The Red King (25 page)

“I would have you,” Andrew murmured, catching
Rory’s lower lip in his and nipping hard. “Not gently.”

Rory groaned, sore balls tightening as he
clenched inside, astonished. He’d explored many pleasures since his
escape but never…never had he cared for any man to penetrate him.
The mere idea, the surrender of his primacy, of his control, had
soured him on the notion with every lover, even Fleming whom he’d
trusted so much.

Taking Andrew’s cock, Rory guided it between
his legs, not even bothering to moisten it with spit. “Do it,” he
whispered, amazed by the fierce light in Andrew’s eyes. “No oil.
Take me. Do your worst.”

He didn’t cry out as the other man forced
himself inside, didn’t shudder or make a sound. It hurt, of course
it hurt, but the pain had a new quality, a meaning Maarten’s
brutality had always lacked. Rory lifted his hips, opening himself
wide, and grasped Andrew’s lower back to push him in completely,
absorbing the burning pain in silence. Andrew groaned, shuddered
and began to rock. Rory felt a sudden stab of deep revelatory
pleasure. Andrew was inside him, fucking him, beautiful Andrew,
perfect Andrew,
his
Andrew.

“Oh,” Rory gasped, unable to hold back the
sound.

Andrew moved faster, pushing in violently,
pounding flesh against flesh. Rory’s belly clenched, cock trembling
and already pleasured right to the edge of climax. Long ago Maarten
had taken him this way; fast, brutal, fucking him hard and heedless
like an animal, but this was Andrew, Andrew,
Andrew
…Andrew’s
eyes were watching him, filled with predatory hunger, his lips
parted and curled in a feral snarl.

“Oh!” Rory cried again, so loud Brighid
whinnied in answer.

“Say it,” Andrew demanded, slick with sweat
from his own struggle not to come first.

“I…”

“Say it!”

“I love you!” Rory’s seed pumped out, hot and
sticky between them as his body clenched inside. With a choked,
guttural sound, Andrew let go, collapsing in Rory’s arms. They just
breathed, not moving, resting in a tangle of limbs and sweat and
cooling come. Andrew shifted, lowering Rory’s legs and letting his
softening cock slip free of Rory’s ass. Rory moaned, arms
tightening, pulling Andrew closer. “I love you,” he repeated,
softly this time.

“I love you,” Andrew said, voice trembling
but solemn, rising up to look into his eyes. “Stop hiding from me,
Rory. I want all of you, every bit. I will never turn from you no
matter what you reveal to me.”

He pressed his face into Rory’s neck and
Rory, for the first time, thanked God for his blessing.

Rory woke at first light to the sensation of
fingers combing slowly through his hair. He opened his eyes to find
Andrew beside him, smiling, while his hand gently tamed the
knots.

“Hello,” Andrew whispered.

Turning on his side to face him, Rory
answered, “I wish you luck with that.” His eyes rolled up,
indicating the messy snarls in his hair.

“I do not want them gone,” Andrew said, his
smile widening to a grin. “I enjoy the feel of it.” He moved his
hand down to Rory’s face, tracing the edges of the thickening
beard. “Although, I do miss the smoothness here” his fingers moved
to Rory’s mouth “and being able to see your lips.”

With a playful growl, Rory reached for him,
pulling and rolling so that he rested atop Andrew. “Does it burn
your tender flesh?” he asked, his voice taking on a villainous but
comical flair.

Andrew laughed while circling him with arms
and legs. “Not so much as your kisses, my king, and I find that
they start to cool when your lips are wearing a winter’s coat.”

“A shave, then, and a bath for both of us,”
Rory said, lowering his head to catch Andrew’s lip between his
teeth, mimicking Andrew’s action of the previous evening.

Andrew tightened his limbs and rolled them
over again, his mouth latched to Rory’s. They parted and Andrew
pushed himself up to hover over Rory. “Teach me something new,” he
breathed, rolling his hips.

Rory smirked. “You needed no lessons last
night.”

Andrew looked discomfited. “I didn’t mean
to…did I hurt you?”

“You were perfect,” Rory said, reaching up to
hold Andrew’s face. “You did exactly what was needed.” He let his
hands move slowly down, sliding from neck to shoulders, to chest.
His fingers closed hard on Andrew’s nipples and then flicked across
them, causing Andrew to gasp and arch away. “No?”

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Andrew said,
breathlessly. “But now, yes.”

