His Second Chance

by Stephanie Lake

  Grabbing Randall’s cock, he raised his head to stress a demand. “Screw me.”

  Randall moaned, grabbed David’s hand, and stilled the downward slide. “Stop, or the entertainment will end right now.”

  One more slide. Randall hissed. “Please. I want this to be perfect, not just another awkward tumble. Let me… Let’s make this special.”

  He swallowed and managed a nod.

  Soon the firelight glowed on both their naked bodies. David was transported back in time to seven glorious days and six perfect nights. The only time in his life he had ever been truly happy, had ever felt whole. He trailed fingers across the perfect chest, the taut stomach, the powerful thighs he had memorized and replayed in his mind almost every night. Every lonely night since. He licked every inch his fingers touched until he nuzzled the tempting nest of hair; then he inhaled. The musky scent and flavor uniquely Randall. Desire and contentment warred in his mind and body.

  “Cannot believe you are mine again. Thought you were gone forever.” He didn’t realize he’d spoken until Randall pulled him up his body and that sea-deep gaze delved into his soul.

  “I could be yours forever. Stay with me?” He placed a cool ceramic jar in David’s hand.

  “What is this?” Inside was a smooth cream that smelled of the Orient. Tantalizing, exotic, forbidden. Not the cream they’d used before, that had smelled like the Mediterranean, citrus and sunshine. For some reason, the new scent stabbed a jolt of jealousy through him so piercing, he almost dropped the pot. Who had given Randall this exotic cream? Why was the old jar gone? His expression must have given him away.

  “I bought that in a naughty little shop the day you left me. It was supposed to be a surprise. But you didn’t return.” Randall’s eyes searched his. “I’ve saved it. Silly, I suppose, but I couldn’t bring myself to dispose of it or use the ointment.”

  A disturbing warmth grew in his chest, and his eyes itched and made him blink, almost obscuring the little jar. But he knew what to do. He scooped up a fingerful and reached behind himself.

  “No.” Randall grabbed his wrist, just a bit too tightly. “No. Not you. Me. I will not let you claim to have been a passive participant, as you probably convinced yourself after the romp in the hunting shed.” He lay down, raised his knees, and beckoned.

  “Well, hell.” David closed his eyes and tried to control his eagerness. The sight of a vulnerable pink sphincter under tight bollocks and that long, stiff cock had him near release without any actual stimulation. He thought of nuns. That didn’t help, so he thought of standing guard in the canal in December. That helped. Somewhat.

  “Fuck me, David.”

  His eyes flew open, perfectly intending to gaze at those lovely greens, but instead stared at that pink-encased hole. The hole which would soon sheath his shaft. That tight, inviting hole. He swallowed. “Damn.”

  “Fuck me.”

  “Yes.” Most of the cream had melted and dripped onto the floor. He scooped up more and rubbed it on that sweet, enticing spot before slipping his finger inside.

  Randall groaned.

  God! A surge of euphoria shot through his body at his control over this large, rawboned man.

  Randall stared, eyes half-closed, body pushing against his finger. “Fuck me.”

  He slipped in another, and those expressive muscles kissed his fingers. “Auuhhhh! Stop, or I’ll not make it inside you.”

  “Hurry, or I’ll not make it until you are inside me.”

  He nodded, adding a third finger. His lover moaned at the invasion but quickly relaxed. “More.”

  He spread his fingers, stretching the sweet opening, before sliding them out. He grabbed more cream. The slick slide over his cock almost ended the party. He gritted his teeth and positioned himself.

  “Stay with me, David. Promise you will not leave me again.”

  He started to back away, but Randall pulled him close, groin to groin.

  “Promise.”

  In a haze of sensual heat, he might have nodded. He wasn’t sure.

  But Randall grinned. “Now!”

  David slid his body lower between those powerful thighs and slid his cock in the tight hole. “Holy sweet Jesus.”

  “Oh, bloody hell.”

  He stopped. “I hurt you.”

  “No, no, God. Sublime. More.”

