For Love and Country (Brothers in Arms Book 13)

by Samantha Kane

  “This is wrong,” he said weakly.

  “What is?” Barnabas asked. He slid around in front of Ambrose and ran both hands up and down over Ambrose chest and stomach. His stomach muscles contracted sharply and chills went up and down his spine. It should have been unpleasant, but it wasn’t. On the contrary. It felt divine.

  “This. Us,” he said desperately. “No one has ever touched me like this.”

  “Ah,” Barnabas said. He slid his hand down over the front of Ambrose trousers before Ambrose knew what he was going to do. His hips jerked in response, pressing his erection into Barnabas’s palm.

  “Delightful,” Barnabas said. “I am honored to be the first. Kiss me, Ambrose.”

  “No,” Ambrose said desperately, afraid of what the kiss would do to him, of what might follow.

  Barnabas ignored him and claimed his mouth. Ambrose had no idea what to do. He stood there and let Barnabas nibble his lips and lick them. Finally Barnabas reached up and cupped his cheek. He ran his thumb down Ambrose’s cheekbone to his mouth and gently pulled until he opened it. Then Barnabas slid his tongue inside, and Ambrose knew his world had just changed forever.

  * * *

  Mel held her breath. Should she close the window? Leave her room? She could hear every word they were saying. Perhaps she should intervene. Lord Wetherald sounded as if he wasn’t a willing participant. But that moan. That had sounded like a man who was very much enjoying whatever Sir Barnabas was doing to him.

  What was he doing? She’d never enjoyed a man’s cock up her arse, that was for certain. Perhaps they’d been doing it wrong with her? Or perhaps it felt better to a man than to a woman? In which case, they ought to just keep it between themselves and not force it on a woman. Which could be said of many things, couldn’t it?

  She cocked her head to the side and listened intently, trying to hear what was going on. She wasn’t surprised at all to hear that Wetherald was a virgin. His choice to take Sir Barnabas as his lover was a shock, however. Wetherald just seemed so…so perfect. Perfectly groomed, perfect manners, perfect posture, perfect conversation. A perfect gentleman. Whereas Sir Barnabas was more like a wild animal pacing on a leash, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting prey. She supposed Wetherald was the prey tonight. Perfect prey, she thought, and giggled.

  She pressed a hand over her mouth to hide the sound. She didn’t want to alert them. She wanted to hear it all. Which was awful of her, but still. She’d never heard a man lose his virginity before. It was rather exciting.

  She grabbed her journal and made a note.

  Perfect prey

  Perfectly delightful

  Perfectly pristine

  Perfectly pure.

  Perfect.

  “Barnabas,” Wetherald moaned. Goodness, what on earth could Sir Barnabas be doing to elicit that? Whatever it was he must be very, very good at it.

  * * *

  Barnabas was breathing heavily, his heartbeat was racing and his palms were sweating. When was the last time a lover had elicited that response from his body? He couldn’t even remember.

  “You are delightfully well-endowed,” he whispered in Ambrose’s ear. “Did you know that?”

  “What?” Ambrose said, his voice shaky. Damn if Barnabas didn’t like reducing him to this.

  “I assumed you’d never compared it to another man’s,” Barnabas said as he caressed Ambrose’s cock through his trousers. “So take my word for it, you should be very proud.”

  “Why?” Ambrose didn’t object this time as Barnabas reached up and undid his cravat.

  “Because a large cock brings great pleasure to whomever it is fucking,” Barnabas told him.

  “It does?” Barnabas froze for a moment at the honesty he heard in the question. Christ, Ambrose was a babe in the woods.

  “You have come before, haven’t you?” Barnabas asked as he tossed the cravat to the floor. Ambrose immediately blushed scarlet. “So that’s a yes. Alone?”

  Ambrose nodded, not meeting Barnabas’s stare. “Never with another person,” he said stiffly. Barnabas didn’t mock him. He simply started on the buttons of his waistcoat.

  “Then we shall both enjoy tonight,” he finally said. “I feel as if I am unwrapping a gift,” he said softly. “I rather like that notion.”

