Page 28 of The Demons of Wychwood

CHAPTER 17

SLOW AND STEADY

I was grateful beyond words to have a room all to myself. When I first ran away from Exeter to London I’d slept on the streets. Then when I earned a little bit of coin from labouring, I could afford a bed in a lodging house. When I joined up, I was billeted with my garrison, so again, I was sharing with swarms of unwashed men who didn’t have a care about other's belongings. You learn to travel light as a soldier so I didn’t have much to call my own. Private space—having a place to put my few personal things where they wouldn’t be robbed when I turned my back—now that was precious to me.

My bedroom was my haven. It was where I slept, and read, and dreamed about my future travels—dreamed about a handsome Lord with inky curls and frightened dark eyes who I’d coax like a skittish horse to take my touch, and then when he accepted it he’d find he long for it—like a drug! Looked like my dreams were coming true!

As was her routine, Elowen had lit a fire, for which I was always grateful, especially when I worked nights. I didn’t have much but what I did have was spick and span. There was a brass double bed, a wardrobe, a travelling trunk, a desk where I read and wrote in my diary. The timber floor was covered with a thick rag rug Elowen had made from clothes that had become too thread bear to wear. I took a long swallow of my milk punch to warm my bones then placed the mug on my desk. I pulled open the wardrobe and began to undress, placing my garments regimentally on hangers. Kit sat on my bed sipping at his spiked hot milk.

“This is very good,” he said of the drink. “It brings back comforting memories of feeling snug at winter,” he revealed. He paused for a moment, and I could feel his eyes on me.

“I must say, the view from here is quite exceptional!” There was a roguish smile in his voice.

My cheeks burned and I turned to see how he was staring, watching me undress. I was surprised by how comfortable we were in each other’s company. I’d had brief sordid encounters in the dark. That was all the experience I’d had before laying with Lord Christopher Havelock. How could two men become such fast friends and fall into bed together? Whatever this connection was between Kit and me was, it wasn’t just about sex. There was lightning when our eyes met and when we touched. I felt it in my bones and it made me feel alive. We’d talked about all sorts on the way home. Having Kit open up to me was like rubbing soot from a windowpane and finding out that on the other side of the glass was a shop of delights.

“Are you worried…about tomorrow…going home and seeing your stepfather?” I hung my trousers in the wardrobe shuddering as I said those words. It hadn’t really sunk in before—how this General Edward Napier was Kit’s bloomin’ stepfather! It shocked me anew how the rogue was betraying his wife and abusing his stepson. It made me sick to my stomach that such a bastard had gotten away with using Kit for six years, but thinking about it, I wasn’t surprised. Nobs have a talent of getting away with murder!

For a man of twenty-four who had a seat in the House of Lords and the power of privilege, there was something naïve and innocent about Kit. I felt a deep need to protect him. I turned and looked at my Lord as he sat propped on my big brass bed, the mattress loaded with blankets. I liked to burrow beneath those blankets and hide from the world. I’d take Kit with me tonight and we would hide together.

I realized then he hadn’t answered my earlier question and so I pressed him, “Tell me, are you worried?”

“I don’t want to think about it…going home.” Kit admitted. “I don’t want to talk about…him either. Can we just pretend he’s vanished into the fog and will never trouble me again?” Kit asked with a casual air that I didn’t believe for one minute.

“Let’s hope that he upsets someone with bigger fists than his own and they can do the world a favour, aye!” I said wryly.

“Hmmm…that is a pleasing thought!” Kit sipped his milk punch and stared into the dancing flames of the fire. I continued to ready for bed. When he looked up at me again, I was wearing my nightshirt and knitted bed socks, cos my feet got awful cold at night. His eyes raked over me in the thin cotton shirt and I shuddered as if he’d run his fingers over my naked skin. Kit placed his empty cup on the bedside table and stood. The way he stalked across the room was predatory.

“Do you have a spare nightshirt that would fit me?” he asked. I gave him a withering glare. How typical of a posh boy to think that we all had wardrobes brimming with clobber for every occasion.

“Afraid not,” I said, walking towards him, the tug of lust in my belly as we met in front of the scorching fire.

“Could you manage without for a night, milord? Just keep your smalls on, maybe? I’ll make it my solemn duty to keep you toasty warm. Would that be agreeable?” I enquired trying not to smile.

I placed my hands on Kit’s slender waist and pulled him close to my hips. As our groins touched, I saw a light brighten in Kit’s eyes and for a second, just a second mind, I did wonder if there was something otherworldly about the way his eyes shone—as if there was a lusty demon inside him. Looking into Kit’s eyes as the firelight reflected in them made my head spin.

“You like to watch, don’t you Felix. Do you want to watch me?” Kit asked in a soft throaty whisper that made my bollocks twitch. He was right…I got my pleasure from watching men do all sorts of beautiful, wicked things to each other, in fact, both of us had gotten excited by watching men loving at Wychwood. It dawned on me then just how precious this connection between us was. I’d found a man with whom I’d shared a secret part of myself and he wasn’t revolted, he hadn’t pushed me away, told me I was an invert, unnatural, or filthy—just as I wasn’t revolted by how Kit’s desire had bloomed. For years Kit had been made to feel ashamed of his desire. Over and over, he’d been told that his desire was demonic, evil, and shameful. I knew that it would take more than a quick tumble for Kit to feel to his bones how wrong General Napier was—and how right laying with me was, but we’d give it a try!

