Bound Forever (Bound Series Book 3)

by Ava March

  He turned the horse left and headed across the expanse of grass toward the west end of the property. During the summer months, he and Vincent occasionally indulged in a swim on hot afternoons. Highly doubtful he’d find Vincent swimming laps in the ice-cold pond, but he would check along the bank before going across to the forest and then on to the village.

  When he had awoken that morning, nothing but the pleasures of the prior night had filled his mind. Yet now he could not forget that look in Vincent’s eyes when Oliver had leaned over him to kiss him. That moment after his spent cock had slipped from Vincent’s body. The dark brows furrowed the tiniest bit, a trace of hesitation in the brilliant blue depths of his eyes. His senses drenched with the heady sensation of having had Vincent, he had not given it any thought. Had simply snuggled up to Vincent’s side and promptly fallen asleep. Now though…

  Did Vincent harbor regrets? For all Vincent’s physical strength and for all his successes in his business dealings, the man had a fragile sense of self. He did not have Oliver’s rock-solid acceptance of who and what he was. He could have sworn Vincent seemed ready to fully relinquish control and take their relationship to the next step. But had Oliver pushed him too soon? Should he have continued to hold back? Should he have waited until Vincent broached the subject of his own accord?

  His lover had a tendency to analyze every situation. To turn a matter over and over in his mind. But intimacy wasn’t a business deal. He truly feared if he allowed Vincent to overthink last night, Vincent would quickly turn even the tiniest smidge of a doubt into a full-blown regret. Given what hour Oliver could discern Vincent had left the house, the man already had far too much time with nothing but his thoughts.

  He nudged the horse for more speed. The chestnut’s easy stride lengthened to a ground-covering gallop. The worries tumbled about in his head, growing stronger and stronger as he traveled across the property, every sense attuned for any sign of Vincent.

  A sigh of relief expanded his chest at the sight of the black horse tied to a low branch of a tall tree near the pond. The stallion turned his head to look over his hip as Oliver slowed his horse to a walk. Ears pricked in attention, the animal nickered softly.

  Oliver dismounted and tied his horse’s reins to a branch on the other side of the tree. Sitting on the bank of the pond, Vincent did not look over his shoulder as Oliver approached. A breeze ruffled a few strands of his neatly cropped, dark hair. Even with the greatcoat broadening his frame, Oliver could detect the slump hunching his usually straight shoulders.

  All traces of the relief at finding Vincent vanished.

  Hell, he had pushed Vincent for more than he’d been ready to give.

  But he couldn’t take back last night. It had happened, and he could not change it. The best he could do was help Vincent to accept it. Hopefully—damnation, he hoped with all his heart—Vincent loved him enough not to allow his insecurities to come between them again. He could not go back to how it had once been—Vincent keeping him at arm’s distance, holding his heart back, far from Oliver. Vincent giving his body but not his love. He could not survive that sense of…isolation again.

  Without a word, Oliver settled next to him. Vincent’s gaze was fixed straight ahead on the pale blue surface of the pond, yet Oliver had no doubt the man knew exactly who sat beside him.

  His heart heavy in his chest, he waited a long moment. Waited patiently for Vincent to speak or at least acknowledge him in some fashion.

  Vincent dropped his attention to his bent knee, which was drawn up, the other leg stretched out before him. The furrow pulling his brows deepened. Still though, not a word passed the tight line of his lips.

  Dark smudges underscored his eyes, and stubble darkened his usually clean-shaven jaw. Instead of a crisp, neat Mathematical, he had tied his cravat in a simple knot. If Oliver wasn’t mistaken, Vincent had donned the same deep brown trousers Oliver had pulled down his strong legs less than twelve hours ago. He’d hazard a guess the coat, waistcoat, and shirt hidden beneath the black greatcoat were also the same ones the man had worn yesterday evening.

  “Did you get much sleep last night?” he asked.

  A long pause, and then Vincent shook his head, slow and reluctant. “Don’t believe I got any.”

  The knot clutching his stomach tightened to a viselike hold. “You do know I love you?” At Vincent’s single nod, he asked, doing his best to keep the all-consuming worry from showing itself, “Did you at least enjoy last night?”

  Vincent looked up from his study of his knee. “You doubt it? I climaxed with your cock in my arse.” And his arse was still a bit sore, the ache a constant reminder of exactly where Oliver’s pretty cock had been.

  Intent and probing, Oliver swept his dark gaze over Vincent’s face. “So why does that bother you?”

  He focused on a spot over Oliver’s shoulder and dragged a hand across the back of his neck. Trust Oliver to go directly to the heart of the matter. “It shouldn’t.” He heaved a sigh. “But it does for some reason.”

  How could he explain that sense of utter vulnerability? Giving responsibility for his pleasure so completely to another was definitely a new experience. Last night he had felt connected to Oliver in a whole new way. And it frightened him.

  “I will not deny I had a very good evening.” The long black fan of Oliver’s lashes drifted down. A smile pulled the edges of his lips. But when he looked back to Vincent, his gaze was once again somber, begging Vincent to confide in him. “But if you weren’t comfortable with it, then we don’t have to do it again. Honestly, Vincent. My love for you is not contingent on you bending over for me.” He laid a comforting hand over Vincent’s, which was braced at his side in the grass. “I know you love me. You don’t need to prove it that way.”

  Vincent’s lips curved in a weary half smile. “I know.” Ridiculous to even have this discussion. Oliver gave himself up to him on a regular basis—his lover’s more than obvious enjoyment shouted loud and clear he had no issues with it. So why did Vincent?

  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 marquessate 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 h
e 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. Climax for me,” he urged, needing Oliver to come off 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.”