  When the waistcoat was undone he yanked Ambrose shirttail out of his trousers. Ambrose raised a hand to stop him, but when Barnabas simply looked at him with a raised brow he lowered his hand, looking away again. Barnabas slid his hands under the shirt and touched the hot, bare skin of Ambrose’s stomach. It was flat and he could feel the musculature beneath.

  “Barnabas,” Ambrose moaned. He clutched Barnabas’s arm but didn’t stop him.

  “Yes,” he agreed, not sure he could find the words for how good Ambrose felt. “You are a gift,” he told him. “I had no idea you were hiding such a manly physique beneath your somber attire.” He ran his hands up to Ambrose’s chest and rubbed his palms over his distended nipples, and he felt Ambrose shudder at the contact.

  Without warning Ambrose took Barnabas’s head in his hands and pulled him in for another kiss. It was awkward at first as Ambrose was obviously a neophyte at it. But what it lacked in finesse it made up for in passion. Barnabas was enthralled. Who knew that the staid Wetherald would be so passionate, so responsive? He stepped closer until he could press his cock against Ambrose’s, and then he rubbed against him and Ambrose moaned into his mouth, his beard scraping Barnabas’s lips and chin. It was decadent.

  Immediately he reached down and began to unbutton Ambrose’s trousers. He made a small noise against Barnabas’s mouth but didn’t protest. As Barnabas pushed his trousers over his hips, Ambrose slid his hands up and tangled his fingers in Barnabas’s hair, still kissing him.

  Barnabas broke the kiss. “I’m going to touch you now,” he said, panting. He was glad for Ambrose’s inexperience so he wouldn’t realize how close Barnabas was to losing control. Ambrose nodded and then shook his head in response. Barnabas slid his hand from Ambrose bare stomach to his cock and wrapped his fist around it.

  “Barnabas,” Ambrose moaned. “No. Yes.”

  “I choose to believe yes,” Barnabas told him, gliding his hand up and then down Ambrose’s magnificent cock. Ambrose jerked in his hold, his hips pumping. Barnabas slid his mouth across Ambrose’s cheek, kissed him there, and then whispered in his ear. “I’m going to take you in my mouth.”

  “What?” Ambrose asked shakily. He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “You are perfectly delightful,” Barnabas told him sincerely. “I had no idea how much I would enjoy a virgin.” He pressed a kiss to Ambrose exposed collarbone and then licked a path down his chest until his shirt got in the way. He had a lightly furred chest, light brown curly hair adorning his firm pectoral muscles. “You are an Adonis.”

  “I’m going to remind you tomorrow that you said that,” Ambrose replied weakly.

  “I hope you do,” Barnabas said. It would certainly be better than embarrassed blushes and blustering lies about not having enjoyed this evening.

  Barnabas pressed his hands to Ambrose’s stomach and crouched in front of him. His cock was glorious. Thick and long, with hard veins running the length of it. Barnabas’s mouth watered, and God knew this wasn’t an act he normally enjoyed performing on other men.

  “I don’t do this often,” he admitted.

  “Kneel before another man?” Ambrose said. “I should think not.” He ran his hand roughly through Barnabas’s hair, pulling it a little, and Barnabas shivered. He was overly sensitive tonight, it would seem. He glanced up at Ambrose. He had his head thrown back against the wall, his eyes closed. Usually Barnabas knew instantly what he was thinking, but for once he couldn’t tell. It unnerved him and he looked away.

  Barnabas held Ambrose’s cock in his fist while he took the tip into his mouth. Ambrose shouted wordlessly, his hips jerking. Barnabas began to suck, sliding his mouth on and off the end of his cock while pumpin
g with his fist.

  “Barnabas,” Ambrose gasped. “What…what are you doing?”

  “Fellatio,” Barnabas told him. “Sucking cock.”

  He slid the end back in his mouth, and Ambrose groaned. Weakly he tried to shove Barnabas away. “I’m going to…Barnabas, stop. I can’t…”

  That was precisely what Barnabas wanted to hear. He desperately wanted Ambrose to come in his mouth. For once he didn’t feel debased by the position, but rather all-powerful. He held Ambrose in thrall with his hand and his mouth. His orgasm would be a victory for Barnabas, another way to own him. Eventually he’d fuck him, but Ambrose wasn’t ready for that yet. There were other ways to bring him pleasure, to possess him. He’d been ripe for the plucking and Barnabas was fiercely glad he’d made a spur-of-the-moment decision to take him as a lover.