“Please, I’d like to watch you,” I said. Kit leaned in then and pressed his lips to mine. He tasted of milk, spice, and all things nice. I chased the flavour with my tongue. Again, the way Kit behaved with me was nothing like I’d seen during his vicious couplings with his stepfather. With me, Kit didn’t demand, he tasted me as if I was a delicacy. I liked it, I wanted more. I groaned into his mouth and felt him shudder in response to my sounds. He stepped away.

“Go on! Into bed with you,” he ordered softly, but it was no order at all. I’d do anything he asked of me tonight and was more than happy to warm the bed for us. I pulled the covers back and slipped into the chilly bed, scooting over so there was room for Kit when he’d undressed. I sat up against the pillows and nodded for him to begin. The atmosphere between us sparked like an electrical storm.

His dark curls hung down and as Kit bent over to release the buckles on his boots. Then he stood straight and pinned me with a nervous look, his dark lashes framing his eyes in the firelight. With a nervous bite of his lower lip, he began to shakily to undress for me. He untied his cravat and then unbuttoned his shirt. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t seen him naked before, I’d seen him naked plenty, but there was something powerful about the fact he was watching me watching him undress. I licked my lips and couldn’t help myself. My right hand slid beneath the blankets and then under the cloth of my nightshirt. I pulled the covers back so Kit could see the proof of what his saucy display was doing to me. My bold response made my cheeks burn, and my prick was hot and hard in my grip.

“Has anyone told you what a handsome devil you are Christopher Havelock?” I said, lazily fisting my prick and watching his clothes come off to reveal pale skin made golden in the firelight, the pelt of soft dark hair on his chest, the trail leading beneath the waistband. Kit didn’t reply. He turned to the side as he pushed his trousers and small clothes down over corded thighs sprinkled with ink-black hair. The shape of his arse was something I’d always liked. My hands wanted to be on that warm firm backside, gripping, kneading, and parting the cheeks.

“Will you let me fuck you?” My voice sounded shaky to my ears. Again, Kit didn’t answer, and I wondered if it was because no, he wouldn’t let me fuck him, or that he couldn’t answer. I recalled how he’d struggled with his desires when he was with Napier, how they’d fought, sharing an aggressive push-and-pull until Kit submitted. He picked up his garments, folded them, and placed them over the chair by my desk and I could see how his hands shook as he did it. Christopher Havelock, Duke of Penhelligan stood naked by the fire in my lowly bedroom, the light from the flames dancing over his skin made him look like some kind of ancient God. I’d seen carvings on the temples in a place called Khajuraho, Gods and Goddesses entwined in strange erotic poses. Kit wouldn’t have looked out of place as one of those gods tugging on his prick for eternity.

Kit turned his head, and almost shyly he said,

“We can do whatever you want Felix, whatever pleases you. Shall I lie on my belly over the bed?” The question confused me for a second, and then I reached out my free hand and said,

“No. Come here. We ain’t in no rush.” I let go of my prick and scooted over a little more. To be honest I was nervous and worried I’d spend too quickly. Kit came to the bed and I held the covers up to let him slip inside. The mattress sagged and the springs screeched as he lay back and got comfy. He pulled the covers up so that his hands gripped the edges. He turned his head and looked at me. We both let out nervous chuckles.

“This bed ain’t had two grown men in it before,” I snickered, “We’re going to have to take this slow and steady don’t you think?” I said leaning in and under the covers, letting my palm caress his hairy belly. Kit’s cheeks were flushed and it was like he was a different man. The coiled spring discomfort of earlier was gone. I loomed over him inspecting his face. He lifted his head from the pillow to kiss me. His hand tentatively moved up my arm slow and ticklish, then over my shoulder, as if he was working out the shape of me and how I was put together. I took hold of his wrist, the one that was scarred by the attempt Kit had made on his life at Wychwood. “It’s healed well,” I said as I lay tender kisses over the mottled skin.

“Because of you,” Kit whispered reverently. Using his free hand, he angled my head and kissed me again, and before I knew it, I was on my back and Kit was on top of me, cupping my cheeks, urgently nipping, kissing, and exploring my face and neck with such passion I couldn’t catch a breath. Our pricks were side by side pressed between our bellies, and that spinning sensation was back like I was a balloon and my string had been cut. I was soaring up into the stars, close to being burned by the sun.

We began a give and take, our hips moving like the ebb and flow of the tide. The old brass bed protested all the while, the springs sharing the telltale rhythmic squeak and squeal of thrusting for anyone to hear. Lucky for me Elowen’s bed was above the sitting room, and so the only things being kept awake by this racket were the mice! The sound of the springs made me laugh though, and I buried my face in Kit’s nape, unable to stop laughing. The thrusting stopped though, both of us put off our rhythm by the dreadful sound, and instead, we laughed. We laughed so hard Kit needed to roll off me to catch his breath. Tears streamed in my eyes.