Retreat From Love (10 page)

Brett’s finger dipped just inside the tight ring of muscles. It was rough and it hurt, and Brett pulled it back and caught some of the fluid leaking from the end of his cock on the tip of his finger. Then he reached down and spread it around the hole and pushed in again. Ah God, Freddy, he thought as his back bowed with pleasure. He stopped and breathed deeply when his finger was in up to the first knuckle. He’d never gone farther. His fingers were big and blunt and rough. He dreamed of Freddy’s fingers, long and slender and graceful. He held his finger there, rubbing it gently against the side of his passage as he dragged his gloved fist up and down slowly, the leather warming him, smooth and hot and slick now with his moisture. He wanted this, them. God, he wanted to feel Anne gloving his cock like this. Her passage would be tight and slick, smooth and hot. Just as his was, the one that would be filled by—

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Freddy arched up off the bed as pleasure coursed through him from his cock to his head. Christ! He pumped his fist harder, imagined it was Brett’s big, rough hand. He could almost feel the calluses as they caressed him, as they ran over that knot below the head that shot pure pleasure straight up his spine. His other hand was busy below, rolling his balls and teasing his back entrance with light fluttery touches, the kind he imagined Anne would give him there. Her delicate fingers with those beautiful nails.

Freddy scratched his nail over the puckered skin there and actually cried out at the sensation.

“Brett,” he whispered, the sound of his breathless voice arousing as it echoed in the cavernous chamber around him, “harder, faster.” He imagined Brett staring at his hand on Freddy’s cock, working him and then turning to meet Freddy’s gaze at his words.

Brett’s expression was hot and hungry, the same look he’d seen on Brett’s face today when he’d looked up from Anne’s fumbling attempts to get her glove off Brett’s hand.

Brett had looked straight at Freddy’s hard cock and he’d been so startled his gaze flew up to meet Freddy’s before he could disguise the heat in his eyes. Freddy moaned as he felt his balls pull in tight.

Freddy pushed his finger into his hole. He imagined Anne fucking him like that, with her petite, delicate hands. Pretty Anne Goode pleasuring him in such a decadent fashion while Brett enjoyed his cock. God! Freddy’s back arched in pleasure as he pressed his finger in to the hilt. He found the small bump inside and flicked his fingertip against it as he tightened his fist around his cock and worked it roughly once, twice, and then he came. “Anne,” he moaned, pressing his finger deep. He softly cried out, “Brett,” in a broken voice as his cock jerked and spurts of semen covered his hands and thighs.

Afterwards he lay there spent, breathing heavily. He’d been here so many times in the past few years, yearning for Brett, lonely and achingly empty even after he’d come.

But tonight something was different. He didn’t feel that loathsome helplessness settling in his chest as it had in the past. Instead he felt…hope. Anne had given him that today too. Hope that there might be a place for Freddy in their lives.

Anne writhed on the bed. She twisted her finger and rubbed against her inner wall and had to bite her lip to stifle the little scream that tried to come out. She huffed out a shaky laugh as the razor-sharp pleasure faded slightly. This was why she preferred to fuck in secret, far from prying eyes and ears. She just couldn’t be quiet. Anne took her free hand and rubbed rough circles around the hard nub of pleasure at the top of her slit. Her hips jerked off the bed, driving her fingers deeper.

“Mmm, Brett,” she moaned. Suddenly in her imagination Freddy crawled toward them from where he’d been reclining on the bed watching. Yes, that’s what Freddy would do. He wouldn’t be happy to sit and wait. She imagined his elegant, long-fingered hand gliding up her leg, and she could almost feel it. In her mind Freddy kissed her leg as he moved up her body, his hand caressing up the inside of her thigh.

Brett would look down at Freddy and he’d smile—that secretive little half smile that 49

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made that slashing dimple appear in his cheek. When Freddy’s lips reached her hips he kissed the prominent bone there and looked at Anne as his hand moved up the last few inches of her leg. He didn’t stop. His hand kept gliding until one of his fingers moved into her alongside Brett’s. As the fantasy in her head took shape Anne slipped another finger inside her tight sheath. “Freddy,” she whimpered, spreading her legs wider. Both fingers pumped hard and deep inside her. She was shivering, quaking with the need to come.

