“Because I want to see you have some tiny fraction of what you give,” he said gently.
“I get plenty,” Elliot protested. “I haven’t complained.”
“No, I don’t think you ever would.” Peter shook his head. “Maybe you should.”
“I grew up with a man who complained and took and didn’t give a fuck about anyone else but himself.” Elliot glared at him. “And you won’t convince me to be like him, not for your pleasure.”
And there it was in one broken expression. Peter understood Elliot on a level he never had before.
“Does Merry know?” he asked after a beat had passed.
Elliot sighed. “Yes. She knew my father. She saw what our relationship was like. She comforted me when he was dead and all I had left was the pain he caused in his wake.”
“Good,” Peter said softly. “At least you let her do that.”
Elliot lay back on the pillows, not touching Peter, and stared up at the ceiling. “It wasn’t easy. I’m not like you two. I can’t just…spill myself out for others to see. He…he punished me for that. And I learned very young not to ask for too much. To prove myself worthy of attention or praise or…”
He trailed off and Peter reached out to rest his hand on Elliot’s naked chest. He could feel the other man’s heart beating hard against his fingers. The only indication he gave of how difficult this was because he had been trained to hide emotions that might be construed as…messy. Uncomfortable for someone else.
“Or love?” Peter suggested.
“Love was for the weak,” Elliot whispered, and his voice broke just a fraction. “Wanting love was for the weak.”
Peter leaned on his side and scooted next to him, close enough that their bodies touched again. He cupped Elliot’s cheek and turned his face into his. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry he told you that lie and that you believed it.”
Then he bent his head and took Elliot’s mouth gently, hoping he would allow Peter to give to him. Just give. Before this was over and it might be too late.
* * *
Elliot
It wasn’t that no one had ever talked to Elliot about his father. He and Merritt had discussed the late marquess often, especially when the old man had died. She had held Elliot, soothed him, given him all the warmth and care in the world so he could collapse. And he had, just once. It had terrified him to let her see him in that state and he had vowed never to do it again.
But here he was, Peter leaning over him, holding him steady on the bed, kissing him. And he wanted so, so much, to just…let him. To relax his death grip on control like he had the first time Peter had taken him into his mouth…only let it last more than a few moments. To really give himself to this man. And to Merritt. To be weak, if only for them.
Peter’s mouth dragged lower, away from his lips, across his jawline, down the side of his throat. He lifted into the sensations of the other man’s touch, closing his eyes so he could just…feel. Peter’s lips latched around his nipple, sucking until he reached the very edge of pain. He set his hand on the back of Peter’s head, but Peter shook it as he reached up to pin Elliot’s hands to the bed.
“Just for you,” he whispered. “Let this be just for you.”
Elliot stared at him, knowing he could refuse. Knowing he could break Peter’s firm hold on his wrists if he wanted to. Refuse to allow him to do this.
“Don’t you want it to be just for him, Merry?” Peter asked, keeping his stare locked with Elliot’s.
Elliot turned his face and found Merritt in the doorway, a tray in her hands. She was staring at them, mouth partly agape, desire and emotion all over her lovely face. But Peter’s question seemed to jolt her to action.
“Oh yes,” she murmured as she entered the room and set the tray of food on the table by the fire. She practically glided toward the bed, hands trembling as she joined them. Peter kept holding him down, gentle but firm as she settled in beside Elliot, cupped his face and kissed him deeply.
“Merritt,” he managed to moan around her tongue. When she pulled away, he stared up into her face, uncertain what to say or do in this situation.
“Please let us,” she whispered back. “Let us.”
It was her request that forced the ultimate surrender. After all, he could never deny her. So he nodded and tugged his hands from Peter’s. But instead of reaching for his two remarkable lovers, as he so desperately wished to do, he placed them behind his head, trapping them against the pillows as he watched Merritt and Peter kiss over his prone body.
They didn’t linger on each other long, though. Together, they kissed a trail down his body. It was fire and pleasure, Merritt’s hands soft on his skin, Peter more firm and determined as he traced the lines of Elliot’s chest and hips and thighs.
At last they each settled with their faces at his hips. His cock was already hard from everything that had come before, and Merritt smiled, as if giving her permission to Peter to begin. He did so, licking a slow circle around the ridiculously sensitive head of Elliot’s cock. He jolted with a moan and lifted against Peter’s tongue. Merritt laughed, her voice husky in the quiet. She rested a hand on his hip to hold him steady and then bent her head. She sucked the shaft of his cock, then lower to trace her tongue over his balls.
He couldn’t breathe as the pleasure spiked between them. First they teased him, just licking and tasting, tormenting with tongues and fingers. Kissing each other as often as they licked him. But soon they both grew more focused. They took turns with him, taking his cock in their mouths, sucking him. Building him toward release. And he ached for it as the need grew, making his balls heavy, streaking pleasure up his length.
