The Merchant and the Clergyman (18 page)

“Uh-uh.” Declan clicked his tongue. “Must I
tie your hands behind you? No touching until I say. Then you shall
have more than you can handle.”

He rose then, towering over his kneeling
companion. A powerful push of pure lust thundered through him as he
moved close and placed the tip of his cock against James’s lips.
“Open now.”

James’s jaw dropped open, and he gave another
of those wonderful helpless little groans. Declan fed him every
thick meaty inch he could take. When James gagged, Declan withdrew
to allow him to recover. “Too much?”

James shook his head. “No. Again.” And he
tilted his head back, opening his throat even wider.

Good Christ, but the sight set fire to
Declan’s body. He wanted to seize the man’s ears and ram into his
mouth with piston strokes until he came. But he restrained himself.
He would not take advantage of James’s willingness to accommodate.
It was the dominating man’s duty to know how to care for his
partner—clearly not a concept Kip had been familiar with since he’d
abused James’s trust in him.

Once more, Declan slid his length into
James’s waiting mouth. This time, nearly every inch was accepted as
James relaxed his throat muscles. Pure, sinful, gorgeous pleasure!
Declan withdrew, then pushed again into heat and wetness, James’s
teeth scraping lightly along his tender underside. Over and over,
he thrust and James remained a steadfast vessel.

After a minute, Declan pulled back. He wiped
the saliva from James’s glistening lips and chin, then took hold of
James’s shoulders and gently pushed him onto his back on the
blanket. He rubbed James’s knees, red from kneeling on the hard
floor, and smoothed his hands over James’s body, stroking his
shoulders, arms, chest, tickling his stomach with scraping
fingernails, rubbing his cock lightly.

When James moaned and shifted, Declan gave
him a little spank on his flank. “Be as still as you’re able.” He
raised James’s hands, tied at the wrist with that ridiculous black
tie, and stretched his arms above his head. Then he ran his hands
down the entire length of James’s arms, making him quiver
uncontrollably from the tickling sensation. Time his friend learned
light treatment and a gentle hand could be as exciting as
roughness.

Declan continued to stroke and massage, lick
and kiss James’s entire naked body—even the soles of his bare feet.
Now and then Declan punctuated the caring treatment with just a
little slap or pinch to add pepper to the pot. He could play with
James longer, draw out the teasing and light punishments until
James literally sobbed and begged him to finish. But when the
tension in James’s body had him drawn tight as a bow, Declan
finally gave relief, bringing him off with hard jerks of his cock.
He’d done his preparation so well, it didn’t take many before James
cried out and shot lovely white ribbons onto his contracting
stomach and heaving chest.

Declan tidied him with the napkin, scattering
crumbs in the process, which he
had
to lick clean. “Are you
ready now?” he asked, and without waiting for James’s breathless
“Yes,” he grasped the other man’s ankles and pressed them up on
either side of his head. Thank God, he was so limber.

The sight of James’s clenching arsehole made
Declan’s erection grow even harder. He took out the small vial of
ointment from his trouser pocket and rubbed the scented oil down
the seam of James’s arse, massaging and stretching his entrance
until it was ready for Declan’s girth. The dear man made soft eager
sounds of anticipation as Declan moved into place. And when Declan
slowly, inexorably pushed inside, James let out a little yelp that
was quite obviously not pain but pleasure.

“Oh, yessss,” he hissed in contentment.

Declan leaned until nearly all of his cock
was swallowed in that tight channel. He rubbed his hands up the
length of James’s legs to relieve any cramping of the muscles, and
lowered his torso until they were nearly chest to chest, which
angled him as deep as he could possibly get. “Is this good?”

James grunted. “Yes. Good. Ah God, yes!”

Declan carefully withdrew and thrust again.
The rhythm of their joining was not unfamiliar. In the end, after
all the playing and mental games leading up to the sex act, there
was really only one conclusion. The striving together of two bodies
to reach climax might be common, but something exceedingly
un
common seemed to be happening to Declan tonight. He could
hardly describe what it was, a fine line crossed, a depth of
feeling gained, a shift from the physical to the sublime. As he
shoved and grunted and panted, Declan felt a tiny egg break inside
him and something flutter out and beat inside his chest.

