Sharp Love (Gambling on Love)

by March, Ava

  There was no doubt in Jack’s mind that was exactly the case.

  And there was absolutely no doubt in Jack’s mind that he had been the one who had started things between him and Will last night. He hadn’t been awake enough to hold back the need to touch Will, to give Will pleasure, yet thankfully Will hadn’t seemed to mind. Will had sat across from him at the coffee house, and not once had Will made a reference to their encounter. Hadn’t even made a roundabout comment that brushed against alluding to what they had done together. Which in and of itself wasn’t unusual—when they had shared such nights in the past, they’d never discussed it the next day. And that lack of discussion hadn’t left Jack feeling as though Will had been ashamed of their occasional nightly play. More that Will had felt it wasn’t worth remarking upon. An insignificant event and nothing more.

  Which was exactly the feeling Will had given Jack that day. At about half past ten, Will had sat down at Jack’s usual table near the window. They’d played cards, talked about London, and had a bite to eat. All in all, a very similar day to yesterday.

  Except for the fact Jack’s thoughts had kept jumping back to last night. To the feel of Will’s hands on his bare skin. The strength of his grip on Jack’s arse, splayed fingers just tickling the crease. Making Jack long for those fingers to delve deeper, to push inside him. For those hands to shove him onto his back, to clutch his hips and hold him steady for Will’s hard thrusts—

  A knock sounded on the door.

  Jack started, his head whipping around to the door. Had to be Will.

  He shoved the smallclothes into a drawer. Thank heaven he’d had the presence of mind to wipe up Will’s seed before he had given in to the almost overpowering urge to lick it from Will’s belly. And thank heaven he’d been able to keep from doing much more than touch Will.

  Just the possibility of being ridiculed by Will for wanting Will to take control of him in bed, of having Will turn mocking eyes on him...

  Pain stabbed him square in the heart, killing his erection more effectively than a bucket of icy cold water from the Thames in February.

  Pulling the key from his pocket, he crossed the room. Just as he’d done not twenty-four hours ago, he opened the door to Will holding a paper sack and a bottle of wine. Will had allowed him to drop the coins on the serving girl’s tray at the coffee house again today, so Jack should show Will a similar courtesy and let the man pay for their evening meal.

  “What’s on tonight’s menu?” he asked, doing his best to sound casual, as if it was any other evening and he hadn’t just been fantasizing about Will’s strong, lean body pressing him into the mattress. Of Will taking him. Of Will taking everything Jack wanted to give him.

  “Roasted chicken and what I hope is a passable bottle of Bordeaux,” Will said, as he walked into the room.

  With his back to his friend, Jack shut the door and turned the lock. Should he thank Will for laundering his smallclothes?

  No. He should follow Will’s lead. Shouldn’t mention anything connected to their encounter. And he really needed to stop thinking about it. The last thing he wanted was for Will to ask him why he was sporting an erection during supper.

  Determined to keep himself under control, he turned from the door. They settled in what had become their usual places—Jack in the chair near the window and Will at the table. The Bordeaux turned out to be decent, and the chicken quite good. Jack kept his attention split between his supper and his duties. Even after His Grace disembarked from a hackney and walked through the door of the boardinghouse, he kept one eye out the window.

  After supper, Will pulled the table closer to Jack and produced a deck of cards from his pocket. It wasn’t until the fifth hand of brag when that comfortable sense of ease finally fell over Jack, when he could let down his guard, stop bracing for his thoughts to turn in an inappropriate direction. When he could simply relax and enjoy spending the evening with his friend.

  The games continued on, one after another, as the activity out on the street thinned. His current errand might not be very interesting or challenging, but having the opportunity to be with Will definitely made up for it.

  Will gathered the discarded cards and dealt them each three. As Jack looked at his cards, he had to fight to keep the smile from curving his lips. Then suspicion nudged him. The odds of getting a prial of threes—the best hand in the game—was...Jack didn’t know the exact odds, but he knew they were extremely small. Ridiculously small. He had won the last three hands, as well. They weren’t wagering with money. They weren’t making any wagers. It was more playing to pass the hours. Still, given Will’s skill at cards and Jack’s lack of said skill, Jack found it quite peculiar he was faring so well against him.

