The Hunt Club Chronicles Bundle (41 page)

“If I had knocked I wouldn’t have caught him molesting you.” Rupert hurried across the room toward Francis and swung a punch. Quick as lightning, Francis dumped his son on the floor and set his knee to his back.

“Release me, you damned sodomite,” Rupert hissed.

“Keep him there, Red, while I find a robe.” Slowly, Ambrose shuffled around the room, snatching a robe from a distant chair, locking the door and then struggling to get his arms into the sleeves. “Damn, that stings.”

He tied the belt slowly, and then approached his violently thrashing son. “Stand him up.”

Francis hauled his son to his feet as if he weighed nothing. Although Rupert struggled, he couldn’t free himself from Francis’ hold. He scowled. “Get this bastard off me.”

“No. Francis does my bidding, not yours. You will listen to my explanation without interruption or I will make your life an absolute misery.”

“How can you stand him?”

“Very easily.” He smiled. “Rupert, as you get better acquainted with the world you will discover that pleasure is found in many places. I happen to enjoy the company of men as well as women in my bed. Many do. Will you call me a damned sodomite, too?”

Rupert’s mouth fell open. “You can’t be serious.”

Ambrose shook his head. “I pursued
Redding
. Not the other way around. He is a good and honorable man, Rupert. Loyal, and completely devoted to me, and to our family. How could I not want the rest of him?”

“You’ve fucked him before?”

Ambrose frowned. “I will not answer that. The matter is none of your business. Just as your personal life, including who you take to your bed while you are married to Sally, is none of mine.”

Rupert struggled. “It’s unnatural.”

From what he could see, Rupert did not understand his attraction and he didn’t know how to convince him that there was nothing he wanted to change about his life, except maybe hurrying along his health so he could recommence seducing Francis.

He was about to speak when Francis leaned close to Rupert ear. “Do you remember Lord Ives, my lord?”

“We attended
Eton
together.” Rupert paled. “What about him?”

“Such a sad case. They claimed his death an accident but, really, who shoots their prick off by mistake?”

“He never did,” Rupert whispered, eyes widening in horror.

A look of profound sympathy crossed Francis’ face. “I’m afraid he did. You know why, don’t you?”

Rupert shook his head. “I know nothing about the matter. I heard it was an accident and that is the end of it.”

Ambrose set his good hand to his hip. “Well, I’d like to know what the two of you are whispering of. Francis, the details if you please.”

Rupert looked about to faint.

Francis slowly released his hold on Rupert and took a few steps back. “I’m afraid I cannot share them, Your Grace. The matter was laid to rest long ago. Trust me. You do not need to know the details. Everyone has secrets that should be kept. I’m sure his lordship will agree.”

Ambrose considered insisting but something in the way Rupert stood, drained of fight and filled with sadness, stopped him from asking further. If Francis thought he didn’t need to know then he would trust him to keep the knowledge to himself. He wouldn’t reveal family secrets. He already knew so many. And the leverage of having a quiet hold over Rupert might help his son forget or ignore what he’d seen them doing in his bed because he had no intention of stopping.

“What did you come to see me about, Rupert?”

Rupert’s head rose. “The doctor has confirmed my wife is with child. I thought you would be anxious to hear the news first hand.”

Ambrose beamed. “Congratulations, Rupert.” He stepped forward to embrace his son, but Rupert took a pace back suddenly. Ambrose frowned at his retreat.

“I should be going,” Rupert mumbled, and then hurried for the door.

Ambrose watched him go, saddened that his boy would no longer look at him. It wasn’t the worst scenario he’d imagined. But at least he still had his head.

Francis caught his hand and squeezed. “He’ll come around, I’ve no doubt of that. Give him time.”

Ambrose leaned back against the one man who’d always accepted his nature as a normal one. “What do you know about him that I don’t?”

Francis curled his arm around Ambrose’s waist and shuffled him back toward the bed. “That he is as stubborn as his father and loves his family. Don’t worry about him. Worry about you?”

“Why? Am I in danger?”

Francis chuckled against his neck and pressed light kisses against his skin. “No danger to be found here, but—” he slid a hand between the folds of Ambrose’s robe and stroked his prick “—you might worry if I’ll ever let you come before I’m through.”

Ambrose’s pulse hammered. “Lock the door, Red, and put a chair under the handles, too, just in case Rupert comes back quickly. I don’t want any more interruptions today.”

Francis nipped at his neck. “Stay here.” His lover left him suddenly, locked the door, jammed a chair beneath it and returned before his prick even felt the cold. Instead of tumbling him into bed, Francis tugged him toward the wall, and pulled him hard against his groin. They kissed, tongues stumbling over each others in their rush to taste the other. Although his right shoulder ached, he did what he could to caress his lover with both hands.

Francis turned him suddenly, pressing his thick prick against his thinly covered arse. After a huff, he teased the silk robe from Ambrose’s shoulders and the expensive garment pooled at their feet. He kicked it away as Francis’ rough hand captured his hips. He tugged, and Ambrose landed hard against bare scorching skin. He gasped at the pleasure of the touch and tried to turn.