If he were a religious man like James, he
might think he’d been touched by the divine. For the first time,
Declan experienced sex as more than a necessary physical relief. He
wanted James and
only
James below him. No other would do.
Perhaps no one else would ever do again.

The swelling feeling raced through him along
with the tension leading to release. And when ecstasy broke,
something else exploded along with it. Was that emotion love? Good
God Almighty, there was a reason poets spoke of it as a curse, for
it shook Declan to the core and left him feeling open and
vulnerable in a way he’d never been before. James may act the role
of passive docility, yet he held total power over Declan’s heart,
and
that
was a frightening proposition.

He allowed himself only a few moments to
remain collapsed on the supine man, then Declan moved to bring
James’s legs down and massage the backs of his thighs. He untied
his wrists and took the handkerchief from his eyes, smiling at him
before once more relaxing on top of him, chest to chest.

Hands free at last, James reached to comb his
fingers through Declan’s hair. “Thank you.”

“No, thank
you
.” Declan laughed.
“Aren’t we two well-mannered British gentlemen, though?”

James smiled. “Not always so well-mannered.
Those slaps and pinches were not the actions of a polite man. None
of what we did was, which is, I suppose, what makes it so
exhilarating.”

Declan laid his cheek on James’s chest while
his friend continued to stroke his hair. “The profane and the
divine should strike a happy balance, I believe.”

“I doubt Vicar Hollister or, indeed, most of
society, would agree.”

“Most of society has its own secrets, I’m
sure,” Declan said. “And that includes your holier-than-thou Vicar
Hollister. One wonders what he gets up to when no one is looking.”
He drew circles around the disc of James’s nipple with an idle
fingertip. “I don’t like to think of you under that man’s
autocratic thumb. Or forced to live out your life in this
constricting place where no one truly knows who you are.”

James wrapped an arm around his back. “They
know me. They just don’t know
all
of me. And I am quite
content with my country mouse life.”

“But wouldn’t you like to try something
else?” Declan could hardly believe what he was about to ask. “I
think… I mean, I’d like it if… Might you be interested in taking
some time to travel with me? I’m giving myself this holiday from
business. I’d like you to come with me.” He cleared his throat. “If
you’d be interested in something like that.”

James rubbed his shoulder. “You’re a dear
man, and I should enjoy that immensely, but I have obligations
here. I can’t throw them off to go on an adventure. Not even for a
couple of weeks. And what happens after the holiday is over?”

Indeed, that was the question. Declan
couldn’t drag James along with him city to city, hotel room to
hotel room, expecting James to do what? Wait for him to come to him
at the end of the day? Nor could Declan remain here in this bucolic
village just for off chances to spend time with James. What in the
world was to become of them? This was the first time in his life
he’d ever thought of having a man beyond one night, and the
impracticalities of maintaining a relationship long-distance were
staggering.

He moved away from James to lie on his back.
For the first time, he noticed how cold and hard the floor was
under the thin blanket, despite the musty old burlap bags. James’s
back might be bruised and perhaps even scraped, and the man had
said nothing. Not a peep of complaint.

How could Declan be responsible for a person
who wouldn’t complain and would put up with all sorts of
conditions? Would he have to protect James from the world and
himself? Nonsense. James was an adult—an innocent adult who would
allow the world to trample on him.

The wine they’d shared must have made Declan
some sort of fool. An almost unfamiliar sensation seized
Declan—fear. He shivered and stared into the light of the lamp. He
couldn’t take on the responsibility of another person. Why had he
even thought of such a thing? And with a clergyman.

James, who epitomized kindness… Declan would
certainly hurt him somehow.

Declan rose to his feet in the chilly air and
found his clothes. He shook off the leaves and dust.

James must have sensed Declan’s sudden shift
from satiation to panic. He sat up. “Are you regretting meeting me
here?”

“No, no.” Declan moved close and knelt on the
hard floor to touch James’s face, warm under his chilled
fingertips. “I, ah… I must think.”

“You’re worried?”