  He passed his gaze over Will. The man was sprawled in his chair, completely at his ease. Just as he’d been during every other hand. Nothing at all in his neutrally relaxed expression gave him away.

  When had Will called for the last see? Four hands ago. Jack was certain of it. Which meant four hands ago, Will had shuffled the deck.

  “Fold or play?” Will asked.

  Too preoccupied with not allowing his thoughts to stray, Jack had forgotten to gain Will’s word not to employ any tricks. And of course Will would have taken advantage of Jack’s lapse.

  “You well know what my answer will be.”

  Will had the ballocks to appear confused, a furrow daring to winkle his forehead. “Why would I know?”

  Jack lifted an eyebrow. He might not be as quick witted as Will, but he wasn’t a dim fool.

  Leaning left, Will glanced out the window. “He’s leaving.”

  Jack pulled his gaze from Will and followed the man’s line of sight. A wicker basket in one hand, the duke was getting into a hackney. A snap of the jarvey’s wrists, and the nag lurched into a trot, pulling away from the boardinghouse.

  “Now that he’s gone, care to take a walk about the neighborhood?”

  The neighborhood? Not a word Jack would use to describe the area. “I can’t leave. As I explained before, I need to remain close to Mr. Walsh in the event he has need to leave the boardinghouse.”

  “And go where? He’s already had supper, the shops are all closed by now, and he has yet to show any interest in the hells.”

  “The destination matters not. He’s free to come and go as he pleases, and if he pleases to go, then I need to escort him.”

  “No matter the time of day or night?” Will made a noise under his breath. “Damned haughty aristocrat. To demand you sit at a bloody window, keep a constant vigil, on the off chance his temperamental bit decides to go for a stroll?”

  “Please stop calling him his temperamental bit. The young man’s name is Mr. Walsh.” While Jack would hazard a guess Mr. Walsh was a tad temperamental in nature, he did not much care for the way Will said the term, the sneer thick in his tone. “And I wasn’t explicitly instructed to sit by the window.” He doubted His Grace had given the specifics much thought. “But I can’t very well ensure Mr. Walsh’s safety if I’m not near enough to protect him.”

  “But he’s not going anywhere right now except to bed, Jack. He won’t leave that building until tomorrow morning. Within the next five minutes, his window will go dark, just as it did the past couple nights. His Grace has already taken himself back to Mayfair. Their evening is over. Therefore there is no reason for you to remain stuck to that window all night.”

  “I don’t remain stuck to it all night. I don’t sleep in this chair.”

  He slept pressed up against Will’s naked body, the round curve of his arse tempting him to rub—

  Jack dropped his gaze to the cards, to those damned three threes. “Fold. I want to fold this hand.” There was no point in playing when he knew with absolute certainty he would win. “And stop dealing me—”

  “Good.” There was the scrape of chair legs against floorboards. “I’ve had enough of the cards as well. Let’s get out of this room for a while. It will do us both some good. Stretch our legs
and all.”

  “But Will—”

  “Your dedication to your duties is admirable, Jack. Truly it is. But your Mr. Walsh isn’t going anywhere. His window is now dark. He’s abed. He doesn’t need your protection at the moment.”

  Jack scowled down at his cards. But perhaps Will was right. There was no reason for Mr. Walsh to leave the boardinghouse until morning. And perhaps it would do Jack some good to get out of the small room, for a short time. To get some fresh air—well, the air in this part of Town wouldn’t exactly qualify as fresh, but at least he could put some distance between himself and the damned bed that loomed behind him, an ever-present reminder of last night.

  Would Will stay the night again tonight? Jack hoped so—Will was safer with him than alone at that hovel of a boardinghouse. But then...how was he to sleep with Will again? What if he reached for Will again in the dead of night and couldn’t stop himself from pushing for more from Will? From begging Will to—

  Damnation.

  Now he had a new worry to occupy his mind.

  A hand clapped him on the shoulder. “Come along, Jack.”

