His Midshipman Page 3

  Slowly and gently he touched David’s crease, then rubbed the hidden, puckered entrance.

  Prostrate on the floor, David writhed. “More. Dear bloody… God almighty. More. I need more.”

  Randall obliged. He slid one oil-slick finger into that enticing, quivering hole.

  “Aaaahhh.” David hissed as he pushed against the intrusion.

  Muscles clamped so tight on his finger, he was afraid to move else he hurt his new lover. But then David came, just like that, with no stimulation on his cock, no need to find that special pleasure place, no need for Randall to slide his cock—

  “Fuck me. Now. Oh, bloody damn… Now, I want you.”

  Thank the heavens. Randall was more than ready, and it would be next to impossible not to take this glorious arse. He needed inside David so badly, his balls threatened to fall off.

  He slipped in a second and closely behind a third finger, spreading them wide with each new intrusion. The muscles around his fingers were tight and hot. They gripped and then released with every finger-thrust.

  It was time. Slowly removing his fingers, he lined up his cock and gently breached the tight ring of muscles. His lover’s grip around his overly excited prick was almost too intense to bear. He huffed out, “Relax, David, or you will tear me in two.”

  Slowly, with many deep breaths in between, David relaxed. “You are so large, I was not prepared. I am now.” Another deep breath. “This is… I… Keep going. I want you.”

  And Randall did keep going. He rammed his rod over and over into that sweet arse. His lover arched and begged for more, until his cock shot another load onto his flat belly.

  Randall was right behind him, and he roared a release that was so strong and potent, he felt like he would spill all his vital juices into this man and be a hollow husk when done.

  A spectacular display of light flashed behind his eyes as he fell against the strong, young body underneath him.

  “David. Oh, my dear, dear David.”

  They rolled to their sides, David’s thigh under Randall’s waist. The fit was perfect, like a cup and saucer. Slowly, his cock slid from his lover. Cold enveloped his member, where before it had been wrapped in a warm, loving embrace.

  He kissed David. A light brush of lips. “Thank you. That was beyond comparison. It was…” And words were not significant enough to describe the experience.

  His lover’s slow, wicked smile let him know there would be another opportunity to divine the appropriate word for their lovemaking.

  The day unfolded like a dream. Randall’s cock, still lubricated with the exotic ointment that reminded him of the Mediterranean, had penetrated David’s deliciously tight arse twice before a luncheon of cold roasted pheasant and bread. Afterward, they found time for an interlude of shared oral favors. He even now savored the feel and taste of the midshipman in his mouth and the sensation of David’s arse milking his cock.

  “By the by,” Randall asked after luncheon, as they lounged on a settee in the study. They sat close, thighs touching, as they sipped cups of sweet pekoe. Randall had a suspicion and wanted to see if he was correct. “How many men have you been with?”

  David spluttered. “Not many, sir… I mean, Randall.” He frowned as he spoke and turned his face toward the sunlight streaming in through the study’s south-facing windows. Blossom-laden branches of a cherry tree swayed lightly in the breeze.

  “David,” he said, still amazed how this simple name he’d used many times before could be savored on his tongue like honey. A mere name had never felt so sensual when he had spoken it before.

  “Yes?” The man glanced back to Randall, eyes half lidded.

  “How many is ‘not many’?”

  David looked down, and his lips twitched as if he would burst into laughter. “Two.”

  Randall’s cock engorged so quickly, he thought it would explode. Dear God, he needed this man again, and now. The thought of David being so near a virgin. But wait—by two, does he mean…

  He fought down an urge to grab the man and rut on the damn floor, forced his voice to a calm everyday tone, and said, “By two, do you mean…?”

  This time David looked directly at him and said, “I mean, you and one other. And I never let him take me.” And the cheeky bastard leaned over and planted a searing kiss onto Randall’s mouth.

  The kiss was all-consuming. Raw emotions he did not even know existed. For just an instant, he could swear their souls touched.

  When David pulled away, the connection was still there, faint, insubstantial as a caterpillar’s silk. They stared at one another while the pulse fluttered at the base of his lover’s throat.

  The man was so blasted handsome with his hair still mussed from their night of loving. Even with an application of water and comb, one side lifted an inch higher than the other.

  After a short pause David smiled, his lips trembling the faintest bit. “Randall, I…”

  And then, for some reason, the connection disintegrated. No trace remained, as if it had never existed, and Randall wanted it back.

  He lifted his tumbler, too fast, and spilled a drop of bloodred liquid onto his wool breeches. “To a long-lasting friendship, David.”

  Looking at the floor, David raised his glass a half inch, without saying a word.

  Damn, but the boy could be elusive. Well, that would not do. Time to make him talk, bring him out of his shell, work on that connection again.

  The curtains were open to allow weak early spring light to filter through the room, even though the day was chilly as a snowball and the glass panes leaked cold into the room.

  David wandered to the window. He reached up, stroking the rich brocade. Randall hoped that hand would soon be stroking him in a similar fashion.

