Strongman (11 page)

Wait ‘til he told Griff!

Ah
,
fuck
.

Something in his face must have betrayed him. Jan stepped back, letting his hand drop and Fort turned, suddenly needing to be away from that raptor’s gaze.

“McLaren?”

“What?”

The Aetherii seemed to hesitate. “Whatever’s eating at you, you won’t find the answer at The Shuttered Lantern.”

Fort clenched his jaw. “How the hell would you know?”

“I’ve had my own…” Jan bared his teeth, “demons.”

Tension cramped in Fort’s shoulders, his neck. “So?”

“Solitude worked for me. And the high places. You could do worse.”

Fort literally couldn’t think of a word to say, so he grunted something that could have passed for a farewell and took two steps toward the door.

“
Wait
.”

Fort looked back over his shoulder.

The Aetherii stood with his hands on his hips, all dangerous, glowing beauty.

“Where the fuck…” his chest expanded and his wings arched behind his shoulders, “is your second blade?”

Fort blew out a breath. “I’m not carrying one,” he said blandly.

“It was a
bluff
?”

58

Strongman

Fort nodded.

An appalled expression flickered over Jan’s face. “Fuck the Veil!”

Fort laughed outright, a deep rumble of amusement. He was still laughing when he walked out into the Valaressan night.

59

Denise Rossetti

The most pleasant
,
relaxing way to see Valaressa is to hire a scull and view the sights from
water level
.
Given that the city is built on the mile
-
wide leaves of a gigantic sea plant
,
this mode
of travel allows the traveler access to each fascinating area
—
from the Noble Leaf with its fine
palazzos to the Leaf of Gems where fine jewelry is sold
.

“
The Kingdom of the Leaves of the Sea
:
a traveler
’
s guide
”,
2nd ed.
,
Miriliel the Burnished
,

10354 ATF
.

Griff hauled the fitted costume shirt off over his head and absentmindedly used it to towel his chest. He’d got through last night’s performance on sheer professionalism.

The slightest lapse in concentration under the Big Top could spell disaster, so despite the fact that Leo had told him Fort had gone whoring to Valaressa, he’d clenched his jaw and poured all his energy into ferocious, single-minded concentration. Narrow focus. Fuck Leo and his mouth that ran a mile a minute.

After it was over, the applause ringing under the canvas roof, Cizmar had made a point of telling him he’d never seen anything like it and could he do it again please?

Tossing the shirt aside, Griff huffed out a grim laugh.

Apparently not. Tonight, it had been a different story. For the first time in all the years, he’d been so erratic he’d actually frightened Katahaya, she of the iron nerve.

When the audience had screamed, it had been with genuine terror.

Fort had returned in time for his usual shift this morning, looking exactly the same—big, dark and brooding. Griff had heard his parade-ground bellow more than once, shouting orders as the roustabouts began striking tents and loading nonessential items onto wagons.

If only he could sort out the tangle inside him. Shit, he was a mess!

No sexual experience had ever been so perfect, so overwhelming, as Fort’s hard, calloused palm enveloping his cock, Fort’s deep voice controlling his orgasm, the big body pinning him down. And Twister, all the older man had done was kiss him, touch him…
own
him. Griff hadn’t been at all sure he’d survive the pleasure-pain of that magnificent cock pounding into his ass, but gods, he’d been willing to try!

He sank down on the edge of the bed, his eyes burning. Outside, the Ten Nations Fair settled slowly into night silence, the crowds trickling back over the bridge to Valaressa, their hearts and their purses considerably lighter.

He’d still been catching his breath, savoring the pleasure, relishing the drying, sticky mess of their combined seed on his belly, when Fort had turned away, his chest heaving, staring at a point in the air as though he gazed into the darkest, coldest pit of 60

Strongman

hell. All the blood had drained from his face until he was white to the lips, sweat beading his brow. Then he’d lurched to his feet and walked away without a word.

As if he was revolted.

Griff’s guts turned over. Well, that certainly put things into perspective. Griffid Ringman didn’t go where he wasn’t wanted. And outside the tavern tent… For a single wonderful instant, he’d thought he’d seen naked longing leap in Fort’s eyes. Gods, he was a fool! Because he’d been wrong, so wrong. Fort hadn’t been able to get away fast enough.

