Retreat From Love (37 page)

“I’m sorry, Freddy,” Brett said roughly. “I’m going too fast. But I feel…Christ, I’ve got to touch you. Only you and Anne make me this desperate. I have no finesse. Ah God,” he groaned as he got the pants undone and shoved them down with Freddy’s underwear until Freddy’s hard cock popped free.

Brett wrapped his hand around Freddy’s length and Freddy cried out as his hips jerked into the embrace. He couldn’t speak, could barely think, as he felt the rough caress of those calluses on his cock. Brett held him tightly and pumped his fist slowly up and down and Freddy shuddered and bit his lip. He wouldn’t come yet, he couldn’t.

He wanted this to last.

Brett buried his face in Freddy’s neck and burrowed under his neck cloth again to suck his neck as his hand explored Freddy. He was right, he had no finesse, and Freddy loved it. His wild, desperate, untutored caresses were far more devastating than 186

Retreat From Love

Simon’s practiced lovemaking had been. Brett’s hand let go of Freddy’s cock and though he missed the contact, he was a little relieved. A few more strokes and he would have climaxed. His relief was short-lived. Brett’s hand pushed roughly between his legs. Freddy’s tight trousers prevented him from spreading his legs more, so Brett’s big hand overwhelmed him, crammed in there, and when Brett cupped his balls Freddy shouted at the streak of pleasure that raced through him. Brett rolled them, his touch gentle, his calluses rough. It made Freddy jerk and cry out again. Then Brett’s finger slid back along his seam and teased the hole in his buttocks, and Freddy lost all semblance of control.

“Please, Brett,” he cried out. “Please fuck me. God, I want you. Please. Don’t make me wait anymore. Please.”

Brett hummed into his neck and pressed harder against that little rosette. Freddy squirmed, trying to make Brett pierce him with that finger. He needed some part of Brett inside him. Brett was panting as heavily as Freddy.

“I want you, Freddy,” he groaned. “Don’t we need your oil? Like Anne? I want to fuck you like Anne.”

“Then fuck me, damn it,” Freddy growled, grabbing the sides of Brett’s head and pulling his face up so he could look at him. Brett’s eyes were glazed and almost black, his pupils were so big. His cheeks were flushed, his lips swollen from their kisses. He was fucking gorgeous, and at long last he was Freddy’s. “Damn you,” Freddy whispered, “fuck me.”

“Yes,” Brett groaned and his mouth slammed up into Freddy’s. His palm pressed against Freddy’s balls almost too hard. Freddy jerked back to get away, and Brett’s touch gentled, cupping them softly again, making Freddy groan. Brett pulled off Freddy’s mouth with one last hard suck of his lower lip. He pulled his hand from Freddy’s pants and rolled off the sofa. Freddy sat up, shaky, weak with arousal and Brett reached out a hand to him.

“Come on,” Brett growled, “now. I want to fuck you now.” He grabbed Freddy’s hand and then they were stumbling toward the bedroom. It all seemed unreal to Freddy. He’d woken up this morning thinking his life was over and now here he was, about to get fucked, rather thoroughly he suspected, by Brett, and he had hopes that Anne was still a possibility in his future. He shut his brain to all other thoughts or possibilities, holding onto that feeling.

“Get it,” Brett told him, flinging him into the bedroom. Brett started to undo his trousers, his hands rough and fumbling. Freddy could see Brett’s cock outlined in the tan leather, and his back passage clenched in anticipation. Quickly he went to the vanity and searched the top until he found the bottle of oil. He turned back to Brett and stopped in his tracks.

Brett stood in the middle of the room, panting, his heavy chest rising and falling in his tight, dark green coat. His buckskins were open and pushed down slightly and his 187

Samantha Kane

cock sprang out from the opening, sticking straight out at Freddy, thick and heavy.

Freddy could see the tip was damp, and his mouth watered.

“Get on the bed,” Brett ordered him, and Freddy obeyed before he even thought about it. He clambered up and kneeled there, suddenly unsure about what Brett wanted him to do. Brett walked over and his cock bobbed and waved with each step, making Freddy’s heart trip with excitement. That was going to be buried inside him. Soon.

Fucking him. His hands trembled.

Brett climbed up and kneeled in front of him. Freddy silently held out the bottle.

Brett took it and Freddy saw a blush climb up his neck and stain his cheeks. Freddy smiled.

“Just like Anne,” he told Brett softly as he reached out and removed the stopper.

