Page 27 of To Save a Scoundrel’s Soul

Valentin’s fingers stroked the inside of Mickey’s wrist as his knowing mouth touched all the places Mickey ached the most. The centre of his neck, the edge of his hair, the crook of his elbow. Kneeling before him, Valentin kissed between the part of Mickey’s legs, his cock too. Fat, wet kisses melted into licks, then dissolved into nibbles and sucks until lava lit up Mickey’s insides, hot and sweet and thick.

When the bed caught him, Valentin crawled up Mickey’s body, pausing only to throw Mickey’s legs over his shoulders so he could suck and lick and taste some more. His tongue buried behind, too, opening Mickey up and darting inside with quick flicks until Mickey gasped and wriggled away.

“I shall spend too soon,” he panted, “if you do that.” All he saw was Valentin’s dark mass of hair deep between his thighs as his hands held Mickey open. Valentin pulled away, filling the void with his fingers instead, his mouth split wide in a wet grin.

“Better?”

Before Mickey could answer, Beauregard’s mouth closed around his cock again, his long fingers continuing what torture his tongue had begun.

“Worse,” he gasped, writhing.

Around his cock, Valentin made a snuffling sound of pure unfiltered delight. A wave of heat spread through Mickey’s body, from his toes upwards, and he had a ridiculous urge to giggle. He felt wanton and loose, alive and unharried. Part of him knew he should be reciprocating somehow—offering his arse to Valentin, or at least pleasuring him with his hand. The man had fed him and flattered him; he would expect something in return. Men always expected something in return. But another part of Mickey was enjoying it too much to care, so he weaved his fingers through Valentin’s hair and submitted to a thorough cossetting.

When a familiar tremor of anticipation danced through his limbs, Mickey pushed Valentin away.

Valentin resisted. “Your taste is as sweet as your scent, London,” he whispered, mopping up Mickey’s spend. Then he straddled Mickey’s bare chest, wiping a hand across his mouth. “My turn now, but only if you wish it.”

Valentin fed him his cock, Mickey taking it to the back of his throat, sucking sloppily through panting breaths. Above him, Valentin tossed his head back, the long line of his neck damp and flushed. Mickey finished the Frenchman with his hand, hot splatters littering his chest, neck and face. Wanting them there. Wanting to swipe them with his finger and lick them up.

He closed his eyes when Valentin clambered off, luxuriating in the comfort of the soft mattress and a wonderful sense of satiety. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Mickey shouldn’t be rolling the Frenchman’s name around his tongue over and over, now that he had permission to use it. He shouldn’t be lying here still, with his head manoeuvred onto Valentin’s chest because Valentin insisted, and Mickey was too idle to protest. It was frustrating, this warmth towards Valentin that wasn’t wanted, this pull that wasn’t invited. And he didn’t know what to make of it.

More than anything, though, Mickey wanted to kiss Valentin’s mouth, currently a tranquil still line. He wanted the scratch of Valentin’s bristles, the rasp of his tongue, the edge of his teeth. But only an ass would ask now that sex was over, and Mickey had far too many chores remaining this afternoon to dally much longer anyhow. Reluctantly, he untangled himself.

“I refuse to allow you to rise so soon,” Beauregard murmured sleepily. “There is more of you I wish to uncover.”

“You have truly explored every inch.” Colour warmed Mickey’s cheeks; he’d never had his entrance so thoroughly indulged. “Inside and out. And stolen the strength from my legs. But I must pay a visit to one of Tommy’s establishments in Shoreditch before nightfall. They are expecting me.”

Valentin rose up, efficiently flipping Mickey onto his back. His clever fingers toyed with Mickey’s nipple before he licked his tongue across it. Shoreditch might have to wait a little longer.

“But you still have not shared any of your secrets with me.” Valentin’s mouth left Mickey’s nipple to form a pout, making Mickey yearn to kiss it more than ever. “So, I shall have to make some up. About how you seduce like a magician, how when I am here with you, the world disappears in a puff of smoke.”

Mickey stretched, feeling limber. “Frankly, that is ridiculous.”

“That is only the beginning,” said Valentin, grinning. “I shall continue for hours if you refuse to divulge a secret. I can pretend that you—”

“All right,” Mickey grumbled. “Let me see…” He frowned, trying to put thoughts collected over the course of his acquaintance with the Frenchman into words. Somewhere beneath the ever-present weight of his work and routines, Valentin had stirred in Mickey a listless ache, a yearning for the sharp scents of foreign cities, a restless hunger that neither Squire’s, nor the racetrack, nor the company of familiar friends quite satisfied. Even now, with all he had, the hours, days, months, and years ahead spooled before him. The same faces, the same worries, the same simple tasks: the ledger sheets, the murmurs of ton gossip, the clink of coins landing in Tommy’s coffers.

“I am envious of all you have seen.” In all fairness, this was not an especially well-kept secret. Nor was it an explanation of his exact emotions at all. But his lunch-and-bed-sport companion didn’t need to hear all that rubbish, and he’d never manage to express a word of it, anyhow, without sounding ungrateful. “Will that do? I’m envious that your hands have touched the smooth marbles of Carrera and your feet have trodden the streets of Paris. I’m envious of Rome. Of the handsome men you have seen there. Of your free spirit to travel wherever you choose.”

“Don’t be. My free spirit was merely killing time.” Valentin’s mouth pressed a trail of tender kisses up from Mickey’s nipple, stopping at his ear. “I know that now, since it has travelled here.” He parted Mickey’s legs with his thigh and took Mickey’s wrists, laying both his arms above his head. Then he kissed his way back down an arm, his damp shaft nudging Mickey’s, both of them thickening once more. “And here.” He brought Mickey’s knee up, spreading him wide. He pushed his swollen head against Mickey’s hole. “And especially here.”

And then Valentin made love to Mickey until his work for Tommy felt as if it were nothing but killing time too. Shoreditch was nothing but a place name on a map because whatever business Mickey had there was long forgotten.

Chapter Nine

“THAT FANCY FRENCH fella’s here to see you.”

Sidney pronounced French in the way one might introduce a dose of the clap into a conversation. “Do yer want him in here or in your”—he threw Mickey a wolfish look—“rooms, like last time?”

Mickey felt his face turning crimson and his pulse flutter even as he scowled. “Are there no secrets in this blasted place?”

“Yer loud, Mickey lad. My bedchamber lies directly below yours.”

Oh, capital. Now Tommy and Sidney would tease him mercilessly.

He cleared his throat and gave a brisk nod. “Here, obviously. It’s the middle of the day. I can’t afford the time for social calls when I’m running my cousin’s business.”

Sidney winked. “Not sure he’s here on Tommy’s business, lad. Not unless Tommy’s branching out into burials. He’s brought flowers.”