Damnation! He hated that word. Sodomy.
It sounded so profane coming from the mouth of the law. It always made his thoughts go to his Protestant upbringing, filled with tales of burning sinners.
Why couldn’t he control himself anymore? Was it Rief or just the sight of another man’s naked chest that rendered him little more than an opium addict desperate for the forbidden?
More often than he would’ve liked, men in this area of the world wore very little clothing. With the warm sun on his back and the sight of all those tanned, sweating male forms, he had been powerless to stop his imagination. Things had been easier in London where men covered themselves with fashionable clothing and masks of politeness. Out here, lost in the savage lands of the Americas, men wore no masks. There were no trappings of society to hide behind, either. Everything was raw, exposed, and right on the surface. Mathew had no idea how to function in such a place.
Rief’s hands swept his pencil several times over a page in the notebook, the sound catching Mathew’s attention. “Are you drawing?”
Looking rather like a child caught in the pudding, Rief pulled the book to his chest.
“You are drawing. Come now. You saw me conversing with myself earlier today and looking quite the fool. The least you can do is show me your work,” Mathew said, trying to sound playful but more than a good bit curious to see what Rief would choose to draw.
Rief said nothing but, like an automaton, extended his hand. They were close enough that Mathew only had to reach out an arm to accept the sketchbook.
He inspected the drawing. Though unfinished, he could tell it was the wrecked Lucky Clipper, the torn sails rendered into wraithlike beings and the waves into violent fists.
Mathew sniffed. “That is how being stuck on the ship during the storm felt. As if some unearthly creature were attacking us.”
When Rief did not reply, Mathew flipped to the previous drawings, discovering sketches of island scenery, all done with precise detail. A sketch of two masculine hands clasped together sparked his curiosity, but not so much as the one that followed. It was a detailed drawing of a man from behind. Every attention had been paid to the carved muscles, the two dimples above the slight swell of backside, and the curve of his spine. While artists often drew the human form, this image aroused something other than a general appreciation of anatomy.
Feeling guilty, he quickly turned the page.
“Interesting subject matter,” he remarked, flashing Rief his own drawing of dead sharks strung up by ropes. Blood ran down the satiny skin of the beasts, pooling in swirls on the dock where it overflowed from buckets. Their gullets were cut open and odd things, like cups and rope, lay inside. The beasts’ jaws gaped in death, showing bits of fish and blood clinging to razor-like teeth. Even in charcoal it was macabre.
“They make oil out of ’em,” Rief explained. “Spongers pour it in the shallows to stain and kill the sponges. Makes it easier for us to dive down and pick them.”
“I read about how they retrieve oil from whales in Melville’s book The White Whale. Have you read it?”
“Nope.”
“Well, I shall have to see if my copy has survived the storm and loan it to you. It’s quite the tale of revenge. Mad Captain Ahab hunts a whale named Moby Dick because it claimed his leg. It’s a rather exciting story.” He kept to himself how excited the “marriage bed” scene between Ishmael and Queequeg had gotten him. Ishmael had awakened with the other man holding him in his arms, snuggled up behind him in a shared bed. Though nothing so insidious as he’d hoped occurred, Mathew had reread the scene dozens of times, creating a different, more sensual outcome.
“Sounds interesting,” Rief said, but he didn’t seem to be listening as he stared at the sketchbook. While his art rivaled works in museums, concern and embarrassment shadowed his eyes.
Did Rief not like him looking at the drawings?
Measuring his words, Mathew disliked how tight his voice sounded. “I must say, I feel some kinship to these poor animals.”
Rief tilted his head to study him. “How so?”
“Waiting to be turned into something others find useful.”
He gave a disparaging snort of agreement.
“I fear that I’ll never be good enough for him,” Mathew confessed without thinking. “Always a disappointment.”
“Sounds like he’s the one with the problem, not you.”
Pleased Rief understood whom he had been referring to, Mathew fought a smile. “I would tend to agree, but it doesn’t really matter what we say, does it?”
