A Gentleman Revealed

by Cooper Davis

  Marcus pressed his lips to Alistair’s brow. “Did you forget what I already promised once before? I shan’t ever leave, not unless you ask.”

  Alistair gazed up into the other man’s eyes, feeling the world slip away a bit. “But earlier . . .”

  Marcus stroked a hand through Alistair’s hair, smoothing out his waves. “Earlier,” his lover pronounced slowly, “I was angry and hurt, but I had no designs on abandoning you or on spending the night in any other bed but yours.”

  Alistair’s manhood stiffened, reacting instantly to the visual Marcus’s words had just painted. His cock surged upward within his undergarments, tightening them in a coarse press of linen on heated skin. In the space of a moment, his whole body thrummed, afire with the image of his lover staying the night in Alistair’s own bed.

  “Do you not favor the notion?” Marcus asked in a throaty purr, dragging his lips across Alistair’s brow. Marcus slid a fingertip to the front of Alistair’s bulging trousers, and traced an outline. “We don’t have to tell my family,” he said, the tease all but damning in its tone. And then he added a second fingertip, continuing the provocative caress across the front of Alistair’s fancy trousers.

  It was a pleasured agony, having Marcus upon his lap, stroking him—whilst the opera continued, and hundreds of people surrounded them in the theater. And yet . . . they were protected behind the concealing velvet drapes.

  Marcus trained his gaze upon the stage and leaned into Alistair to ask, “No answer as to our sleeping arrangement this evening, sir?”

  “I . . . I had presumed you would stay in your own room.”

  Marcus shook his head, turning so their gazes locked. “But my body would be so aware of you, only a few rooms away. I would fear my very mattress might erupt into flames.”

  “I had,” Alistair admitted, “prepared for a very restless night, when I imagined us in separate quarters.”

  “Then whyever would you have wanted that?”

  Alistair gave Marcus a sideways grin. “Respect for you. Propriety. The desire to act the part of polite and devoted suitor.”

  “You can show your devotion easily.” Marcus placed a palm against Alistair’s cheek. “Simply tell me—your room or mine tonight?”

  Alistair beamed like the besotted oaf that he was. “That answer’s easy,” he said without hesitation. “My bed’s bigger.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Marcus stretched a forearm behind his head with unfettered indolence. As Alistair joined him, the bed settled beneath his weight, and for a mildly hysterical moment, he wondered if the sodding thing might go the way of his ruined desk.

  Marcus wriggled his hips closer, and they nestled down, facing each other. Alistair hadn’t closed the bed curtains, and the variegation of candlelight and firelight accentuated Marcus’s youthful beauty.

  Marcus traced a fingertip along Alistair’s lips. “Right here in your plump, savory bed, I intend to serve you something plump and savory of my own.”

  Alistair rumbled a laugh, reaching for Marcus’s neatly done tie. “However shall I manage? Without mahogany splinters in my prick once the deed is done.”

  “I’m sure I could endure being turned across your knee and thoroughly examined, both front and backside, for stray goose feathers over coffee in the morning.”

  “The burdens of buggering a wealthy peer in one’s own boudoir. Goose feathers in the arse cleft.”

  “Or one’s nether regions,” Marcus volunteered, eyes bright.

  “To get there,” Alistair said seductively, “we must first undress you from top to bottom.” Alistair slid a finger underneath Marcus’s necktie, loosening the knot and tugging on the silk.

  “Come here, you.” Marcus encircled a strong forearm about Alistair’s waist, enfolding him in a fond embrace.

  Alistair responded by sliding his hips forward on a surge of excited momentum. “Anticipating being in your arms like this? I confess I’ve been a bear to all and sundry at the palace for days.”

  “Will you be a bear with me, you big gorgeous man? Rough and audacious as we tup?” Marcus slid his hand low about Alistair’s backside, one quick sweep of his palm across his buttocks. Then the caress was done, and Alistair pressed his eyes shut to restrain the enormous craving he felt in its wake.

  Marcus gave a slow roll of his lean hips that drew a desperate moan out of Alistair. And then the devil rolled more intimately until Alistair’s body matched every motion with his own. Alistair released a tight groan. “If we don’t ease up,” he said, “I’ll likely cream my drawers in the next sixty seconds or so.”