  Ambrose made a keening sort of low-pitched cry and Barnabas braced himself, one hand on the wall as Ambrose’s hips jerked, forcing his cock deeper. They weren’t thrusts, nothing so well thought out or planned. He still had much to learn. But his body knew what it wanted, and it wanted more. Barnabas took him as deep as he could and swallowed around him, and Ambrose shouted as his release washed into Barnabas’s mouth and down his throat. Ambrose clutched Barnabas’s shoulders painfully as he moaned.

  When it was over Ambrose leaned against the wall, shivering, staring at Barnabas wide-eyed. “I never knew you could do that,” he rasped.

  “I am a wealth of information,” Barnabas said, standing up. He opened his jacket and then his trousers with sharp, quick movements. “I need you,” he said. “On your knees. Like I was.”

  “What?” Ambrose was still breathing heavily, a little disoriented from his climax. Just the way Barnabas wanted him. He wanted to fuck that panting, virgin mouth that had just learned to kiss.

  He gently pressed on Ambrose’s shoulders. “Down,” he said softly. “I need you.”

  The soft approach worked and Ambrose dropped to his knees, looking slightly befuddled. “I don’t know what to do,” he said. He stared at Barnabas’s exposed cock. “I’ve never…”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” Barnabas said a little impatiently. “You’ve never anything. Just take it in your fist, pump it like you do your own, and suck the tip. I’m very close. Making you come for the first time went straight to my cock.”

  Ambrose reached out a shaking hand and wrapped it gently around Barnabas’s cock.

  “Harder,” Barnabas demanded. “I won’t break. I like a firm hand.” Ambrose tightened his hold and Barnabas gritted his teeth, breathing deeply. “Yes,” he hissed. “Like that. Pump it and put it in your mouth.”

  He looked down and watched as Ambrose leaned forward and tentatively tasted Barnabas with the tip of his tongue. The sight of saintly Wetherald about to suck his cock was nearly his undoing. As Ambrose opened his mouth and sucked him, that old-fashioned Vandyke beard made a perfect frame for those red lips wrapped around his cock.

  “When I come, you keep it in your mouth,” he rasped as he grabbed Ambrose’s chin. “Yes?”

  Ambrose looked up at him, wonder and confusion and desire all reflected in his eyes, and then he nodded slightly. Barnabas roughly brushed the hair back off of Ambrose’s face and cupped it with both hands as he watched him suck his cock. It was gloriously base and arousing and so erotic he knew he was going to come too soon. He wanted to enjoy this more, Wetherald on his knees before him, sucking his cock, his come still a lingering taste in Barnabas’s mouth. It was perfection.

  His orgasm came upon him swiftly, a hot flash up his spine as his stones tightened and then the rush of painful pleasure as his release shot out into Ambrose’s mouth. Ambrose gagged and put a hand on Barnabas’s leg, trying to push away, but Barnabas didn’t let him go. He held him in place and forced him to take it. Ambrose finally swallowed around him and Barnabas shuddered at the exquisite feeling. Ambrose continued to swallow after that, sucking him until Barnabas stood there panting and spent.

  Before Ambrose could say a word, Barnabas dropped to his knees and kissed him. Ambrose fought to get away, but Barnabas held tight until Ambrose wrapped his arms around him and kissed him back passionately. Tasting himself in Ambrose’s mouth was perhaps the most satisfying sexual experience he could remember in recent memory. When he had won Ambrose’s submission, he gentled the kiss and finally ended it.

  As he kissed Ambrose’s neck and soothed him with slow strokes of his hands along his back, Ambrose asked in a voice rough from performing fellatio, “Why did you do that? Why did you kiss me like that after I…I still had your…”

  “You seem to be having trouble completing your sentences this evening,” Barnabas teased, running his nose along the strong tendon on the side of Ambrose’s neck. “I kissed you because I wanted to taste myself in your mouth. I wanted the satisfaction of it all over again.”

  “The satisfaction?” Ambrose asked, his voice sleepy now.

  “Of you on your knees sucking my cock,” Barnabas said softly. “It was damn erotic. You are very enticing. Did you like it?”

