his face, Vallant closed that fist over the top of
his robe, clutching at it as he spoke. “Forgive me.” He swallowed hard before
forcing a weak smile. “Please. There is no need for you to stay and witness my
ridiculousness.”
Had there been any sharpness in his tone, even a hint of coolness, Wes
would have stammered something benign and done as he was told. But heaven
help him, he felt as if a child had just called out to him, another boy at school
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trying to put on a brave face after a beating, willing his friends to leave him alone so he could weep.
The thought hit Wes like a slap. He looked down at the beautiful, confident
man rendered so weak and helpless, and he ached.
“D-did s-someone h-h-hurt you?”
Vallant’s sudden, careful stillness told Wes all he needed to know.
I will kill
him,
he thought. His mind began to catalog the many, intricate plant-based
poisons he knew, several of which were rendered tasteless in a simple cup of tea.
A soft, almost sad laugh cut off his mental indexing, and he glanced back
down at Vallant, who was rubbing his forehead as if he were trying to grind
something out of it. His eyes were still closed.
“It’s like some mad dream. All these years, nothing, and now—with
you
, of
all people.” He rubbed harder. “I am living an opera.”
Wes, with no notion at all how to respond to this, kept up a gentle stroking
against Vallant’s arm and waited for him to speak again.
“Long ago, yes. Very long ago, someone hurt me.” Vallant laughed
mirthlessly. “Heaven help me, but I’m so unhinged I want to tell you the whole
sordid tale.”
Wes remained quiet, his thumb moving back and forth against the silk in a
regular rhythm. Vallant stayed silent as well, but he opened his eyes, fixing a
dull gaze across the room. Eventually he spoke.
“My mother was a courtesan. When I lived with her as a child, I never truly
understood what it meant. I knew men came and went, that for years it would be
the same man, and when we changed houses it would be another. This was all. I
understood we were risqué, somehow, for people whispered when we walked
