Bound Forever (6 page)

He took a moment to luxuriate in the taste of Vincent and on the decadent feel of his lover’s cock sliding in and out of his mouth, gliding over his tongue, nudging his throat. But only a moment lest he get lost in those sensations. Ignoring the twinge of regret, he pulled back. A soft kiss to the crown and he got to his feet.

Vincent’s lashes slowly swept up as Oliver began to unbutton the other man’s waistcoat. To Oliver’s delight, Vincent let Oliver undress him, his large hands roving up and down Oliver’s back, pausing to grip his arse, but not making a move to stop him or to take back control of the evening. He dragged his lips along Vincent’s jaw, nipped lightly against the skin, occasionally brushed his trouser-covered erection against Vincent’s, keeping the man focused on him. Yet as he worked his way down the tan waistcoat, awareness seeped into his veins. His fingers began to shake just the slightest bit, just enough so the small fabric-covered buttons would not slide easily from their moorings.

The confidence that had seized hold in the carriage on the drive to Vincent’s country house began to slip away. What if he did something wrong? What if Vincent didn’t enjoy it? Oliver pushed the waistcoat off Vincent’s shoulders and reached for the stark white cravat. It had been ages since Oliver had taken a man, and to his knowledge, never a virgin. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how it was done. But…

Another tug on Vincent’s cravat. He did his best to hide the sigh of relief when the elaborate knot finally gave way to his struggles. He stepped back just enough to pull the white shirt up Vincent’s chest.

His lover finished the task for him, whisking the shirt over his head. By God the man was gorgeous, bared to the waist with his erection jutting stiff and hard from the open placket of his trousers. A thin moan slid past Oliver’s lips.

Unwilling and unable to resist the lure, Oliver reached out to touch his bare skin. The heat radiating from Vincent’s body almost scorched his palms as he swept his hands up to those impossibly broad shoulders. This man was his and only his. Forever.

“Love you,” he whispered against Vincent’s neck.

“Love you too.”

A tremble shook Oliver’s body, breath catching in his chest.

The hell with it.

Oliver grabbed the back of Vincent’s neck and pulled him down for a kiss—slanted his lips harshly over Vincent’s. With his hands on Oliver’s arse, Vincent jerked him closer, pressing their bodies tightly together, and thrust his tongue into Oliver’s mouth. Oliver let go and gave in to Vincent’s kiss, to the power and the strength of the man in his arms. No more trying to gauge Vincent’s reactions. No more trying to keep the man on a predetermined path for the evening. If it happened, it happened. If not, it wasn’t meant to be.

Threading his fingers into Vincent’s hair, he dived into the kiss. He rubbed against Vincent, reveling in the complete lack of give in the man’s hard, strong body. The scent of his lover filled his every breath—clean male skin, not a hint of cologne, and undeniably Vincent. His head went light under the onslaught of sensations. The last drop of the tension he hadn’t even realized existed slid out of his body, and his senses focused absolutely and completely on pleasuring Vincent.

The lust built within him with each brush of Vincent’s tongue. With each groan that rumbled his broad chest. More. He wanted more.

He kissed his way down Vincent’s chest, pausing to flick his tongue over one copper nipple, then over the hard abdomen, following the thin line of dark hair to that beautiful cock. But before he wrapped his lips around it again, he pulled Vincent’s dark trousers down his legs.

Vincent nudged his hips forward so his erection brushed Oliver’s parted lips. But the silent request wasn’t necessary.

Bracing his hands on Vincent’s thighs, Oliver opened his mouth and worshipped Vincent’s cock in earnest. Long, plunging strokes coupled with hard suction. Relaxing his throat, he took him all the way down and swallowed, massaging the sensitive head. When the powerful muscles beneath his palms began to draw tight, he shifted down, ducked beneath, and pressed openmouthed kisses on his ballocks. Vincent widened his stance, granting him greater access. Oliver took it and more. He drew one testicle into his mouth, sucking and tugging lightly before moving to the other. All the while, he pumped Vincent’s length, his grip firm, his hand sliding easily over the spit-slicked skin.

Vincent’s hard pants filled the air around him, mixing with the distinct scent of male sweat. They pushed him onward, demanding more.

“Turn.” He nudged Vincent hip. “Let me lick your arse.”

A low growl rumbled from Vincent’s chest.