Brett would love it. He’d love sharing her with Freddy. She could see that in his face. When Freddy had touched her today, even in the most casual way, Brett’s eyes had gotten just a little darker, his glance a little hotter. He liked Freddy’s hands on her.

And Freddy, well, when it came to Brett he was an open book. Freddy would like nothing more than to help her love Brett, and to help Brett love her. “Freddy, Freddy,”

she chanted softly, fucking those fingers in and out. He was so tall, so handsome, so powerful, and yet so considerate, so caring. He took care of her today, just as she’d seen him take care of Brett. And he wanted them both. She remembered the hard cock pressing against his expensive trousers as he watched Brett play with her glove. He wanted those fingers too. But they were hers tonight, both hers.

At the thought she pressed both fingers deep again and again and rubbed her clitoris roughly. She was panting, unable to catch her breath as she chased the pleasure, her hips rising off the bed, her neck arched. “Ahhh,” she groaned as her climax washed over her. She bit her lip as her fingers once again found that sweet spot inside and she shuddered as the muscles in her vagina rippled around her fingers. Freddy’s finger.

And Brett’s.

When the last tremors had faded Anne pulled her hands away and collapsed on the bed, her legs falling open. The air was cool on her slick, overheated sex. She smiled sleepily. Oh yes. She had a glove just made for the two of them.

Brett’s head was reeling with pleasure so intense he couldn’t breathe. His heart was pounding in time to the movement of his hand on his cock and his finger in his arse. He wanted it like this. Rough and hard and fast, with Anne fucking his cock and Freddy in his hole. He’d never imagined a few years ago that he could want something like that.

But he wanted, God how he wanted. And he could have them.

The thought made Brett’s back bow off the bed as his balls pulled tight and the hair on his arms and nape rose. He could feel the heat of his climax trying to claw its way out of his cock. It became a chant in his head.
He could have them, he could have them, he
could have them.
They were his for the taking, ripe to be picked. By him. They wanted him. They wanted to fuck him and be fucked by him.

He drove his finger deeper than ever before and he gasped at the shock of pleasure, his fist instinctively gripping his cock harder. The glove was so slick his hand slid down, bumping hard against the head, and Brett moaned as he pulled his finger back and then shoved it in again at the same time he rubbed his leather-clad thumb over the weeping slit on the head of his cock. “Yes,” he shouted hoarsely, trying desperately to 50

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keep his voice down as his cock jerked in his fist and semen jetted out in spurts, covering his hand, his stomach, his thighs. He could feel his passage clenching on his finger and a small cry escaped as he imagined doing that on Freddy’s elegant finger.

When it was over Brett collapsed for a moment. And then the pain hit, clenching his gut and starting a pounding behind his eyes. It wasn’t a physical pain, but an emotional one. He rolled over on his side and pulled his knees up and laid there in a tight ball of anguish for a long time, thinking. He knew he couldn’t have them. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t, couldn’t, do that to Bertie. Bertie had died saving Brett’s life.

How could he betray that gift? By stealing his fiancée? Fucking his brother? No, Brett had to leave them alone. He could at least give that to Bertie. He thought about the day he’d spent in Freddy and Anne’s company. Suddenly he knew. He knew what had to be done. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? The solution was so simple it was breathtaking. Freddy must marry Anne. Then they would take care of each other, and Brett would leave them.

The following morning Freddy entered the breakfast room only to find Brett there already. Brett looked as if he hadn’t slept much last night. Well, Freddy hadn’t either.

And he’d had to fist his cock again this morning before he could face Brett. It wouldn’t do to show Brett a hard cock first thing in the morning. It made Brett grumpy.

Freddy smiled and looked around the room, noting the three footmen and Reeves in attendance, waiting to serve him. The room was small by Ashton Park standards, enormous by anyone else’s. Yet Freddy liked it. He liked a lot of things about the Park.

There were also things he didn’t like.

“Do you like this room?” Freddy asked Brett by way of greeting as a footman held out his chair and he sat down. Reeves unfolded his napkin and placed it across his lap.

“Coffee, Your Grace?” Reeves asked.

