Best Laid Plaids (Kilty Pleasures)

by Ella Stainton

  In the excessively long time it took him to have the shirt off—all of that licking and touching—Ainsley had time to choreograph exactly what he was about to do to Cockburn.

  The name was growing on him. Good Lord. The man’s cock was growing on him. No—that came out wrong. Still.

  “You’ve forgotten my tie.” Ainsley reached to unknot it.

  But his hands were pulled down by the wrists and dropped at his sides. That deep, fuzzy voice vibrated against the column of his neck as Joachim nibbled. “I didn’t forget anything.” He wrapped the tie around his fist and pulled Ainsley so he couldn’t have gotten away if he wished to.

  Joachim leaned in as though he was about to kiss him. So close that his whiskey breath heated Ainsley’s cheeks. Heart skipping, he shut his eyes, angled his head and...nothing. He blinked back open to an enigmatic smile.

  “We’re going upstairs now.”

  Ainsley ran his tongue over his lips. His chest was so close to Joachim’s that the fabric rustled against his bare skin. Made it rise in peaks all over. “Why?”

  He was pulled close by the tie again, but this time Joachim’s mouth took his over, hot and wet and unequivocally in charge. Ainsley straddled Cockburn’s thigh, drawn tight by the Englishman’s strong arms.

  Yes, yes. More.

  Graham held him close from shoulders to hips. Ainsley’s body taughtened like a violin bow ready to break. Fucking hell he needed to get these trousers off.

  He needed to get off.

  And then he was released and a received a mild swat on his arse. “You’ll see when we get there, won’t you?”

  “I warn you that if I don’t get to come tonight, I will strangle you in your sleep.” It wasn’t a joke.

  “I’ll take that into consideration.” Joachim chuckled and propelled him to the staircase by his shoulders. He sunk his teeth into Ainsley’s backside when he dawdled. Ainsley wasn’t sure if he was going to die laughing or spend all over himself. Either way, he’d not had such a good time...perhaps ever.

  He’d have to get everyone he fucked to order him about after this. Which might get complicated and boring and take away most of the fun of it. Perhaps he could write up a manual and have them read it before taking him home?

  Though they’d be unlikely to do it as well as Cockburn, whose glorious authority wafted off him like the world’s most alluring cologne. So, he wouldn’t do that, after all.

  Joachim settled his arse in the wingback chair that Ainsley often fell asleep in, persuasion evident in his lupine smile. “Take off your clothes.”

  Yes; that was the tone he craved.

  Even though he’d registered, he played coy to see what might happen. “Pardon?”

  “All of them. Off. Sooner than later. Chop, chop.” Joachim’s teeth sunk in his bottom lip.

  It wasn’t as though Ainsley hadn’t put on his own trousers since he was small enough to not remember a time before, but his fingers were uncooperative and he kept fumbling under his companion’s fixed gaze.

  Cockburn grabbed his belt loops and pulled him over so Ainsley draped over his thighs. One by one, Joachim opened the buttons with a single hand.

  Fucking hell. The man had brought his whiskey—no sign of Ainsley’s though, the selfish pig—and took a sip while he sat there.

  After another yank of the tie still hanging on his neck, Joachim held him close and ravaged Ainsley’s mouth until he was boneless as a jellyfish and then pushed him back on his feet. He fucking tottered.

  Cockburn swirled his hand in the air for Ainsley to get on with it.

  He had to work those tartan trousers down. The wool didn’t give at all. A laugh tugged at Joachim’s eyes.

  Ainsley adored being looked at with desire and the Englishman had that down pat. He stepped out of the wretched trousers, finally, and hooked then skimmed his fingers under the waist of his pants, unsure if dropping them fast or making Joachim wait was more enticing.

  He wasn’t patient. And he was ready to find out what sort of game it would be tonight.

  Cockburn pressed the heel of his hand down his own erection straining against fabric in a painful way that made Ainsley pleased he was no longer wearing any clothing.

  “Right there, on the floor.” Joachim pointed to the carpet in front of the hearth. Unlit, luckily—the room was steaming already.

