Until he nudged my behind with his cock. Then I felt panic.
“Breathe, Henry. I am not going to hurt you. I am going to take care of you.” He pressed himself against me again and slowly pressed in.
Itdidhurt. Felt different from what I expected. Not in a good way…but not in a bad way either. Yes, I understood men did this—even if I had not wanted to think about specific men doing this—but I had never envisioned myself in this position. “Iambreathing.”
He chuckled. Then gripped my hip as he pressed farther in.
My world narrowed focus in a way it seldom did. Similar to when I went into battle. That I needed to do this one thing. Whether to fight the French or to be the best bed partner for Percy—the focus was the same.
He withdrew slightly, then pressed in again. Back. Forth. Each time making his way deeper into me. Into my heart. Into my soul.
Because in all my years, I had never felt such intimacy. As if he and I were the only two beings in the world.
Finally, he stilled.
I adjusted.
“I need to move, Henry. You understand that, right?”
“Yes.” I said the words with some force. “I believe I need you to move as well.”
He continued to grip my hip as he moved. Almost all the way out, only to thrust back in. Over and over again.
My heart rate increased as his ardency encompassed me. I felt, to my depths, how special I was to him. The risk he was willing to take just to be with me—even if only in this one place and at this one time.
Suddenly, his hand was off my hip and grasping my cock. His rhythm faltered for a moment, but then he began anew, thrusting into me as he tugged my shaft.
An overwhelming sensation overcame me and, even as I tried to fight it off, inevitability won over. My balls drew up, and I spilled my orgasm onto his hand.
He continued his unrelenting rhythm until he too held still. His breathing was harsh against my neck as he whispered, “My lord.”
I laughed.
Chapter Eight
Percy
“Ido not understand why I must attend.” Henry glared.
“Because you received an invitation from Blackthorne Manor, and you shall attend.” I was the one who was not clear whymyattendance was required. Earls did not generally request their valets to attend them at soirées, did they? Probably they did, but I was not in the mood to leave the house either. I wished to be abovestairs. With Henry. Making love.
Instead, we were walking to the coach from the house.
Slowly, but steadily.
Much like Henry’s progress. In small amounts. Each day.
I was incredibly proud of how far he had come in such a short period of time. November had passed, and our first snow had been last week. It had melted, though, and so although the grounds were soggy, the stones in the walkway were dry.
Alas, my lord could not procure a single excuse not to attend Lord Blackthorne.
Or, as he was also known, John Sutherland.
Sailor.
One of the very few Black lords in England.
So why the Earl of Hartridge, also a Black man, should hesitate was quite beyond me. The two men would have much in common. Former military men. Unexpected heirs. Single men in possession of large fortunes.