Twister, his head hurt! Come to think of it, he ached all over, as if he’d been beaten with sticks. Stumbling a little, he rose to heat water for roberry. He had some pellets of godspeace somewhere. Good for every kind of pain, the apothecary had said.

Griff’s lips twisted. What about the pain that wrapped its steely fingers around your heart, your pride? What about sickness of the very soul?

He ripped the lid off the pillbox with a vicious twist and green pellets scattered across the floor. Cursing, he dropped to his knees. With the movement, rage swept through him like a flash fire. So fucking what if he wasn’t good enough? He had nothing to apologize for, no reason for shame.

Fortitude McLaren could fucking go to hell.

Someone knocked at the door. Two firm, brisk raps.

Growling under his breath, Griff glared at it. Then he rose and wrenched it open.

“
What
?”

From two steps down, Fort’s clear gray eyes stared straight into his. “May I come in?”

Griff didn’t shift. “Why?”

Fort’s expression didn’t change. If anything, it grew more wooden. “I want to speak to you.”

Griff shrugged. “So speak.”

The other man’s jaw set. He thrust an object into Griff’s bare stomach, not gently.

“Here. You should have this.”

Reflex made Griff grab it before it fell. He looked down. “This is your harp,” he said slowly. “The one you got from Barnaby.”

“Yes.”

“I already have one, you know.”

“Yes, but you can play and I—” Fort stalled. A dull tide darkened his cheekbones, clear to see even though he stood in the shadows.

Griff raised a sardonic brow. “Buying me off, McLaren?” he asked, knowing Fort would do no such thing, but intending to wound and not caring. “I’m worth more than a secondhand harp, I think. Don’t you?”

61

Denise Rossetti

Fort’s eyes flashed. He raised a chin as hard as a granite cliff and glared down his nose. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he said. “I—” He broke off and nodded at something over Griff’s shoulder. “The water’s boiling.”

“Shit!” Griff shoved the harp in Fort’s general direction and leaped for a cloth. By the time he’d removed the kettle from the brazier, it was too late. The door had closed with a decisive click and Fort loomed at his elbow.

His heart thudding so hard it hurt, Griff kept his face turned away and his hands busy with brewing the roberry and setting out the cups.

Two
cups. Fuck.

When he reached up to put one back in the wall cupboard, a long arm reached over his head and plucked it from his hand. Fort’s smell surrounded him, the spicy soap he’d used, the fresh linen of his shirt, the warmth of his skin. Griff froze, his guts tangling in a spiky ball.

Pulling in a breath, he spun around and Fort took a swift step backward. He must have shaved before he’d come, for his strong jaw was smooth, healthy with a fresh outdoor tan.

Something savage shot through Griff. Holding the big man’s eye, he snarled, “Did you enjoy your whore?”

Every trace of animation disappeared from Fort’s face. He could have passed for a statue. “Not especially.”

“Really?” Griff poured a single cup of roberry. His hands didn’t shake, he noted absently. “Tits not big enough?”

Fort stalked over to the bed and laid the harp in the precise center of it. Playing for time, thought Griff, the blood thundering in his ears. The other man straightened, all bleak and flinty, the way he’d been when they’d first met. “What do you want to know, Griff? Every detail of every fuck?”

Griff’s fingers tightened on his cup. “Yes.” Twister, it was going to kill him. “You owe me that much.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Then why did you come here, Fort? To take up where we left off? To apologize?”

Griff nodded at the harp on the bed.

Fort glared and another dull flush raced up his neck and over his cheeks. He braced his feet apart and clasped his hands behind his back. Parade-ground rest. “I ran into Jan the Aetherii at The Unbridled Vran.” The words emerged clipped and angry, as though he hated the feel of them in his mouth. “We played a game of Black and White. When I won he gave me a chit for The Shuttered Lantern.”

Griff’s jaw dropped. “
What
? But it’s—”

“I know.” Fort gave a grim smile. “They offered me my choice. The girl turned out to be a Child of the Mother, a member of the King’s Bodyguard. Moonlighting.”

“And the other choices?”

62

Strongman

“Why?”

“Tell me, damn you!”

Fort pressed his lips together. “Two experienced courtesans, a blonde and a brunette. Three…young men. Also experienced.” His icy stare challenged Griff to make something of it.

