The Wrong Rake by Eliot Grayson

Author:Eliot Grayson [Grayson, Eliot]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Smoking Teacup Books
Published: 2022-07-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Beaumont seemed quite insistent that Harry stay precisely where he was, and Harry wasn’t going to complain. Not when he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so utterly at peace. Years of warfare had left him with a rather thin roster of pleasant memories of physical comfort. But even if he’d been lounging in luxury for a decade, this moment would have become his new favorite.

The lean, muscular body beneath him seemed to have been made to fit his, every angle and curve aligning with his own. And Beaumont’s flushed skin and sated little smile, the way his eyelashes fanned against those rosy cheeks. The taste of his throat, salty and sweet under Harry’s tongue—for he couldn’t seem to stop nibbling and licking and kissing that smooth skin. Beaumont’s valet clearly earned whatever no-doubt-inflated wage the man paid him, for he was a genius with soap and a razor. Harry knew his own chin would be slightly prickly, as always, and thought with some guilt of the way he’d rubbed his face against Beaumont’s tender inner thighs. At least he hadn’t complained. Perhaps Harry ought to lick them later, to soothe any injury.

His cock, still buried inside Beaumont’s hot, yielding body, gave a little twitch at the thought. Good Lord, he’d never go fully soft at this rate. He’d stay on top of Beaumont all day, fucking into him lazily the moment his cock hardened enough after the last round.

Right here, with Beaumont’s hands stroking his back, and bloody hell, but that felt like nothing Harry could remember. None of the women he’d taken to bed had ever troubled to be gentle with him, perhaps supposing—rightly—that he didn’t require it, and perhaps because none of them cared enough.

But not requiring something didn’t mean one didn’t crave it, bone-deep. And though Harry’s body stretched out over Beaumont’s sheltered him from the world—from any danger, unlikely as it might be for any to come calling—and while Harry wanted it that way…Beaumont’s strong arms around him were protective, too. As if he could lay down his cares for a little while, knowing that he wouldn’t be entirely defenseless if he did. It felt rather as it had when he slept rough on some lonely Portuguese hillside with one of his comrades keeping watch a few feet away, only infinitely sweeter.

And unfortunately, he and Beaumont had a shared mission to complete, even though no one was at all likely to try to shoot them.

Beaumont’s blasted brother had to be dealt with.

Harry realized, with a little shock but no real surprise—for he’d slipped into liking Beaumont somewhere along the way, and couldn’t possibly resist the urge to protect the lover he had spread out beneath him all pliant and trusting—that his anger at the other Beaumont now stemmed in part from his attempts to lie to and extort money from this Beaumont, as well as from his treatment of Amelia.

Bollocks. He couldn’t stay inside Beaumont all day, after all.

With infinite care, he pushed up on his elbows and began to withdraw from the tight, wet, lovely heat that surrounded him.

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