Madelynne Ellis - Her Husband’s Lover

The other man turned to face him once more. Eerie shadows swam in the depths of his hazel eyes. ‘You don’t understand. I haven’t denied her anything. She wouldn’t let me touch her even if I desired to.’ Lyle’s sibilant whisper bled into the darkness. ‘She’s frigid, Robert. Colder than the hoar frost. She doesn’t let anyone touch her.’

‘So she’s nervous. But with coaxing …’ Darleston curled his fingers, imagining pressing them to Emma’s prettily flushed cheek. Every woman he’d ever known had warmed to sweet talk and a little charm.

‘No. You’re not hearing me. She’s not skittish. She doesn’t let anyone near her. Nobody touches her, not even her maid or her sister. We’ve been married over two years and the only time I’ve held her hand was in church as I slid the wedding band upon her finger. Believe me, she trembled enough through that. If she could have avoided it …’

‘That’s common enough.’ He’d quaked too. Although in his case it may have been down to how much drink he’d consumed.

‘This affliction goes way beyond that. Watch her tomorrow, and then you’ll understand. It’s not coitus she’s afraid of, Robert. It’s physical contact of any sort.’

Darleston’s brows furrowed. ‘Have you tried to discern why?’ How could a human being survive in such a way?

Lyle half-nodded, half-shook his head. ‘She won’t discuss it with me. Believe me, I’ve tried and never made the slightest bit of headway. She just brushes me off. It doesn’t help that she knows I like men. So talk of physical affection between us is pointless. It’s why she was so keen on the arrangement in the first place. She knew I’d make no demands upon her.’

‘How the devil did she know? Did she see you?’ Incredulous now, Darleston’s mouth hung open. Gentle-born women didn’t knowingly marry men whose preferences ran to other men. No one wanted to be wed to that sort of scandal.

Lyle nervously wetted his lips. ‘I’ve never asked and she’s never ventured the details. But now you see there’s no impediment to us.’

Darleston began to pace in and out of the grotto’s mouth, worrying his fingernails as he moved. Did this change anything? Superficially, perhaps. Deep down, he wasn’t so sure. Emma might still fight for her husband. She could still be hurt by the scandal.

The humidity was starting to wear him down. Sweat beaded his back and trickled down his spine in much the same way as it ran down the window panes. He still wasn’t sure. When had he become so cautious? Not so very long ago he’d made a jape of danger and desecrated a grave to settle a score. Now he was hesitating over fucking a man who was actually prepared to give him more than one night of his life. He couldn’t in all honesty use Emma as an excuse for rejecting that. If their marriage was truly as platonic as Lyle described, then he wasn’t about to lose Lyle to his wife in the way that he’d lost Giles to Fortuna.

Emma knew the risks. She’d made her choices in full knowledge of what might come.

Lyle smacked him across the arse. The impact jerked him forward and out of his emotional stupor. God help him, but he was going to do this. But on his terms. No more being dictated to by Lyle, and no more pansying around playing go-lightly. If they were going to fuck … well, they were going to fuck.

‘Take off your breeches too.’

Lyle’s head twitched, bird-like, in surprise. Then he settled his ruffled feathers and did exactly as he’d been told. Naked he really was a marvel. He had an arse to rival that of a Roman god, though not quite as pale as alabaster. Thighs that were feathered with soft golden hairs, and loins … there was no denying that’s where Darleston was primarily looking. Lyle’s prick stood proud. Long and uncut, it reached halfway to his navel. It was striped with pale-blue veins, like some Oriental piece of china. Thankfully, it wasn’t quite as fragile as a vase.

‘So you’ve missed me,’ Darleston remarked. ‘In all these years there’s never been anyone else that turned your head in the same way? No one who’s fucked you halfway to the moon and back? No one who crept inside your head and steamed up all those naughty fantasies you concoct while you date Miss Nancy and her four sisters?’

‘Robert, when I toss myself the only pictures in my head are of you … and the adorable little vadelect I had in Bangalore.’ Lyle’s grin stretched wide, growing infectious the further it spread. Darleston smiled along with him. Bangalore? He wanted to ask, but the story could wait for another night. Instead, he perched on the end of the divan and tapped his middle finger against his lips. Slowly he wetted its tip.

‘Know where this is going?’

‘I know where I hope it’s going.’ Lyle rolled onto all fours.

‘Uh-uh! Face to face. If we’re going to do this, let’s do it properly. I want to see you come and know that you’re mine. And if I so much as think your thoughts are straying towards Emma then it’s over. Truly over. I can’t go through that again.’

He could see a myriad questions racing through Lyle’s mind, but his lover seemed to sense that this wasn’t the time. Lyle turned and lay flat upon his back.

‘I think you’re more likely to think of her than I.’

‘Maybe.’ Darleston covered him, still fully clothed. He didn’t intend to remove a stitch. Instead, he pinned Lyle down and kissed him, revelling in the heat and the clash of their tongues. As their lips made merry, his hands were at work, brushing lightly over Lyle’s arms and torso. When they parted, it was only so that he could take a breath and turn his attention to Lyle’s flat, penny-shaped nipples instead. He sucked hard, drawing the little teat into a point. He palmed Lyle’s cock at the same time, working it up and down until Lyle’s contented groans had lapsed into euphoric silence. Only then did he tease the entrance to Lyle’s arse with his wetted digit.

Fiercely hot, but eager and willing in his acceptance, Lyle writhed beneath him, lifting up his hips to allow for a deep penetration. One finger soon became two, then three. Finally, Darleston accepted Lyle’s hands fumbling at his waistband and feeling their way inside his frontfall. His cock bucked in appreciation of the touch. He let Lyle guide him home. Butted up against him, and slid deep.

It really was that smooth and that quick.

Too perfect, really. He did so like a bit of torment.

He pulled Lyle’s hair, raked his teeth along his jaw and began to fuck like he truly meant it. The little yelp of pain Lyle gave in response fired Darleston’s senses. So too did his lover’s retaliation, right down to adding more bruises to his already marked rear.

‘Bite me again,’ Lyle hissed into his ear as they were rocking smoothly together with the whole universe collapsed in upon itself and centred on the tip of his cock.

Lyle guided him over towards his throat. Darleston sucked hard. He nipped a little but didn’t let his teeth break the flesh. He left a mark though, a deep-purple bruise like a stamp of ownership. He’d known lovers who gave one another love-bites in lieu of wedding rings they couldn’t legitimately wear. He didn’t want to wed Lyle, he just wanted to sink deeper inside him, until he was no longer sure where their bodies met, or what part of this pleasure was his and what was Lyle’s.

He added another mark to Lyle’s throat. Let him cover it with his cravat tomorrow. He’d still know it was there.

Darleston’s temperature reached fever point just before his body gave in to the little death. Sweat coated every inch of his skin. His clothing stuck to him. Only in the areas where their bodies met skin to skin did he feel true contentment. Next time, maybe he would take his clothes off. Then again the discomfort added something, and he liked that it was only Lyle who was exposed.