The Gilded Scarab (9 page)

He nodded, and this time his smile looked real. “I would be very glad to retaste it with you, Rafe.”

I took a step toward him. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and held it out to me.

I sought for something to say as I took it. His palm was warm and dry, and his fingers curled around mine. “Do you like kissing?”

This time I got the full smile, bright and dazzling and lighting up his whole face. “I do.”

“Not all men allow it.” I made a gesture with my free hand. “There’s a spot there I’d rather like to kiss.”

The particular kissable spot was under his chin, half-hid in flickering shadow, half-lit by the firelight. I laughed when my lips settled against the skin of his throat, and he laughed with me; I felt it thrumming in his throat. I raised both hands and held his face, tilting it away from the fire. His eyes were shadowed. I used my fingertips first, following the light down the side of his jaw, tracing the line of his neck and smoothing into the warm hollow at the base of his throat. The little bones cradling it were hard under my fingers, harder still under my tongue. The hollow of his throat tasted of salt.

Edward sighed, his hands fell onto my shoulders and squeezed, his head tilted back to let me do my worst. It would be all right. We’d find our way back to our old lives together.

The next kiss wasn’t gentle. It set the world ablaze.

You know, a bit of my mind still worked. The part of me that wasn’t focused on how Edward tasted and sounded was very appreciative of the skill with which he was licking, kissing, and touching back. Despite his recent abstinence, then, he hadn’t forgotten how. Nor had he forgotten how to get undressed quickly and without breaking a kiss. We scattered clothes all over the room, and my mouth never left his.

Edward was a good-looking man clothed in his expensive evening suit. Out of it, he was glorious. He had a long lean body, well muscled, with a flat belly leading my eyes inexorably down to the dark blond bush and the springing cock. He had a couple of long scars over the left side of his rib cage, one of which curved around to his back, and I wondered if they were the result of the accident he’d mentioned earlier. But I didn’t ask. It wasn’t important, and as we fell onto the bed, already entwined, I was too busy to worry about it. The scars hardly marred the man’s beauty.

“Rafe?”

“Hmn?” I was tasting his inner right thigh. It was saltier than the inner left. I liked salty.

He tugged me up to kiss his mouth and rolled me over. “Do you want me?”

I stopped kissing long enough to stare. Perhaps it was a trick question?

Edward laughed. “I mean, inside you?”

Definitely a trick question.

He rolled again so I was on top of him, and he was nearer the edge of the bed. His cock was very hard and pressing against mine in a very satisfactory way. “Because I haven’t wanted anything as much for a long time. It’s been a while for me.”

“I don’t think you’ll have forgotten what to do.” I pressed up against him, letting his hand smooth down my back. For a moment, while we kissed, his hand lifted from my body, and I heard him scrabbling around on the bedside cabinet. A moment later cool oil dribbled onto my lower back, and he smoothed it into my skin, coating his fingers with it. When he slid them down over my backside and pushed a finger into me, I was hard-pressed not to yelp.

Ye gods! Ye gods and little fishes! That felt… oh! There. Just there.

He held me still against him, keeping his fingers inside me, busily twisting and stretching, getting me ready. I parted my legs to give him more room. Well, of course I did. What that man was doing with his fingers had my entire body feeling as if he’d plugged me into an aether generator. His tongue licked and kissed its way around my jawline as he gently ground his hips against mine, rubbing our cocks together.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promised.

It was hard to concentrate enough to talk. “I know.”

“Now?”

“Yes. Definitely now.”

One last kiss and he rolled me again, sliding to one side. He sat up with his back to the ornate headboard. Firelight danced down the line of his body. He smiled and held out his hand.

Dear Lord, but he could do whatever he wanted with me. I took his hand and let him pull me to where he wanted me.

“Here. Like this… oh Rafe. Here.” He spread his legs and pulled me to sit astride him, facing away, holding me in place. He guided me back onto his hard cock, laughing when I gasped at the sensation of it nudging at the cleft in my backside. When the blunt head found the entrance it was looking for, and the tight little ring of muscles caught and held him, he pushed forward in one strong surge. He didn’t hurt me. I was ready, and he slid in easily and smoothly.

Ye gods and little
fishes
.

He was big and hard, and he filled me the way I liked it. I groaned; I don’t scorn to admit to it. And I groaned more than once while he held me and gave me a moment to get used to the feel of him pressing up inside me. I leaned back against his chest. He rubbed his hard fingers mercilessly over my nipples and down my belly to envelop my cock, then grew more gentle as he stroked my balls and down between my outspread thighs.

I couldn’t help but moan again.

“When you’re ready, Rafe,” he said softly.

I was ready. Oh heaven, but I was ready. I started to rock, rising and falling on his hard shaft, slowly at first, little movements that had him rubbing gently up and down the hot, tight channel inside me.

It wasn’t a position lending itself to energetic and vigorous sex, but was gentle and restrained. I got my legs bent under me on each side of his—I was always limber—gaining leverage, and rocked back harder, rising on my knees and falling back. We groaned on each thrust. Edward bit at my neck and shoulders, little biting kisses and then little licks from a hot, wet tongue to take away the sting of the bite. His hands, fingers hooked, clawed their way up the inside of each of my thighs, from knee to groin, making me whimper. I confess it. A definite whimper.

He didn’t move a lot, little thrusts of the hips to try and drive himself in deeper whenever I surged backward. I dictated the pace, slow at first, then quickening as the heat rose. He brought his hands once more down the skin of my inner thighs, smoothing and caressing away the sting of the earlier clawing, and once more enclosed my cock in them. This time he kept them there. His hands slick with oil, he pumped me, keeping the same rhythm as the increasing tempo of his thrusts.

I had forgotten how good this was.

