All for One (27 page)

Lowering himself to the bed beside his lover, Léandre lost himself in Perrin’s eyes, their expression one he had never hoped to see directed at him—and one he’d be damned if he wanted directed at anyone else. Even Aristide. “And will be, for as long as you want me,” he promised. The rest of the clever retort he meant to make died on his lips, his gaze still locked with Perrin’s, hoping his lover would have the courage to say the words Léandre couldn’t be the first to admit.

“Forever might be long enough,” Perrin murmured, drawing Léandre’s head toward his. Just before their lips met, he paused. “I love you, Philippe de Chambléan.” Not waiting for a reply, he captured Léandre’s mouth, ravishing it with his own.

The response he might have made swallowed in Perrin’s kiss, Léandre let his reaction speak for him instead. Opening to his lover’s insistent tongue, he acquiesced to Perrin’s dominance for a handful of heartbeats, before pulling the dark head closer and doing some plundering of his own.

Perrin’s hands moved reverently over Léandre’s back as they lay side by side, mouths meeting, then parting, only to meet again even more deeply, until they drew breath from each other’s mouths rather than from their own and the taste of the other man’s mouth was more familiar than the taste of their own.

Léandre was surprised at the lack of urgency he felt for more than the long, slow kisses he and Perrin shared. Perhaps it was knowing with a certainty he’d never had before that Perrin would always be there with him—forever, he’d promised, and Léandre meant to hold him to that. Resting his forehead against Perrin’s, he paused until the hazel eyes opened to his. “I love you, Mathieu Jacquet. I never thought to say it to anyone, but there’s no one else I’d want to share my bed and my life.”

Perrin understood the vow Léandre was making, but even the thought of anyone else seeing his lover this way was enough to prick his jealousy. Rolling Léandre beneath him, he captured the blond’s wrists. “Never again,” he growled, pinning his arms to the pillows. “There’ll be no one in your bed but me.”

“I think I’ve trained you well enough to satisfy me by now.” The warmth shining from Léandre’s eyes belied the teasing tone of his answer. Enjoying the firm weight of Perrin’s body atop his, he didn’t struggle to free his hands, instead wrapping his feet around his lover’s calves to add to the intimacy of their contact. “As long as the same holds true for you. No more whoring for any cock but mine.”

“Don’t want any cock but yours,” Perrin assured his lover, “but we’ll see which of us is begging before the night’s over. I’m going to make you scream.” Lowering his head, he bit hard at Léandre’s neck, raising a bruise to stake his claim. “No more fictitious mistress,” he growled, working his way lower to bite at the peaked nipples, knowing Léandre could take the rough touches. “No more pretending anyone else touched you but me.” He sank his teeth into the skin just above Léandre’s navel. “You’re mine now.”

Léandre moaned at the harsh caresses, the claim resonating with a need he hadn’t realized he had—to belong to one man, and to know, down to his bones, that man belonged to him just as fully. “Yours,” he agreed, voice husked with desire. “As you are mine.”

“Yours,” Perrin agreed, lips coasting lower to fasten onto the tendon connecting leg and groin. His bite was gentler this time, not wanting to hurt, only to claim. He loved the way Léandre squirmed beneath him. Releasing his hold on his lover’s wrists, he lifted the already wide-spread thighs, smiling when Léandre’s arms hooked behind his knees, holding his legs out of the way and opening his body completely to Perrin’s attentions. He started with the tempting curve of his lover’s arse, licking and nipping at it before moving to the slowly filling balls and the smooth skin behind them.

Hoping to invite more of the sensual torment Perrin had wreaked on him in the sitting room, Léandre arched his back, offering himself to his lover’s mouth. His breath hitched and held as the supple tongue traced the sensitive skin, circling the muscled ring with languid swipes but making no move to breach it. He clenched instinctively, all but whimpering when the teasing tongue laved up his crease before starting a slow path down again. “Perrin,
s’il te plaît
….”

