Simply Pleasure (2 page)

Peter tried to reclaim the covers, but Val snatched them back.

“You promised to let me do what I wanted with you.”

“But—”

“Lie back and put your hands on the headboard behind you.”

Peter obeyed, his body too used to doing what it was told to find the courage to object. Usually at this point, he tried to stop thinking about whatever he was being made to do, to ignore the face looming over him, or the smell and sounds of another human rutting, but this was Val. He had to savor every precious second.

He shuddered as Val straddled him and nipped his lower lip, his whole body jerking, his cock jammed against Val's shirt.

“Keep still, and be quiet.”

Peter held his breath as Val's quick mouth moved over him, nuzzling his jaw, his throat, and then down to his chest. He moaned as Val played with his nipples using his teeth and then his fingers to bring them to hard aching points. Damnation, he shouldn't have agreed to this. Val wasn't going to be kind, but then when was he ever kind? He knew what Peter needed, what he craved . . .

Val knelt up and moved closer, his cock in his hand, and rubbed the crown against Peter's lips.

“Suck me.”

Peter opened his mouth and Val surged forward, one hand sliding around to the back of Peter's head, to hold him steady while he took what he wanted and controlled Peter's response. Peter could do nothing but suck and swallow, and try to remember to breathe as Val fucked his mouth.

Devil take it, he was a
fool
. . .

He gasped as Val yanked on his long hair and he had to release his grip on his lover's cock.

“Turn around.”

Val got off him, and Peter turned to face the wall.

“Why not on my back?” The words burst out of him before he could stop them. Val froze behind him.

“I told you to be quiet.”

The sound of Val's hand hitting his buttock was loud, and Peter stopped talking to brace for another blow, which swiftly followed. His arse heated and the pain sunk in to him, and somehow made everything right. He arched his back offering more, seeking the place where the sting turned to pleasure, where he needed it more than he needed to breathe.

Val pushed his knees farther apart, his finger sliding between Peter's buttocks to settle on the pucker of his arsehole and play with that, his fingernail rough as he rimmed the hole.

“I don't have any oil.”

“I don't care,” Peter whispered.

“Be quiet.”

Another slap, this time between his buttocks, catching his arsehole, taint, and balls. He caught his lower lip between his teeth and fought to breathe.

Val reached around and grabbed Peter's wet cock in a hard grip. “Do you want me to slap this? Is the only time I can keep you quiet is when my cock's filling your mouth?”

Peter went still and stared down at Val's fisted hand, which was now covered in his pre-cum.

The hand disappeared and Val's now wet fingers probed his arsehole. Despite the lubrication, it was rough going, but Peter didn't care. It was Val and he'd take Val anyway he could. Two fingers he guessed, shoved deep and then almost freed before being pushed deep again.

Val crouched behind him, his thick wet cock pressed against Peter's lower spine, rubbing and teasing him as Val toyed with his balls and his shaft until Peter thought he was going to explode. He arched his back even more, offering Val everything, begging him to slide in and . . . God, yes, it was like a punch to the gut, Val's big cock pressing and parting his hole, retreating and then moving ever deeper.

Peter forgot how to breathe and concentrated on that slow, relentless passage, widening his stance to take everything, shocked at how big Val felt even after all their encounters. He squeezed down on Val's cock, heard his breathing hitch, and was rewarded by the final slam of Val sheathing himself completely, his thick throbbing length deep inside Peter.

Val stayed there, his fingers finding Peter's sore nipples and tormenting them further, his mouth nipping and biting his throat, his ear, never his mouth. Val didn't kiss anyone when he fucked, unless he was forced to. Peter wanted Val's hands on his cock, but he didn't dare ask. He knew his contrary lover might pull out and turn away, leaving him begging.

Val's fingers finally gripped his cock, right at the base, stopping Peter from coming. He braced himself as Val finally started to move, each stroke rough from root to tip. Peter had to close his eyes as his beleaguered cock was held in an iron fist. Val kept pounding into him and it was both torture and pleasure and he wanted it more than anything he'd ever wanted in his life. Because it was Val, and because for these short moments Val was his.

Val pressed deep one more time and held still, his whole body tense as he started to come in thick hot waves. He collapsed forward over Peter's back, his face buried in the crook of his neck, his hand still wrapped around Peter's hard cock. Peter breathed in the scents of their coupling and licked his lips, tasting both Val and the saltiness in the air.

He tried not to tense as Val eased out of him and walked over to the basin and jug of water. He kept his back to Peter as he washed himself clean. Peter cupped his cock.

“What about me?”

Val didn't turn around, just kept scrubbing away every last vestige of Peter's scent from his skin.

“Am I supposed to see to myself?” He scowled at the back of Val's oblivious head. “How stupid of me. I forgot this was all for your benefit.”

“That's not true, you were the one who—”

“Begged?” Peter tried to ignore the sick feeling pooling in his stomach as Val turned around and came slowly back toward the bunk. “Oh, let's not forget that. The great Valentin Sokorvsky would never beg for
anything
.”

Val ignored him and vaulted up onto the top bunk.

“Except that I know you need sex, Val. That's what's wrong with you. The last two weeks without it have made you fight with the crew, Mr. Harrison, and most usually, me.”