“Stay like this.” Francis dipped and his thick prick slid between his thighs and nudged his bollocks with the hot tip. “Please.”

Francis captured Ambrose’s prick with a heavy groan and he shuffled his hand over the aching length. When he worked his prick back and forth beneath Ambrose’s body, Ambrose shook.

“God that feels good.” He turned his head, and met Francis’ lust filled eyes. “Why did I wait so long?”

Francis kissed him swiftly. “Because you are an idiot, Your Grace. But a sick one, so I will do all the work. You like this?”

“Hell, what’s not to like,” Ambrose whispered, taking care to keep from shouting his pleasure loud for the whole house to hear. “The only thing better would be if you fucked me with that monster.”

“I didn’t think.”

“Oh, I do. I like to give and receive. In fact, stick your hand into that drawer. Top drawer, near the back.”

His prick was released and the small bottle of oil extracted. But Francis frowned. “What is this for?”

“My arse and your prick. We’ll need some lubrication for a comfortable fit.”

“Oh.”

Ambrose smiled at Francis’ expression and worked the stopper from the bottle. “Rub some on your length, and some on my arse then line up and take me. I’m yours if you want me.”

A silly grin crossed Francis’ face as he quickly applied the oil, but when his hand rose, glistening with the slick substance, he looked confused. Ambrose grabbed his wrist and thrust it against his own arse. Slowly, he probed between his cheeks and Ambrose almost spilled his seed at the first touch. Hell he might not last a minute beyond being taken. The thought of Francis’ big prick sliding inside him made him quiver.

He took a deep breath to steady himself, and then leaned against the wall. He pulled one cheek aside for Francis. Warmth crowded his back, warm hands touching him intimately. And then the large head pressed against him. Unfortunately, the alignment wasn’t perfect. Ambrose captured the slick length and guided Francis slightly lower.

He grunted when his hole stretched, kept his breathing slow and calm as Francis pressed further in and pressed his eyes to his folded arm on the wall at the wonder of the incredible stretch. A slight pinching pain burned his ring as Francis slowly worked himself deeper. When he was settled deep, Ambrose opened his eyes and glanced over his shoulder.

“Oh, fuck,” Francis groaned. His hips moved, in and out and back again. He looked to be in heaven and Ambrose quite agreed. Making love to the right man made all the difference.

He pushed back against his lover with each thrust, encouraging him to a rougher taking. Francis’ fingers tightened on his hips, grinding them together relentlessly as pleasure took them closer to the abyss.

Ambrose glanced down at his aching prick, watching it bob with each hard thrust and leak more seed. He set his head to the wall so he could stroke his flesh, but as his fingers curled around his length, Francis’ oily palm covered them.

“Allow me,” Francis whispered against his ear, his movements slowing to a snail’s pace. The slow slide of an oiled hand, the sense of anticipation fizzling along his nerves, brought Ambrose close to the brink.

He nodded since his shoulder ached like fire, but wished he wasn’t so useless.

He pressed his arm to the wall as Francis stroked his flesh, fucked his arse harder, and reveled in his lover’s softly uttered grunts of pleasure. His bollocks drew up tight, arse stinging as Francis grew frenzied and when his lover groaned into his hair he came, spurting his release against the wall with a satisfying splat.

He shook from the force of it. From the strength of emotion behind the pleasure. It had been so long since he’d felt that way and he reached for Francis’ leg to keep them connected as long as possible. After a time, Francis slipped free of him. The loss of that thick length made him want it all over again. He turned around and leaned against the wall for support.

Francis crowded him. “Is your shoulder all right?”

So considerate. He looped his good arm over the broad shoulder and drew Francis’ head closer for a kiss. “Of course I’m all right. I have you.”

Chapter Eleven

Sitting alone in a carriage with Lord Bracknell the day after being found kissing his father was perhaps not the safest activity Francis had ever engaged in.
Bracknell
was sullen, spoke only in clipped tones, and stared out the carriage window as they rumbled along
London
’s streets. But
Bracknell
had offered him a seat inside the carriage, rather than atop beside the grooms getting drenched in the rain, so he did his best to be unobtrusive and give him no cause to be more annoyed.

As the carriage pulled up at the rear of the building, Francis stepped out first, waved away the groom and held the door open.

Bracknell
joined him but he was scowling. “Why the rear entrance?”

“His Grace’s orders, my lord. He wanted you to see everything else before the patrons know you are admitted to the club.” He leaned a little closer so the grooms would not overhear. “Since you have no idea what goes on, and society is aware that you are not a member, you can greet everyone later with all the facts in your possession. His Grace did not want you to be uncomfortable.”

Bracknell
strode forward. “And he didn’t think that would already have been the case? I’ve had dozens of lords laughing at my ignorance for years.”

Francis gritted his teeth. He’d known of the jibes aimed at
Bracknell
. It was his job to protect the family, but he hadn’t stepped in often enough, it seemed. Perhaps that accounted for
Bracknell
’s perpetual bad mood.