  And Jack pushed from the table, dropping his cards onto its surface. “We aren’t stopping in at any hells.”

  “No worries there. I don’t have enough money with me to play anyway. Grab your greatcoat and we can be on our way.”

  “Where’s your overcoat?” It occurred to him that not once had he seen Will don such a coat. Did Will not own one?

  “At my room. It’s not winter yet. Don’t need it.”

  They made their way out of the hotel, the stairway quiet and deserted except for themselves. Even what amounted to a front parlor was empty of any occupants seated in the old armchairs before the hearth. Had to be well after ten in the evening. At that hour, most would be tucked safely behind a locked door or carousing about at hells or taverns, or out looking for those not wise enough to have taken themselves off the streets yet.

  The hour didn’t concern Jack though. His size definitely had its drawbacks, but it did have one advantage. He could go about any part of Town no matter the time of day or night with nary a worry.

  The street outside the hotel was equally as empty as the hotel’s corridors. The night air was heavy with the threat of rain, the moisture palpable in the fog rolling in from the Thames. Thick clouds obscured the moon, the only light coming from the occasional streetlamp. “Maybe we should stay inside. Looks like it might rain soon.”

  Undeterred, Will headed east along the walkway. “A bit of rain won’t hurt us. In any case, it’s been like this all day. Likely won’t rain for hours, if it does at all.”

  A few long strides had him at Will’s shoulder. “You did one of your tricks when you last shuffled the deck, didn’t you?” The timing of Will’s nudge to go for a stroll hadn’t been lost on Jack.

  “Perhaps.”

  Perhaps Jack’s arse. “I’ll take that as a yes. And why did you give me the winning hands?” They hadn’t been wagering, still, such tricks were not used to benefit the opposition.

  Will shrugged. “Thought you’d be pleased.”

  That took Jack aback. “I’d rather play fairly.”

  “Like the honest man you are?”

  “Yes. And I’d rather you not employ any of your tricks without warning. It’s one thing to openly show me.” And he should not have asked Will to do said demonstrations. Encouraging him and all. “But quite another to set up the deck when I’m not expecting it. I don’t like feeling like you’re trying to pull the wool over my eyes.”

  Will let out a sigh. “That wasn’t my intention, Jack. I was just—” he waved a hand, “—trying to keep things interesting, that’s all.”

  “I’d prefer our games to be interesting on their own, without any additional assistance.”

  The sounds of their footsteps echoed off the surrounding buildings. It was as if Will simply couldn’t help himself. As if it was ingrained in him to grab any loophole, to take every opportunity to skirt the rules, or the law, for that matter. The straight and narrow path was one he’d never traveled. Even as a boy, Will had pushed St. Pancras’s strict rules. Hell, he’d done far more than merely push them, and Jack still had the marks to show for it.

  “All right,” Will said, and with a definite note of reluctance. “If you insist.”

  “I have your word?”

  “Yes, Jack.”

  That was all Jack needed. He glanced to Will, caught his eye. “Thank you.”

  To which he received another shrug from Will.

  They took a left at the next crossroads, going in the opposite direction of the tailor’s shop. They passed a tavern, dim candlelight seeping from its small dingy window, the shouts and raised voices from its patrons easily making their way through the closed door. Jack passed his gaze down each alley they came upon, but the occasional dark form amidst the shadows wisely stayed put.

  He had to admit, it was nice to get out for a bit. The inactivity of his current assignment chaffed against him. The sun might not be out. The night might be on the cool and damp side. He might be stuck in London. But at least he wasn’t stuck inside the hotel or the coffee house at the moment. And he had Will with him...something he didn’t want to jeopardize. Hence why it was important Jack keep his hands to himself from now on.

  Even if Will didn’t mind resuming their old nightly play, Jack knew it wouldn’t take long at all before he wanted more. And Jack couldn’t have more. Will didn’t prefer men—by Will’s own admission, he performed acts on other men for the money alone. And even if on the off chance he did desire men, he wouldn’t prefer someone like Jack. And relationships didn’t last—couldn’t last—not between two men, no matter how much Jack wished otherwise. So best to not go down any path other than friendship with Will.