“Nope. There’s very little one can do to convince people of something they’ve already decided to hate you for.” His bitter tone sent shivers down Mathew’s arms.
Mathew understood hatred, especially after the too-close incident with the prostitute—a “gift” from Father before going off to college. Mathew had been unable to do more than chat with the woman, so she’d returned half the money. Shocked and angry, Father had asked him if he would’ve preferred a molly house. Mortified Father might know the truth, Mathew had the forethought to quote something scriptural about chastity and not wishing to betray his future wife.
The whole incident had driven an even larger wedge between them. Father’s distance born of disgust and Mathew’s by fear of discovery. That was the closest anyone had ever come to learning the truth, and it had made him somewhat paranoid, avoiding anyone and anything that might raise suspicions.
He was always cautious, so why did Rief Lawson keep making him drop his guard?
“Why do you think your father’s so disappointed in you?”
A bit taken aback by the personal question, Mathew looked up. Perhaps if Rief had been courtly or polite, he might have dismissed him altogether. But something about his open, honest way intrigued Mathew. What sort of man said exactly what he was thinking, with no thought to propriety whatsoever?
The same sort of man who sometimes doesn’t wear a shirt.
Ignoring the flash of heat in his middle, Mathew chose to answer the impolite question. “For starters, he hates that I look like my dead mother. She died giving birth to me, so I suppose that was my fault. And he hates that I’m not like him, chasing girls and picking fights. I’ve tried to be the man he wants, but one can’t help how they were born, can they?”
Rief was staring at him again, unnerving Mathew with those eyes that seemed to bore right into his mind, reading his heart, his desires. Even in the dark, the knowing look made his heart pound. Could Rief tell what made Mathew so different?
Sweat slicked down his back.
Dear God, had he said too much?
Then Rief smiled, washing away the panic and allowing Mathew to breathe easier. “Damn me,” Rief said, “but I know what that’s like. Always being told you’re not good enough.”
“You? Not good enough? I find it hard to believe anyone would say such a thing.”
“Why?”
“Because you jump into the sea during storms and save people’s lives. You’re tall, strong, bold, and....” His voice trailed off as he stopped himself from saying fascinating and handsome. “Heroic,” he finished lamely.
“I’m a damn good swimmer,” Rief agreed without haughtiness. “But so are lots of folks around here. A man can fit in with others in some aspects but still not be like the rest of them.”
Uncomfortable with the intimate nature of this conversation with a stranger, and fearing he might say something to damn himself, Mathew fixed his attention back on the drawing. “Why did you draw these things in their stomachs?”
When Rief chuckled, the dimple in his left cheek deepened. “Sharks eat just about anything, so the first thing most sailors do is slice them open to see what they’ve been eating. Sometimes they find something worth keeping.”
“That would make for an interesting souvenir,” Mathew said, smiling slightly as Rief continued to chuckle. The sound was more beautiful than the sweetest symphony. “Your symmetry is excellent, and the shad
ing is very lifelike. Though I don’t suppose anyone would hang it on their wall, as it is a bit disturbing.”
Those lips Mathew had felt against his own flashed another toothy smile. “No, I reckon they wouldn’t.”
“One of my professors would’ve appreciated your art. He has a vast collection of curiosities. Rare insects, extinct plants, and even some unique specimens in jars of liquid.”
“What sort of specimens?”
“Oh, things like deformed hands, toes, and eyeballs. A pig fetus and a two-headed snake. He even has a man’s cock with three testicles.”
“I’d like to see that,” Rief said with amusement.
Mathew blushed, stretching out his hand to return the sketchbook. “You are a very talented artist. I cannot draw a simple flower.”
“Thank you,” Rief said through a yawn as he accepted it back. “Well, if you don’t mind, I need to sleep, been diving all day.”
“Yes, I saw you.”
Rief paused midstretch. “You did?”
