House of Mirrors (12 page)

“Ah.” Rafe gave another wordless exclamation and squeezed Jonah’s hand. He covered Jonah’s other arm, which was wrapped around his waist.

Telling his story to Rafe’s back was like what Jonah imagined a Catholic confessional must be like. It was easier than facing him and that piercing stare. Perhaps the Catholics had something with their notion of private unburdening of sin to an unseen priest.

“When Randall brought the story to my father, Reverend Burns continued to deny any involvement. He said he’d been aware of my proclivities and tried to counsel me back to a godly pathway, but I wouldn’t listen and continually threw myself at him.”

Jonah closed his eyes, shutting out the reflection of himself in the nearest mirror. “The funny thing is, I don’t think my father truly believed Burns was innocent, but wanted him to be the man he believed him to be, so Father accepted his story at face value. He laid no blame on his old friend, but cast me out of the house that very day.”

“And your cousins were waiting to teach you a lesson.”

“Yes. They beat me unconscious before sending me on my way.”

He remembered the abject humiliation with which he’d left his home. His mother sobbing in her bedroom and not coming down to see him one last time; his father, arms folded, watching him pack and then escorting him to the door as if he were an intruder. Rev. Burns had stayed out of sight, distancing himself further from the disgraced black sheep.

Jonah had no idea what excuse his parents later gave townspeople or the congregation for his sudden absence, but in the tick of a pendulum, he’d found himself walking down the road away from town. It had been too late in the day to go to the bank and collect his savings, nor did he stop to say good-bye to his few friends. What could he tell them? None knew his secret, and he had no lie to offer them. So he ran away like a thief in the night.

When he’d reached the wooded area near Gruber’s farm, his cousins Randall and Brian had been waiting for him, ready to make sure he never returned. They’d taunted and circled him like hungry jackals. Then they attacked—first Randall, then Brian—punching and hitting. Jonah had gotten in a few blows, but with two against one, he was soon driven to his knees. When he lay curled on the ground, they began kicking, and all he could do was shield his face from the assault.

At last they’d stopped, and Randall bent over him and spattered his face with spittle as he spoke. “Don’t come back, you filthy pervert. It’s a damn good thing I uncovered you before someone else did and you ruined our family name.”

His cousins had left him by the side of the road in the early evening. He must have passed out for a little while, for when he woke it was to strains of music floating through the air. He’d dragged himself to his feet, shouldered his bag, and trudged on until he crested the top of a rise and saw the carnival lights.

Rafe let go of Jonah’s hand and turned around to face him, then pulled him snug against him once more, wrapping him in a warm embrace. “Family can be the vilest betrayers of all.”

“You speak from experience?”

But Rafe didn’t take the bait. He pulled away. “Come now. We’re safe here. No one will disturb us. Lie down on my cape and let me tend to you.”

For a moment Jonah’s feelings were hurt. He’d told Rafe everything and gotten no confidences in return. But it was impossible to stay disappointed when Rafe was preparing a pallet for him to lie on, removing his vest to act as a pillow for Jonah, and then taking his hand and pulling him down to the floor.

Chapter Eleven

Rafe wanted to kiss the pain from Jonah’s eyes. What an image, kissing away pain. It was the sort of poetic drivel his brother read—had read, he corrected himself—and there was some more pain to push away.
Kissing away pain
. Rafe had never thought such idiocy might exist in his world. But the words had come to him as Jonah had matter-of-factly described the way his whole family had turned its back on him and then his cousins had beaten the hell out of him. When he remembered the wreck Jonah had been the night he’d turned up at the carnival, Rafe wanted to howl.

Oh God. He was lost to good sense, his emotions roused and boiling on behalf of his young lover. He rolled Jonah onto his back and leaned over him, then gently brushed his lips over Jonah’s closed eyelids, wishing he could erase the memories of fists that had plowed into that beautiful face. He pressed kisses all over Jonah’s face, gentle at first, and despite the rough, unshaved cheeks and chin, he didn’t miss an inch. There was a small scar below Jonah’s lips and another by his ear, souvenirs of his cousins. Even as the kisses grew more urgent, Rafe dipped past Jonah’s tempting mouth to make sure he gave attention to every inch of his jaw. There; maybe he’d gotten his sentiments under control and could indulge in the pure joy of lust. No emotions. That was the way it should be.

