The Gentleman and the Rogue (12 page)

Alan pulled Jem onto the tall bed with him. They collapsed together in a tangle of limbs, two bodies wrestling but not in conflict. He loved the feeling of Jem's weight on top of him, the heat of his body pressed close, the slickness of his plunging tongue as they kissed again. He'd be quite happy simply to kiss and hold him for the rest of the night, but his cock was already demanding more.

Jem rocked against him, the friction of his body inciting Alan's lust even further. The youth pushed up to a kneeling position and straddled his body, knees digging into the mattress on either side of Alan's hips. He reached out to smooth Alan's hair back, and his hand lingered, caressing his face.

Alan closed his eyes and pressed his cheek into the cupping palm. Jem's soft touch made his heart clench and his chest tighten. This was what he'd denied himself for too long—a simple connection with another human being. As he opened his eyes again to look up into the other man's blue gaze, a solemn, hushed moment filled the air between them.

Jem wasn't smiling for once. In fact, a slight frown furrowed his brow. Did he feel the same strange sense of gravity that Alan felt, or was this perception of something important passing between them all in his mind?

Jem broke the mood with a little laugh. He bent to kiss Alan's chest, licking from nipple to nipple and taking each one into his mouth to suck. A little shocked, Alan gasped and thrust his chest toward Jem's mouth. The furtive and brief couplings he'd shared with men in the past hadn't included such foreplay. The moment was always rushed, with limited contact, and over too soon.

But Jem was ready to take his time and play. He nipped Alan's nipple sharply, making him groan, then kissed his way down his stomach. He took his cock in hand and kissed the tip before sucking it into his mouth. Alan sighed and closed his eyes once more, surrendering to the pleasure.

After pulling and sucking until he had Alan's cock as hard as stone, Jem let go and sat up. “Do you have something, sir, to make the going a bit easier?”

Alan nodded and gestured to the drawer by his bedside. Jem knew the oil was there, had seen him take it from there the other night, but he hadn't been about to rummage in the bedside table uninvited. Now he rolled off Alan and retrieved the small vial of oil, then poured a bit on his palm and smoothed it the length of Alan's shaft.

When Alan groaned at his touch, he whispered, “Feels good, don't it? You're a big one, you are. Would go hard on me without a little oiling first. You'd likely tear me asunder.”

It was flattery. What man doesn't like to be told how enormous his cock is? But the words and Jem's soft, seductive tone inflamed Alan as they were intended to do. His hips lifted as he pushed into the man's stroking hand.

Jem shifted, kneeling high and reaching back between his legs to thrust his oiled fingers into his hole. Eyes closed, he bit his bottom lip and fucked himself with thrusts of his fingers. When he'd stretched the opening to his satisfaction, he reached behind himself and carefully positioned Alan's penis at his back entrance.

The tip penetrated, the ring of muscle clenching around him, and Alan groaned. It was so lovely. Jem sank down on him, slowly, surely, taking him in deep. The oil made the passage smooth, a tight glide like pushing one's fingers into the finest kid glove that was just a shade too small.

Alan watched Jem's face as he penetrated him. His eyes were half-closed and his mouth slack. A soft groan rumbled from his throat. His body was tilted back slightly in order to fit to the angle of Alan's cock, and his own cock thrust like the prow of a ship before him. Alan wrapped his hand around it and gave a good tug. Hard to concentrate on giving Jem pleasure when he was buried so deep up his ass, he could scarcely fathom anything else, but he made the effort. He pumped his hand up and down.

Blue eyes flickered open and regarded him as Jem rose and fell in a leisurely cadence. Alan's cock felt as if it were on fire, so hot and tight was the channel that engulfed it.

“You like that, eh?” Jem muttered. “Say it, then. Say you like fucking me up the arse. It's what you crave. You dream about it all the time. Admit it aloud, Alan.”

It was the first time he'd called him his given name since he'd taken formal employment with him. Alan loved the sound of his name on Jem's tongue, the rough tone of his speech, and the filthy things he said.

“'I love to bugger you, Jem.' Say it!” the lad demanded, clenching his muscles hard around Alan's cock. He froze with the shaft buried deep inside him and stared at Alan like a schoolmaster waiting for the right answer.

