Bound Forever (8 page)

Not because he was still in denial. Over a year ago, he had finally stopped fighting himself and fully accepted that he preferred men. And above all, that he loved Oliver. He trusted the man implicitly. So much so he had given himself over to his lover, let the man have his way with him. Something, not that long ago, he would have never allowed. Yet just last night, he had done so without a second thought.

It wasn’t that the experience totally put him off the idea. Not something he wanted to become a habit or even a somewhat frequent activity. He enjoyed dominating Oliver far too much. Nor did he worry Oliver now wanted to completely flip their dynamic in the bedchamber. The man’s soul truly craved submitting to him. But every once in a long while, he could now see himself wanting more than Oliver’s eager submission. Yet…

His gaze dropped to the jade cravat pin affixed to the untidy knot of Oliver’s cravat, and the answer that had eluded him since Oliver had fallen asleep beside him last night hit him.

Last night had made him realize how much he truly loved Oliver. How much he needed him, and not just for evenings together to share a supper or as a more than eager bed partner willing to submit to Vincent’s every whim.

He needed Oliver in his life. Needed the man at his side, and not only as he was now, but until the end of his days.

Now that the marquisate had a new heir, the threat of having to marry had disappeared. His lover could remain at his side forever, yet the knowledge did not offer the comfort it should. In fact, it had become the source of the fear that had settled in the pit of his stomach, building stronger as the night had given way to the dawn. It made him acutely aware of how lucky they were Grafton had a son. What if it had been a daughter? What if his brother’s wife could not have children? What if some unknown force tore them apart? Their relationship was against the law, after all. What if something happened to Oliver? Would he end up like the Widow Middleton, the man he loved ripped from his life far too soon? Accidents did happen. For all he knew, today could be their last day together.

The fear flared from his belly, an ice-cold, prickly rush that encompassed his entire being. His heartbeat stumbled, his breath hitching in his chest.

“What would you have done if I had been forced to find a wife?” The question tumbled from his lips before it formed in his head.

Oliver frowned. “What does it matter now? Grafton has his heir.”

“Please, Oliver. Answer me. Would you have stayed with me?” He needed to know. Needed the comfort of the knowledge that Oliver would have stayed with him, though he had a very strong suspicion Oliver’s answer would offer no comfort.

His lover’s gaze, heavy with regret, remained locked with his. “No. I could not have shared you. I could not have welcomed you with open arms when you came to me smelling of her.”

“But I would have married out of duty and nothing more. I would not have loved her. I love you.”
My heart belongs to you.

Oliver shook his head. “I know. Still, I could not have been the secret you kept from your wife.”

“But we already are each other’s secrets.”

“Yes. Though it would have been different, and you know that. You would have gone to balls with her, went to the theater, discussed your day with her, gone home to her, laid between her legs. Had children with her. I could never share you like that, Vincent. It would have destroyed me.”

And it would have destroyed Vincent in the process. He looked down, avoiding Oliver’s gaze, and adjusted the length of his greatcoat, draped over his leg. “I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost you,” he admitted. He had a brief taste of it once before, and it had been
agony
not to have Oliver in his life.

With a gloved hand, Oliver cupped his cheek and brought his chin up, refusing to allow him to hide. He cursed the chill temperature, needing to feel the comforting warmth of Oliver’s palm.

“You would have been all right, Vincent. You would have succeeded in marriage, just as you succeed in everything you do.”

Oliver’s confidence in him was staggering at times but, in this instance, entirely misplaced. Vincent made to shake his head, but Oliver held him still. “Would you have been all right?”

That gloved hand slipped off his jaw. “No. You are the only man I have ever loved. I could never love another. But as you no longer need to marry, we do not need to discuss this. So let’s not speak of it.”

“If you insist.” Vincent let out a heavy sigh. “But I would not have been ‘all right,’ not if I didn’t have you,” he grumbled.

A little indulgent smile tipped the edges of Oliver’s lips. A smile that indicated Oliver’s confidence was still misplaced. But he knew he would not convince the man otherwise right now.