  “If you do”—Marcus rubbed his groin against Alistair’s—“then I’ll lap it up with my tongue, and make you come all over again before the night is done.”

  Before Alistair could argue that his lover might be overestimating his stamina, Marcus’s fingertips slipped beneath Alistair’s snug waistcoat, wending deftly beneath his leather suspenders. The determined lordling did not stop until his bare palm skated across the warm flesh of Alistair’s lower back.

  Marcus probed fingertips downward, low beneath Alistair’s waistband, stroking the crest of his buttocks. It was a statement of what Marcus wanted from him—and of how he intended to render Alistair. Naked. Arse exposed. Body supine.

  Alistair maneuvered a hand behind his back to unfasten those suspenders; immediately his trousers loosened, allowing him to breathe. And Marcus struck like lightning, roving deep within Alistair’s smallclothes, pressing open palm against plump arse cheek.

  Becoming downright frantic with desire, Alistair fumbled with Marcus’s front flap, his trembling fingers proving graceless with the pearl buttons. Once Alistair finally unfastened one side of the flap, Marcus rolled onto his back. Clinging to Alistair, clearly intent on pulling Alistair atop him. In fact, Marcus was already opening his thighs.

  Damnation. How could his lover not yet comprehend his limits . . . ?

  Alistair halted Marcus’s efforts, and instead, used his heft to roll the younger man atop himself. Marcus splayed there, panting; they lay flush together, chest to chest. And bulging cock to equally heated, bulging cock. The rush of blood soared in Alistair’s ears as for one endless, suspended moment, he held his breath. The crackle of the fire in the hearth filled the room, but all Alistair could do was gaze at Marcus in silent wonder.

  After a moment of gasping at the thin air between them, Alistair said, “I suppose I could count to ten, then we simply rip each other’s clothes off.” He laughed huskily. “Although you seem the sort hell-bent on romance.”

  “Dare I remind you that you’re the one who sought my papa’s permission before courting me?”

  Alistair pressed his eyes shut. “May I—may we—still deem this a proper courtship if I tear those bloody clothes off you? And if, perchance, I seize your winsome knickers between my teeth and rip them from your person?”

  Marcus rose onto his knees, straddling Alistair, and easily unfastened the other side of his front flap. “I can move the prime article much closer to your teeth. Would that serve your purpose as my suitor?”

  Alistair seized Marcus by the hips and dragged him forward; Marcus went off kilter, and had to catch a hand against the headboard, balancing himself. Leaning up off the pillow, Alistair nipped the waistband of Marcus’s undergarment and, with a growl, tore the fabric right down the front. The expensive linen split as if a razor had sliced it.

  When Alistair finished the decimation, he was rewarded by the bounce of one velvet-sleek prick—bobbing right against his eager lips. “That,” he said, adjusting his head on the pillow so that he was angled perfectly, “is first prize.”

  However, it turned out Marcus wasn’t on board with being brought to climax just yet. No, as it turned out, Marcus had a plan that included shucking off his shredded small lothes and finding his way between Alistair’s thighs. Which hardly seemed fair sinc
e, except for his single loosed suspender, Alistair was still annoyingly bound by his garments. “I should wish myself freed from my bloody trousers,” he complained.

  “In due time, darling mine.” Marcus lay atop him, muscular and sinewy and light, and resumed their kiss. With every drag of the man’s mouth, he matched it with an undulating motion of his hips. Alistair ground upward, slowly opening his thighs to the man atop him.

  Marcus shifted, settling into that welcoming vee of Alistair’s parted legs, and they both shivered at the tender contact. Marcus’s naked arousal slid against Alistair’s achingly erect cock, and the pressure had Alistair practically pleading for what he wanted.

  God, don’t make me ask, he wanted to cry as he rolled his heavy hips off the mattress, chasing Marcus’s own grinding motion. Don’t make me beg for it. Please don’t.

  Alistair was so ready, so fucking eager. He put his shaky hands to the front buttons of Marcus’s waistcoat. “Let’s rid you of this, as well.”

