Indulgence 2: One Glimpse (27 page)

Sam cried out. His fingers found their way to John’s shoulders and gripped him through the thin fabric of his shirt. John took him in deeper, encouraged despite his utter lack of experience. Even with the men he had hired over the years, he had rarely encouraged them to pleasure him like this. He had always assumed it to be a distasteful and degrading act for the giver, but Sam had dashed that belief. The sounds Sam had made while sucking him… Bloody hell! John had spent a week reliving them, and now he heard the same hungry moans rumble from his own throat. The taste, which he had expected to be revolting, was anything but. The musky tang seemed to envelop his senses, and his mouth watered for more. Then there was the weight, the heat, the silken texture, everything.

Sliding his hands over Sam’s waistband, John pushed it down and kneaded his fingers into the bare skin of Sam’s hips. Sam cried out again. His breathing soon became little more than needy pants. He kept touching the back of John’s head, only to pull his hand away again.

Restraint. John would have none of that.

He met Sam’s gaze and sank down, taking him as far as he dared. Sam’s eyes were so dark as to be almost black, and his mouth hung open in a look of absolute wonder, desperate and free, pleading and demanding all at once, and the sight left John feeling powerful.

“Ah! Stop, stop!” Sam cried. “Not yet, I’m too close.”

The urge to taste Sam in every way made John want to continue, but he released him with one last lick and stood. He cupped Sam’s jaw, then hesitated over his lips. Should he kiss him? What would he think of that after he had just—

Sam brought their lips together, his tongue just as demanding and greedy as in the carriage. John opened, and Sam’s explorations nearly made his knees buckle. Sam licked at John’s lips, his tongue, the roof of his mouth; not a kiss, but
licking,
as if desperate to taste him. Or taste himself on him. John’s legs trembled.

John broke the kiss. When Sam reached for him again, he held Sam’s wrist in an iron grip. Sam stared at John, eyes wide and unsure as he slowly brought the wrist to his lips and kissed the pulse point.

“You’re killing me, you know that?” Sam said around ragged breaths.

“So long as it’s the little death.” John smiled against Sam’s skin, then pulled him around to the side of the bed. He couldn’t wait much longer. He was hard as stone and pressing painfully against the fall of his trousers. He crowded Sam back until his thighs hit the side of the bed.

“I’ve thought about nothing but you for days.” John watched Sam’s reaction as he slid his hands under his shirt. Sam lifted his arms obediently, and the shirt joined the rest of the clothes on the floor. Moments passed as John gazed over Sam’s chest and the mangled state of his breeches hanging halfway to his knees. He was strongly built, his chest and shoulders pronounced from his routine at Jackson’s. His torso was thick and solid, a bulky strength John had noticed the moment they met. A generous field of curly black hair covered his chest, fading to wisps as it trailed down to his groin.

It was when John ran his gaze up Sam’s torso along that tactile trail that he flinched and looked off across the room.

“Sam, you’re gorgeous.”

Sam made a strangled sound like a laugh but didn’t say anything else. He merely shook his head and looked across the room. John did not argue. He could show Sam what he thought of him far better than he could say it. In a swift motion he pulled his own shirt off over his head and tossed it on the pile with Sam’s.

“Get on the bed. I’ve thought about this for a damned week, and I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

Sam scurried back onto the bed.

I’M HERE WITH him. Alone. This is happening.

Sam scooted back on the bed, his gaze locked with John’s. The way he was looking at Sam, no one had ever looked at him that way. The bronze in John’s eyes danced with the firelight, but it was his sweeping looks over Sam’s naked body that left him struggling to breathe. And then he remembered that he wasn’t entirely naked.

Sam reached to push his breeches off, but the buttons were still fastened at his knees and he could not pull the tight bands over his calves.

“Why do clothes have to be so damned complicated?” John smirked and made short work of the buttons while Sam watched, once again feeling as if he was in a wondrous daze. He broke through it long enough to take in John’s half-naked perfection. Was there another man so perfectly formed? Hardly a bit of fat marred the carved lines of his body, all the way from his broad shoulders to the hard V at his hips. But even all that was nothing compared to that bronze gaze fixed on him.

“You are staring quite intently at me,” John teased.