Griff curled his lip. “Let’s get back to the warrior whore. How original. Describe her.”

The big man shrugged. “Tall for a woman. Muscled. Small high tits. Light brown hair. Dark eyes.”

Griff’s heart began a slow, slamming beat. He wished he could see her, stand at her shoulder before a mirror. “And then?” Burying his nose in his cup, he gulped, the brew hot and bitter on his tongue.

“Fuck, forget it!” Fort brushed past him and reached for the door, but the younger man snagged him above the elbow. He dug his fingers in.

“What did you do? Did you fuck her?”

Fort clamped a hand over Griff’s wrist and pried him off. “I had her bathe me, give me a massage.”

“
Did you fuck her
?”

“I wanted—” Fort wet his lips. “I used her mouth.”

Griff’s heart surged into his throat and tried to choke him. “What position?”

“Ruler God!” Fort cast him a look of pure dislike. “On her knees, you little shit! All right?”

The loose working trews Fort wore were tented. Griff flicked his tongue out to collect a drop of roberry from the corner of his mouth and watched the bulge twitch.

“So you didn’t fuck her after all, the high-priced whore,” he murmured, suddenly and vividly aware that all he wore were his costume tights. Even his feet were bare.

Fort stared at the roberry pot. “I had to get back to the Fair.”

“Of course you did.”

“I still have credit on the chit. We could…” The big man ran a hand through his hair.

Griff closed the distance between them, his legs trembling. “Yes?” he whispered.

“We could share.” Fort shot out a big hand and gripped Griff’s jaw, tilting his head up at an awkward angle. “I asked her. Described you. She agreed.”

Griff laid his fingers lightly over Fort’s wrist. “You could do that? Share a woman with me?” The return of hope was so acute, it was agonizing.

A pause. “Yes.” The word came out in a gravelly bass.

“What else can you do, Fort?” Griff wasn’t sure his voice was even audible, but Fort’s eyes went smoky, the way he loved. “This?” He used the big man’s grip to steady 63

Denise Rossetti

himself as he rose to press his lips against Fort’s, no more than a fleeting pressure, the merest hint of tongue.

The other man went rigid against him, his broad chest barely moving with his shallow breath. He didn’t respond.

Griff whispered into his mouth. “You touch me, touch my cock, and I come apart, you know that?”

“Yes,” croaked Fort.

“So that’s another thing you can do.” Griff snaked a hand down between their bodies and loosened the laces of Fort’s trews. “Close your eyes, Fort. Pretend I’m her.”

The silence was so profound, the sound of their rasping breaths filled the wagon.

Griff slipped his fingers under Fort’s waistband and a heated length of velvet over steel thrust itself into his grasp. He slid his thumb over the smooth, bulbous head and Fort hissed. But he didn’t close his eyes.

Infinitely slowly, Griff lowered himself to his knees, rubbing his cheek against the soft linen shirt, the hard stomach, the jutting hipbones. Fort could stand there and take it or he could fucking run. Either way, he was getting every chance.

But the other man stood as if frozen. Griff pulled the trews down far enough to release Fort’s magnificent cock so that it arched forward as if spring-loaded.

What the hell. Why not?

He pushed some more, until the trews hung halfway down Fort’s massive thighs and the warm weight of his testicles fell into Griff’s eager palm.

Deliberately, Griff raised his eyes, snaring Fort’s molten gaze. Holding the big man’s eye, he stuck out his tongue and licked a trail around the smooth dome of Fort’s cock head, tasting heat, his nostrils full of male musk.

“Ruler—!” Fort jerked so violently Griff lost his grip.

He sat back on his heels, staring up, a half-smile on his lips. “You haven’t shut your eyes. Is this something else you can do?”

“Bastard.” Fort fumbled his hands behind him and braced himself against the table.

His voice was so hoarse and deep it was barely intelligible. “Go on, damn you!”

Griff administered another kitten lick, whisking his tongue over the weeping slit, almost as if Fort’s broad shaft was one of the spun sugar cones they sold in the Fair. But he didn’t taste sweet, not at all. He was hot and salty, like tears, with a trace of bitterness. Utterly intoxicating.

Where Griff’s shoulder pressed into Fort’s thigh, the shudders rippled bone-deep.