The scent of the oil reminded his body of the last time they’d used it, and his cock jerked as a trickle of moisture leaked out. He tossed the stopper on the bed and then turned around. He shoved his pants down to his knees and bent over, resting his forearms on the bed, his arse in the air facing Brett. He felt vulnerable, aroused, desperate, scared. This was it. This was when the reality of what they were doing was going to hit Brett. If he couldn’t do it, now was when he’d pull away.

And then suddenly he felt Brett’s slick finger there, and he felt the cool drops of oil hit his skin as Brett pressed inside. His finger was thick and rough and felt so good Freddy bit his lip and clutched the bed cover in his fists. Brett fumbled next to him, and Freddy realized he was trying to put the stopper in the bottle. He reached back a shaky hand. “Let me hold it.” He cleared his throat. His voice was thick, his words garbled.

“Let me,” he said again. Brett pressed it into his hand and then grabbed his naked hip and slid his finger all the way into Freddy, until Freddy could feel the press of his fist against the cheeks of his buttocks.

Freddy whimpered again. He couldn’t believe how needy he sounded. He hadn’t made that sound with Simon. But Brett reduced him to incoherence as he fucked his finger in and out. Freddy felt his muscles relax and what had been a burning pleasure became a sweet, hot, enticing, aching desire. Brett pulled his finger back and Freddy felt a second finger lightly skimming his hole.

“How many fingers, Freddy?” Brett whispered. “How many do you need before

you can take me? I’m big. I mean, I’m wide. Can you do it?”

Freddy hummed with pleasure and pressed back on Brett’s hand. “Three,” he

mumbled. “Your fingers are big. I think,” he gasped as Brett pushed two fingers inside of him, “I think three will do it. Brett!” His cry was high and loud as Brett sank both fingers deep and hit that spot Simon had taught him about.

“Christ, Freddy,” Brett whispered in confusion behind him. “What is it? What did I do? You liked it. I can tell you liked it.”

Freddy laughed breathlessly and shuddered as Brett hit it again. “There’s a spot inside a man,” he explained, his voice thin and strained. “Stop, Brett, stop, I can’t speak, I can’t think.”

188

Retreat From Love

Brett stopped, his fingers pressed deep. “Explain.”

“It’s, I don’t know, a bump, it felt like a bump. And when you stroke it or…or touch it, Christ, it feels amazing. Never felt like this, though. Never.” He pushed back, wanting that feeling again.

Brett laughed, and it was low and sensual and so masculine and smug Freddy thought he was going to climax right then just from the sound of it. “You want more.

You want that again.” He fucked his fingers in, curving them, and hit the spot and Freddy cried out again, trembling. “Yes, yes,” Brett said quietly, almost to himself. “I feel it.” He stroked inside Freddy with the tip of his finger and Freddy groaned, unable to stop shaking.

“Brett,” he said weakly. “Please.”

Another finger pressed in and Freddy hissed with the burning fullness of it. Brett paused and rubbed his fingers gently, giving Freddy time to adjust. Freddy took several deep breaths and pushed back as Simon had taught him. Brett’s fingers slipped in all the way.

Freddy felt a light touch on his hand. He released the bottle and felt more drops hit his buttocks, tickling as they ran down and coated his hole, filled with Brett’s fingers.

Brett began to move his fingers, staying away from that special spot, and Freddy was glad. He was too close.

“Freddy, are you ready?” Brett whispered, and his voice was a low, hungry growl.

“Because I can’t wait much longer. I’ve got to get inside you. I want to fuck you so badly, Freddy.”

“Now, Brett. Ready now.” Freddy couldn’t even string a complete sentence

together.

Brett pulled his fingers out. A few seconds later he leaned over Freddy’s back, his hands coming down next to Freddy’s arms on the bed, and Freddy felt his cock, slick with oil, nestled in his crack rubbing his hole. He moaned and thrust back. He’d never craved anyone like this. Not even Anne. He’d hardly had time to realize he wanted her before she was his. But Brett, God, he’d waited so long.

Behind him he felt Brett chuckle. “Do you want me that bad, Freddy?” he

whispered, his lips dancing across Freddy’s nape. Freddy shivered. “Yes, I believe you do. I’m tired of playing the gentleman, Freddy, tired of waiting and denying myself.

You’re mine. You’ve been mine since the moment I woke up in Dover and saw you crying next to the bed. No one else will ever fuck you like this, Freddy. No one else will ever love you like I do.”

Freddy was shaking his head, his forehead rubbing on the bed cover. “No one, Brett,” he promised thickly.

And then Brett was rising, holding his hips and pressing inside him. Freddy felt as if he was being ripped apart, but he welcomed the pain. He took a deep breath and pushed back and took all that Brett could give him.