  Alistair’s trembling hands became shockingly steady and Marcus’s waistcoat opened like an eager bud. Marcus shrugged out of it, and then dragged his own linen shirt overhead, tossing it across the counterpane.

  “And now I’m bared to you,” Marcus announced huskily, “whilst you are fully clothed. We must remedy that injustice.”

  Alistair’s face heated. Even though they were lovers and no physical secrets remained betwixt them, he still grew shy at the thought of Marcus glimpsing his true proportions.

  Yet Marcus stroked his fingertips across Alistair’s midriff with devoted tenderness. “You’ve never looked more handsome than tonight, in this black formal wear. Except one other time.” Marcus dislodged the top button of Alistair’s waistcoat. “When you were bared to me, wild within my arms. Let’s have a look at you, shall we? I’ve missed the resplendent view.”

  “Marcus.” Alistair gasped as his beloved unfastened more of his waistcoat buttons. The garment curved across his middle, but Marcus quickly had it unfastened, allowing the silk to fall open at Alistair’s sides.

  Alistair slid a calf along the back of Marcus’s bare leg. “I’m helpless to your attentions,” he admitted, arching into the pillow. Marcus answered by chasing the column of Alistair’s throat with a scorching trail of kisses.

  Barely a whisper, Alistair asked, “Why must you make me so vulnerable?”

  “Because”—Marcus propped on his elbows, gazing at him solemnly—“tonight is your surrender. Your final surrender to me, my darling.”

  Alistair blinked. “I surrendered in my office.” He blinked again, hesitated. “I . . . surrendered upon my desk.”

  Marcus kissed his temple. “Not this completely, not as I intend you do tonight.”

  Alistair nearly lost the ability to breathe. Whatever more could Marcus yet hope he might yield? He’d naught left; he’d been rent asunder, emotionally and physically back in his office.

  Marcus ardently palmed the length of Alistair’s thigh, roving and caressing. That hand caught Alistair behind the knee, hitching for a moment. Alistair conceded, his big body rising off the mattress. Marcus responded with a kiss, chasing it down the line of Alistair’s throat, nibbling at the base of his collarbone. Searing Alistair’s skin until he arched like a swan beneath the attention, his hips rising in an arc of compulsion.

  “Take me.” Alistair’s plaintive, barked demand rent the air. “Damn you, Marcus, for knowing how to . . . Because of you, I’m unraveling at my seams. Just take me.”

  Marcus pressed his forehead to Alistair’s, practically gulping air. “I daresay I’m the one unraveling here.”

  Alistair palmed the strong, flexing muscles of Marcus’s lower back. “You schemed to be nowhere else but in this bed, my love.”

  My love. Yes, Alistair could admit that much, whisper that near-confession. Not too dangerous yet.

  “My love,” Marcus repeated, nuzzling Alistair’s cheek. “I am the only other man who will ever grace this four-poster again. It’s mine. You are mine.”

  Alistair swallowed, barely able to breathe around the emotions that ignited in his chest. “I am,” he finally managed, but the words came out hoarse.

  He feathered one hand along Marcus’s narrow hip and, in the dark between them, Marcus whimpered. “Please.”

  One word. Simple. Plaintive. A purring beg, a whisper in the hearth-warmed air between them.

  “Please . . . what?” Alistair barely managed to ask, throat tight.

  “Love me.”

  Alistair’s heart stilled. He would have positively sworn the devil didn’t beat for several moments. “M-make . . . love to you?”

  “That, too.” Alistair could feel heat and pleasure and need radiating off his lover. “Alistair, I would be so honored to have all of you, not just do the claiming.”

  Blinking, trying to find a steady point in his universe, Alistair stammered about the impossible logistics. “I am . . . too overlarge. Too weighty. I . . . I might hurt you. Consider my size.”

  “Oh, I’ve considered. And bloody well considered. You won’t let me forget,” Marcus told him. “And the thought of my straitlaced secretary atop me? Wickedly delicious.”

  “H-how . . . how would you have me?” Alistair asked, eyes shut. Trying so hard not to imagine an awkward, perilous joining, even as his heart longed for it desperately. And his body trembled in anticipation and hunger. “Tell me how,” he blurted when Marcus did not immediately answer.

