Babies really did need to come with an instructional guide. Or a few tips at least. He’d not understood before how all-consuming they could be, how many hours could be spent just observing or sketching them. The wonder on David’s face as he discovered something new…or perhaps the way he waved his hands and kicked his tiny feet in greeting when Papa Clay looked into his cradle.
If only he could shift his talent for sketching his godson back into the erotic art commissions that were piling up in London. That he couldn’t muster enthusiasm for the activity he so loved, was disconcerting indeed.
“Now you’ve gone and done it,” Clayton said, his lips twitching. “For choosing David over me in the sweet boy stakes, I’m going to hide all the balls of yarn and give Mittens your bonnet instead.”
Bea’s gaze narrowed. “Diabolical. I hope David decorates your trousers with a most fragrant shade of brown.”
“Not a frightening concept, I’m afraid. I’ve become accustomed to such an event. Although in saying that, I’m not sure I’ll be able to paint a brunette or anything wooden ever again. Tis fortunate this little scrap is adorable,” Clayton replied, tickling David through his soft woolen blanket, and making him gurgle in delight.
“Have you painted anything since he was born?” she asked softly.
He shook his head. “No. In fairness, we’re all struggling a little. Joseph and Susanna have had to take a step back from the business and trust others to take care of matters at the docks.”
“Could you get a few more nursery maids to help?”
“We could, but we’re all foolishly stubborn and far too used to making our own way in the world,” he finished with a rueful grin. “Asking for help feels a bit like failure.”
Beatrice patted his arm. “If you do not come to your senses, I solemnly swear to allow Mittens a full hour alone with your paints. We’re all here for the Irving-Fenton family. Besides, I know all will be well. You love each other so much.”
“Yes,” he rasped. Apart from Bea and the other members of the Society, he’d never known such love and acceptance as with his darling Susanna and Joseph.
Being a man who desired other men as well as women was a hard road to walk. His family had tried to cure him of the ‘affliction’ before eventually disowning him. The wretched law of the land meant he and Joseph had to be careful in public. But the joy he’d found in their ménage, the laughter and comfort and incredible pleasure in bed, made it all worth it.
From the day he’d met Joseph, an Irish tailor made a baron for services to the crown, and Susanna, heiress to a textiles fortune, everything changed for the better. They had hired him to paint an erotic portrait of Susanna, and in that process he’d found the man and woman of his dreams. All now lived together in a lavish London townhouse, and with David’s arrival, life was practically perfect. The only smudge on the canvas was his current inability to paint.
How unsettling, to pick up a brush and feel…nothing. Erotic art had been his whole life, the only rainbow in an otherwise bleak and stormy outlook. And he was good at it. Very, very good. So good in fact, that the Prince Regent had hosted an exhibition of his work at Carlton House, and declared a Clayton Irving painting an essential item for every ton bedchamber.
He would find his way back. He just needed a lantern for the path.
“You are my favorite,” said Bea, her eyes soft. “You know that.”
“And you are mine, the only blood relative I want in my life. I’m so glad you have Amelia. No one deserves true love more than the two of you.”
“Oh, stop it. You’ll turn me into a watering pot,” she sniffled. “And then I shall be forced to allow Mittens two hours with your paints.”
“Good God—”
“Irving!”
At the irritable hail, they both turned to see Fairfield enter the parlor, his cane thumping with more than usual force.
“Irving,” the duke repeated when he reached them, his lips pursed as though he’d just eaten a lemon. “Miss Irving. Because I am a damned errand boy rather than a duke these days, I am here to inform you of your expected duties. Miss Irving, it is now your turn to have your hair trimmed for the ball. Irving, you’re to go to Fenton and be fitted for your demi mask…oh, good afternoon Master David. Aren’t you looking well? Yes you are.”
Clayton and Bea exchanged an amused look, and he chewed his lip to stifle a laugh as Fairfield bent and cooed at the baby. The duke might be constructed almost entirely of curmudgeon and rascal, but there was about a fingernail’s worth of sweetness. Mostly reserved for David and Jessica, though he grumbled constantly at the ‘modern’ way they were cared for.