“Please what?” Perrin asked, lifting his head, his chin just brushing Léandre’s hard length. “What do you want, lover? How can I make you feel good?”

“Fuck me,” Léandre insisted, hips bucking in wanton demand. “Fill me, with your tongue or with your cock.”

Spitting in his palm as he reared back on his knees, Perrin wet his cock and pressed the tip to Léandre’s barely stretched entrance, suddenly wild again with his lover’s impatient demand.

“Yes….” Léandre exhaled as Perrin’s thick shaft pierced him, the burn increasing as the flared head dragged against skin wet only with spit and the thin fluid anointing the slit of Perrin’s cock. He pushed up until the widest part of the head popped through, pain transmuting to pleasure when the leaking tip moistened the walls of his channel. Squeezing around the welcome ravishment, he freed a hand to slide down Perrin’s back and clutch at the taut globe of his lover’s arse, urging him deeper.

The hand on his buttocks giving him all the encouragement he needed, Perrin thrust the rest of the way in, the heat of Léandre’s passage searing through him as he thought of the commitment they had just made. “Mine,” he chanted over and over as he moved deeply within his lover, staking his claim in the most primal of ways.

“Yes… yes,” Léandre repeated, asserting his agreement with Perrin’s words and actions and begging for more. Fingers digging into Perrin’s arse with both hands, he spread the straining cheeks, toying with the tight pucker and wishing he had something to ease the way so he could make his lover feel the same soaring sensations Perrin’s cock was inciting in him.

Cursing, Perrin felt himself losing control as he always did when someone—when Léandre—played with his arse. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to stay in control and make his lover come first, but that was a pointless fight. Roaring out his pleasure, he threw his head back, his cock spasming deep inside Léandre’s body, the thick fluid easing his passage. He kept thrusting, trying to take Léandre with him, but all too soon his softening shaft slipped from its berth.

Too near his own release to move from Perrin’s embrace, Léandre dipped two fingers into the channel still dripping with Perrin’s cream and plunged them into his lover, opening him with rough but thorough twists of the slickened digits. When Perrin’s grip closed around his cock, he flipped the younger man onto his back, driving into the searing passage in a single fierce stroke. With Perrin meeting him lunge for lunge, Léandre managed only a few deep thrusts before every nerve in his body sparked with the power of his climax. Shouting Perrin’s name, he shuddered through jolt after jolt of pleasure, finally collapsing against his lover’s sweat-damp chest.

Perrin’s arms closed around his spent lover, his own body resonating with the dual experience of topping and being topped so thoroughly in the span of mere minutes. Every inch of his skin tingled as they lay there intertwined, their bodies so close it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Tenderly, he stroked the short blond hair, still slightly darker than usual from the lampblack they’d used in their disguise, eager for it to grow out again now that they were returned to their own uniforms and identities. He missed running his fingers through the long, silky strands, though he didn’t feel any great need to admit that fascination to his lover. Léandre already had more than enough to tease him about. Speaking of which…. “One of these days, I’m going to make you come first, if I have to tie you to the bed so you can’t distract me to do it,” he groused.

Léandre’s spent cock, thoroughly drained after two such explosive orgasms, still managed to twitch at the promise in Perrin’s words, mute testimony to how seductive Léandre found the idea. Not that he’d admit it to Perrin; at least, not just yet. “It’s good for you to have a goal to aim for,” he agreed lazily, snuggling closer to Perrin’s warmth as sleep began to embrace him. “Since you don’t have topping Aristide to look forward to anymore.”

Perrin spluttered in frustration as he tried to find a retort to that, but nothing came to him except Léandre’s soft snores. Rolling his eyes and determined to get the better of his lover eventually, Perrin let his eyes drift shut, lulled to sleep by the other man’s rhythmic breaths.

