As our mouths collided, his cock sandwiched between us, I made love to him.
Rocking and thrusting, slowly and carefully, taking him higher once more because I needed that, I needed him.
When his hips began jerking, his cock twitching, I knew he was close, and thank God for that, because so was I.
He swallowed my cry just as I swallowed his, our lips devouring the other’s agonized sounds of bliss as we both came, simultaneously, wrapped up in one another, entangled in his arms as much as he was entangled in mine.
Knotted together.
Tied.
God, I wanted forever with this man. Forever and a day.
But I didn’t tell him that, just sighed into his mouth before pulling back and pushing my forehead onto his.
Still wrapped up in him, the words I wanted to tell him unable to pour free, I whispered, “What the fuck am I supposed to do with you?”
And he laughed.
I knew why.
Because he felt the same.
So I smiled, feeling his confusion and his love even if neither of us was ready to say it yet, and settled into him. Knowing I’d sleep and that he would too.
Right now? That was all I wanted.
Him.
Thirty-One
Devlin
I woke up to a lot of banging.
Not the good kind either.
Not Micah’s lips wrapped around my cock or anything like that. Just a lot of moving about downstairs.
I frowned at the noises, and gave Micah a kiss when he moaned, “What the fuck are they doing down there?”
“Servants are supposed to be seen and not heard,” I said grimly, “unless the Duke and Duchess make an appearance.”
He tensed. “Your parents are here?”
I grunted. “I think so. That’s the only reason for all the noise.”
We were still wrapped around each other, arms and legs all tangled up and I bitterly resented having to move when I was so fucking comfortable in a bedroom that had housed more misery than happiness.
Nothing about this house made me happy, but having Micah in it, watching him finger a tchotchke here and there, answering his questions about a tapestry or a painting, it made my heart feel full.
I might hate my heritage, but it was clear that he was fascinated by it so maybe it was worth something after all.
Pursing my lips at the thought, I made use of them and brushed them over his brow again before I started to pull free of our embrace.
A jaw-cracking yawn escaped me as I picked up my trousers and started to step into them, just as I heard my father’s booming voice declare, “Where’s my heir?”
“Jesus, he calls you that? Like a nickname?”
“Consider it a family joke,” I grumbled.
“Funny. Not.” He sniffed, then, “Aren’t you going to shower?” he asked warily, his eyes on me as I proceeded to pick up my shirt and button it up again.
“Nope.” I even popped the ‘P.’
Bending over the bed, I gave him another kiss, then pulled back. I hesitated for a second, unsure of what to tell him. To brace himself? To hide in here?
I had no real idea what to say. So I didn’t bother. He was a grown-assed man, he’d make his own decisions. I wasn’t about to tell him what to do.
With a final kiss, I stormed toward the door.
“Devlin?” he called out as I pulled it open.
“Yes, Micah?”
“What—?”
I cut him a look. “Whatever you choose to do, is fine with me.”
Then I left him, pissed as I heard Father’s barked orders.
I should have known that he wouldn’t let me have more than a few days to find my feet in the UK again. The bastard always had to push.
It was easy to feel like the teenager I’d been when we’d last shared this house.
Before he’d tossed me out on my arse, shipping me off to my uncle in the States to finish off my education when I’d been expelled from Eton for ‘misbehaving.’ Of course, that had involved a sheep, the principal’s Rolls Royce, and a lot of black paint, but that was neither here nor there.
It didn’t matter to Father that it hadn’t been me, but a friend, Augustus—yes, that was his name, the poor bastard—who’d been behind the prank.
A dirty shirt covered in black paint had been found in my room, so I’d been the one to take the blame. Of course, it had been planted. And I hadn’t snitched either.
Secrets—they were a stock in trade of old Etonians.
Gus had made me a small fortune on short-selling stocks by way of apology when he soared up the ranks of his father’s hedge fund company. I considered that enough of an apology for my ass being, metaphorically, reamed.
Still, I stomped down the stairs much as I had stomped as a seventeen-year-old, a year before graduation, only this time, my shoulders weren’t hunched as I came face to face with my bear of a father. If anything, I was the one scowling and growling as I took in the chaos before me.
The front hall was a large space, forty by forty feet, and it was jam-packed with cases and luggage. My mother stood in the middle of it all, in her element as, like a conductor, she encouraged this particular orchestra into some semblance of order.
Sporting a pair of slim-fitting jeans and a tight blouse, some Converse trainers too, she looked about twenty years younger than she was. Her bright red hair was tinted, but not vulgarly so, and her face was pristinely made up so that any guy my age who saw her going, would be pleased to see her coming as well.
Why she’d never been enough for Father, I’d never know. She was beautiful. Gorgeous. Yet he’d never stopped cheating on her for as long as I’d been alive.
She looked to be in the fit of health, which I was glad for, because Father looked terrible. He was slouched on an antique side chair, watching as staff brought cases in. His shoulders were hunched, his back rounded, and his skin was gray and sickly as Hendry, his ever present valet, danced attendance on him which he wafted away with an irritable scowl.
“What the hell’s going on?” I growled under my breath, annoyed to see his face light up with joy when his head whipped around to look at me.
Mother’s did as well, her eyes bright with delight as she skipped around the boxes, her arms open wide to encompass me in a hug.
How hard she squeezed was the next surprise. I knew I could count on one hand the number of hugs either parent had ever given me, so I murmured in her ear, “Relieved to be back in London, Mother?”
“You’ve no idea!” she crooned with a wide grin that had me shaking my head as I laughed.
“You’re as incorrigible as ever.”
Her eyes twinkled. “No, just not ready to molder away in Cumbria. It’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but every day there is like a living death.” She shuddered as she reached up to pat my chin, tilting my head this way and that as my father grumbled:
“Let the boy alone, Clarice. I want to see him too!”
That was news to me.
Although, he’d definitely been different since the diagnosis, and this was the first time I’d seen him in person for two years.
“Be kind,” Mother whispered. “He’s been in pain all day.”
I scowled at her. “What are you doing here?”
She grinned at me like she was about to share a joke. “You won’t like it.”