  Fingertips trailed along his jaw, and Alistair’s eyes flew open. Marcus thumbed his full cheek.

  “Any way you’d claim me. But I quite like the notion of chest-to-chest this time.” Marcus’s powerful hips found his, and ground against him, beseeching him without any further words.

  The interlude in his office had been as Alistair had wanted it—both intensely personal and faceless. Now, in this firelit room, secluded in shadows? Promised to be the most undeniably intimate moment Alistair had ever known in his life.

  Alistair tensed, turning his head to the side. But his Marcus was such a persistent man; he cupped Alistair’s face, waiting until Alistair stilled in his grasp. Then, all burring brogue, his lover whispered against his cheek, “But if ye aren’t ready for that yet, then chest-to-chest we shall still be . . . only I shall spill my own seed within ye.”

  Alistair had already been handled to the point of emotional fraying by his young lord, and wasn’t sure his heart could withstand much more. But then, even softer—with the heat and supple searing of melted candlewax—Marcus begged, “Please.”

  “Oh, dear God.” Alistair bit back a sob. His cock tautened painfully against the stiff fabric of his undergarment, jutting against the buttons of his trousers. The fine wool felt ready to split at the slightest provocation.

  Alistair whimpered, every hope of resolve and restraint dissolving. “I haven’t done . . . It’s always been me, bent over. Taken. Faceless, never so personal.” Even though they were in the firelit darkness, Alistair’s face burned with indignity. He’d confessed this truth to Marcus previously, but it seemed to hit his lover harder this time.

  “I wish I could thrash every strumpet who didn’t honor yer body with the grace it deserved.” Marcus’s tone was livid, his accent thick and harsh. “Every whore who failed to worship ye properly, nor tried to understand . . .”

  “Can you . . .” Alistair fumbled for the right words. “Can you honestly blame them?”

  “Explain.” Marcus’s demand was a growl, raw with anger.

  “I am too fucking big!” he shouted so loudly it might have been heard in the hallway. “For the whores, for you. I weigh . . . oh, God, please don’t make me say this—“

  “Then don’t. But you’re going to do something for me. You’re going to lay upon your back, and allow me to satiate myself between your legs. Soon enough, you’ll give me the same pleasuring. Once you have? You�
�ll not only have claimed me, you’ll have buggered every bloody demon from your past to bits. But your freedom begins tonight, face-to-face.”

  Then, with the most beguiling glance any male had ever granted him, Marcus sat up and began unmaking the bed, plumping pillows. Once done, he gazed at Alistair from beneath flirtatiously lowered lashes. “Come, now, darling,” he said, extending a hand. “And follow me down into sweet oblivion.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Alistair focused on the kissing, on the sensation of Marcus’s slicked-up erection bumping into his bollocks, pressuring him to near-insanity. He determined not to focus, however, on his own thickset body, or the softness of its push and pull against Marcus’s much more svelte abdomen. He would find a way to shed these pounds; he would abandon the spirits and trim down to a size where he could feel worthy of his lover.

  Ignore the shame, embrace the craving, he told himself, squeezing his eyes shut. That was the moment when tender force began against his entry. Marcus’s elegant fingers slipping within his opening, fingering the rim of his muscle; it was an easy breach. His reaction to it, however, was immensely complex. The sensation made him squirm, feel discomforted—aroused—and cry out for more with barely intelligible sounds.

  Marcus kissed him, thrusting his tongue eagerly into Alistair’s mouth, and matched that exploration by adding a second finger within Alistair’s opening. The motion of that tongue was a slow push-pull, in-out, and with every tease, Marcus toyed with Alistair’s entry in a mirroring action. But with that second digit, Alistair’s arse spread like a fan, stretching until Alistair grew rigid in Marcus’s fervent arms. He clamped down his buttocks, distressed—nervy as an unbroken colt.

  Marcus broke their kiss, staring down into his eyes. Even in the slim light, those blue-green eyes gleamed with care and concern. “Breathe through my strokes, all right? Just breathe.” One slow glide of a thumb against Alistair’s entry was all it took, the caress as reassuring as it was rousing.