189

Samantha Kane

“Freddy,” Brett groaned, his fingers digging into Freddy’s hips as he bore relentlessly down, deeper and deeper, until Freddy felt Brett’s pubic hair on his cheeks and his balls resting against him. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Freddy was panting, his legs were trembling, and his hole was on fire. He was in heaven.

“Move,” Freddy growled. “Fuck me. I want to be fucked.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Brett growled right back, and then he pulled back slowly and thrust inside again. Freddy rose up from his arms to his hands and spread his legs wider. Brett slid in deeper and they both groaned.

“More,” Freddy demanded.

Brett’s hands were sweaty on his hips, and the hair on his legs tickled the back of Freddy’s thighs. Every sensation was heightened. He could smell the musky scent he associated with men having sex. No other sex smelled like it. It was rich and divine and made his muscles clench tight on Brett inside him. Brett let loose a wordless gurgle and then pulled out and slammed into Freddy.

“Yes,” Freddy shouted, and they began to fuck in earnest. Freddy responded to every hard thrust, until he knew Brett forgot about hurting him and thought only of the pleasure.

“Freddy, Freddy, Freddy,” Brett chanted, punctuating each cry with a thrust of his hips, a slap of flesh on flesh.

Freddy’s arms collapsed. Brett followed him down, the new angle forcing his cock directly on that special spot.

“Brett!” he yelled. He was yanked up and back until he sat on Brett’s lap, Brett’s cock buried inside him. He clenched on the hard length and grabbed his cock, pumping his fist along it. Suddenly Brett grabbed the sides of his jacket and ripped. The buttons flew over the bed. His waistcoat followed, and Freddy laughed. Brett grabbed the neck of his shirt and ripped it open as well. The clothing was pulled apart, and Freddy’s chest was exposed, his neck still enclosed in his cravat. He laughed again, breathlessly.

“You couldn’t have gotten rid of the damn cravat?” he complained.

Brett growled and bit his neck right above the neck cloth as his hands glided up Freddy’s abdomen until he found Freddy’s nipples and pinched them hard. “Next time,” Brett promised darkly. “Next time naked and moonlight and sonatas. Today just fucking. And the chance to squeeze these gorgeous nipples while you frig your cock and I fuck you.”

Freddy groaned. “God, I love it when you talk like that. I never knew you could talk like that.”

“I’ve been talking to you like that every night with my fist around my cock, coming with your name on my lips, Freddy,” he whispered. Freddy whimpered. “I want to do it all.” His hand covered Freddy’s where it was wrapped around his cock. “I want to suck this, to taste it. And I want you to suck mine.” He emphasized his confession with a thrust of his hips. “I mean, after I clean up. Then you can suck it.”

190

Retreat From Love

Freddy couldn’t help it, he laughed. “Yes, definitely after you clean up. Now fuck me while you squeeze my nipples and I frig my cock.”

“Freddy, Jesus,” Brett groaned. But he did as Freddy asked.

Soon it became apparent it wasn’t enough for both of them. Brett pushed Freddy forward with a hand between his shoulder blades and Freddy ended up back on his knees, his forearms braced on the bed while Brett fucked him hard and deep, one hand twisting his nipple ruthlessly. Freddy was grunting with each thrust, not caring how he sounded, only caring that Brett never stop. He let go of his cock. He was too close. He wanted to feel Brett come inside him before he allowed his own release.

“Freddy,” Brett said, and his voice was thick and shaky, his cock slamming into Freddy. “I’m going to…can’t stop.” Brett let go of Freddy’s nipple and wrapped his hand around Freddy’s cock and a shot of pure physical pleasure made Freddy bow his back. Brett moved in closer and shoved Freddy down lower and then he was hitting that spot and pumping Freddy’s cock and Freddy couldn’t stop moaning.

Then Brett was coming, the heat and wetness of his release filling Freddy. Freddy cried out and Brett froze behind him with a shout, pressed deep inside him, trembling as his head fell forward to rest on Freddy’s back. Freddy could feel Brett’s thick cock jerking inside his tight passage. Freddy squeezed around him, holding him tight and Brett grunted and jerked. Then Brett was fucking him again, still hard.

“Feel it, Freddy,” he whispered. “You’re full of me. Full of my cock, full of my juice, so full and tight and hot.”

That was it. Because with each word Freddy did feel it. And it was wonderful. And he climaxed. He climaxed with Brett holding him tight, one arm around his waist, one hand on his cock, whispering to him, coarse and vulgar things mixed with endearments and promises, and it was all that Freddy knew it would be.