Indeed when he allowed himself to meet Jonah’s mouth at last, the groan that broke deep in Jonah’s throat brought Rafe’s mind right back into the gutter where it belonged. Just the sight of this man was enough to make him hard. Seeing his chest heave quickly with arousal, touching him, brought that hardness to a throbbing ache. It wasn’t long before the desperation would kick in.
Now. Give over, now.

His balls ached from unfulfilled hunger, and he wasn’t interested in gentle play anymore. He wanted the whole of Jonah, naked under his hands and mouth.

“Let me,” he ordered as he unbuttoned Jonah’s braces and then his shirt and pushed the cloth aside to kiss and lick at the skin underneath. The salt of perspiration, the sweet taste of Jonah’s flesh—he wanted to memorize that flavor, keep the essence of Jonah with him forever. But he had more to do.

He stripped Jonah naked, then buried his face in his belly. Jonah panted, then growled in frustration as Rafe kissed and stroked everywhere except his cock. At last he took pity on the man and slowly licked his quivering shaft.

Jonah arched up and grabbed his hair, twisting his fingers in it almost painfully. Rafe pulled back to gaze at the cock in his hand, which was hard as diamond and glistened like one. His mouth watered. He let the rounded tip then the solid shaft slide into his mouth and deep into his throat until he nearly choked from the solid, heavy weight. He moved slowly, deliberately on Jonah’s cock, sometimes sucking, sometimes licking. He thought Jonah was lost in pleasure, but when Rafe reached for his own cock to relieve the pressure, a surprisingly strong hand gripped his shoulder.

“In me,” Jonah said. “You get inside me.”

It took Rafe a moment to understand. Sodomy. He’d only brought men off with his hands and mouth and vice versa. No doing more than that with the men he met on his travels or even during the brief affair he’d had with a roustabout before the man left the carnival. The thought of coupling that way, so deeply, so very intimately, and in such a taboo portal should have disgusted him, but he felt a rush of sudden eagerness and a desperate need to be surrounded by hot flesh.

“Me, inside you.” His voice broke on the last word, turning it into what sounded like a question.

“Yes.” Jonah sat up.

“You’ve done that?”

“Yes, both ways. It’s good.” He seized the sides of Rafe’s head and pulled him into a fierce kiss. “I promise.”

Jonah turned onto his hands and knees. Rafe watched the pale curve of his rear and the dark cleft between his cheeks as Jonah reached for his trousers and took a small tin from one pocket. “We’ll need this.”

Rafe gave an unsteady laugh. “You came prepared?”

“I came hopeful.” He sat cross-legged now on the pile of clothes, a slight frown on his face as he studied Rafe. The raging erection that rose from his lap was the only evidence of their kisses. Very obvious evidence. “I want you inside me. Badly. But if you’d rather not… I, uh, don’t mean to pressure…”

Rafe laughed again. He still wore his trousers and underlinens, and now he roughly shoved them down and off. “Get on your hands and knees again,” he ordered in a low voice. “That looked…promising.”

Jonah scrambled into position and handed the tin to Rafe over his shoulder. “Just your finger at first. And then—” He gasped as Rafe palmed his rear end.

Rafe loved the way a simple touch could interrupt Jonah’s thoughts. And the lines of that body.
They’ll be mine
. He felt the savage fierceness of a Viking warrior conquering new lands as he moved behind Jonah. He wanted to invade and pillage Jonah’s body and take his soul prisoner, binding it to him. Thrusting away the preposterous thought, he leaned over, pressing his chest to Jonah’s back. He pushed his cock between the other man’s legs, where it bumped against his sac.

He straightened, still on his knees, and opened the tin. The lubricant was thick and smooth. Rafe scooped up a fingerful and slid his thumb over it. “Mm.” He touched Jonah’s backside and pushed his thumb into the crack. “It’s very slick. And you’re very warm,” he added as he found the puckered hole. Both men groaned as Rafe’s finger slipped past the restraining ring.
A tight fit
. His cock jerked in anticipation.

He slowly pushed his finger farther. Jonah’s body felt hot as a smithy’s forge around it. Rafe felt hot and fevered too, beside himself with impatience to bury himself deep—hammer the steel of his shaft into an even harder blade. He grew bolder and pushed in two fingers. Jonah tilted his head back and wiggled impatiently against his hand. All right, then, he’d hurry up. He’d best do so soon. The feel of that hot arse and muscular body curling under his might make him spend before he’d had a chance to be surrounded by Jonah.

