Charles stomped through the dark grounds towards Alcott Hall. He was deeply regretting agreeing to come to dinner again. Did he not learn anything from the last time? The odd behavior of Burke and the duchess now made perfect sense. Lady Madeline Blaire, daughter of the Viscount Raleigh, needed a husband. And for some inexplicable reason, she’d asked Charles.
And then Warren had to go and catch them kissing. God, what was Charles thinking, kissing Madeline like that? Warren should inform the duchess. It was reckless and shameful. Charles had compromised the lady’s honor. That was an unpardonable sin all on its own. But he’d also hurt Warren. He couldn’t bear to see the hurt in his eyes, hurt he put there.
Warren was going to find him. Tomorrow or the next day, once his temper cooled, he’d come searching for answers. And Charles didn’t know what he was going to say. He didn’t know why he did it.
I just wanted to know what she tasted like…
Christ, it was foolish enough to think the words, he didn’t dare speak them aloud. But that was the only truth he knew. In that moment, with a beautiful young lady standing before him, cheeks pink from the cold, lips parted, golden curls brushing against her neck, he wanted to taste her. Hell, he wanted to devour her.
Madeline Blaire was sweet and delicate. She was the opposite of Warren in every particular, and Charles felt inexplicably drawn to her. She said she was the type of lady no man could love, and he found himself wanting to test her theory. How could she think that? What wasn’t to like? The way she gently recited poetry, her voice musical in its softness. He wanted to trace her lips with his thumb, with his tongue, with his—
Enough.
He groaned, passing out of the shadows into the golden light of the house. He was in no fit condition to see her again so soon, not with his emotions all jumbled. He would have written a note of excuse, but after the way Warren barked and scared her, he had to make sure she was okay—
“Charles.”
He flinched, turning towards that deep voice that was already so close. The man ought to wear a bell. “Christ, a bit more warning would be nice.”
Warren stepped forward, towering over him. His shoulders looked even thicker in his heavy wool jacket and fur-lined vest. “We need to talk.”
“I can’t talk now,” he muttered. “I can’t be late.”
“You can spare me five minutes. They won’t ring the gong for another twenty at least.”
Charles groaned, glancing around the park. The smell of snow hung heavy in the air. “It’s freezing out here, John. Come by my uncle’s house tomorrow morning—”
“No. Now.” Warren’s hand clamped around Charles’s arm, dragging him forward.
“Don’t be a brute. I’m able to walk—”
“I’ll not let you slip my net. Not until I’ve said my piece.”
“What happened when I left?” he said at Warren’s back. “What did you say to her?”
Warren growled low, his grip tightening as he led Charles through the dark along the side of the house.
“Did you hurt her?”
Warren slid to a stop and spun around with a glare. “Hurt her? You can’t be serious, Charles. She makes a fool of you, offering you a sham of a proposal, telling you she’ll not consider you as a proper husband, and you’re worried if I offended her delicate sensibilities?”
“She was flustered—”
He huffed, pulling him forward. “And now you take her side.”
“You shouldn’t have been listening, John. A gentleman would have turned around and walked the other way.”
Warren rounded on him again, grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him up against the stone wall of the house. He lowered his face, his breath hot on Charles’s mouth. “Well, unfortunately for you both, I am no gentleman.”
Charles couldn’t say who moved first. After three years, he was as starved for Warren as the man apparently was for him. He barely had time to pull air into his lungs before they were kissing, their hands clinging to each other like sailors adrift on a perilous sea.
Warren pressed him against the wall, moaning into his mouth as they tasted each other. Charles was weak and desperate, and he needed Warren to give him everything. But at his whimper, Warren broke their kiss.
“Fuck—not here,” he growled, glancing around, his eyes narrowing as if they could pierce the darkness. “Sometimes the lads wander about the place. Come.” He gave Charles another tug and they were on the move.