Alan could barely summon enough moisture to speak. His voice was gruff when it issued from his lips. “I… Aw, Jesus. Fuck!” he groaned.

“Say it!”

“I love to f-fuck you.”

“'Up the arse.' Don't fear to admit it any longer.” He lifted and rammed down onto Alan's cock—hard, impaling himself.

Alan groaned harshly. “I love to fuck you. I love to… I love this.”

“Good. That's good.” Jem's voice was as soothing as water pouring over him. “That's what I wanted to hear. Now do it.”

Easier said than done, as Jem sat astride him and had all control, but Alan obliged, thrusting his hips and driving himself up into the other man like a battering ram. Again and again he filled him. He gave up on pulling Jem's cock and gripped his hips instead, guiding him up and down.

Pleasure built and rolled through him, filling his body and mind until there was no room for any other thought or feeling but this. The joining of their two bodies was the center of the world, the fulcrum on which everything balanced. Joy coursed through his veins and burst in his chest. He was uplifted even as he lifted up to thrust into Jem one last time. His cock pulsed as he released in warm gushes.

“Christ Almighty,” Jem cursed. His body was sweat-slicked, perspiration trickling down his chest and pooling on his concave belly. He was beautiful. Merely looking at him drove Alan mad with desire even as the last waves of pleasure receded.

Coming out of his haze of lust, Alan again reached for Jem's cock and continued what he'd begun. He pumped his shaft until Jem groaned. It didn't take long to bring him to climax. Jem rocked his hips, and Alan's depleted erection slipped from his backside. A few quiet grunts later, Jem was spilling onto Alan's fist.

“Lovely,” he murmured, blowing out a long breath. “Thanks.” He cupped his hand around Alan's, which was still encircling his cock.

With the sex finished, Alan half expected remorse and shame to flood back in as they had the other night, but this time his elation didn't fade. It took him a moment to recognize the almost unfamiliar emotion. He was happy. Content.

Jem flopped on top of him and rested his head against Alan's shoulder. Alan's arms automatically went around his body and held him close. He nuzzled the top of Jem's head, soft hair tickling his lips. Oh, he could get used to this very quickly. Whore, thief, or whatever else Jem was be damned, Alan wanted him around.

After several moments, Jem sighed and slid off him to lie by his side, head propped on hand. “So what's our Badger up to, exactly? I heard more than I should've in the park today, but less than I wanted to. Can you tell me the whole story?”

“He made a promise to a friend to look after his wife and child. Now both parents are dead, and the young lady's the ward of a dangerous man. Badgeman wants to get her away from him, but I'm afraid he'll use force and only land himself in trouble. I shouldn't have let him go after her alone.”

“How old is the girl?” A frown knit his finely arched brows.

“Should be eleven or twelve by now, I'd guess.” He recalled the little girl's heart-shaped face and straight, dark brows that always gave her a sober air beyond her years. “Her mother was a camp washerwoman who also tended the injured, and Major used to help her with the laundry. Neither Badgeman nor I can remember Major's real name. She was a quiet little thing, though with a self-assurance one doesn't meet in most children.”

Jem shifted to rest his chin on his folded arm. “Likely old Badge'll be too late to save her if the gent likes 'em young. Maybe the girl's not so bad off as you think, though. If she's got a protector looking after her, she may get on all right in life. Better than being on her own.”

Alan studied his face, the puckered brow, the drawn-down corners of his mouth, and understood Jem was speaking from experience. “How young were you when you first…when you were…despoiled.”

Jem's gaze flicked up to meet his, but then he looked away. “Too young,” he said flatly, shrugging his shoulders. “It's not something worth dwelling on. I do have a more interesting story for you, though, if you'd care to hear it. It concerns Pat, the fishing friend of Donnie, who I told you about earlier.”

“Go on.” Alan smiled, anticipating the tale but aware of the fact that Jem was avoiding a darker story he found too painful to tell. He understood that. They both had memories they couldn't speak of.

“As I mentioned, Pat was a great drinker like his friend Donnie, but he was also a great lover. He confided in me a tale from his younger days, when he was a tinker traveling far and wide. On the road, he once stopped by a tavern in a far northern village where there were no women. Halfway through an evening of drinking, Pat was feeling the need strongly and asked the tavern keeper what the local men did to keep loneliness at bay.