  He pushed in, then pulled back. The motion instinct, not experience. He’d never done this before. It had always seemed easier on his conscience if he let the other men bugger him. That way he could convince himself he was helping out a friend in need. How bloody hypocritical. And what a bloody waste of time. But now, bloody hallelujah.

  This felt so right, like coming home. Groaning he grabbed one of Randall’s knees, pushed it to his chest, and pumped. Yes, this is right. This is heaven.

  The passage was so tight, so warm, he barely registered the pop of balls slapping arse, the rigid cock rubbing his stomach with each stroke, the thighs under his chest. He was so close; he bit his lip to hold off, to let the sensation of hot, pulsing muscle last. But it was all too much, all too new. He came with the power of a twenty-four gunner in full attack.

  So lost in his own release, he missed Randall’s. In fact, if not for the moisture between their bodies, he would think his lover had not come, for his shaft was still hard.

  He leaned back and let Randall’s legs slip from between their bodies. Still joined, he kissed one closed eye, then the other. The man attempted a grin, but the action must have been too difficult for a sated body.

  After a while, David’s cock softened and slipped out. He felt rather silly, lying on top, naked except for one sock still half on. How he managed to get mostly undressed at all was a foggy, lust-shrouded memory. He felt awkward, a bit shy, and started to rise.

  “No, not yet. Don’t go yet.” Randall grabbed him around the neck and pulled him back down.

  The pressure, probably meant to be playful, flung David seventeen years into the past.

  * * * *

  Jeering, taunting faces towered around him as they pulled the rope, which was strung from one stable roof beam, directly over his head. He pulled and fought against his older brothers, but it was useless. There were four of them, all much older. The only one not participating today was the heir apparent. He must have had more important things to occupy his time than teaching his younger, sissy brother to be a man.

  The jute tugged around his neck. A neck, he knew, his father thought was too long and skinny. He screamed and kicked out at Peter, but hit Paul instead.

  Paul slapped him. “Real men don’t scream and cry. Stop your blubbering, and we might let you live.”

  The sneer suggested otherwise, so David doubled his screams, hoping for rescue. The tears, he could not control.

  “Gag him.” Daniel yanked his arms farther back to tie his wrists behind his back. The pain of the coarse rope biting into his skin was nothing compared to the fire in his shoulders.

  Matthew tied his legs together. “That will keep you from kicking, you little girl.”

  Peter tried to pull a gag into place, but David wiggled and squirmed, flinging his head side to side.

  “Hold still, you silly molly.”

  “Stop. No. I’m not. Don’t. I promise, I’ll never. I’m not. A…whatever you said.”

  “Oh, shut up, and be still.” Peter got the gag in place and tied it tight. The cloth cut the corners of his mouth. “Mary saw you kissing the Graystone boy behind the barn, and Father is determined to make a man of you yet, you little sissy.”

  David squeezed his eyes shut. Father had been very mean lately. Now he knew why. Tommy Graystone was four years older, blond and beautiful, and he had enticed him into the kissing. David would not have done it otherwise. But he had liked it. Liked it very much. But he would never do it again. If he weren’t gagged, he would tell them so they would let him go.

  “Repent now, David, or your soul will go straight to hell.” Paul kicked the straw bale out from unde
r his feet.

  He fell.

  The rope cut his skin, squeezed his neck, and cut off his air. His feet couldn’t touch the stable’s packed dirt floor, not even when he stretched them out as far as possible.

  His brothers laughed, eyes closed in their hilarity, congratulating themselves on teaching their little brother a lesson. They never looked at him. Did they really mean to kill him?

  His lungs burned; his neck screamed with pain. He fought to take a breath. Nothing. Nothing. His vision dimmed.

  There was a feminine scream. Yells, people moved about, he was lifted, the rope yanked from his throat. He gasped, gasped again and again. He was lowered to the ground.

  “David, poor sweet David. Wha’d they do to you?” Little Pru knelt beside him, patting his hand. His little shadow, of course. He was seldom able to slip away before she found him. This time she found him and made the bullies stop.