  “Your hangings are rather pink. I have not seen that in a man’s home before.”

  “The color was supposed to be a dark red. When the curtains were made up, they were pale instead of red, like wine. I have not yet bothered replacing them.”

  “I like the shade.” David stepped back and considered them for a moment. “Pink is a happy color, do you not think?”

  “I know nothing about that, but you have certainly made me happy in this room.” He teased David with his eyes.

  The boy grinned. “At your service…my lord.”

  He motioned the beauty over, wanting to learn more about the fey creature so close to his grasp. “From whereabouts do you hail?”

  David looked past Randall, as if studying the sun-gilded window. “Chigwell. My father is a…shopkeeper.”

  A shopkeeper. He studied the midshipman. His deportment conveyed a pride and assurance that few commoners would ever display in the presence of a peer.

  Randall raised his glass again. “To Chigwell and to the shopkeeper who instilled most proper manners in his son.”

  This time, David looked away, as if embarrassed, but then he turned with a faint smile that brightened his normally pensive face into an expression of tranquility. He launched into a story about his family. “I have five older and rather awful brothers, and only one sister; she is younger than I, and a delight. We have always been close.” He walked around the room, touching an item here, then one there.

  “My mother is very religious.” His laughter held a bitter note. “So it took me years to come to terms with my preference.” David winced.

  Randall remembered a few uncomfortable talks with Cousin Elizabeth when she found out he preferred men. She was the only family member who knew, and her support and unconditional acceptance of his nature helped him through a difficult time in his youth. “I had a dear cousin who helped me with my acceptance of who I am. Did you not have that?”

  David shook his head and stood in front of the painting Randall cherished. “In our household, we were taught hell and damnation. I was afraid simply thinking about getting naked with another boy would make my prick fall off.” He laughed good-naturedly this time. “We were six boys, and all with biblical names. Quite the laughing
stock in our county, I imagine.”

  “You seem to have moved on and are handling your desires in a healthy manner.”

  “Hmm. Perhaps.” He caressed the gilded frame of the portrait over the mantelpiece. “Your parents?”

  “Yes.” He looked at the big flame-haired man and his tall, willowy wife with perfectly coiffed fair hair. He took after his father, a tall, brawny man with laughing green eyes and a broad smile. Fortunately, he inherited his mother’s hair, although hers had always looked perfect, not a strand misbehaving, where his hair was somehow always disheveled. “They were good parents to my brother and me; doting and loving. I miss them still.”

  “They both…”

  “Yes, some…well, it must be sixteen years now.” He looked down at the Turkish carpet.

  “You were very young when you inherited your title.” David seemed as comfortable as a cat in the sun as he pointed to a correspondence on the table by the fire, which was addressed to The Viscount Torring.

  “Perhaps we should change the topic. When will the Dreadnought set sail for Madeira?” he asked and then realized talking about the midshipman leaving was not an improvement on the depressing conversation.

  “Dreadnought?” David’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes, the Dreadnought. Next week. On the Sabbath.”

  “In six days.”

  David nodded.

  “May I then request the pleasure of your company as my guest until then?” One day in David’s presence, and his misgivings about bringing home a young midshipman had vanished like so much fog on a sunny day. This man was a rare find—an officer in His Majesty’s Navy, who had shared his body openly and without hesitation. Already Randall trusted him as much as, no, more than any lover who had graced his bed.

  David paused, lowered his head, gave Randall a sideways glance, then said, “Yes, I would like that very much.”

  Six days! Randall stewed on the short amount of time they had left and almost missed the answer. Had the man said yes? Of course he had! His world brightened with a sunny blaze of happiness, his well-used cock swelling in his breeches. Though he wanted to hear David repeat that heavenly, musical yes, he refrained from asking again. He downed the last of his port, reached for the gorgeous sailor, and tried to remember where he’d placed his other phial of citrus and sunshine scented ointment.

  Two days later, Randall awakened to the sweet caress of David’s lips on his rod.

  “Good morning, my lord.” David made his way up to Randall’s face and shared a lingering, featherlight kiss.

  “Good morning to you, my fallen angel,” he replied, enjoying the taste of his essence on his lover’s tongue.

  A light touch ran across his sternum and made him shiver.

  David looked into his eyes and smiled.

  Randall ached with need before that smile; now he was near to exploding. He gasped, trying to regain his breath as David kissed him again. Nobody had ever made him feel like this. This was not a kiss of lust, but an exquisite, loving expression. A kiss of affection.

  Four days until you leave me. Four days. If only he could stay longer. He wished a spring storm would prevent the Dreadnought from setting sail. A storm that would last until the cherry trees shed their autumn leaves.

  If he could only entice David away from the damn navy, establish him in London, and awaken every morning with this delectable son of a dark angel in his arms. Yes, he would entice David away from that damn ship. Somehow.