He lined up his cock and pushed, gently at first, then harder. The lubricant had grown even more slippery as it heated on their bodies. He pushed harder to seek out the relief his cock demanded and gasped as he pushed all the way into Jonah’s body, balls-deep. Jonah moved, squirming so that exquisite sensation ran through him.
Not so fast. Not so…

“Ah,” he groaned and seized back control. He needed to feel every thrust and withdrawal, but there must be a few seconds at least before he exploded. He rested his body on the sleek back now slick with perspiration in this hot, close room, but the urge to move was too strong, particularly when Jonah did another of those wicked little shimmies and squeezed around his cock. He was inside Jonah, surrounded by him—all that flesh and beauty. Writhing flesh. With a grunt, he gave up control.

Rafe had been rocking slowly, but now he pushed harder. Jesus, the sensation was perfect. Thrusting deep, he grabbed Jonah’s body by the narrow hips and held him in just the right spot, claiming him. Digging in his fingers for a good grip, he thrust a few times. He loved the satisfying slap as their bodies came together, but reined himself in. Jonah arched his back and moaned as Rafe leaned on him again, skin rubbing skin, so he could reach around to grasp Jonah’s erection. Rafe pumped into him again and pulled too, each motion a mirror of the other. He held his breath and tried to silence his groans so he could hear Jonah’s panting words.

“Now, Rafe. Yes. God. Yes.”

Together. We’ll reach it together
. He pushed harder as the cock in his hand swelled, and deeper, faster until his own balls drew up tight and his cock erupted.

Sealed together by sweat and fluids, their bodies entwined, the two men remained locked together for several panting moments afterward.

One. We are as one
. This
is what they mean by that expression
. Love sonnets squawked about some mystical union of souls, but Rafe had never understood what the reality might feel like until now. This was about more than thrusting bodies and a few moments of ecstasy. He felt something for
this
particular man. Jonah, an idealistic, sometimes moralistic country boy—the unlikeliest partner in the world for him.

The emotions running rampant through him scared the hell out of him, and fear snapped him out of the lust-induced trance. As he slowly came back to himself, Rafe reluctantly let go of Jonah’s body and withdrew from him, the physical separation reflecting his inner division from the other man. For a shining moment, it had felt as if they’d experienced a sublime connection, but that was an illusion. What they’d done was only sexual, after all, its very nature temporary. He’d be a fool to imagine some bond had been forged during those moments of joining. If his heart was pounding and his stomach spinning cartwheels, it was purely a physical reaction to orgasm, nothing more. Lack of oxygen from breathing too hard and an overly strenuous workout, no doubt.

Solitary once more, as he always must be, Rafe groaned and flopped onto his back on the hard, dirty floor. The floorboards were sticky with remnants of spun sugar that could never be scrubbed completely clean. He nearly snorted aloud at the obvious symbolism to a man who could never be washed clean of his dirty past.

Some time passed in silence, and Rafe realized Jonah had fallen sleep. He listened to the other man’s slow breathing, felt the tickle of it on his arm. Soon enough he’d return to his wagon and Jonah to a bedroll on the ground like the rest of the roustabouts. Rafe couldn’t show favoritism in the tiny kingdom of the show. Jonah’s family members weren’t the only ones who felt it their duty to pummel sodomites. There were those in the carnival who might do the same if they knew what Rafe and Jonah were up to. It was imperative they keep their distance from each other and that Rafe hide his desire and excitement whenever he encountered Jonah in public.

He stared at the dim light reflected in the mirrors and the tin metal plates hammered to the wall to supplement the flash and glitter of the House of Mirrors. Rafe felt an ache of nostalgia for this spot though he hadn’t left the wagon behind—yet. He wanted to sleep with Jonah beside him for the entire night. And he wanted to stay with the carnival, but his reign as its ruler must draw to a close, probably before the end of the season.

Remnick, the Englishman garbed in Western getup, had been sent by the family’s solicitors to find Rafe and deliver a summons. A couple of weeks earlier, Remnick had finally caught up with Rafe, days after he’d first appeared and a town or two farther down the road. The man had come knocking at Rafe’s trailer, and there was no more sidestepping him.