  “You want me to lie on the floor?” He raised his brows, pretending to be scandalized though his bobbing cock gave the truth away.

  Cockburn’s fingers skirted along his well-groomed jaw. “Now.”

  Maneuvering himself down wasn’t as seductive as he might have wished, but good Lord: he was hard as a post by the time he got there. “And?” It was difficult to be imperious lying on a carpet, but he managed it.

  Joachim’s voice hitched and he leaned forward at his waist like he might tackle Graham at any moment. He stretched his hand out to Ainsley’s shin and ran the back of his nail down the bone. How could that be arousing? But fucking hell, it was.

  “You’re going to get yourself off and I’m going to watch. And If I feel like it, I might involve myself. Or I may sit back and drink my whiskey.” Cockburn pulled off his tie with a snapping sound that made Ainsley’s belly quiver in all the right ways. The room was a fucking inferno and his skin was damp from perspiration.

  Joachim skimmed his hand over the arch of Ainsley’s foot. Jesus fucking...how did this man make every touch so sexual?

  He pouted. “You might help me?”

  “It depends on how tempting you are while you do it. I’m ready to be impressed.” Joachim unbuttoned his shirt and slung it over the back of the chair.

  The younger man’s mouth opened but nothing came out but a squeak. He’d give a number of things to run his fingers through that chest hair at that precise moment.

  Cockburn winked. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how, you tease.” He placed the crystal lowball on the side table and dropped to his knees around Ainsley’s thighs.

  “To get you started.” For a long minute, he ground his pelvis into the naked man on the floor so the carpet fibers dug into his skin on one side, scratching. The hair of Cockburn’s pectoral muscles rubbed against his chest, the wool of his trousers grazed the sensitive skin of his balls.

  Whiskey had never tasted so good. And then, Joachim made it back to the wingback and picked up his glass.

  There was a wet spot on Joachim’s trousers from Ainsley’s dripping prick and...dear Lord. A flare of need flashed across Ainsley’s body like wildfire.

  Touching himself with an audience—this audience in particular—well, he was made for it, wasn’t he? One hand slid across his chest to trace over his nipple still stiff from touching Joachim. The other slithered down to the root of his cock, circling it with his fingers before pulling that tight ring up and over the head, which was already drenched.

  Settling himself at an angle, Joachim threw a leg over the arm of the chair. He was going to fucking split the seam of his trousers. That would be a sight. But the awareness of that bulge and the memory of it inside him made his pulse beat loud in his ears.

  He twisted his palm over the crown of his prick, pinching his nipples hard enough that his back arched. Eyes fluttered shut from the intensity of it.

  “Spit in your hand,” said Joachim, not unkindly, before he took another sip of his drink. “And keep your eyes open. Locked on mine. I want you to watch me enjoying the show.”

  Fuck, fuck, yes.

  His saliva made the shaft much slicker, so it was easier to find his own rhythm. Though now that he was free to come, he wasn’t ready for it to be over. There’s bloody irony for you.

  “I want to hear how good you’re making yourself feel.” Cockburn flicked open the fly of his own trousers and freed his erection, but didn’t touch it. It was shiny in the lamplight. From watching him. God. Intox
icating.

  He stroked faster, swirling his palm, flicking his wrist, and his second hand slipped down to help. He bucked his hips, unable to hold back as the pressure surged to his balls. Ainsley voiced all the churning needs in his mind through sighs and moans and whimpers.

  “I couldn’t have dreamed up a more abjectly wanton creature than you, Dr. Graham.” Joachim came back to the floor and propped himself on his side with a direct view between his lover’s legs. “Like some divine Titian painting brought to life.” Cockburn sucked one of his fingers and then pressed under Ainsley’s balls. He nearly fucking came. From just that.

  His hips rose off the floor now, desperate for Joachim to fill him up with his finger, or his tongue, or his prick.

  The fingertip remained steady and Ainsley wriggled himself onto it, breathing so sharp his chest ached. Rasping and... Christ on a stick, one finger wasn’t enough. Until Cockburn twisted it and hooked so the fingertip rubbed against the very spot Ainsley needed stimulated. Spectacular fireworks flooded his entire body, like he was being electrocuted.