His skin warmed with awkwardness. “Yes, I have a spyglass.”
“It’s a lot of work,” he agreed. “All I have the energy for when I’m done is eating and sleeping.”
“Of course,” Mathew said, feeling as if somehow he was intruding and the conversation and his presence had worn out their welcome. “Do you wish me to leave?”
In the flickering light of the lanterns, Rief’s eyes seemed to blaze gold. “Stay,” he said, his voice low, heady. “Please?”
A shimmer of desire unfurled down Mathew’s spine.
Then Rief’s voice returned to its previous octave. “There aren’t many places to sleep onboard. No sense moving with that leg of yours.”
“Oh, right,” he said quickly. Any sultry nuance had no doubt been the product of Rief’s sleepiness and Mathew’s salacious imagination. He cursed himself inwardly.
Bloody fool! What had you hoped he wanted you to stay for? A good-night kiss?
“Good night,” Rief said through another yawn. “Don’t forget to mind the moonlight.”
“I beg your pardon?”
A sultry chuckle echoed in the darkness. “Mind the moonlight,” he repeated. “If the moonlight hits your face while you sleep on the deck of a ship then you won’t recognize yourself in the mirror in the morning. Or so they say.”
“Who is this ‘they’?”
“Some salty ol’ sailors,” he replied, amusement coloring his sleepy tone.
“Yes, well, we wouldn’t want to disbelieve salty old sailors,” Mathew joked. “I shall endeavor to sleep on my side then. I might not have the best face, but I am rather fond of it.”
“Me too,” he said after another yawn.
Shocked, Mathew’s heart skipped at the compliment until Rief stretched out on his side. You are such a foolish ninny!
“Good night, Mr. Lawson.”
“’Night.” Rief brought his knees up and curled into a ball, a strangely intimate position in the presence of another man. Mathew watched him lying on his side like a child, his manly chest moving in even tempo with his breathing. Though he’d been in dormitories most of his life, sharing rooms and even beds with other men, never had the presence of a sleeping man affected him so much. To know Rief was at his most vulnerable not two arms’ length away, aroused Mathew.
On its own, his cock reached full length, begging for relief. Unwisely, he ran his hand over his groin. He fought a moan and pressed harder.
When had been the last time he’d pleasured himself? Two weeks ago, secluded in the cargo hold on the Lucky Clipper? He’d barely been able to believe his boldness, behaving like a randy youth, sneaking off for a tug after watching those two sailors fighting. They had argued about something, shoving and getting physical. Their bodies had clashed and the bigger man had knocked them both to the deck. They’d wrestled, one man atop the other, both trying to get the upper hand, until Captain Torino had pulled them apart. Since half the damn men aboard the ship went around wearing no shirts, the entire incident had left Mathew very excited, his cock surging to life as he imagined the men fully naked—wrestling with both lust and anger. He’d all but run to the back corner of the cargo hold and, after a few reckless yanks, had spent his seed all over his hand. Breathless and trembling, he’d licked the mess clean, savoring the ripe taste of passion.
Now such fantasies seemed flat and lifeless as his mind filled with thoughts of being naked with Rief.
Would the sweat of their bodies and the heat of the night make them stick together? Would it enhance that decadent smell of his skin? He wanted to know what Rief’s cock might look like, erect and hard. And how would his seed taste? Did men taste different, or was it all the same?
Unable to alleviate his erection, Mathew knew this wrecker would be at the center of his thoughts the next time he ran a hand along his cock, stroking until he felt the glory of release—that one solid moment where his mind became so flooded with bliss and relief he didn’t have to worry about what others might think of him. He didn’t have to remember that he was different. He didn’t have to hide.
Instead he was a man, just like any other man, normal. Healthy. A man who deserved to be loved the way he needed.
Eventually, when the longing became too much to bear, he rolled onto his side, his back to temptation and face safely out of the moonlight. He tried to block out Rief’s coarse rhythmic breathing, forget the scent of him, the sound of his voice.