“I’d better go,” said Bea. “It was so lovely of Lady Portia to arrange this. My hair is a bit of a bird’s nest at the moment.”
“Quite,” said Fairfield, nodding sagely, and Bea poked her tongue out at him.
The duke looked briefly startled, before thumping his cane and cackling. “Run along, gel. I’ve spare wigs if the scissors slip.”
Clayton did laugh then, as Bea sauntered away and he shifted an increasingly heavy-eyed David to rest against his shoulder. “You are wicked, Your Grace.”
“I am, aren’t I? Only way to keep the mind sharp, m’boy. Remember that.”
He nodded and made his way out of the parlor, the unexpected advice echoing in his head. Perhaps Fairfield had a point. Since David’s birth, they’d all been too bloody tired and overwhelmed for wicked bedchamber antics. But things were starting to settle down, and Lady Portia had thoughtfully provided an experienced nursery maid. Maddy and Dare made use of the maid; the way the two of them had strolled into breakfast this morning, it was obvious they’d had more fun upstairs than playing whist.
Indeed, some wickedness with his lovers might just be exactly what was needed to set them all back on the right path, and get him painting again.
The exact right time was now.
“You’ve done a magnificent job, Fenton. Truly magnificent.”
Lord Joseph Fenton tried not to preen at Lady Portia’s reaction to the demi mask he’d handmade for her, and failed utterly. The white satin masterpiece with silver bead and sequin detail, stiffened inside with wire, and with two further pieces of wire stretching back to tuck into her coiffure so the mask rested on her face like spectacles, did indeed look magnificent. Especially with her brown hair. And he could tell by the way she twirled in front of the looking glass, inspecting the mask from every angle, that her pleasure was genuine. “Thank you, my lady. I hope Denham’s mask suits equally well.”
Lady Portia looked down at the black satin demi mask studded with silver sequins she held in her hand. “Denham will look like a pirate,” she replied with a little shiver. “A dashing, swashbuckling pirate…”
“Do you need a moment, Lady Portia?” drawled a wicked voice from the door of the antechamber Joseph had commandeered for his tailoring, and they turned to see Clayton enter the room with David curled against his shoulder.
“Oh, hush,” she replied, but the glint in her eyes told another story, that when Denham returned from the barracks where he’d gone to deliver baskets crammed full of brandy, sweets, oranges, gingerbread, cured ham and other treats for tomorrow’s Christmas feast, he could well be receiving a treat of his own.
Fiercely suppressing a sigh of envy, Joseph beckoned his lover over. “Come and sit, Clay. I have your mask here. Emerald-green sequins, to ah, match your eyes.”
“How thoughtful,” replied Clayton as he settled himself in the chair, careful not to jolt David from his drowsy state. Yet while his tone was light, the hot lust in his gaze was unexpected. Even more so, the hand that reached out and tugged him down for a lingering kiss.
“Oh,” he said, his wits scrambling, and he glanced at Lady Portia with reddened cheeks. “Excuse us, my lady.”
“Don’t mind me,” she said archly. “I’m off to find Denham so we might discuss this mask. But might I humbly suggest you two and dear Susanna make use of the nu
rsery maid? I didn’t lure an excellent woman all the way from London for her to sit and twiddle her thumbs. She birthed eight of her own, you know. Eight! And they’re all grown now. David will be expertly cared for while the three of you…talk.”
“Oh, hush,” said Clayton. “Although I’ll secretly admit to being in favor of the idea.”
Lady Portia nodded. “Then fit your mask and go. Let’s all spend the afternoon with our loved ones…talking. Then Christmas day will be quite perfect.”
And with that pronouncement, she smiled and swept from the antechamber.
“What do you think, Joseph?”