“A little, perhaps. About my aunt.” The lie
tasted flat in his mouth. He
should
be thinking about her,
and he shouldn’t lie to James. Yet this might be how he’d go on if
he kept James in his life, treading more carefully than before.
James, a gentle man, had sensibilities that Declan couldn’t begin
to understand.

James cared too much. Declan was too
forthright. “I suppose we ought not to leave together.” James rose
and gathered up his own clothing

“Yes, you’re right,” Declan said, still
tense. He finished wedging himself into the stylishly tight jacket.
James came to him and gave him a kiss, which served to momentarily
distract him from his ridiculous fear.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay longer,” Declan
whispered.

But after he bid James farewell and slipped
out of the old mill, Declan fell into the confusing unfamiliar
territory of fear. Just the notion of a few weeks’ holiday spent
with a man sent him into a state of panic. What was this
nonsense?

The truth came clear at last, and it made him
feel rather silly, it was so obvious. He didn’t believe he’d want
James for only a few weeks. James was too dear already.

The contemplation of a longer, possibly
permanent arrangement of some sort would send any man into a
lather—particularly a hitherto contented and cowardly bachelor like
Declan. He smiled at that.

All thoughts of the future scattered when he
noticed a large figure up ahead, skulking in the shadow of a tree
at the edge of the woods. Declan’s eyes hadn’t adjusted to full
dark, but the size of the form, the way the man obviously hid and
watched, made his fury rise. He charged toward Kip, shouting,
“Damnation what are you doing following me again?”

The figure disappeared, its dark shadow
blending into those of the trees. Kip had apparently run off—or so
Declan thought, until something hard and heavy slammed into the
side of his head. He whirled to face his attacker. He made fists
and managed to get in a hard hit near the eye, but the blow wasn’t
enough. The hard object came down on his temple again, and, after
moment of pain and bright light, Declan knew nothing.

Chapter Fifteen

James woke sore and happy in his own bed,
into which he’d tumbled in the wee hours of the morning. Every
muscle in his legs ached, and his arms had some odd little bruises.
He had one on his neck as well, but as usual, his secrets would be
hidden by the cassock, collar, and white cravat.

As he stared at his face in the small mirror
while he shaved, he waited to feel a stab of guilt, but delight had
apparently taken its place. His version of God seemed to have grown
more forgiving lately.

He dressed with care due to all the aches and
pains. Soon enough, they’d be gone and he’d return to the life he’d
always known. A life he treasured, he reminded himself. He’d been
happy. Perhaps his punishment for sin was simple: to discover
something entirely transcendent and never be allowed to experience
that sensation and joy again. That seemed appropriate.

He had a Canterbury cap too, a gift from his
parents, but wasn’t sure how Hollister would feel if he wore it.
Poor crowing Jeannie’s gift, the soft gray scarf he always carried,
went in a pocket. The simple-minded village girl wouldn’t be at the
service, but he felt insecure when it wasn’t with him—as if his
life’s meaning wasn’t clear. Perhaps his desire to carry it was
more akin to a small child’s blanket. He’d forgive that foible as
well.

After dressing and consuming a breakfast of
eggs and tomato, he grabbed his four-cornered cap after all and
strode toward the church.

He came upon a scene in the churchyard. Seven
people clustered around Emily in her wedding finery. Not far away,
Kip walked back and forth on the stone path near a line of hitching
posts, several of his friends walking with him.

“He’s doing it on purpose. I’m sure of it,”
Kip shouted.

“I beg your pardon,” James began, but no one
seemed to notice him

“He wanted to ruin our day, our wedding.”
Kip’s voice rose. “He thinks he’s so wonderful. He’s a spoiled
high-handed oaf.”

Emily stood, arms folded over her
lace-covered bosom, a frown creasing her pretty face. The squire
hurried over to her and made a shooing motion. Adopting his
standard jolly tone, he chided, “Go along with you, Miss Parker.
You and my son are not to meet until the wedding.”

“Oh, that’s old-fashioned stuff and
nonsense.” She turned to James, her long ivory gown sliding over
the stones as she walked toward him. “Mr. Fletcher, I’m so glad to
see you. Mr. Darnley’s cousin Mr. Shaw has disappeared. He left the
hall last night during the dance, and no one has seen him
since.”