  On the morning of the Sabbath, Randall had no trouble keeping his eyes open, even though he had barely slept during the night. He would not waste a single second of his remaining time with David. The young man slept by his side, clinging to him as though he could not accept their parting. A blissful, passion-filled week had passed since their first encounter at Whistler’s, time spent in each other’s company, with short intervals during which one or the other attended to personal affairs. They had not taken the time to go riding, had taken all their meals in the townhouse, and did not entertain. Yet time had flown by like clouds pushed by an approaching storm.

  He looked over at the black, disheveled hair, the handsome features, the smattering of light freckles on David’s nose. An ache that started last night flared in his chest, forcing out a shaky sigh he was unable to choke back.

  David jerked awake with a gasp, but then blinked the sleep out of his eyes and gave a sleepy smile.

  God. Perfection. The ache spread from Randall’s chest to his entire body.

  “Good morning, my handsome lord. I was having an awful dream. I am glad you woke me.” David yawned. “Have you been awake long?”

  Randall lied and forced a smile. “Only a short while, my dear fallen angel, and I did not mean to wake you. But I am definitely glad you are awake.”

  Propped up on an elbow, David looked at him and caressed his cheek ever so gently.

  “It is Saturday.”

  “Damn. I had forgotten.” David laid his forehead on Randall’s chest and shook his head.

  He swallowed hard, trying to suppress his sadness. “You…you’ve made me very happy.”

  “As you have made me, my lord. And thank you for helping me forget my sorrow.”

  He lifted the man’s face and moved in slowly for a kiss. Their lips brushed lightly, and Randall’s eyes closed as soft tingles coursed through his body.

  David’s lips moved to his face, ears, neck, chest, softly pleasuring every part of his body. He let himself relax, fighting the urge to grab his lover and take him without any preparation.

  He willed time to stand still.

  But the clock on the mantelpiece kept ticking with an inexorable cheerfulness that made him long to cast it into the fire.

  David’s lips reached his hand and sucked each one of his fingers as if sending each one of them into ecstasy was the most important endeavor he had ever undertaken.

  Their joined hands looked perfect together—his large and swarthy, David’s long, strong. Taking Randall’s oak-hard cock in his elegant fingers, his lover reached for the jar on the bedside table, rubbed some of the fragrant liquid to his entrance, and then rubbed the remains of the balm on Randall’s cockstand, which surged even larger at the attention.

  David lay across the bed, his arse at the edge of the mattress, his legs spread, offering his hole. Randall stood, pulled David so only his head and shoulders were supported, and then lined his rod up for entry into that beautiful, quivering opening.

  The bed was a bit too low, so he bent his knees, and then his well-oiled staff slid in, penetrating slowly, deeply, all the way to his balls.

  Their gazes locked as David’s arse held Randall’s cock in a velvet grip, a heavenly velvet grip. This, he would remember forever. Until time stood still.

  Love.

  He loved his midshipman more than he had ever thought possible.

  Love!

  His heart ached with the emotion, along with yearning, with passion.

  He did not want to come, yet was desperate to do so. He longed to stay forever inside his lover, joined in ecstasy, yet wanted to experience his rapture while gazing into David’s midnight-black eyes. Keeping as still as possible, he leaned toward David for another kiss. His hips began to flex of their own accord, gently, slowly. David’s tight arse wrapped around his cock like a silk glove, and Randall gripped his lover’s cockstand and stroked it in rhythm with his movements.

  He brought them to a mutual release. David shot on his belly and chest but was quiet, subdued. This time, he kept his eyes open as he came.

  Randall felt his balls draw up and a tingle start at the base of his rod. His climax was so emotionally intense, he was close to tears. This joining was the most wonderful experience he could remember, if not the most powerful one of his life.

  “Mother of God! Holy poker of hell!” he exclaimed, his body shuddering with pleasure.

  “Mother of God and holy poker, indeed,” echoed David several moments later, a smile so libidinous on his face, it could make saints wee
p.

  They dressed in silence, but this time David donned his dark-blue naval coat and white breeches, instead of Randall’s emerald silk dressing gown, in which he looked completely edible.

  Randall ran his hands through his hair and pulled, the slight pain helping him make his decision. He could no longer hold his tongue. With his jaw working and breath coming too fast, he took a deep breath and said, “You should stay.”

  David froze in place.

  “Stay. Resign your commission.” He wanted to pull his hair again but stopped himself. “I mean… What I mean is we are good together. We could make this work. I would like to spend much more time with you.”

  David stared at him for a moment, his lips spreading into a wide smile, and closed the distance. He touched Randall’s cheek. “My dear lord, the next time I disembark from ship into London, I’ll be at your doorstep. We may discuss this then.”

  He slipped a hand behind Randall’s neck and, tilting his head, delivered a kiss that promised forever.

  * * *

  THE END

  About the Author

  Stephanie Lake is the pen name for a husband/wife team who enjoy writing historical M/M romance with happy endings and steamy middles. We hope you enjoyed His Midshipman, the Prequel to His Second Chance, which is the first book in the Second Chance series. We’d love to hear from you, so check out our website and Facebook pages:

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