Then he crawled up me and thrust his tongue into my mouth again.
And, again, the familiarity shocked me. I considered kissing to be almost as intimate as coitus. Clearly Percy did not feel the same.
Or does he? What if he is not just doing this for me? What if my guilt at asking such intimacies of him is unwarranted? What if…he enjoys this?Well, his cock hard against my hip was likely all the proof I required that he had most certainly enjoyed himself.
The taste of my essence only spurred me on—wanting more even as my flaccid cock assured me that I was not likely to see more action anytime soon. I pulled back. “Let me help you.”
“Help?” His breaths were almost as harsh as mine.
I grasped his cock through his nightshirt.
He let out a long breath. “You do not need—”
“I want.” I had never held another man’s cock before, but I understood mechanics. When I attempted to pull off so I could spit in my hand, he held my hand in place.
He rutted just a few times, and then wetness stained the fabric as he let out a long hiss of what I hoped was pleasure. “Oh, Henry.”
My name. On his lips. Did all kinds of strange things to my insides. This time, he was not doing it because I commanded it. No, this was a name exchanged between two familiars. Two men who had just shared the most intimate of experiences.
Only as we untangled, did I realize I had brought him pleasure with my left hand. In the heat of the moment, there had been noawkwardness. I had not questioned my abilities or his pleasure. I had acted on instinct.
He eased into the crook of my arm, resting his head against my shoulder. “Thank you, Henry.”
“That simple?” I kept my tone wry.
He laughed. “Yes, that simple. Rest now. You have had a long day. We can speak more in the morning.”
Except we did not. He was dressed and ready to attend me.
Following his lead, I rose, washed, and dressed—with his assistance.
Always with his assistance.
Chapter Six
Percy
“He is a good man.” Mrs. Fernsby gazed at Henry.
The warning of not falling in love with him was on the tip of my tongue until I realized she meant only our master was a good man because of the time he spent with Isabella.
Henry sat on the floor with his niece beside him, lying on her back. This position was safest for them, since Henry had only the one arm and worried forever about hurting her. With them on a blanket, and surrounded by pillows, they were safe.
Isabella was not yet of an age when she might be able to crawl. Instead, she appeared content to merely stare at her uncle as he made strange faces.
I worried he might be in some discomfort, but soon realized these expressions were an attempt to make Isabella laugh.
Caroline had been a stunning woman, and now her daughter promised to be just as handsome. Well, perhaps difficult to tell at mere six months old. But if her enthrallment of her uncle was any indication, she would do well.
She grasped his hand. She cared not for missing limbs, lameness, or scars. She wanted only the undiluted affection and attention she received from Mrs. Fernsby, most of the staff, and now, her uncle.
Please let her only know kindness and happiness. Please let him be here for many years to come, to protect her.No reason to think he might not be—except she was an orphan at a young age. Two healthy parents felled by unexpected illnesses mere months apart.
Yet Henry had survived more than twelve years of war, grievous injuries, and the despair that accompanied those things. He was proof of the existence of resiliency.
“Percy?”
“My lord?” I stepped forward.