Not wanting to appear overeager, he busied himself fitting Clayton’s mask. Although that wasn’t overly successful, as his disobedient hands kept caressing Clayton’s face and stroking his hair. In truth, he’d been ready to make the suggestion. While his love for David knew no bounds, between a newborn and managing the demands of an ever-expanding textile business, he’d felt a little adrift from his wife and lover lately. He certainly didn’t want to fall into old habits and neglect them in favor of emotionless, transactional business because he found expressing sentiment difficult.
Sure, they still slept together in their rather ridiculous-sized bed, but they hadn’t indulged their lusts since before David’s birth and he missed the intense, passionate connection. He and Clay had been content to wait until Susie fully recovered from the birth, as it only ever felt completely right when the three of them were together. Alas, though, his hand was a very poor substitute compared to the hours of white-hot pleasure in their ménage. Even the thought of resuming such activities made his cock throb unmercifully.
“Ah, I would like that, sure,” he blurted, his Irish brogue in full voice. True excitement, and the carefully cultivated Etonian blue blood accent he used in London flew straight out the window. “Shall we see what Susie thinks? She’ll be back after getting her hair trimmed with the other ladies.”
“Yes,” said Clayton. “At once. My arm is starting to cramp a little.”
Joseph laughed, removed the mask, and helped Clayton ease to his feet. “I swear after a while holding David, he starts gaining a pound by the moment. Or perhaps I need to exercise more. One of the two.”
The upstairs hallway had probably never been walked so quickly; only an aversion to waking David halted them from running to find Susanna.
They found her in their bedchamber.
Wearing nothing but a loosely tied quilted robe and a sultry smile.
“Susie,” he stuttered, as he attempted to retrieve his jaw from the floor. He’d always thought her the most beautiful woman in the world with her brown hair, bright blue eyes, and slender curves, but pregnancy had added a fullness to her breasts and hips that was extraordinarily appealing. “You…robe…”
“What my tongue-tied Irish friend is attempting to say, is that you look magnificent, darling,” rasped Clayton. “As though you are impatiently waiting for your men.”
She sauntered forward, hips swaying, and they could only stare at the luscious flashes of rosy nipples and brown bush.
Then Susanna retied her robe tightly, before carefully scooping David out of Clayton’s arms, and settling him on her own shoulder. “Good afternoon, my sleepy angel. Mama loves you to the stars and back, but right now you are going to join Jessica in the nursery, so your parents may…ahem…have a special nap. Do not move a muscle, you two. I shall return.”
Joseph cleared his throat as Susanna left the room in a flurry of fabric, the scent of rosewater lingering. “Christ Almighty. If special nap means what I hope it does, my trousers are going to have to be cut off. I’m hard as stone already. Can I also say my hand is relieved, I think it was about ready to stage a protest for overuse.”
“You’re not the only one,” growled Clay. “My mouth is watering for cunt and cock. Fuck.”
“My, my,” said Susanna as she returned, an impish smile playing at her lips. “Such language. One might almost think you want me quite desperately.”
“Did you doubt it?” asked Joseph, frowning.
She clasped her hands together, her cheeks pink. “I was unsure. And not because of anything you said or did, I might add. You’ve both been so loving and patient. But that long birth was a lot for me, not to mention all the changes to my body. I thought I might go mad. For a while I was frightened I might never want to be bedded again, then it changed completely and I craved it more than air, but was afraid you might not desire me anymore. I know spying is not at all the thing, but to overhear your conversation with Lady Portia was…reassuring. Good heavens, how I wish to, er…talk.”
Clayton grinned. “The manor is going to be swaying with the sheer amount of talking this afternoon. I hope the foundations are sturdy.”
“It was built in Tudor times, I’m sure the foundations will survive,” said Susie with a giggle. “Not so sure about me, however, if I don’t have an orgasm very soon.”
Almost groaning, Joseph reached down and unfastened the fall of his trousers, simply so he didn’t expire of cock strangulation. He needed this badly. The intimacy, the exquisite pleasure of fucking and being fucked by the man and woman he loved, the two people who had accepted his humble past and his desire for both men and women, and welcomed him into their hearts.