Charles knew the house well enough to know where Warren was likely taking him. They turned the corner and the looming figure of the hothouse emerged from the shadows. The interior was dark, the walls of glass dusted in frost that shone silver in the waxing moonlight.
“Surely it’s locked,” Charles murmured.
“I have a key.”
It was the work of moments for Warren to jangle in his pocket for his keys. Then he was pushing his way through the side door, pulling Charles along with him.
The warmth of the hothouse wrapped around Charles like a blanket, as did the intoxicating scent of lush flowers and damp earth. He took a deep breath, filling his senses with the memory of summer. It chased away all thoughts of the bitter cold.
And then Warren was behind him, hands on his shoulders, unwinding his scarf. Warren wove a hand into the hair at his nape, giving it a tug, exposing his neck. Then he latched on, teasing with his tongue, grazing with his teeth. “Do you know what you do to me?” he groaned, his lips against his skin. “Do you have any idea?”
Charles moaned, sinking back against Warren’s comforting strength. God, he’d missed this. He’d missed John Warren like a piece of his soul had been ripped out of his chest. And Charles had been the one to do the ripping.
They couldn’t just dive back into this. They needed to talk. Charles needed to explain, to apologize. How could they just resume as if nothing cataclysmic had happened between them? Warren should be furious. He shouldn’t be kissing Charles, he should be beating him about the head, denying him his love. Charles left Finchley, left Warren. He didn’t even leave a note; didn’t say goodbye. Uncle Selby bought him a seat on the morning coach on a Thursday morning and Charles took it, not looking back.
Surely, Warren had some thought on his sudden return, some expression of anger he needed to release. Charles could take it. He needed this noxious air around them cleared. He needed Warren to rant and yell and sock him in the jaw. He had a feeling they’d both feel better once a little blood was spilled.
But Warren wasn’t in a soul-bearing mood tonight, or a sparring mood. He kissed Charles soundly, dragging his tongue up the length of his neck to nip his ear. He brought a hand around, smoothing it down Charles’s front until he was cupping his cock over his white dress pants. Charles pressed forward with his hips like a wanton creature, hungry for more.
Warren spoke then, his breath hot against his ear. “I am going to bend you over and fill this sweet arse with my cock.”
Charles stifled a groan. Yes. Please, god.
“Three years I’ve waited for you. Three years of this never-ending purgatory.” As he spoke, Warren slipped his hand inside Charles’s pants, his calloused fingers wrapping around his achingly hard cock.
“Johnnie, please—”
“Please what?” he growled, nipping his neck. “What does my greedy little whore want?”
Charles whimpered, feeling his cock twitch in Warren’s hand. “I want you.”
Warren gripped his jaw, forcing his head to turn. “No, you don’t,” he spat. “You want nothing to do with me. You left me here. You left without a backward glance. You don’t want my heart or my hearth. You don’t want my friendship, my love—”
“I do,” he begged, trying to cling to him.
“Horse shit. You only want one thing from me. Name it and it’s yours.” He slowed his hand on his cock, waiting for Charles to speak.
Charles could hardly think when Warren held him like this. He certainly couldn’t respond rationally to Warren’s wounded confession. “John, I’m sorry—ahh—”
Warren dropped his hand down, cupping his balls and giving them a sharp tug. “Don’t you dare fucking apologize to me,” he growled. “You made your choices and we both live with them now. And you seem set to make another choice that would see me firmly uprooted from your life, cast aside forever.”
Charles groaned, knowing full well what he meant.
Madeline.
Oh god, how could he stand here in this man’s arms and think of the woman who may become his wife? He didn’t deserve her. How could he when he was clearly so desperate for Warren’s every look and touch?
“Will you marry her, Charles?” Warren’s voice carried a deep ache as he brushed his lips against Charles’s jaw. He rested his forehead on Charles’s shoulder, working his cock one-handed. “Will you marry her?”
Letting out a breath, Charles admitted his truth. “I don’t know.”