Oliver’s gloved hand came back up to cup his jaw. Leaning close, he pulled Vincent down for a kiss. Just one brush of his lips provided the comfort Vincent sorely needed, vanquishing almost every trace of the fear, but not all of it. A tiny tendril remained, but he pushed it aside, focused on kissing the man beside him.

He reached up and threaded his fingers in the wind-tousled waves of Oliver’s hair. With a firm tug on the strands, he slanted his lips over Oliver’s and pushed his tongue inside, demanding entry. Oliver moaned into his mouth and shifted closer, pressing full against Vincent’s side.

Lust shot straight to his groin. His cock hardened, pushing at the falls of his trousers. But before the lust grabbed hold of all his senses, he pulled back just enough to whisper against Oliver’s lips, “I never said never again.”

Oliver’s eyes flared, and a moan, this one thin and threadbare yet thick with excitement, shook his throat.

Lest the man misunderstood his intentions, Vincent gave Oliver’s hair another tug. “But not now, boy,” he said, as firm as that tug.

His lover instantly yielded. The dark fan of his lashes fluttered behind his spectacles, brushing the curve of his high cheekbones. A whimper slid past his parted lips.

The man was so beautiful. So perfect. The other half of his soul.

His heart clenched, the fear flaring to grip him anew. Needing the lust to mask it again, he slanted his lips harshly over Oliver’s. Let the silken depths of his mouth, the sweet sounds of his sighs, and the hot pants of his breaths clinging to Vincent’s cheek command all his attention.

Rubbing against Vincent’s side, Oliver shifted closer. He let out a little grunt of frustration, then pushed up onto his knees. Vincent felt the man’s hands move between them.

A shrug of his shoulders and Oliver’s greatcoat slipped from his arms. He dragged his lips along Vincent’s jaw. “Now, Vincent. I need you now.” Desperation soaked his plea.

Vincent glanced down. The waistband of Oliver’s trousers was bunched just above his knees, exposing the golden skin of his compact yet sleek thighs. The flushed head of his cock poked out from under the hem of his white shirt. No doubt at all what Oliver wanted, and Vincent was more than willing to give it to him. Hell, he
needed
to give it to him. Needed to have the man beneath him, compliant and desperate, wanting only him. Yet…

Vincent pulled his gaze from Oliver to scan the surrounding grounds. Nothing but grassy fields and the two horses tied to the tree. The pond’s slight downward sloping bank offered some measure of concealment, but he could still see if someone approached. Not that anyone was apt to. They were on his property, and the servants had no cause to travel so far as the pond, especially on such a cold day.

Reassured, Vincent nodded. “Get down on your stomach, but don’t remove any more clothes.” The lust and need drumming through his veins provided its own brand of warmth, but doubtful enough to ward off the frigid morning air. The last thing he wanted was for Oliver to catch a chill.

Oliver quickly moved onto his belly, his discarded greatcoat a rumpled heap beneath him. Upper body braced on a bent elbow, he reached back with his other hand and tugged at Vincent’s wrist. “Now.
Please
, Vincent.”

“You want me? Then prepare yourself.”

Without a trace of hesitation, Oliver bit the end of one fingertip and hastily pulled his hand free of the black leather glove. He stuck his fingers into his mouth, sucking on them. Canting his hips up, he reached back to push two digits between his cheeks. A wince flickered across his brow. Then he let out a sigh of undeniable pleasure.

Vincent pushed the tails of Oliver’s coat to his waist and tucked the end of his shirt under the hem of his waistcoat, baring the man more fully to his view. He shifted onto his knees, his gaze never leaving the sight of Oliver working another finger beside the other two and thrusting between the round globes of his arse. He flicked the length of his greatcoat behind him, unbuttoned the placket of his trousers, and pulled out his erection. After removing his gloves, he flung them aside and spit on his palm. He slicked his prick, then spit once more onto his palm and took care to liberally coat the head of his cock. Oil would serve them better, but he had none with him. The thought of fucking Oliver had not entered his mind when he left the house, but it sure as hell did fill it at the moment.

He straddled Oliver’s thighs, tugged his hips up to the necessary angle, and swatted at Oliver’s hand. On the next thrust, Oliver slipped his fingers free to pull back his cheek, exposing that perfect, tight hole, the skin glistening with moisture.