  “I don’t know,” Ambrose said. He pushed away, not meeting Barnabas’s eyes. “This is all very awkward.” Barnabas could see his blush on his chest as well as his cheeks.

  “By God, you really are beautiful.” Barnabas ran his gaze up and down from Ambrose cock, still slightly hard, to his exposed chest, the hair there gleaming in the candlelight.

  “I am not a woman,” Ambrose said tightly, clumsily going to his feet. Barnabas nimbly stood up as well.

  “Is that what you’re worried about?” Barnabas asked with amusement. “That you are the woman here?”

  “Aren’t I?” he asked angrily, as he tried to button his trousers with shaking hands. Barnabas brushed his hands out of the way and took over, deftly fastening them.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “I was on my knees first, remember? We are both men, here, Ambrose. That is what makes it so erotic. Isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know,” Ambrose said, pushing away again. He walked halfway across the room and attempted to fasten his waistcoat. When he finished it was slightly askew, but Barnabas didn’t say anything.

  “I have always desired women,” Ambrose said, sounding a bit lost and rather forlorn. “I don’t understand how I could do that”—he gestured to where they’d been—“with you.”

  “Desire is desire,” Barnabas said with a shrug. “My hand and mouth feel very much the same as a woman’s.”

  “Do they?” Ambrose asked wearily. “I do not know.” He looked around for his cravat and Barnabas nudged it under a chair with his boot. He had an insane urge to keep a memento of Ambrose’s symbolic deflowering.

  “I’m sure you shall one day,” Barnabas said calmly. “Enjoying what we do together does not mean that you will not marry and enjoy sexual relations with your wife.”

  “I can’t think right now,” Ambrose said, closing his eyes and pressing his palm to his temple. “I must go home.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Barnabas said firmly.

  Ambrose looked at him for several seconds, and Barnabas felt a growing tension in the air. Finally Ambrose nodded, and then turned without a word and left.

  Chapter 13

  Mel was surprised by a discreet knock at her door. She glanced at the clock. It was three o’clock in the morning. Who could be knocking? She stood up from her usual nighttime perch on the floor by the window.

  “Who is it?” she asked warily.

  “Barnabas.”

  She let her shock show since he couldn’t see her. After a moment she hurried over to the door. She was about to open it when she realized she was only wearing her nightgown. “One moment,” she said. “I’m not decent.”

  “Nonsense,” Sir Barnabas replied through the door. “You are most likely covered from toes to neck.”

  She laughed quietly as she ran back to the bedroom and grabbed her robe from the armoire. She hastily tied it as she ran back to the door. Once there
she yanked the door open. His eyes widened in surprise.

  “Did you run?” he asked, his brow wrinkled in question.

  “Yes,” she said breathlessly. “I assumed something was wrong.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it is three a.m,” she said impatiently. “Why else would you knock on my door at this time of night?”

  “Because we are both awake,” he said as if the logic was irrefutable.

  She sighed. “Is there anything you need, Sir Barnabas?”

  He held up a bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other. “I don’t like to drink alone.”

  It was then she noticed he wore only a shirt and waistcoat, no cravat and no jacket. Before she could look away, she noticed how strong his neck looked. His collarbones led her eyes down to his chest and she quickly glanced away when she saw the dark hair peeking out from his open shirt.

  She frowned. “I don’t believe it is proper for a housekeeper to drink with her employer in the middle of the night.”

  “Of course it is,” he replied, squeezing past her into her room. “It is the housekeeper’s job to do whatever her employer needs her to do to make his life easier.”

  “I’m not sure where you got that job description,” she said wryly, crossing her arms in the open door. “But I don’t believe it was from the official book of housekeeping.”

  “Yes it is. I shall show it to you tomorrow.” He set the bottle down beside the porcelain shepherdess on the little table by the overstuffed chair in the corner. “Is this yours?” he asked with distaste.

  “No, it’s yours,” she told him, walking over and taking the shepherdess from him. “It was here when I arrived.”

  He shuddered. “I let one of the housekeepers redecorate as she saw fit. I should have put some sort of guidelines in place, I see.”

  Mel tipped her head to the side. “You gave her carte blanche and still she left you?”

  “I did not,” he said succinctly. “I have never enjoyed a sexual relationship with any of my housekeepers.”