Oliver shifted back, giving Vincent room to comply, and glanced down. Damnation. His clothes. He tugged at his waistcoat, not caring in the slightest when a few buttons popped loose and skidded across the floorboards. He yanked on his cravat and whipped his shirt over his head. Very briefly got to his feet to push off his trousers. His erection sprang free, so rigid it slapped against his belly. Need drumming through his veins, he drew his hands down the strong lines of Vincent’s back to his hips and nudged him to better face the bed.

Vincent bent at the waist and braced his hands on the mattress. Oliver dropped to his knees and parted those muscular cheeks, baring Vincent fully to his view. He painted a line down that forbidden crease with his tongue and pressed a kiss to his entrance.

“Ah hell.” Vincent pushed back, pushing against Oliver’s mouth.

He eagerly gave Vincent what he needed. Licked and kissed the perimeter until the tight ring of muscle began to relax. Pulled his cheeks more firmly apart and slipped his tongue inside, teasing the highly sensitive nerves. Then he slid a finger alongside his tongue, gently stretching him.

He heard a muffled
thump
—likely Vincent punching the mattress—accompanied by another curse.

A wave of lust washed over him. Thick and potent, soaking his senses. His cock jerked, demanding attention. His ballocks were drawn up so tightly they ached. Rather than give in, he savored the heady thrum of anticipation, savored the need so strong a twinge of pain rode hard and heavy behind it.

Finger thrusting and mouth working, he lavished Vincent with pleasure until Vincent’s curses filled his ears. Gasping for breath, he pulled back.

Vincent growled. “Damnation, don’t stop.”

“I’m not.” Hell no, he wouldn’t stop. He pushed on Vincent’s arse. “Get on the bed.”

Vincent didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate, didn’t even glance back at Oliver in question. His muscles bunched and flexed beneath pale golden skin as he shifted onto the bed to lie on his side. Oliver quickly joined him, pausing only to snatch the bottle of oil from the bedside table drawer before nestling behind him.

He poured a generous amount onto his fingers, pressed a kiss to Vincent’s shoulder, and pushed two digits inside. Tight muscles clamped around his fingers. Slick and hot and soft as the finest silk. His cock jerked again, bumping against Vincent’s thigh. Careful and slow, he pushed deeper to rub Vincent’s gland and was rewarded with another muffled
thump
of Vincent’s fist against the mattress.

Of their own accord, his hips thrust in short compact nudges in rhythm to the strokes of his fingers fucking Vincent’s arse. His hard cock rubbed against Vincent’s thigh, greedy for any sort of friction. The heat pouring off Vincent’s back scorched his chest. Sweat pricked Oliver’s skin, slicked the hollows behind his knees, and threatened to drip down his temples. Every fiber of his body screamed for release. He could feel the frustration seep into Vincent, hear it in the hard pants of his breaths and the grunts reverberating through his back.

The pleas started tumbling from Vincent’s mouth. “More, Oliver. Need…
hell
, harder.”

With each thrust, he grazed Vincent’s gland, yet he stayed right on the edge of complete satisfaction. That need grabbed hold, the same one that had seized him in the carriage. His own release suddenly lost all importance.

He wanted Vincent. Wanted to mark the man as his own. Needed to bring him to climax while buried deep within him. Wanted to feel the orgasm rack his lover’s body. Wanted to be the one to make him scream from the sheer force of it.

He intensified his efforts. Slid another digit inside Vincent, stretching him wider, boldly pushing the pleasure past the point where he normally would stop and beg Vincent to fuck him.

They moved together yet in counterpoint, bodies straining, indecipherable moans mixing together. And then Vincent spoke the words Oliver had waited over a year to hear.

“Oliver…
please
.” Vincent groaned, pushed back against him. “Fuck me.”

He didn’t stop to ask if Vincent was certain, though he did pull free to grab the oil. The touch of his own oil-slicked palm to his prick almost triggered an orgasm. He bit the inside of his cheek, hard enough to taste the metallic tang of blood, then took a deep breath and rode the surge of pure need until it ebbed to a manageable level. Then he poured more oil on his fingers. Vincent was already quite slick, but he wanted nothing left to chance. Reaching down, he swiped his fingers over Vincent’s entrance.

Vincent shifted his leg forward and tipped back his hips, granting Oliver access.

For a moment, the sight of Vincent laid out on the bed struck Oliver mute. The golden glow of the candle caressed every line of his powerful body, his most intimate flesh slick and ready, chest heaving with each heavy breath, and wanting
him.

