Authors: Scarlet Blackwell
Tags: #gay historical holiday erotic romance
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Cover Artist: Reese Dante
Editor: Haley Stokes
Solace © 2011 Scarlet Blackwell
ISBN # 9781920502706
This book uses US English.
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Glossary of the Times
gay boy: male prostitute
Mary-Ann: male prostitute
spend/ spending: ejaculation
Dorian found him standing in a doorway sheltering from a flurry of sleet. Or rather, the Mary-Ann found him, stepping under the circle of a gaslight as Dorian walked by.
"Hello good sir, are you looking for some company this evening?"
In his early twenties and golden-haired, the man's eyes burned like emeralds. Fine of figure and wearing a scarlet waistcoat and a black velvet suit, he carried a silver-headed cane, no doubt for protection.
It was nearly midnight on Christmas Eve, the wrong time to be alone. Dorian nodded curtly. The man smiled, his teeth pearly and Dorian's cock thickened with anticipation when he realised how startlingly attractive the man was.
The man edged closer, placing the palm of his hand against Dorian's chest, a small, delicate hand for one of his height and build. "Do you have rooms anywhere, sir?"
Dorian debated. He hadn't thought that far ahead. He'd only thought of taking down the drawers of a male whore and burying himself, achieving ecstasy for a short while and feeling less alone. He'd expected to do it furtively up against the wall in a dirty alleyway but this man was so pretty, he demanded more. He demanded Dorian's silk sheets caressing his creamy skin. Did Dorian dare? What about his staff or his neighbours? He looked down into the glowing green eyes and thought, to hell with everyone. No one deserved to be alone at Christmas, not even a man with a past like Dorian's. He ached for skin against his and human contact.
"Come with me," he said and walked away, glancing behind him to make sure the man followed.
His choice of companion didn't. He stood stubbornly in place. "I require some evidence of your financial means, sir."
Dorian smiled. He took a gold piece from his waistcoat pocket. "Is this evidence enough?"
The man took the coin, bit delicately on one edge and pocketed it. "It's a start."
"If you please me boy, you can have double that."
The gay boy pursed his lips. "I'm not a boy, I'm a man."
Dorian stepped closer. "Why don't you show me then?"
His companion for the evening glanced around. Then he thrust a hand into Dorian's groin, rubbing the bulge he found there. "I'll show you all right."
Dorian gulped at his boldness and stepped back. The Mary-Ann sauntered on ahead. "Hurry then before I take this gold coin to the nearest public house and buy myself some Christmas cheer."
Dorian was amused and titillated by this forwardness. He noticed though that the silver-headed cane wasn't for affectation at all. The whore had a pronounced limp.
He hurried to catch up with his prize and the two of them strode down Commercial Road while Dorian looked about for hansoms. Pickings were few and far between as the sleet turned to snow, heavy, soft flakes cloaking everything, but after a few minutes they struck lucky. Dorian held the door open for the prostitute before climbing in and directing the driver to Chelsea.
The man sat back, holding his cane between his knees and regarded Dorian. "You understand I'll require transport home?"
"Of course." Although his clothes were adequate, he no doubt lived in some rat-infested Whitechapel slum near to where Dorian had found him. He looked the gay boy over. "You're brave aren't you? Doesn't the fiend concern you?"
The man raised an eyebrow. "You mean Jack? He only kills women, remember? And he hasn't killed since last month."
"Still… Whitechapel is more sinister than it used to be."
His companion snorted. "Where are your balls?"
"In my trousers sir, as you'll soon find out when they're on your face."
The man grinned, looking thrilled. "I can't wait."
Dorian's cock throbbed. Something about a Mary-Ann enjoying his job aroused him immensely. None of his previous paid couplings had been particularly satisfactory. "Do you have a name?"
"That sounds like your mother invented it. Well Dorian, where are you taking me? One of those depraved gentleman's clubs where I'll be expected to don a collar and crawl around on my hands and knees like a dog?"
Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Do you like that?"
"No sir, I do not."
"I'm taking you to my home, Benedict. It's just you and me. No spectators and no collars."
Benedict seemed satisfied. Dorian admired the flash of spirit very much. "Don't you get Christmas off Benedict?"
"Not if I want to keep my leaking roof above my head."
"Pickings must be slim."
"They are. I was about to go home when you happened along." Benedict fixed his gaze on Dorian. "Why do you need the company of a man such as myself on Christmas Eve, sir?"
Dorian bit his lip a moment. "Have you ever thought I might want to pay you for your body and not your conversation, Benedict?"
Benedict glowered. "I'm only trying to be polite."
"Well don't." Dorian lowered his voice. "Take your trousers down, bend over and let me fill your tight little passage brimful with my mettle. That's all I want you to do."
Benedict glanced to the driver. He pouted a little. "I understand."
"Good." Dorian turned his face to the window and lapsed into silence. He felt repentant though. His companion seemed sweet as sugar and pleasant with it. It wasn't his fault Dorian was unused to conversation and damaged for life.
They reached his townhouse in Chelsea. Benedict climbed out while Dorian paid the driver. He led the way up the steps to the door, unlocked it and bade the prostitute enter.
Benedict stood in the hall and stared around him—at the black and white tiled floor, the spiral staircase, the chandelier hanging above it. A moment later, a door down the corridor opened and Dorian gave Benedict a shove into the dimly-lit drawing room. "In there. Hurry."
Benedict fled swiftly into the dark and melted behind the door. Dorian faced his butler, who immediately began to help him off with his coat.
"A pleasant evening, sir?"
"Yes, thank you Willis."
"Would you like anything else before I retire, sir?"
"Yes, take a bottle of brandy and some of those sweet little treats cook made to my chamber.
"Very well, sir."
"Then that will be all for tonight and don't call me until late tomorrow."
"Very good, sir." Willis withdrew with Dorian's coat, hat and gloves. "And a very happy Christmas to you."
Dorian glanced back at him. "Thank you, Willis. You, too." He entered the drawing room and turned up the gas lamp by the door. "You can come out now."
Benedict's dark shape coalesced from the shadows. "Seeing as you've sent your butler away, you'll have to take my coat yourself."
Dorian stepped forward. "I'll take more than your coat."
Benedict smiled as Dorian pushed the overcoat from his shoulders and let it drop to the floor. His fingers started work on the buttons of Benedict's velvet jacket, clumsy in his haste. Excitement consumed him at the warmth and nearness of his whore, at Benedict's beautiful green eyes and exquisite skin. Dorian thought of all the things he longed to do to him and wondered if Benedict would be amenable to staying until dawn.
He dropped the jacket and unfastened the scarlet waistcoat, fingering the rich material as he did. "Where did you get this?"
"A present. From an admirer."
For a moment a sharp, shocking pang of jealousy stabbed at Dorian. He wasn't sure why. He tossed the offending item away unceremoniously and wrenched open the buttons on Benedict's ruffled shirt, revealing a smooth, sculpted torso.
"Thank you." Benedict bent down to unfasten his boots. He kicked them aside and peeled off his socks. Then, with a teasing look in his eyes, he undid the buttons on his trousers. Dorian's heart started to beat faster as he saw the impressive cock-stand straining Benedict's linen drawers. When his companion had removed his trousers, Dorian cupped Benedict's burden, having a nice long feel.
Benedict stood still. "Do you find anything you like?"
"Yes. Take them off."
Benedict slid gracefully out of his underwear. He stood like a soldier awaiting inspection, his cock at half mast, the hair at his groin cropped neatly. Dorian placed a palm in the middle of his chest. He marched Benedict backwards until the gay boy gasped and sprawled full length on a chaise longue.