  Joachim’s voice was scratchy with whiskey and want. It amped up that voltage already wracking Ainsley with gorgeous pleasure-pain. He added a second finger, stretching him, but not enough. “After you come, I’m settling myself in for a very long ride. Watching you fuck yourself on my hand is giving me too many impure thoughts, my dear.”

  “God, don’t wait. Please.” Utterly fucking desperate. Ainsley had never begged anyone before, but bugger...he’d never been quite this tortured, either.

  He seized. That beard scratched the skin on the inside of his thighs and the tongue traced up the length of Ainsley’s prick, sucking it into his mouth for a few thrusts before he let it go. Joachim left a wet trail up his abdomen, dipping his head and lapping, making eye contact and licking again. It was... Christ, no words.

  “You’re going to be the death of me, Dr. Graham.” That voice rumbled right down into his core.

  “No offense,” said Ainsley in between pants, “but as long as you fuck me first, I might not care.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Joachim

  God almighty, Ainsley was a witch. A shameless land-Siren who sunk his hooks into every bit of Joachim. There was no doubt at all he’d be dashed among the rocks before it was said and done. But right now, there was nothing on earth he wished for more than to ride that beautiful arse and make his ginger rasp and wail.

  He wiggled out of the rest of his clothes. Fetched the oil from Ainsley’s bag and prepped them both. He was sure the younger man was going to come when he pressed his slick fingers inside.

  “Stop,” he said, and positioned himself between Ainsley’s thighs, pushing one up and to the side.

  “Stop?” Slate-gray eyes were bewildered and he stopped midtug.

  It was difficult not to laugh. “I’ve changed my mind. You’re not going to finish until I say so.” He pulled Ainsley’s hand off his own erection.

  “But...” Ainsley’s back curved up off the floor and he let out a hiss when Joachim pushed inside.

  “Is that all right?”

  Ainsley glared like he was getting paid for it. “You’re such a shit. I was this close to—”

  “I know.” He rubbed his nose against Ainsley’s before blistering his mouth with a kiss. All of his mental quirks were becoming clearer every second they were together. When he kissed Ainsley, the younger man put all his focus on his mouth and the muscles in the rest of his body loosened. “But you like it.”

  “I do.” Ainsley wrapped his other leg around Joachim’s back and tilted his hole higher. “More.”

  All the little noises he made—and the louder ones too—were like music. God, he wanted to stay here forever, inside this glorious quicksilver man. They remained like that, groaning and kissing, and pinching, and pulling, and tugging for long enough that Joachim’s balls lifted. He took pity on his poor ginger and stroked his prick until it grew hard again.

  Carefully, he rolled to his back, making sure not to let go, and grinned up at the slack-faced man riding his cock. “Now.”

  Pushing the overlong auburn hair out of his eyes, Ainsley sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. The mouth red and swollen from Joachim’s beard. Like he’d been fucked for hours and wanted to double it.

  “What an amazingly debauched face,” marveled Joachim. “You make me want to come just looking at it.”

  He sat up long enough to pull Graham’s face down for one more kiss before settling his back on the floor. “But I want you to finish before I do.” He grabbed hold of one of the slim, hard thighs and moved Ainsley up and down his prick, setting the tempo. “I do enjoy watching you.”

  Lips met his again, Ainsley’s greedy mouth sucking and licking. Joachim held him tight by his neck and enjoyed his whimpering malleability. His other hand traced down Ainsley’s slender stomach muscles as he slid up and down Cockburn.

  Ainsley’s body pounded his own erection into Joachim’s belly, moving faster as the friction seemed to push him to the edge. He stopped kissing like he couldn’t do more than pant into Joachim’s mouth.

  “Come for me now, Dr. Graham.”

  Hot sticky wetness spurted on Joachim’s belly as Ainsley’s head went back. Certainly the most sinfully beautiful thing he had ever witnessed, and his own orgasm was moments behind, moving the stilled hips himself until he was empty.