  He looked toward her, but her image was marred by watery eyes. He should stop crying, or his brothers might decide to hang him again. But he couldn’t. The tears just kept streaming down.

  Paul was barking out orders. “Go get Father. Have someone send for a doctor.”

  “But we will get in trouble.” Matthew.

  “Go. If he dies, we will get into worse trouble. Now go.” Paul.

  “But it was an accident.” Daniel.

  “We didn’t mean for it to really choke him.” Peter.

  “Surely Father will understand.” Matthew.

  “Who measured the rope anyway? It was too damn short.” Paul.

  “S’all right, David. S’all right. I will not let them hurt you again.” Pru kissed his cheek.

  * * * *

  He flung his arms up, and the pressure on his neck released.

  “David, David, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

  He opened his eyes. Randall was still underneath him, but he was sitting up, holding him around the waist. Worry lines etched around his mouth.

  “Talk to me. Whatever I did, it was not meant to hurt you. Please.”

  David took a deep, much needed breath. The remembered ropes still clung to his skin. “Give me a moment. Just a moment.”

  Randall nodded.

  It took longer to shove off the memories than he would have liked, but finally his limbs stopped shaking enough he could stand. He began to dress.

  “What did I do that ruined our…that scared you?”

  “Nothing important. Just something that happened long ago and is better forgotten.”

  “David?” Randall hugged him from behind. The warmth and strength eased the remembered horror.

  “Tell me.”

  He did not intend to, but the story slipped from his lips. For the first time, he shared his humiliation.

  What the bloody damn hell was he thinking? No one, especially Randall, should know of his less than masculine origins. Although he still liked kittens, he had worked hard to overcome his fear of heights and a propensity for pink silk. The things his father said made him effeminate.

  “I cannot believe it.”

  David spun around. Did the man think he would make up such an embarrassing tale?

  “You are nothing if not masculine.” He stared deep into David’s eyes. “There is no possible way anyone who saw you now would ever think you effeminate.”

  Muscles slipping into relaxation, memories evaporating into smoke. Why had he ever thought Randall would think badly of him? The man had always been caring, supportive, perfect. He had always been perfect.

  “Come here, and let me show you how much I appreciate your masculinity.” Resplendent in rugged nudity, already sporting another cockstand, Randall held out his hand.

  David took the warm grasp and all that it represented.

  Chapter Eight

  Randall pulled and straightened his shirtsleeve, again. Sweat ran down his back. He sat across from Lady Prudence, feeling beyond awkward.

  “More tea?”

  “No, no thank you. I have had quite enough.” He set his empty cup down and crossed and uncrossed his legs. The damn spindly chair had not been so dreadfully uncomfortable on prior visits.

  Lady Prudence looked at him, head cocked to one side. He wasn’t fooling her. She knew this was not a social call.

  He cleared his throat. “Thing is. It is the fact I hold you in such high regard that I am reluctant to tell you—”

  There was a commotion at the drawing room door. Then David stumbled in, slamming the door behind him. “I’m sorry, I’m not too late, am I?”

  “Too late? You were not invited to our tea,” she groused, lips pursed in full dueling mode.

  But Randall relaxed. With David at his back, he could do this. Call the wedding off. So why was he still hesitating? Because he was so worthlessly vain, and he didn’t want to hurt the chit. And he was worthlessly vain.

  He rose and started pacing the room. Unable to sit still, he tried to remember the speech he’d prepared. The words didn’t come. His mind was blank.

  The wall proved an obstacle, insurmountable; he couldn’t keep walking until he left the county, or the bloody damn country; he had to turn. Two sets of near identical eyes stared at him. Plucking at his shirtsleeve, he warned himself not to make this gesture a habit. Not fitting for a viscount, not at all fitting.

  He turned back to the wall, hands behind his back. “Lady Prud—” His voice broke, so he tried again. “It is important I inform you first, but I have had a difficult decision to make, and you can rest assured it is only because of you and my admiration of you that I decided we cannot wed.”