With a sigh, he squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the sting.
Real happiness would always be his white whale. If he allowed himself to pursue what he craved, he would end up as dead as Ahab, or worse. History books were riddled with tales of sodomites—damn, he really hated that word—kings and commoners alike, and their fate had always been the same. Imprisonment, public humiliation, properties seized, or beatings. Hanging by the neck and shitting his pants in front of everyone—he’d heard the body did that after death—all because of being intimate with a man, was not a risk Mathew could willingly take for a few moments of gratification.
No matter how much he wanted it.
Chapter Four
“We are in the hands of the piratical wreckers!”
—Captain of a wrecked ship, 1836
A strong hand shook Mathew awake.
Shocked, he rolled over only to find Rief pressed against him.
“What are you doing?” he hissed when he realized Rief was naked.
Night had fallen, and the sounds of the salvage and the sea had gone silent. Rief’s larger exposed body was flush the length of his own, revealing muscles hardened by labor and bronzed by the sun.
And an enormous cock, dark with desire.
“This,” Rief whispered, leaning closer to kiss him.
Lust barreled through Mathew faster than the gale that had come from the north. Powerful, masculine lips prodded his open, a solid wet tongue plunging inside. He could feel Rief’s insistent erection against his thigh, and he longed to touch it. Trembling, he somehow found the wits to pull back.
“Stop!”
Rief tilted his head to the side, those hazel eyes reflecting the silver of the moonlight. “You want me, don’t you?”
“Yes... no! I-I don’t know,” he managed as Rief’s hands began to roam over him, under his shirt, playing with his sensitive nipples. His heart raced and sweat trickled down his scalp. Looking around, he placed his hands on Rief’s bare chest—dear God, it’s so warm!—and lowered his voice. “Someone might see.”
“It doesn’t matter. Everyone already knows about you.”
Fear squashed desire for a moment. “They do?”
“Aye, everyone knows you’re like a woman. You can’t hide it. I saw you watching me. I know you want this.” He gripped Mathew’s cock through his trousers and caused a shudder to wrack his entire body.
Before he could recover, lie, or defend himself, Rief kissed him again.
Despite the risk of discovery, or perhaps because of the thrill of it, Mathew
was unable to resist the man’s intense advances. Hell, he’d been denying it his whole life and now, with a naked male body pressed to his, he went weak in the face of his one true need. He didn’t care if people discovered them.
He wanted this so badly!
Opening for the kiss, he wrapped a leg around Rief. Their bodies intertwined like they had beneath the sea, battling and writhing, but this time they were both naked. Cock aching, he arched into Rief, the heat and hardness of his body lining up so perfectly with Mathew’s it was as if they were two parts of a machine, fitted together to work as one. The sensation of a cock rubbing against his own sent fire racing through his veins. Rief’s solid form felt so right, so glorious against him.
As they rolled together, he wound his fingers in that sandy-brown hair, deepening the kiss. Soon Mathew took control, pressing Rief onto his back and grinding his cock into the valley between his hip and thigh. Rief’s cock slid back and forth across his abdomen and Mathew moved with him, the roll of the ship aiding their frantic rhythm.
“Please.” Rief used the same heady tone when he’d asked him to stay. “Please....”
Mathew gripped the bottom of the man’s thigh for leverage, needing more pressure and speed against his cock. He kissed Rief again, holding nothing back as their tempo increased. Then, with a cry of abandon, he thrust against the man beneath him, fluid ecstasy bursting between their chests.
Gasping, Mathew jerked awake, covered in a fevered sweat.
He blinked a few times, vision blurred.
Rief’s warm body faded from reality, and the familiar surroundings of the room at the Key West inn took its place.
Mathew was dreaming again.
“Damnation,” he cursed when he discovered the wetness soaking his nightshirt. Too disgusted with himself to even bother with eating his release, he threw back the bedding. He feared someone may have heard him cry out and strained to listen.
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