“You’re perfect,” Sam said, then hid his face in the sheets.

“And you’re
gorgeous
.” With that, John moved back and pulled Sam’s breeches down his legs, taking his stockings and shoes along with them.

Sam gasped and shifted farther back on the bed. He was completely naked, staring as John finished shedding his own clothes. John’s cock slipped free and bobbed down as if pointing at Sam. His own bounced hungrily at the sight. He had not been able to see John very well that night in the country. He took in the sight and marveled how his fantasies had paled in comparison.

He rose to get closer, but John crawled over him, straddling his legs and bending down for another breath-stealing kiss. Sam cupped the back of John’s head, then wrapped both arms around John’s neck as he sank back onto the bed. John went down with him, covering him, just as Sam had imagined in so many dreams. Not all of the dreams had featured John, or even most of them, but they were always like this. The surrender, the need, the feel of hot male flesh covering him and pressing him down. He wanted it so badly it hurt, but had never sought it. It was too close, too easily twisted into an opportunity for derision. On the few occasions he had been needy and foxed enough to let a man take him, it had been nothing like this. He could hardly remember their faces. Only their brutish words as they took pleasure is using someone who never let himself be used.

The unwelcome memories made Sam go still when John pressed a knee between his thighs, parting them.

“All right?” John said against his neck.

“It’s been a while. I-I don’t usually…” Sam didn’t want to say anything that would make John stop, but he didn’t want to hide from him anymore either.

John stopped kissing him and pulled back to see Sam’s face. Sam hated the look of uncertainly in John’s eyes.

“You don’t like to…?” John sighed, as if searching for the right words, but Sam knew what he meant.

“I have, a few times, but not in a long time. I didn’t like…”
The men.

Disappointment flashed across John’s face, but was immediately replaced with a smile. “All right. There are other things we can do.”

“No. I want to.”

John frowned. “But you don’t like it.”

“No, I do.” And Sam did like it. Even with those few harsh bastards, he had always found his release.

John brushed strands of hair away from Sam’s forehead, making him shiver. “If you like it, why has it been such a long time?”

“Because I…”
Enough, Sam.
“Because I don’t trust anyone enough.”

“Do you trust me?” John said, his breaths coming quicker.

“Yes.”

John dropped his head against Sam’s neck, humming his pleasure as he sucked the skin over his collarbone. At the same time John moved his other knee between Sam’s thighs, spreading them until Sam felt a kind of mad relief. Mad because he never thought he would feel such comfort having a man cradled between his legs. He spread farther, gasping when John rolled his hips and stroked their cocks together.

Sam groaned. He lifted his hips in counterpoint as John ground against him. He was so sensitive he could already feel that hot, tingling sensation pooling at the base of his spine.

“Are you as ready as I am?” John laughed, skimming his lips over Sam’s throat.

“God, yes.”

John reached across the bed and fumbled beneath one of the pillows until he pulled out a small corked vile. Sam snorted.

“Don’t mock me for being prepared.” John sat back on his shins and curled his hands under Sam’s thighs. Sam laughed as he was pulled closer, an action that also splayed his legs wider. John uncorked the bottle.

Sam tensed again but shook the unease away. John wouldn’t be rough or impatient. He wasn’t like those drunken mistakes.

“Now I can tell you how long I’ve imagined this.” John poured oil in his palm, then deftly recorked the bottle with one hand. He gripped his cock and stroked from base to tip. Sam watched, transfixed, as John’s hard, steady strokes swelled him even more. Beads of moisture dripped down from his flushed head to join the oil.

“Do you want me to tell you?” John said, his voice like gravel.

“Yes.”

“Not nearly long enough. I saw you, but I didn’t see you. And then you were there in front of me.” John stroked harder.

The sight of John was so arousing—such an inadequate word!—part of Sam hoped John would spend just like that, over him, on him. The thought started his insides tingling again.

“No, no,” John muttered, releasing himself. He took up the bottle again, his hands not so steady this time. Their eyes locked as John circled an oil-slicked finger across Sam’s entrance.