  He covered his eyes with his arm until the room stopped spinning. Ainsley stayed where he was for another minute until Joachim’s cock softened. He pulled Joachim’s arm down and lay against his chest. “You do know how to show a man a good time, I’ll give you that, Cockburn.”

  Graham disappeared—to the washroom to tidy himself up most likely—and a sharp pain pierced Joachim’s insides. He only had one more night and then back to Durham and school and gray afternoons alone. Fuck.

  You’re being a fool.

  He was, and it was unavoidable to feel that way. But he didn’t need to show it.

  Joachim stood and met Ainsley in the hall, where the younger man dropped his arms around the bigger man’s waist. “I’ll run Violet out.”

  “No bother, I’ll do it for you.” Fucking hell, he sounded heartsick over someone he’d really only recently met. Stupid. He cleared his throat. “She’s grown on me. Might have to get myself a dog when I go back home.”

  Ainsley blinked a few times, as if digesting. “Home. Yes.” He gave an almost sheepish smile. “I’d forgotten that you live far away.” He stepped back. “If you don’t mind taking her, though, that would be perfect.” He yawned. “I can’t keep my eyes open.”

  Joachim hurried on enough clothing to not scandalize anyone out on Queen Street past midnight as Ainsley slid between the covers. “Would you get the light?”

  God, he was a fucking idiot, not ready to say good-night. But he pushed the door shut as Ainsley called out his name.

  He leaned on the frame. “Yes?” Too hopeful.

  “Er, would you bring Violet up here when you get back?” But there was a hint of the same tone in Ainsley’s voice, wasn’t there? Or was that wishful thinking?

  “I can.”

  “Um, and if you wished to, you could come to this room. To sleep?” Ainsley laughed. “That’s me being a fool when there’s an enormous bed waiting for you in the other room.”

  “I’ll come back,” Joachim said, fighting the grin that unfurled over his face.

  He grabbed his walking stick and made his way down the stairs.

  Violet had been shut in the kitchen when they’d walked her after Tuskers and Joachim clutched his heart when he realized there was a woman crouching on the floor, scratching the dog under its chin.

  “I had no idea anyone was here,” he said, praying she wasn’t a thief. She’d be a well-dressed thief if she was one, decked in ropes of pearls and diamond bracelets. And rather g
audy earrings.

  The woman’s mouth dropped—possibly more surprised than him. “You can...” She shut her mouth and stood, brushing her hands down her rather old-fashioned skirt that hung nearly to the floor. “How do you do? I’m Ainsley’s mother, Maisie.”

  Ainsley’s mother. Fuck. They’d been...fuck...and not even remotely discreet. Screams. Joachim’s entire body might have been skewered on one of Hell’s roasting pits the way it burned with mortification. Maisie’s eyes glittered like her son’s.

  “Joachim.” His voice cracked like it had when he was twelve and got the first hairs on his balls. He cleared his throat. “Cockburn.”

  “Lovely.” She beamed at him in a disconcerting way.

  All his words were short. Tight. “Ainsley’s upstairs. I came to take the dog. Does he know you’re here?” He might hyperventilate.

  She laughed and nodded, little auburn tendrils dancing on her neck. She might be the last woman under sixty in the United Kingdom without bobbed hair.

  “He warned me to stay far away from you, but I didn’t expect you to be the one taking Violet for her walk.” She covered her laugh with her hand. “Or that you’d ever see me. Never fear. I’ll let myself out. Good night, Mr. Cockburn.” She paused at the door, hand on the knob, and turned once more. “You’re a very calming influence on my darling boy. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

  “Er, you mustn’t leave on my account. I was—”

  “Yes. Taking Violet for a walk.” She wrinkled her nose exactly like Ainsley had done a few minutes before. “Please don’t worry. I thoroughly respect Ainsley’s privacy. And yours.”

  The door shut and he caught his breath. Violet thumped her tail on the floor, but managed to clamber to her old bones when he whistled for her to come and walk.

  There was no sign of Maisie Graham anywhere. Had Ainsley banished her to the kitchen? Certainly it must be her house, after all? God, he’d said someone lived here full-time, so he must’ve known. Bloody sod.