Chapter 25

A
RISTIDE
woke from a sound night’s sleep to the soft, steady breathing of his lover curled against him. The hazy morning light warmed Benoît’s skin with a golden cast and sparked highlights in his tousled chestnut hair. Content to simply gaze his fill at the blessing he had scarcely hoped to win, Aristide didn’t stir until the need to relieve himself began to grow urgent. Moving carefully so as not to waken his lover, he made his way across the room to the chamber pot, grateful that not a twinge of dizziness remained at the movement. Washing his hands in the basin of water on the small bureau, he returned to the bed, sliding under the duvet and nestling close.

The sudden burst of cool air followed by the returning warmth of Aristide’s body against his roused Benoît from his rest. Turning into his lover’s embrace, he smiled at the hard cock poking against his belly. In the past four days, he had grown used to the feeling, coming to see it not as a threat but as a tribute to the depth of Aristide’s desire and love. Sliding a hand between them, he encircled the heated shaft with an ease he wouldn’t have imagined possible just a few days ago. “It would seem someone is glad to see me this morning,” he teased.

“Morning, afternoon, and night,” Aristide assured him, leaning in to claim a languid kiss. The press of his lover’s erection grew as their mouths opened to each other, and he threw a leg over Benoît’s thigh, bringing them into more intimate contact. During their time at the inn the smith had slowly become more comfortable with Aristide’s touch, though he had yet to move beyond his hands, mouth, or even the brush of skin against skin—as now—to bring them to release. “He would be happy were we never to leave this bed.”

“I might be inclined to agree with him,” Benoît quipped, his hand continuing its tender stroking, “did I not know that duty and your friends await us in Paris. Do you still feel well enough to ride back to the capital today?” In truth, Benoît would have been perfectly content to stay in the heated cocoon the inn had afforded them, but they both needed to work, something that would be particularly difficult for Aristide in such a tiny village, and even more than that, they needed the relative anonymity of the city to provide cover for their cohabitation. It was one thing to explain his presence in Aristide’s room with the musketeer’s injury, but that excuse would not last much longer.

“Orphée will be nearly as solicitous of me as you have been,” Aristide assured him, the last words catching as Benoît’s thumb swiped over the head of his cock, smearing the fluid the caress had coaxed from him. Able to use both his elbows now to support his weight, Aristide nudged Benoît to his back and held himself over his lover, the gentle sway of his hips dragging Benoît’s hand against his stiffened shaft.

“Not quite as solicitous,” Benoît declared, rolling Aristide back to his side. Hand still moving languidly, he nipped at Aristide’s collarbone. “He only depends on you for food and shelter. I need you for far more than just that.”

“Oh?” Balked of the slide of sensitive skin against skin, Aristide turned instead to rubbing his thumbs over Benoît’s dark nipples, teasing them until they swelled and hardened beneath his touch. “What is it you need me for that you cannot provide for yourself?”

“Love,” Benoît replied simply, arching into Aristide’s touch. He wanted more than that, though. His lover had shown him quite clearly the last few days how wonderful a man’s touch could feel. Screwing up his courage, he decided the time had come to return the favor. Lowering his head, he brushed his lips over Aristide’s collarbone.

“You have that,” Aristide assured him, lying back against the pillows when Benoît’s torso moved out of his reach. It was still such a novel turn for Benoît to claim the initiative in their lovemaking; though taking a passive role still made Aristide feel selfish, the musketeer would not do anything to interfere with his lover’s growing confidence. “You have had it since the day I met you.”

Benoît blushed. “I wish I could say the same, but I was too blind then to understand the gift you are to me. I won’t make that mistake again.” Seeing Aristide’s relaxed pose gave Benoît the courage he needed to slide his lips lower, to ghost across the already peaked nipples hiding beneath the dusting of hair. He sucked one into his mouth, finding it as responsive as his own to his lover’s caresses. Emboldened by that success, he lingered, nipping and licking until he won a moan from Aristide’s throat.