“Will you accept the duke’s offer then? Will you move back here and take up residence in the parsonage?”
Charles groaned. How the hell did he know? Warren’s abilities at spy craft were unmatched. It helped that he knew absolutely everyone in the village. And he had a way of making friends with anyone, no matter their station. Warren was the only gamekeeper Charles knew who regularly got invited to Mr. Burke’s weekly billiards game.
“I can’t,” he panted. “You know I can’t.”
“Because of me,” Warren rasped in his ear. “Because you like getting fucked by me too much. You can’t live in this town and take your place at the pulpit every Sunday morning knowing that by Monday night you’ll be speared on my cock again. That’s why you left without a fucking word, right?”
“John—”
“Because you’re a filthy little sinner. That’s what you tell yourself, don’t you, Charles? And I’m the devil incarnate, sent to tempt you.”
He gave in to his teasing. “John, please. Tempt me, ruin me—”
Warren groaned, turning Charles in his arms, claiming his mouth. Charles opened eagerly, letting him taste, tongues flicking. Charles was starved for this man. He’d never get enough.
Warren broke their kiss, panting for breath as he glanced around. Eyes narrowing, he grabbed Charles by the hand. “Come.”
Charles stumbled after him. “What are you doing?”
There was a metal table set with two chairs. Warren dragged a chair back and pushed Charles forward. Charles hit the table with his hips as Warren’s firm hand pressed down on his shoulder.
“John, what—”
“Enough talk. I’m taking what’s mine. Your pretty little wife can’t fuck your arse like I can.” He pulled at Charles’s pants with one hand, flipping the tails of his evening coat up with the other.
“John, we can’t. Not here—”
“Yes, here,” he growled, spitting onto his fingers before he wet Charles’s hole.
At that first touch, Charles was lost. He bit his lip, pressing back with his hips.
“Look at you,” Warren crowed. “My perfect, needy slut. You want to sin with me, don’t you? You want me to fill you with my come.”
God, he loved the way Warren talked. It was degrading and awful, and it made him hard as fucking stone. He needed more.
“Tonight, you’ll go sit at a duke’s table, and you’ll feel my hot seed burning in your arse,” Warren teased, his breath hot in his ear as he pressed a large finger at his hole. “I want you twitching with it, Charles. I want you to feel it leaking out of you as you make small talk with your future wife. She doesn’t need to know that I took you first. She doesn’t need to know that I fucking own you. This body is mine. This arse is mine. This fucking cock is mine. I was here first, Charles. Me.”
“Johnnie—god—”
“Mention him again, and I stop,” Warren growled, two fingers now pressed inside his arse.
Charles whimpered, biting his lip harder to keep silent. Warren scissored his fingers, stretching him out. Christ, it had been so long. No one had ever touched him there but Warren. Only Warren.
My Warren.
“Take me, Johnnie. Do it.”
“Tell me what you want.”
“I want your cock. Fuck—god—no, I didn’t mean it,” he whimpered as Warren pulled his fingers out, leaving him empty. “Don’t stop.” He reached around to hold Warren in place.
“Say it again.”
“I want your cock,” he begged, incoherent with need. “I want your cock so goddamn much. Fuck me and fill me. No one else. Only you. John, there is only you.”
Warren rewarded him, sliding his fingers back inside. Charles quivered with anticipation. Warren leaned over him again, kissing the back of his neck as he worked to free himself from his breeches one-handed.
Charles almost didn’t notice when he went still as stone, Warren’s body coiled tight above him. Charles gripped the table. “John, what—”
“Quiet,” he rasped. “Someone’s in here.”
Charles’s heart dropped through his chest as he tried to scramble upright, his clothes a disheveled mess.
From the darkness came a tired voice. “No need to stop on my account.”
Charles gasped, feeling the weight of the world come crashing down around them.
The Duke of Norland was standing not ten feet away, watching as Warren pulled his fingers free of Charles’s arse.