“Well then, my lady,” Joseph said hoarsely, taking her hand and Clayton’s in his, for this was them: a ménage forever. “Let us not wait another moment.”
He was indeed blessed.
Because of these two men, all her dreams had come true.
Staring down at their clasped hands, Lady Susanna Fenton smiled. She’d always wanted what her late parents had enjoyed—a passionate partnership, a child of that love, and a successful business—and now she had it all.
The road had been rocky at times, and society sticklers wouldn’t receive her due to their unconventional household. But she refused to hide that she lived with her husband and her lover, and those who disapproved could go kiss a toad. With Joseph and Clayton’s unwavering loving support, she had blossomed into the woman she’d always wanted to be: bold and forthright, a passionate lover, a doting mama, and a respected businesswoman.
To be living her fantasy was a great and glorious thing.
“I think,” she said huskily, “the two of you are vastly overdressed for the occasion. Perhaps you’ll allow me to act as your valet.”
“By all means,” said Clayton, the heat in his eyes making her shiver.
“Just be gentle, Susie,” added Joseph. “Our cocks have missed you so much they may well erupt like a damned geyser.”
“You didn’t bed each other?” she asked, a little surprised.
Clayton shook his head. “Not without you, darling. Three thirds make a whole.”
Tears burned her eyes. To know they cherished her so…
With lust-clumsy fingers, she removed Clayton’s protective paint smock, then the rest of his clothing. That tall, leanly muscled frame made her wetter, and she couldn’t resist licking his warm, hairless chest.
His fists clenched at his sides, his hardening cock bobbing against his abdomen now it had been freed from its fabric prison. “Undress Joseph. Hurry.”
Susanna turned and attended to her husband’s clothing, reveling in his harsh indrawn breaths as she stroked his brawny, hairy chest, then his thick cock.
“How shall we fuck, Susie?” asked Joseph. “You decide. We don’t want to hurt you.”
“I need you both inside me,” she replied bluntly, her need too great to dissemble. “In my quim and in my backside. Please. I, ah, brought a small bottle of oil. It’s in my reticule.”
“Fetch it,” Clayton commanded, and she hurried to obey.
Soon they all lounged naked on the bed, kept warm by the roaring fire, and their own lust. Clayton slicked one hand with the oil, but instead of preparing her, the teasing wretch roughly handled Joseph’s swollen cock, kissing him greedily until Joseph cried out and came all over Clayton’s hand.
“Would you…would you suck my nipples first?” asked Susanna awkwardly. “I know it’s odd. And might be a bit messy. But when I touch them lately, it feels so nice—”
“Susie,” said Joseph, smiling slightly. “After tears, spittle, seed, quim honey, even a little blood, we are hardly going to be scandalized by a few drops of breast milk.”
She stilled. Then giggled. “You know, you are quite right.”
Draping herself over a pile of pillows, Susanna raised her arms above her head and offered herself for plunder. When her men curled in either side and each kissed a nipple, she moaned in delight as the licks and tugs sent jolts of pleasure directly to her aching clitoris. Knowing exactly how much she craved their touch, Clayton and Joseph exchanged a wicked glance, before each trailing a finger down her belly and pushing it deep inside her wet quim. As they sucked her nipples, as those fingers twisted and dueled, Susanna could only beg for more, more, more…
A low wail tore from her throat as she climaxed, the power of it nearly making her swoon. Yet the orgasm didn’t ease the raging fire, it only intensified it. After showing her profound gratitude with lingering kisses for both men, she turned to Joseph and purred, “What say we both suck Clay’s cock?”
It took a little maneuvering on the bed, but when Clayton lay between them, they teased his cock with their tongues, long, slow laps of the impressive length, and delicate little flicks of the near-purple head that dripped with moisture.
“Fuck,” Clayton breathed as he guided their heads. “That’s it. Perfect. Now Joseph, suck me down your throat. Susanna, stroke my balls…oh fuck…”
A Very Surrey SFS Christmas Page 4