I put my hands over his, holding them closer still as he mercilessly moved up and down the length of my cock. The little rocking movements had become full thrusts. I rose on my knees on every stroke, until only the tight ring of muscles at my entrance was holding the head of Edward’s cock inside me. Each time I paused for an instant before driving down hard, and each time he pushed up to meet me, and we both were making sharp, breathy little noises.

I was close; I was so very close. Every thrust was like fire and lightning zinging down my shaft to my balls, and then like an explosion of heat and flame, the intense pain-pleasure as everything in the universe contracted to the thrust of his cock against the little spot inside me, pulsing through to my balls and cock. And then… and then… and then I was shooting hard into his hands, yelling as I filled them, and he was groaning in my ear, coming inside me.

Dinner had been very fine. Edward’s companionship had been very fine.

But dessert….

Dessert with Edward Fairfax’s naked, wiry body pushing and thrusting against mine, with Edward’s mouth on me and with Edward’s hard cock pushing up into me and filling me until I thought my skin would burst… dessert was beyond fine. Dessert at Margrethe’s Hotel was the best thing I had tasted in years.

It was every bit as good as I remembered it.

S
OMEONE
KNOCKED
on the door, the sharp rap discreet but compelling. We were dozing rather than sleeping, because we were both still young men, and rediscovering the pleasures of the flesh had been enjoyable and vigorous.

Not to mention, repetitive.

We had made the most of our few hours together. I felt a pleasurable little ache when I moved, and so must Edward. Our second bout together had had me buried in him, balls deep, and both of us yelling ourselves hoarse. Even pulling free from him afterward hadn’t stopped us. We continued to roll and wrestle and kiss, running our hands over each other’s sides and thighs, and roaming frantic lips on sweat-damp skin until we were ready for a third bout. Him in me again.

We had no time for sleep. And the dozing was really very light. We were merely recovering our strength for another round. The knock on the door roused us instantly.

“Damn,” said Edward. For a moment he wrapped himself around me, chest to chest, belly to belly, legs entwined. His tongue was hot in my mouth.

The knock came again. Louder. And not alone. This time there was a decided rat-tat-tat fusillade of knocks.

Edward sighed. He rested his forehead against mine for a moment. “Damn,” he said again. He raised his voice. “All right!”

One more knock, of acknowledgment. The door was left alone after.

“Must you go?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, but yes.” He kissed me and rolled out of bed. The fire had died down, and the lamp on the table across the room was set at its lowest setting. Edward passed his hand over the photon globe, and it brightened under his touch enough for him to find and scramble into his clothes. He had to search all over the room to locate them, and his cravat was unusable. He pushed it into a pocket, crumpled and looking like something a costermonger would disdain. His valet—I would wager my pension on him having a valet—would die of mortification when that cravat was discovered.

I sat up against the pillows and watched. The pleasure of a few moments before was fading to a sharp regret. “It’s a shame. I had a very pleasant time, Edward.”

He glanced at the clock on the mantel. He grimaced. “It is a shame. A very great shame. I’m sorry. The timing is execrable, but I can’t delay further now. I’m actually leaving England tomorrow, and I won’t return for some considerable time. I’m very sorry. I would have liked to meet you again.” He smiled. “To take you to the opera, perhaps.”

Yes. Very much, yes. I nodded and held out a hand. “The Tivoli, too. We’ll go to the Tivoli when you return.”

“Until then….” Edward stooped and kissed me. I got the full smile again. “Thank you. I can’t think of anyone I would rather have… thank you, Rafe. I hope we do meet again when I return. I’ll look for you.”

Another smile, a brief press of his mouth against mine, and he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.

Well… damn.

Chapter 7

I
LED
a quiet life for the first few weeks back in Londinium, a much quieter life than many would deem possible for Captain Lancaster of Her Majesty’s aero-dreadnought
Ark Royal
. A much quieter life than I myself would have deemed possible. I don’t mind admitting I got into something of a rut.

My spirits were not at their usual ebullient level. Sometimes I had to force myself to rise, if only to avoid Cousin Agnes’s ire at having the housemaid’s routine disrupted. I had to adjust to not getting out of bed for an early patrol, with no Hugh Peters to knock on my door, bringing breakfast on a tray, and making sure the fire was lit and the shaving water was hot. Instead I made myself get up, shivering in a room grown chill overnight after the fire had died down. Some days it was a real effort to shave and dress, and after the first week, I allowed a neatly trimmed mustache to grow in and my sideburns to lengthen. It gave me the rakish, devil-may-care look most suited to a vagabondish Stravaigor, but I drew the line at a full beard. It wouldn’t help matters if I wandered around town looking like an Old Testament prophet. I was melancholy enough already.

“It is an adjustment,” I told my reflection in the looking glass each morning. “You are no longer Captain Lancaster. You’re Rafe Lancaster, Aero Corps reject, House reject. You need to find a new career.”

No dazzling new career, though, had so far presented itself. Not that I was searching very hard. On my current showing, my new career would have to find me rather than the other way around.

I put on my spectacles and gave myself a stern talking-to. “You’re getting lazy and maudlin, Lancaster. You need something to do.”

There was no arguing with that. Still, I had no idea what.

B
REAKFAST
AT
the hostel was generous. Surprisingly so, considering Cousin Agnes was housekeeper and the charges she made were moderate. I had expected the accommodations to be stingier, particularly in the quiet of winter when most of society was out of town and she had few people in residence. Perhaps I had maligned her unfairly.

Agnes sat in a state of majesty at the window table and kept the residents in thrall. Not many of us at this time of year, but she kept in practice for the Season, I expect, when more of my cousins and half cousins and barely-cousins-at-all-relations would be in Londinium. But for now, in this quiet time, Agnes and I reached an accommodation about breakfast. We ignored each other.