Emotion clogged his throat. Somehow he was able to give voice to the “love you” that filled his entire being.

Then he positioned his cock at Vincent’s entrance and, slowly pushing forward, made Vincent his in the most intimate way possible.

Vincent’s broken gasp cut through the silence. His body clamped around the head of Oliver’s prick. So damn tight and hot and perfect. Unwilling to break the spell, Oliver resisted the urge to ask if he was all right. Instead, he cupped Vincent’s hip, pressed his mouth to the apple of Vincent’s shoulder, and began to gently rock his hips.

Pressure filled him as Oliver nudged inside. A pressure that satisfied the overwhelming need that had built to unprecedented proportions. Oliver’s cock certainly did not rival his own in size, but hell if he didn’t feel goddamn huge. Stretching Vincent wide, pushing in so damn deep, stuffing him wonderfully, blissfully full. A tiny bit of pain threaded under the pleasure. But strangely, he welcomed it. Wanted more.

Even as the word “more” tumbled from his lips, a portion of his brain reeled in shock. Stunned that Oliver’s prick was in his arse. And doubly stunned it felt so unbelievably amazing.

Completely drunk on the all-encompassing sensations, Vincent slung his leg up, shifting so that he was partially on his back, and draped his arm around Oliver’s neck. Oliver palmed Vincent’s thigh, pushing his leg up higher, and dropped his head to brush his lips across Vincent’s nipple. Pulling the tip into his mouth, he thrust even deeper—slow, plunging strokes that had Vincent’s head lolling back.

Oliver’s grip on his thigh tightened, but he kept his thrusts lusciously slow. A chunk of his untidy hair had fallen forward to obscure one eye. Vincent’s fingers itched with the need to tuck it behind his ear, to fully expose those beautiful features he knew so well. Yet every muscle in his body felt completely lax, so consumed by pleasure he could not have lifted his other arm if he tried.

And then Oliver shifted behind him, and on the next downward thrust, he hit that spot inside him. The one that made a white-hot surge of lust shoot through him.

Again and again, the head of Oliver’s prick massaged that spot. Ratcheting the ecstasy drenching his senses. Building it stronger and stronger. Coiling tighter and tighter, past anything he had ever experienced before.

Vincent struggled to catch his breath, but the effort was in vain. His breaths hitched, high and sharp, in his chest. His cock ached. Goddamn it, it hurt. He wanted to grab his prick, but he was…afraid to move. To even shift enough to bring his hand to his groin. One move and he could lose that absolutely perfect angle of Oliver’s prick. The one that brought the orgasm so close he could taste it.

As if reading Vincent’s mind, Oliver’s hand slid down his thigh to close around Vincent’s cock.

“
Yes
.” The word ripped from Vincent’s throat.

Oliver’s grip was almost too rough but at the same time exactly what he needed. His thrusts turned harder, longer, more demanding. The strokes so deep his ballocks slapped against him.

Shameless and needing even more, Vincent bumped back. He was right there, on the very edge, senses poised on the brink, but…
Damnation!

Beyond desperate for the climax that frustratingly eluded him, Vincent gazed up at Oliver.

“Come for me, Vincent,” Oliver whispered, those dark eyes boring straight into his soul.

The orgasm slammed into him, harder and more powerful than a runaway stagecoach. His hoarse shout echoed in his ears. Seed shot from his cock, splattering his stomach, as Oliver continued to drive into him, prolonging the climax until Vincent could only gasp in awe.

As the remnants of that powerful release still thrummed through Vincent’s body, Oliver’s hips snapped forward. It felt as though his cock somehow grew thicker, longer, harder, stretching Vincent’s body to its limit. Teeth bared, Oliver let out a growl, deep and low and unlike anything Vincent had ever heard from him. Then warmth filled Vincent’s passage.

Oliver slumped, his forehead dropping to Vincent’s chest. Hot, sticky pants fanned Vincent’s chest, clinging to his sweat-slicked skin. Lazy and slow, and almost unconsciously, Oliver slid his hand, still wrapped around Vincent’s cock, up to massage the crown. A spasm racked his entire body, abrading his overwrought nerves, muscles clenching around Oliver’s prick, still buried deep.

“Hell!” The curse burst from his throat, though the word sounded embarrassingly much closer to a yelp.

“Sorry,” Oliver murmured as he released his hold. He didn’t sound the least bit apologetic. If anything, he sounded smug. Oliver was a man. He damn well knew how sensitive one was after an orgasm.