His fingers twitched with desperate want. Needing the relief that would only come when he could wrap them around his length.
“Fee,” he pleaded at the same time his body rebelled at the idea of this being over. But it was too much. The flames of lust licking at him were too close to swallowing him whole.
“You need to come?” Felix rasped.
Sam thrust back in answer, and Felix’s rhythm faltered, his gasp ringing through the room.
“Touch yourself. Now.” His low order slid over Sam’s skin like melted honey.
Sam’s hand flew to his weeping cock, his hand shuttling wildly over his shaft while Felix pounded into him, fervent, unhinged. Bliss whirled around him. He was at that edge, and bliss was coming at him like a windstorm, a tempest determined to throw him over at any moment.
And then pleasure crashed over him like a torrent of wind, a blinding storm of ecstasy surging through him as he spilled over his hand. Felix’s hoarse shout immediately followed, his hips jerking and stuttering against Sam, wringing out the last of his own pleasure.
Felix collapsed heavily on him, and Sam fell into the wall. They broke out into exhausted chuckles, bodies moving in tandem with ragged breaths.
Sam found Felix’s hand, weaved their fingers together, and brought them over his pounding heart. Felix’s fingers flexed, fingertips digging into Sam’s flesh. Like he knew the organ hiding beneath belonged to him.
Fee nuzzled into the crook of Sam’s shoulder, lips pressing lazy kisses everywhere they could touch. Sam stretched his neck, giving the man more landscape to work with. He loved how affectionate the man got after being intimate. Felix didn’t want to roll away and fall asleep. He didn’t want to slip away without a word. He wanted to beeven closer.
A sated groan escaped him, and Felix’s hands clutched Sam harder. A silent agreement that in this small moment, everything was perfect, that this was something worth holding on to.
Felix’s softening cock slid from Sam, and cold air hit Sam’s back, the evidence of Felix’s release sliding down his thigh. He turned and leaned against the wall; not sure his legs would hold him yet. Felix walked on shaky legs of his own. He grabbed a towel and their banyans, then wobbled back over to Sam.
Felix’s gaze swept over Sam, catching on Sam’s trembling legs. “I’m a little afraid we’re not going to be able to make it up the stairs.”
Sam huffed out a laugh and grabbed the end of the towel, yanking Felix forward so he fell against him. “We’ll manage,” he murmured against Felix’s lips. “Because I am very much looking forward to getting tangled up with you and falling asleep.”
Felix deflated against Sam with a contented hum and sank into Sam’s kiss.
That small vibration shot straight through Sam’s chest, swirling around, filling it.
Christ, when their month was up, Sam didn’t know what he’d do if Felix didn’t want to continue this.
46
Felix
Felixshiftedonhisfeet as he waited for the cottage door to open. He owed Mr. Campbell—Weston—an apology after yesterday. And a discussion…? What exactly did one do when a new sibling was sprung upon them? They had years to make up for.
Not that they hadn’t spent quite a bit of time together, especially now that Felix was training Weston in the estate business. It wasn’t in a brotherly capacity, though. It was polite, possibly more friendly than traditional lord and servant, but Felix didn’t know the important things about his brother. Like how Felicity snorted when she laughed and had an obsession with anything and everything lemon. Or how Fitzy always carried at least three handkerchiefs on his person at all times because of his propensity for sweating when his nerves overcame him.
Did Weston have a particular fondness for games? Charades or snapdragon or card games like whist? Was he competitive like the rest of the Jennings? Or had they inherited that trait from Father?
The door swung open, and Felix started as he was faced with his towering stable master, the elder Mr. Campbell. He’d been so lost in his head, he hadn’t even heard the man approach the door. Mr. Campbell’s smile tugged up on one side, a twinkle in his blue eyes, ones identical to his son’s.
“Och, Bentley. Good tae see you, lad. Come in.”
Felix followed the man into his cottage. It was a comfortable size—at least, Felix hoped it was. All he was familiar with was the enormity of Thornfield Hall. The entry opened to a generous parlor, which Mr. Campbell led them to now. Just off that lay a modest library, and beyond that a separate dining parlor that connected to the small kitchen, with the second floor housing the bedrooms.
The cottage…looked different now, seeing it as the home his brother grew up in. Was there more Felix could have done? They could have expanded it, perhaps enlarged the library. Weston did have a head for figures and was a studious type.
Felix cleared his throat. “I was actually looking for your son.”Brother, your brother, Felix. “Does he happen to be around?”
Mr. Campbell turned to face him, head tilted, and studied Felix. He was a tall man, had a good few inches over Felix. He was strong and lean, even now nearing sixty as he was. Felix remembered when his hair had been ebony black. Now it was spattered with grey, like a grey roan’s coat.
“I’d offer ye a tea or coffee,” Mr. Campbell finally murmured. “But you look like you need a whisky. Aye?”
Felix smiled sheepishly. “I won’t say no to one.”