Peter gripped his cock and made himself climax, shuddering with relief as his come jetted out over his hand. “You asked me not to go and prostitute myself to get opium. Was that because you knew it would be cheaper to use me yourself ?”

“Peter, shut your damned mouth.”

“I know why you don't like to look into my eyes when you fuck me. If you don't acknowledge it's me, you can pretend I'm just another client, can't you? I'm so bloody glad I was here to give you relief, and, don't worry: I certainly don't expect any payment, or even a thank-you.”

Peter got up and went to wash, his cock aching in sympathy with his heart. Of course, Val had left hardly any water, but Peter did the best he could. There was no sound from the top bunk. Val had turned his back and was apparently sleeping.

Not that such behavior surprised Peter in the least. Val hated needing anything, particularly him. With a sigh, he straightened the covers on the lower bunk and allowed himself to fall asleep.

Peter woke when the smell of roasting meat tantalized his nose and hurried to put on his shirt and breeches. If he was going to be allowed out for a walk after dinner, he had to be decently clothed. He didn't bother to check on Val, his feelings still too raw to allow him to face his friend with the slightest hint of complacency. He'd learned over the years that Val was extremely difficult, and that the more he pushed or tried to force his friend to acknowledge his appalling behavior, the more defensive he became.

Val's being an aristocrat explained a lot. Peter stood up as the door opened and took the heavy tray of food from the precarious grip of the young cabin boy.

“Thank you, Jameson.”

“I'll be back in a while.” The cabin boy nodded. “It's a fine, calm evening.”

Peter put the tray on the table, picked up his plate and tankard of ale, and set about eating. Val didn't stir and Peter continued to ignore him.

After a while, Jameson came back, accompanied by one of the larger members of the crew who looked as if he'd been the victor in many prizefights.

“Erik will escort you on your walk.”

Peter nodded. “Thank you.”

Erik moved past him, went over to Val's bunk, and prodded his shoulder.

“What about him?”

“He's probably had enough exercise for the day. Best leave him to sleep.”

Peter followed Erik through the narrow passageways and finally up the ladder to the deck. He took in a deep appreciative breath of fresh, unsullied air. Jameson had been correct, the sea was as tranquil as a millpond, and the sun was setting on the horizon, bathing everything in golden light.

He walked over to the nearest railing and looked out over the vast expanse of water. Memories of that other voyage, the one that had ended in disaster, suddenly overwhelmed him, and he blinked hard.

“Good evening.”

He looked up to find the ship's captain had joined him and stood, hands clasped behind his back, staring out over the water.

“Good evening, Captain Ford.”

“Your friend has not come out for a walk this evening, then?”

“My ‘friend' is currently asleep, so your crew can rest easy.”

“My crew is mainly at dinner.” The captain cast him a sidelong glance. “Bit of a temper, that lad, eh?”

“I think anyone who was accosted and told to get down on their knees and whore for a bunch of sailors would get rather annoyed.”

“Is that what happened?” The captain sighed. “I'll tell them to keep their hands to themselves in future.”

“That would be helpful if you would prefer to complete this voyage without someone losing their testicles.”

“I can think of better uses for a man's tackle than that.”

“So can I.”

The captain's low chuckle made Peter turn toward him and measure the appreciation in his brown eyes.

“Would you care for a drink in my cabin, Mr. . . ?”

“Call me Peter.” He shrugged. “I'm not quite sure what my surname is. I
think
it is Howard.”

He followed the captain around the ship, and learned far more about the craft of sailing than he had ever expected to know. He also learned from the subtle way the captain brushed against him and touched him quite unnecessarily that the man was interested in more than just his conversation.

Eventually, as the sun sank below the horizon, plunging the ship into darkness and illuminating a sky full of stars, the captain led Peter into his cabin and shut the door behind them.

“We won't be disturbed unless there is an emergency.” Captain Ford leaned against the door and studied Peter. “Would you like brandy or whisky? I have both.”

“Whichever you prefer.”

Peter wandered around the cabin, which was about five times the size of the one he shared with Val, and had a much larger bed in it. A collection of books on the table covered with navigational aids and maps caught his attention.

“Do you like to read?” Captain Ford joined him and handed him a glass of brandy.

“I rarely had the opportunity.” Peter touched the leather cover of the topmost book. “I was just thinking that the ability to teach myself to read properly again would occupy this journey most productively.”

“You may certainly borrow some of my books.” The captain hesitated. “I appreciate that it must be difficult for you both being cooped up like this.”

“Oh, no, never think that.” Peter smiled into the other man's eyes. “We are finally free of the brothel. This is paradise in comparison.”

“You hated it there?”

“It . . . wasn't always pleasant.”

The captain licked his lips. “You hated everything you had to do there?”

“No, I have gained certain skills that I suspect will be appreciated wherever I end up.”

“Such as?”

“How to please a woman, or a man. How to keep them on the edge of pleasure until they beg or scream for release.”

The captain's pupils dilated and he swallowed hard. Peter reached out and took the glass out of his unresisting hand.

“Would you like me to show you?”

“I do not wish to force you to commit any acts that you find offensive. I would never—”

Peter put his finger against the captain's lips. “I just want to please you. Consider it a thank-you for bringing us home. Now, what would you like me to do?”

“It is more what I would like you to do to me.” His companion hesitated. “Would you let me take your cock in my mouth and suck you?”

“It would be my pleasure. Is there anything else?”