Yes!
Sam bucked his hips, drawing a hum of pleasure from John. He circled a few more times, then pressed one thick finger inside. There was no pain. The shock of that was almost as intense as the pleasure. John stretched Sam gently until he added another finger. Sam knew John watched his face, reading him, and he wanted to meet John’s eyes, but it was too much. The pleasure and the exposure together were too much.

“So warm,” John murmured. His voice was rougher, making Sam’s skin heat in a way even John’s hands could not accomplish. John touched that wondrous spot deep inside and a jolt of pleasure seared through Sam. He lifted his hips off the bed and writhed. He reached for John, wanting and needing to touch him.

“Now. Please.” Sam opened his eyes just as John rose up on his knees. There was blunt pressure against his entrance, then the burn as John pressed his cock into him, stretching him. Sam bore down, and John eased into him inch by inch until there was nowhere left to go.

They kissed. Deep, hungry kisses that left them both gasping. Sam wrapped his legs around John’s hips and pressed his heels against John’s arse. John rolled his hips deep, and stars danced before Sam’s eyes.

“Fuck!”

“I hope that’s good.” John chuckled.

Sam responded with another shouted curse as John rolled his hips again. Then again, until he set a rhythm just slow enough to keep Sam from the edge, but fast enough to reduce him to a writhing mess.

“You’re so tight.” John breathed against his ear. “Good God, Sam.”

Sam managed some unintelligible words. He was too consumed with the pleasurable climb taking over his body, but at the same time totally aware of John. Sam was so used to focusing on the pleasure alone. He was never cruel or dismissive of his bed partners, but there had always been that moment when he lost sight of them and knew nothing but his own sensations. But John’s heat, the smell of his skin, the sound of his moans; they couldn’t be separated from the pleasure. They
were
the pleasure.

“Harder,” Sam demanded, then again, louder. “Harder!”

John broke his rhythm to rise up on his knees. He trailed his hands down Sam’s stomach to his hips, then gripped his spread thighs. Sweat glistened on John’s skin, and his hair was wild. The image alone had Sam toeing the edge.

John snapped his hips forward, hard. Then again and again, slamming their bodies together until the bed frame scraped the floor. Pleasure ripped through Sam, building. John pushed Sam’s thighs forward, almost pressing his knees into his chest. Sweat beaded at his temples, sticking his hair to his forehead.

“Sam, Sam,” John panted, his eyes closed.

“I’m close.” Sam clenched his eyes and tilted his head back again. He wasn’t going to last much longer, and then John’s thrusts slowed.

“Look at me. Sam, look at me!”

Sam met the intensity of John’s gaze.

“Tell me you want me.”

Sam’s mind went blank. How could John doubt he wanted him? “I want you.”

A visible shudder ran over John. He quickened his pace. “Say it again.”

“I want you.”

“Again!”

“I want you!” Sam whimpered, and suddenly he wanted to cover his face again. He wanted to hide but didn’t know why.

John gripped Sam’s thighs tighter. His gaze was beyond intense, almost desperate. “Tell me when you wanted me.”

“I-I don’t know.” Tears started to cloud Sam’s vision. Why couldn’t he say it? It made no sense.

“Tell me. God, you feel so good. Tell me!”

Pleasure blinded Sam. The edge was so close, and something in him gave way. “Always!” he howled. “I’ve always wanted you. The first time I saw you, damn it. You’re so beautiful.”

John let out a roar that sounded like triumph. His back arched, and the veins in his neck throbbed as he threw his head back in release. Sam felt the hot gush of John’s seed deep inside just as his own moment came, dashing him to pieces. His vision blurred; sound became a crashing waterfall, and every muscle in him trembled and jerked. His release splashed across his chest and over his chin.

For a few seconds, he was not even sure if he was still conscious.

John collapsed over him. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. He crawled up Sam’s body, sprinkling kissing over his shoulder. Then, without hesitation, he licked through the line of seed on Sam’s chin.

“Ha!” Sam burst out laughing, but it was unlike any laugh he had ever made. It was all joy and shock and relief. He wrapped his arms tight around John and just kept laughing until John was doing the same. Mad and utterly out of place, they laughed and held each other until they were hoarse, and then the only sounds in the room were the soft smacks of their kisses and the logs falling in the fire.

Chapter Fourteen