“'Well, sir, out the back is a great barrel with a knothole in the side. When we miss the companionship of the fair sex, we make great use of it.'

“Pat downed his drink and went out the back, where he pulled out his cock and took his pleasure from the knothole. When he was finished, he went back in and thanked the man for the tip. 'Sir, that was the grandest time I've ever had. What do I owe you?'

“Says the barkeep, 'Nothing. But 'tis your turn to get in the barrel.'”

Jem grinned—his wicked grin—and Alan burst out laughing.

“You are indeed a rogue, Jem.”

Jem lifted his eyebrows. “I only tell the tales as others have told them to me. Every word's truth, or so they swear.”

Alan reached out and ruffled a hand through his already-tousled hair. “What am I to do with such a liar?”

“Why, whatever you like, sir,” Jem replied with a smirk. “I'm here to please you.”

Which was precisely what worried Alan. He didn't want to be the lad's “protector,” as Mr. Schivvers was to the Cutler girl. He didn't want Jem to think he must serve him in every way, yet that was the situation he'd set up by hiring him as his valet. Where would all this end? Could he really trust a man who prostituted himself for profit and security?

Chapter Eight

Jem was already bored with playing the part of a footman, and it was barely after noon. Since Badgeman wasn't there to act as butler and open the door when callers came—not that there
were
any callers—and since Dicky was not the first impression one wanted to make on visitors, Mrs. Crimpett had decided Jem would be the official keeper of the door. This meant he couldn't stray too far from the ground floor. She'd also assigned him the task of polishing the brass urns in the hallway before she left to run errands.

The moment she left, he promptly tossed down the polishing rag and headed out to the garden.

Alan had gone to meet with his solicitor concerning the Cutler affair and wouldn't be back until later in the day. It was beautiful weather again, and Jem longed for another outing in the park. For now, strolling in the garden while drinking a glass of Alan's brandy would have to do. He swirled the liquid around in the large glass and pretended he was lord of the manor in his fine frock coat, silk stockings, and tight breeches.

“Excuse me, Jem. There's some gentlemen here to see you.”

Dicky's voice startled him, and Jem turned toward the footman who'd emerged from the house.

“To see me?”

“I had 'em wait in the front hall.” His forehead was furrowed like a basset hound's. “But I think maybe I should've told them to go to the servants' entrance. I think I made a mistake. Please don't tell Mrs. Crimpett.”

“Rest easy, Dicky. I'll take care o' this.” Who the hell would be here for
him
? It couldn't be anything but trouble.

When he reached the front hall, his stomach dropped to the heels of his new shoes. Oh yes, it was trouble, all right, in the form of Jerry Pickles and Noah Stackhouse, two of his best mates. Redheaded Jerry was short and dumpy, with a wide, round, freckled face. Noah stood tall and as lean as a scarecrow, with flyaway white blond hair that stuck out in all directions.

“Hoy, Jerry, Noah,” he greeted them, stopping in the center of the hallway with his arms folded. Too welcoming, and they'd barge in. Reject them, and they'd make a set-to that would bring down the rafters. “How're yourselves?”

Noah turned from examining the painting of a deceased Watleigh ancestor and shoved his hair back to wedge his cap onto his head, briefly revealing the scar on his forehead which Jem had given him. “Look at you, my fine fellow. Ain't you togged in twig, though? What a handsome lad.”

Jerry made a show of scraping his dirty shoes on the doormat before approaching Jem. “Lord, you've fallen into clover, haven't you? We heard it was so and had to come see for ourselves.”

“How'd you find me?” Jem tried not to sound accusing but couldn't imagine they'd come simply for a visit. He wished he'd never sent that sweep who worked Sir Alan's street to the Hangman's Pub. He'd wanted to let his mates know he still lived, but should've paid the boy more to keep his gab shut about exactly
where
Jem lived.

“Flash place you've got here.” Noah stared at the gilt wall sconces, then at a portrait of a long-dead Watleigh. “Saw you get in the carriage that night and go off with the gentleman. Jerry and me bought that boy you sent a drink or two, and we was able to track you down.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid, Jem
! What the hell had he been thinking? His old life was over. He should've put it behind him. What did it matter if his mates thought he'd been kidnapped or murdered? Now how could he get rid of them, and what kind of danger did they pose?