  “What!”

  At the screech, Randall turned and ducked, expecting to find a harpy diving at his face. What he found was worse.

  Prudence stood there, all virginal and lovely in her ivory-and-pink silk, trembling, tears welling in her eyes. He really hadn’t thought she cared so much. Liked him perhaps, but to the extent to draw tears?

  He was a complete ass. An unmitigated ass.

  David put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. Hands fisted, chin held high, she stalked to Randall’s corner. “And why, pray tell, are you calling off the engagement now? After months of courtship? I’ve done nothing to scare you off. I’ve made especially sure not to do so.”

  “You have?” Her statement was like iced mercury slipped down his spine.

  She looked at the floor, breathed deeply, then rounded on him again. “I am sure I gave you no reason to cry off. So…” She glared at David. “What did you do?”

  “Now, Pru, hold your temper, sweet. Lord Blair was never a good match for you. It might be painful now, but it is better this way.”

  She speared him with enough hatred to topple a church. “Why?”

  He forgot all the flowery words he’d prepared and sputtered, “I… I, um, well…” Why was it so hard to say? He’d told David easily enough. But then David had firsthand experience of his virility. Good God, even last night, with the man’s cock up his arse, he’d been virile. In fact, he’d been harder than ever before. He’d never really liked taking it up the arse. He’d given over a few times in the past, but he never enjoyed the experience. He always preferred being the one in charge. But with David… Heaven.

  He rubbed a hand across his face in order to concentrate. “I’m, well, the fact of the matter is—”

  “Oh, do get on with it. I don’t want to turn thirty still trying to get an answer from you.”

  “I’m impotent.” The words came out much quieter than he’d planned. Almost a whisper.

  “Pardon?”

  He walked to her and grabbed her hands. “Dear Lady Prudence, I have done you a great disfavor. I like you an extraordinary amount, and I thought we could have a wonderful life together, but I have to be honest. I cannot mislead you any longer. I am impotent, a childhood accident and all that. I could never make you a true wife.”

  She looked into his eyes, her gaze bright, grasping his hands. She laughed, actually laughed, at his
most humbling moment. “It doesn’t matter, Lord Blair, not in the least. We shall still get along glowingly.” She kissed his knuckles.

  Of all the things.

  He cleared his throat. “Yes, well. It is not fair to you; a young woman in her prime should have a husband, full and whole. I will not inflict a loveless match on you.”

  “But it will not be loveless; we still feel the same, do we not? Just there will be no children. That is all. I still wish to be your wife.”

  “Prudence, do be sensible,” David said. “You cannot marry him knowing this.”

  She rounded on her brother. “Of course I can. No one else needs to know. I like him well enough. I want to be his wife. Why the concern?” She cocked a brow at David.

  He looked away.

  “This is your doing, isn’t it?” She turned to Randall. “Don’t listen to him. Whatever he has on you, I don’t care. I wish to marry, no matter what he is threatening. Don’t cry off. We will suit perfectly.” She squeezed his hands desperately.

  He pulled free, backed toward the door, and spread his arms in supplication. What else could he do?

  “Lady Prudence, I am so sorry, but it will not work. Can you imagine a life where you would never have physical affection?” There; at least that much was true. He felt better not giving her all lies.

  She looked at the floor for several moments, then straightened her spine and looked straight at him. “I wish to marry, knowing we will not be intimate. I can still have a full and contented life. I will not agree to break the betrothal.”

  Good God. Why was this so difficult?

  David came to the rescue. “No, I refuse to let my sister marry an impotent.”

  Randall’s neck hairs bristled; he could not force down the snarl directed at his out-of-control lover.

  “David, enough. I’m marrying Lord Blair, and that is the end of this ridiculous conversation.” She made to leave the room.

  “Lady Prudence, I will not marry you!” So loud, so terse; that had not been his intent.

  She spun around. “What is the real reason, my lord?” She pointed to David. “He would never have known about your impotence, yet he has decried this marriage from the beginning. Why?”