AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Oh yes,” Ash said. “I like knowing things. And this…” He got up, in stocking feet, and came over. Standing, he was the tallest: elegant and awkward, a hummingbird, a dart of motion. He did indeed have ink on one sleeve, Cam observed, hopelessly fond.
Ash put a fingertip on Blake’s plush mouth. “I think I’m finding I like being in charge. I’m not certain I can cause pain. I don’t think I want to. But the way this feels, the way he looks…it’s about pleasure, isn’t it? I can give him this.” He looked down at Blake, on both knees on the floor between them. “I can give you this.”
Blake kissed Ashley’s fingertip, reverent. “Yes.”
“All right,” Ash said. “Show me.”
Chapter 3
Both bedrooms sat one story above, up the narrow stairs; the house had been designed as long and slender. The second bedroom had, in theory, been Cam’s, if anyone had ever inquired: a convenient fiction. They’d used it for guests, on occasion; a certain circle of friends knew about certain preferences, in terms of liking men and liking specific pleasures.
Cam had lost touch with most of those friends, gradually, through the last six years. Hugh had been more outgoing, more playful; Cam in the wake of grief had not known how to talk to people, how to be alone in a group of men partnered and paired. He had not wanted to flirt with anyone else; he had not wanted to find anyone else. He’d stopped replying to any invitations beyond a quick meeting at a coffee-house or a professional association. He’d let connections ebb.
He wondered, now, whether things might’ve been different if he hadn’t. But then he wouldn’t’ve been so lonely, and he might not have looked at the scandalous Earl of Thorns in the rain outside a bookshop and seen a kindred loneliness there…
They were here now. And he brought Blake and Ash back to his bedroom, with the tall narrow rain-lashed windows and the long emerald curtains and the bare floors under a thick woven colorful rug, local, not imported, but nicely textured and good for muffling sound.
The walls were generally bare, practical, plain. Cam’s main indulgence was the novels; Hugh’s had been scientific equipment, new alchemical projects, glass and heat and exploration of ingredients. Neither of them had cared much for art or fripperies.
They’d had one other indulgence, of course.
Ashley’s eyes were lakes of excited hazel. “I like your bed.”
It was a very nice bed, large, four-posted, strong enough for certain activities. Cam said, “I’m pleased you do,” and put a hand on the nape of Blake’s neck. “You remember where we keep things, lad?”
“Yes,” Blake said. “Do you want me to fetch them?”
“Aye. Naked.”
He heard Ash’s tiny gasp, at that. He didn’t look over; he watched Blake. Who readily, easily, stripped for them: no protest, purely obedient. He was luscious naked; Cam had always thought so. Rugged, powerful, sun-bronzed; scarred, having been knocked about, but solid. Gloriously masculine, too, in shoulders, thighs, broad chest, proud thick erection.
Blake went to the tall chest in the corner, opened it. Turned. “Rope, and the cane?”
“You did ask for it.”
Ash shivered. “A cane…”
“He’ll feel good.” Cam gathered Ash up for a kiss. “I promise.”
Blake came back with a length of heavy golden rope, smooth, made for this purpose—Cam had known someone, years ago, who’d been quite good at that, and discreet—and also the slim length of wood: polished, straight, a smooth dark line that could be a gentleman’s fashionable accessory, if one wished to pretend it was only that.
Cam did not wish to pretend it was that. Not here, not now.
He took both, balancing the weight. He and Hugh had learned, had explored desires, together. He had not practiced much, since. One night, three years before Blake, because he’d been so lonely and so empty. It had been good in terms of simple release, but not as good as Blake Thornton, kneeling with devout supplication.
Blake waited now, naked, for command.
Cam said, softly, “So eager for us, aren’t you?” and stroked his cheek. His Blake needed a shave; the texture was good, though. “Against the bedpost, I think. For a demonstration.”
Blake nodded, and went: arms up, back and arse and thighs bared to them, prick pressed against hard wood.
“Oh…” Ash’s voice danced over the sound. “You actually…tie him to the post…”
“Not every time. But you want to see it.” He caught Ash’s hand, drew him over: talking while binding Blake’s arms, wrists, tight enough for support. Blake moaned, hips shifting; Cam let him rub himself against the post, since it’d only be more torment. “It’ll work over the bed. Some other options. The cane’s more…special occasions. Started with my hand, last time. Finished with that, too, come to think of it—my hand on him.”
Ash petted Blake’s naked back. He was, Cam noticed, decidedly hard: prick full, eyes wide and dark. Ash touched the rope, and then Blake’s outstretched arms, running a hand along muscles. Blake whimpered, hips moving more. Ash stroked his shoulder, his hip. The curve of his arse. “You like this? Being ours, being at our mercy…knowing we can do what we like, to you…”
“Yes,” Blake begged. “Yes.”