  “Any mention from Mr. Walsh if he’s considering returning to Hampshire yet?” Will asked, as if reading Jack’s thoughts and providing an example to underscore Jack’s resolve.

  “No. He seemed in good spirits today, but I haven’t a notion when or if he’ll agree to return—” A fat raindrop hit Jack’s forehead. He looked up, to the dark clouds overhead. There was a rumble of thunder, low and heavy and quite close, the ominous sound rolling about them. Another fat raindrop hit his cheek. A gust of wind blew down the street. “We should head back to—”

  The sky opened up, the intermittent raindrops shifting to a full-fledged deluge in the blink of an eye.

  A quick glance confirmed what he already knew—closed shops and darkened buildings, not a single tavern or hell within easy distance. Cold rain pelted Jack’s head, soaking his hair. And Will wasn’t wearing an overcoat.

  Grabbing Will’s upper arm, Jack pulled him down a narrow alley. Pushed Will onto a small stone stoop, the short overhang above the door enough to provide a bit of protection for Will from the full force of the rain. Standing before Will, Jack used his body to shield Will from the gusts of windblown rain.

  Lightning cracked across the sky, briefly illuminating Will’s face, his wet hair stuck to his forehead, pale cheeks glistening with raindrops. A self-deprecating smile tugged the edge of his lips. “Guess you were correct.”

  “About what?” Jack asked, raising his voice to be heard above the din of the storm.

  “The rain.”

  Said rain smacked against Jack’s back. His greatcoat would keep him relatively dry, but he could feel the rain whipping around him. He unbuttoned his greatcoat, let the sides hang open, and bracing his arms on the old wooden door, he moved closer to Will. So close he could feel Will’s breaths against his jaw. Warm and moist, the rhythm deep yet slightly quick.

  Arousal curled in the pit of his belly, ignited in his blood. Jack shifted his weight. “Shouldn’t last long. The rain, I mean.” Rain in London was a common enough occurrence, but storms of this magnitude didn’t last endless hours. The clouds would wear themselves out soon enough, and the rain would taper down to a steady, soaking drone. As soon as it showed the first si
gns of slowing, Jack would be dragging Will back to the hotel. And he didn’t much care if it meant running down the street. Anything to give him an excuse to step away from Will’s body, from those hot breaths bathing his jaw, tempting him to dip his head and press his lips to Will’s.

  “You’re likely correct. Yet again.” There wasn’t a trace of sarcasm or jest. Will’s voice was just loud enough to reach Jack’s ears, and the low, intimate quality went straight to Jack’s cock.

  There was a quick snap of lightning, followed by a clap of thunder. Will shifted even closer, moving full into the protection of Jack’s greatcoat, pressing up against Jack. A hard arch brushed Jack’s upper thigh.

  Jack’s breaths caught. There was no mistake about it. Will was aroused.

  A hand settled on Jack’s hip. Jack swore he could feel the heat of Will’s palm through his trousers and his smallclothes, warming his skin.

  He held himself perfectly still. Locked his muscles and dared not make a move.

  That hand coasted inward, toward Jack’s belly. Feathered over his erection. Just that hint of a touch was enough for his ballocks to lurch up tight to his body. Then fingers took hold of the placket of his trousers and tugged.

  A shudder of anticipation gripped Jack’s entire body. He blinked into the darkness, tried to make out Will’s features. Something to give Jack a hint as to his intentions. But in the dense shadows on the stoop, he could make out nothing but a vague dark outline standing very, very close to him.

  That vague dark outline dropped down. Cool, damp fingertips reached inside, wrapped around his length, drew his erection from his trousers. And then hot, wet heat enveloped the crown.

  Bowing his head, Jack curled his hands into fists against the old door. He locked his knees, somehow kept himself from rocking into each plunging stroke of Will’s mouth. His mind was frozen with utter shock. Shock that Will was sucking him off. And in an alley, no less.

  No one would see them. It was much too dark, never mind no one would be fool enough to stroll down the street in this weather at this time of night. Yet...