Rory repeated the action, smiling when
Andrew’s cock leapt to full thickness. Once more, twisting and
toying with the reddened, puckering flesh and Andrew moaned. His
hips rocked forward, pressing down on Rory’s own erection. “Ready
for more?” Rory asked.

Andrew nodded, biting his lip again.

Rory grabbed his chin and pulled the lip
down. “Stop that,” he chided, gently, pushing himself up with his
other hand. Still holding Andrew’s chin, he leaned in to kiss him,
nipping and sucking the lip in question until Andrew was panting
into his mouth.

“Where is the oil?” Rory asked in between
kisses.

Andrew had to swallow before he could speak.
“The corner.”

Smiling, Rory reclined again, stretching his
arms over his head and arching up into Andrew. His fingers closed
on the small bottle, but he waited. Andrew let his own hands spread
across Rory’s stomach, thumbs pressing in below his ribs and
travelling up to rest lightly on his nipples. His eyes rose to
Rory’s and Rory nodded.

Andrew caught them with finger and thumb,
hard. Rory grunted and brought his hands back down. “I’m sorry,”
Andrew said, withdrawing.

“No, you did it right,” Rory laughed. “I did
not take into account your quick and eager intellect.”

Slowly, Andrew bent to his chest. “I am still
sorry,” he whispered. He opened his mouth, extended his tongue, and
licked the tender flesh, his eyes on Rory’s.

Moaning, Rory slipped a hand behind his head.
“You are forgiven.” Andrew remained, his lips and tongue drawing
moans and gasps until a small nip of teeth caused Rory to yelp.

Andrew looked up at him and grinned. “I’m not
sorry for that.”

“Take the oil, Andrew, and put some on your
fingers,” Rory ordered, gruffly.

Still grinning, Andrew sat back and took the
vial. He pulled the stopper and poured oil onto his hand.

Rory pulled him back down so that their
chests pressed together. “Now, reach behind you, put your fingers
in your ass. Prepare yourself for me.”

Andrew shuddered, his eyes closing.

“Eyes open. Look at me while you do it.”

It took a moment for him to find the correct
angle but Andrew was ever the able student. He had to arch his
back, pressing harder into Rory’s chest as he was veiled with a
layer of sweat. It went on, their gazes never wavering, even though
Andrew’s eyes took on a dazed, unfocused look. He was panting,
mouth open, and he was leaking onto Rory’s stomach from the tip of
his cock.

“Are you ready for me Andrew?” Rory asked,
his voice dark with need.

“Yes,” was Andrew’s breathless answer.

“Sit back, lift up, and I will hold
steady.”

Andrew followed the instruction, only pausing
for a moment when he felt the blunt head of Rory’s cock slip
against his hole. He bit his lip and pressed, forcing it into him
with a small cry.

“Easy, we will need more oil,” Rory said and
put one hand out to retrieve the bottle.

Andrew dropped with all of his weight,
trapping Rory’s hand between them where it held his cock. He
screamed, head thrown back and throat working frantically as he
tried to swallow his cries. Both hands were spread across Rory’s
chest, his thighs twitched and clenched; he remained still for
several seconds while his body accommodated Rory’s girth. When he
next took a breath it was shaky and shallow.

Rory was stunned, both by the swiftness of
Andrew’s action and the sudden and intense pleasure. He dug his
fingers into Andrew’s waist, groaning, gritting his teeth and
fighting his threatening climax even as he gazed upon the man above
him, so exquisite
in extremis
. “Christ, Andrew,” he moaned,
trembling as the urge to come receded. “Look at me now.”

With something like a whimper Andrew lowered
his head. He had tears on his face and his lip was bruised, bitten,
but the look in his eyes was as evident as his hard and leaking
prick. He rolled his hips experimentally, gasping, his entire body
quivering. Again he shifted and this time he let out groan. “Oh,
God, this….Rory,” he choked out.

“Yes, Andrew, now,” Rory said, rocking his
hips up, lifting Andrew as he did. “Ride me. Fuck yourself on
me.”

Every movement made Andrew cry out but he did
not stop. He rose and dropped, again, again, hands still spread
across Rory’s chest and back arching to find his own pleasure. He
wept, cursed, threw his head back again in wanton abandonment. Rory
never looked away, rapt by the expressions on Andrew’s face. The
tell-tale flush spread across Andrew’s features, down his neck and
chest and Rory forced his hands open to release Andrew’s waist. His
fingers trailed through the slick sweat of Andrew’s chest, stopped
to clamp and twist his nipples, and then they wrapped around
Andrew’s straining cock.