Vincent positioned the spit-slicked head of his cock at his entrance and pushed inside on one long stroke, settling hilt-deep.

“Ah,
yes
.” Oliver arched beneath him, pushing his arse back against Vincent, wanting more.

Vincent gave it to him. Not even allowing a moment for Oliver’s body to adjust to the invasion, he pulled back and snapped his hips forward, slamming hard and fast into Oliver. Tight muscles gripped his length in the most decadent of caresses, pulling the climax down his spine with surprising speed.

Head bowed, Oliver clutched at the grass, fingers digging into the soil. Braced over his lover, Vincent pounded into him—rough, hard, and frantic. He could feel the tension building within Oliver, hear it in his gasping pleas for more.

The orgasm clutched his ballocks in a fist. “Stroke your cock. Come for me,” he urged, needing Oliver to come
now.

With a nod of his bowed head, Oliver worked a hand beneath his belly to stroke his prick in rhythm to Vincent’s thrusts. Those pleas hitched in his throat. “More, Vincent.
Please
. I…I—”

Oliver let out a shout. The climax gripping him sparked Vincent’s. On a low growl, he slammed his cock into Oliver with all the force of his lower body, spilling deep within him.

Panting for breath, he dropped his forehead to Oliver’s shoulder. His pulse pounded through his veins, echoed in his ears. He took a moment to simply bask in the bliss drenching his senses, his muscles finally lax from the tension that had gripped him for seemingly endless hours. Then he gathered his tired muscles and shifted off Oliver to tuck his spent prick back into his trousers.

Oliver rolled onto his back and gifted him with the most beautiful smile, happy and content and full of love for him. Vincent could not have stopped the smile from curving his own lips even if he tried.

“Love you,” Oliver said, voice scratchy, as though he’d just woken from a deep slumber.

“Love you too. Now up with you. It’s damn cold, and I don’t want you to catch a chill.”

Oliver rolled his eyes but did as Vincent bid. As they made their way back to the horses, Oliver asked, “Any other plans for the day?”

After the last few hours alone by the pond and a sleepless night, it felt as though it was midevening and not midmorning. The thought of crawling into bed with Oliver, holding the man close, and sleeping the day away held much appeal. But he could not ignore the press of obligations. In any case, lazing the day away in bed with Oliver would certainly draw Mrs. Hollister’s attention. He wished he did not have to hide his love for the man. It just didn’t seem…right.

Pushing aside the flare of irritation, he said, “I need to see to the post.”

Oliver swung up onto his horse. Gathering the reins, he speared Vincent with a frown. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow? You should relax, get some rest. Perhaps read one of the books lining your study walls.”

The mention of books reminded him he had a couple of letters to write as well. “I won’t be at my desk all day. And yes, I need to see to the post today, as we need to depart for London tomorrow.”

Oliver’s frown deepened.

“You need to get back to your shop.”

“Well, yes,” he conceded. “It’s just…I like being with you here.”

Vincent swung up into the saddle and turned his horse from the tree. “As I you.” He didn’t relish the thought of returning to London, to early mornings spent slipping out of Oliver’s bachelor apartments versus simply walking a few steps to his own bedchamber. But given Oliver’s bookshop and his grandmother, and Vincent’s business obligations, spending all their time in Rotherham wasn’t an option.

He held back the sigh and nudged his black hunter into a canter. As they traveled back to the house, he could not help but think about those two letters he needed to write and why they were even necessary.

His gaze went to Oliver riding beside him. Even at their pace, Vincent could make out the frayed cuffs of his sleeves and the tattered hem of his greatcoat resting on the chestnut’s back. To Vincent’s knowledge, Oliver had owned that same coat since he was seventeen.

Unwilling to endure another round of questions from Oliver, he kept the frown from his lips and turned his attention back to the grassy field in front of him. But Oliver’s tattered coat did not leave his mind.

Chapter Seven

“Are you certain, Lord Vincent? This is a significant change and one which should not be taken lightly.”

“Yes, I am quite certain.” Vincent glared at his solicitor. He had given the matter more than considerable thought over the past week, since he and Oliver had left Rotherham. Nor was he a simpleton who did not understand the ramifications of the changes he had requested.