Aristide slid a hand into Benoît’s hair, stroking gently through the silky strands. He stirred when careful teeth tugged at a nipple, making no effort to hold back his sounds of pleasure, only shifting to draw attention to the other side of his chest.

Grinning at his lover’s obvious delight in his ministrations, Benoît switched sides with his lips, his fingers combing through the saliva-dampened chest hair to continue the pleasuring his mouth had begun. The hard cock jutting against his thigh drew his attention, though, and so before long he abandoned his current obsession for the proud erection. His grip on its length was determined, but his lips were tentative as they brushed across the tip, tasting his lover for the first time. Drawing back momentarily, he licked Aristide’s flavor from his mouth, growing used to the taste. Finding it quite to his liking, he lowered his head again, more boldly this time.

Exhaling in a long, slow breath, Aristide kept the touch on Benoît’s hair gentle, his other hand gripping the bed sheet tightly as he fought his natural instinct to buck up into the warm, wet sweep of his lover’s tongue. His breathing grew labored as Benoît explored his cock with licks and kisses, following a slow path from tip to root and back again, lingering over the leaking slit. When the lips opened around him, coming to rest below the ridge that defined the head of his shaft, he groaned, his palm cupping the back of Benoît’s skull to hold him in place. “Benoît,” he whispered, the untutored warmth of his lover’s mouth enflaming him more than even the most skilled of his previous partners. “Benoît,
mon amour
….”

Benoît cast his gaze upward, though the hand on the back of his head assured him his attentions were welcome. Aristide’s face was a set mask of ecstasy, thrilling Benoît to the core of his being. The proof that he could bring such pleasure to his lover eased his fears over being able to replace Perrin and Léandre in Aristide’s bed. Trying to remember what he liked best of everything Aristide had done to him, he drew more of the heavy length into his mouth, until the head bumped the back of his throat, choking him. Coughing hard, he pulled off until he caught his breath. It seemed there was a knack to this he would have to learn if he intended to love Aristide as well as the musketeer had loved him. Determined to do it right this time, he lowered his head again, but his gag reflex foiled his attempt each time. “I’m sorry.”

Aristide’s hands moved to Benoît’s shoulders, drawing him upward until he could reach his lips. The kiss was long and slow, his lips coaxing Benoît’s to open, his cock jumping where it lay trapped between them at the taste of his own saltiness in his lover’s mouth. Easing away at last, he stroked the hair from Benoît’s brow so he could meet the rueful brown eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Any touch, every time you touch me, brings me more pleasure than I have found with any other.” He reached between them, encircling both their shafts in his hand, sliding over them with languorous pressure. It was the truth, he acknowledged as he bent his lips to Benoît’s again; if their lovemaking never consisted of more than this, Aristide would be content.

“
They
wouldn’t hesitate or choke,” Benoît muttered, all his insecurities coming back in a rush, not even Aristide’s kiss enough to ease his jealousy completely. “They’d be able to take you the way you’ve taken me.”

Lifting Benoît’s chin until their eyes met, Aristide’s thumb played with the dark hair of the smith’s beard. “Had you ever lain with any other than your wife?” he asked, his voice tender.

Blushing again, cursing his inexperience, Benoît shook his head. “Not in a tiny village like the one where I lived. I’d have found myself wedded to any girl I lay with before the sun set.”

“I would not have you think I fault you for loving only your wife,” Aristide reassured him. “Such constancy is indeed a virtue. I meant only to say that you have no experience of sex without love. It may relieve the needs of the body, but it leaves a hollow place in the soul. A place none but you has ever, will ever fill.” Blinking against the sudden, surprising burn of tears, he kissed Benoît again softly. “I need your love as much as you need mine. Not the physical acts—they can be learned, in time, though I would have no complaint did we never go any further than this. I need only to know I have your heart, for I have already given you mine.”