Andrew lost his rhythm, rocked back hard,
fast, and screamed again, painting Rory’s chest with his come. Rory
pulled him down, holding him close as he rolled them over and he
thrust, blindly, violently, the joy of it almost unbearable.
Andrew’s arms came up around his neck and the softest of whispers,
quietly chanted with each relentless push, reached his ears.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Rory screamed now but it was swallowed by
Andrew’s mouth, open and hungry and waiting for it. He could taste
blood from Andrew’s lip, mixed with tears, and he knew it was he
that put them there…and his body seized, his mind went white and
there was roaring in his ears as he loosed his seed into
Andrew.

They lay wrapped in each other for a long
time. They did not speak outside of contented murmurs and sighs
between kisses. Rory propped on one elbow and stared at Andrew,
committing every detail to his heart and mind; the fresh glow to
his skin, the startling blue of his dark-lashed eyes, the curve of
his brows and shape of his nose. With one finger he traced the
delicate outline of Andrew’s lips, following as they smiled. Rory
bent to kiss those lips and trailed up to press his mouth to the
scrape from their tumble on the beach.

“Rory,” Andrew sighed, and his stomach
growled.

They laughed.

“I take it you’re hungry?” Rory asked,
lowering his head to nuzzle at the flat surface above Andrew’s
pubis.

His fingers finding Rory’s hair once again,
Andrew made a pleased humming sound, and said, “Yes, and I must
admit, a bath sounds wonderful. I’ve enough of the salt water.”

Rory rose and extended his hands to help
Andrew stand. He did not miss the grimace as he hauled Andrew to
his feet. Without asking permission, he gently swiped a finger into
the crevice of Andrew’s bottom. It came back without blood, but
Andrew hissed and tightened his hold on Rory’s shoulders.

“It is not bad, only tender,” he said,
softly. He looked into Rory’s face. “And I promise you that I
thoroughly enjoyed it.”

Not entirely soothed, Rory stared back, and
said, “It is not worth injuring you.”

Andrew smiled. “I am not injured, I am used.
Taken wholly and rapaciously, as a starving man would devour a
boar, and I am most satisfied by the feeling. It was worth it,” he
said, licking his lips. Seeing that Rory was still not convinced,
Andrew stretched up to whisper against his mouth, “Perhaps, later,
you can kiss it for me to remove the sting.”

Rory’s heart sped up and his hands clenched,
digging into Andrew’s hips. “Christ, what you do to me…”

Andrew’s stomach grumbled, persistently.

“Hellfire,” Rory said without heat and smiled
at Andrew’s happy laughter.

Titrit was more than happy to provide them
with food and tea while Idir continued his endless stream of verbal
thoughts. They ate hummus with spiced meat, scooping it into warm,
fresh flatbreads. “Malik is made of stern stuff. He drank, three,
maybe four of those little barrels of wine, ended a scuffle between
two others – your men, I must add – helped Malla Izza with her
trays, and is now entertaining the little ones. What else can he
do?”

“He is a mystery, Idir. His discoveries are
ours, as well. Though, judging by the size of his heart, that he
would aid an old woman and play with children is not so
surprising,” Rory answered. “What were my men arguing about?”

Idir shook his head. “I do not know, but
Malik threatened to throw one of them from a cliff.”

Rory glanced at Andrew, who was curled upon a
carpet, his cheek resting against a cushion. He looked half-asleep
until Rory saw the shrewd sparkle in his eyes.

“Not that I cannot picture Malik doing it,
but to threaten seems somehow not in his character,” Andrew
commented.

There was a cacophony of ecstatic screams
from outside.

“I think,” Idir said, smiling, “that is him
now. You could ask him.”

Rory rose, turning to Andrew to help him.
Again there was a pained look, but it dissolved quickly into a
grin. “I’m all right.”

“Must I tend to your injury sooner than
later?” Rory asked, his voice low to keep the words from Idir.

“Perhaps,” Andrew answered, shyly, “but I
would like to speak to Malik.”

The high-pitched squeals rose in volume once
more. Both of them laughed and gave their thanks to Idir before
they left. They exited the little house and were greeted by more
screams. Moving slowly up the center of the stone lined street was
Malik; he had one child on his back, one hanging from each arm, and
one holding on to each leg, being dragged as he took great,
lumbering steps.