“Yes, Reeves, thank you,” Freddy automatically answered. Reeves asked the same thing every morning, and every morning Freddy gave the same answer. For the first time he wondered why they bothered. “Reeves, just give me coffee every morning. You don’t need to ask. If I don’t want any, I promise to speak up.”

Reeves looked taken aback for a moment, and then his face became unreadable again. “Very good, Your Grace.”

Brett hid a grin in his napkin. He cleared his throat. “Yes, I like it. Why?”

Freddy sipped the hot coffee Reeves had set in front of him. A footman placed a plate of breakfast items down on the table and Freddy saw Reeves frown at him.

Freddy inwardly sighed. He didn’t even know why Reeves was frowning, so clearly the young man had done nothing wrong. Reeves’ territoriality could be exasperating sometimes. “Thank you…” Freddy had to pause, a little embarrassed.

“James, Your Grace,” the footman supplied, a twinkle in his eye.

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Freddy grinned, although he knew Reeves would take the poor man to task later over his familiarity. “James,” Freddy finished. “Would you fetch Mr. Haversham some more sausage?”

“Of course, Your Grace.” James didn’t bat an eye at the request. Whether he was pleased with him this morning or not, Reeves had trained him well.

Brett leaned back in his chair with a small smile. “And if I don’t want any more sausage?”

James’ steps didn’t falter at all. He clearly knew who was in charge. Freddy turned his grin on Brett. “You always want more sausage.”

“Hmm,” was Brett’s reply. When James set the plate in front of him, Brett picked up his knife and Freddy laughed. Brett chuckled as he took a bite.

The two men ate in companionable silence for several minutes. Finally Freddy set his cutlery down and reached for his coffee. As he sipped he looked around the room again. Yes, this room pleased him. It was bordered in the four corners with screens of beautiful Corinthian columns. The pediments above the two doors carried the same theme, as did the frames, all painted a rich cream. The walls were covered in paisley patterned wallpaper, the design a rich, cabernet red against a cream background. There were elegant fainting couches and chairs lining the south and west walls, all covered in a sumptuous olive green velvet. The table was large and round, one of the few inviting pieces at Ashton Park. The table and its matching chairs were made of a dark, rich walnut. Pictures lined the walls, hung in ornate, gilt frames—all ancient ancestors of one kind or another. If pressed Freddy could name most of them, he’d been drilled in that sort of thing by his mother when he was a lad. The windows along the east wall lit the room in the morning and gave an excellent view of the park outside, and the garden with its elaborate maze and sparkling fountain. The overall effect was elegant yet masculine. Freddy felt utterly at home here, relaxed. He could see a woman being quite happy here as well. Anne would fit this room perfectly.

“Jerome redid this room, didn’t he, Reeves?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Right before his death.” Reeves paused. “I believe the duchess has plans to redecorate it again.”

A ferocious desire to keep the room just the way it was swept over Freddy. “Does she? Well, cancel them, Reeves. I want this room left alone.” He turned and looked hard at the butler, who he knew was unfailingly loyal to the duchess. “Do you understand, Reeves?”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Freddy looked up at the huge octagonal brass chandelier hanging above the table.

“I was thinking of sending to London for a decorator. I believe it is time some changes were made here at the Park.”

At his announcement a plate behind him hit the floor with a resounding crash.

Freddy turned startled eyes on Reeves, who looked as if he’d seen a ghost. Reeves cheeks turned bright red. “I’m very sorry, Your Grace.”

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“Are you all right, Reeves?” Brett asked quietly. “Did you cut yourself?”

“No, sir, thank you,” Reeves replied with dignity. He gestured at one of the footmen to clean up the mess. The footmen’s faces were carefully blank, but Freddy knew they were as surprised as he.

“Well, don’t worry about it, Reeves,” Freddy said with a nonchalant wave. “I’m sure we have more where that one came from.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Reeves intoned from behind him.

Brett was biting his upper lip, fighting a grin. The sight of his sharp, white teeth gripping that chiseled lip sent a bolt of pure lust into Freddy’s cock, hardening it immediately. Freddy sighed and uncrossed his legs. Damn if this wasn’t going to be one of those days.

“What kind of changes, Freddy?” Brett asked as he motioned a footman over to refill his and Freddy’s coffee cups.

“I thought I’d start with the green drawing room,” Freddy mused. “I’ve never liked that room.”