“You have had the care of mine for some time, certainly before I was ready to admit it aloud,” Benoît confessed. “I just cannot rid myself of the memory of you and Perrin lying in bed together. You looked so comfortable, so… right, and despite believing your words, a part of me fears you will regret that ease someday if I can’t offer it to you instead. I want to learn those physical acts, all the ways I can pleasure you, not out of jealousy, but because I want to give physical expression to my feelings. Will you teach me this as you were teaching me to use a sword?”

Aristide could not repress a chuckle of amusement at Benoît’s comparison, though he schooled his face quickly to soberness. “I was not laughing at you,” he said with a lingering smile. “Merely at the thought that this practice will prove far more pleasurable.” He took Benoît’s hand in his, guiding their intertwined fingers between them. “Though in truth, there is little I need teach you, at least in this. Simply do what feels good to you—I can assure you it will feel equally good to me.”

Nodding, face set with concentration, Benoît returned to his earlier task, licking around the tip of Aristide’s cock, determined to live up to his lover’s faith in him. He did not try to take the shaft in his mouth this time, focusing instead on the bulbous head, for as good as it had felt to be entirely surrounded by Aristide’s heat, it was this attention that had driven him over the edge when Aristide had loved him this way.

Returned to stroking a hand through Benoît’s hair, Aristide willed his body to stillness, but the concentrated attention to the most sensitive skin of his shaft soon had him trembling. Telling himself that Benoît had asked to be taught, he covered one of the hands that held down his hips, drawing it lower to his aching sac. “Please,” he whispered, his voice unsteady. “Touch me there.”

Rolling the full balls with his palm, Benoît gave Aristide what he asked for, working the heavy bollocks in time with the suction of his mouth. Remembering the unexpected but not unpleasant touch that had caused his climax the first time Aristide fellated him, Benoît let one finger slip lower, between his lover’s cheeks to brush across the smooth pucker. The sudden outpouring of fluid caught him off guard, choking him again, but he swallowed determinedly, not wanting to deprive Aristide of even a bit of pleasure.

Lost in the bliss of Benoît’s touch, Aristide’s climax caught him by surprise, before he could pull free of the delicious pressure of his lover’s mouth. He pulled away when he felt Benoît choke, concern creasing his face as he raised Benoît to rest against his heaving chest. “Forgive me, I should have warned you….”

Benoît chuckled, stroking Aristide’s face tenderly, his delight in bringing his lover joy far outweighing the surprise at suddenly finding his mouth full of come. “We are quite the pair, I think, each worried about offending the other. Perhaps we could agree to stop apologizing unless we’ve truly done something wrong?”

“I could agree to that.” Nuzzling at Benoît’s lips, Aristide smiled at the smug expression that had replaced the smith’s former hesitancy. “You have nothing to feel jealous of,” he added wryly. “You made me lose control as neither Léandre nor Perrin has ever managed to do.”

Benoît’s eyebrows jumped toward his hairline in surprise. “Really? But I thought….”

“You thought I always come that quickly?” A wicked sparkle lit Aristide’s smoky eyes. “It will be my very great pleasure to prove otherwise to you, one day.”

“I thought surely there was nothing I could do to you they hadn’t already done a hundred times or more,” Benoît explained, blushing under the teasing but refusing to back down.

“Should I be worried about your fascination with Perrin and Léandre’s love life?” Aristide frowned. “I begin to think it is I who may not be enough for you.”

“No!” Benoît exclaimed. “’Tis your love life I’m fascinated by, and they were a part of that for a long time. Isn’t it natural I should wonder a little about what you shared with them?”

“Perhaps, though I prefer to show you what we have to share together instead.” Sliding down Benoît’s firm body, he set to returning the joy the smith had just brought him.

S
EVERAL
hours later, Sagace and Orphée carried the two men through the gates of Paris again. Benoît knew Aristide felt he should report to
M.
de Tréville immediately, but he could see his lover flagging. “Let’s go home first,” he urged. “Léandre and Perrin can carry the news of your return to your superior, and you can see him after you’ve rested.”