“Please,” he murmured at last. “I want…”
“You want to come,” Peter said. “That’s all you need to do, Elliot. All we want. You come for us.”
Elliot glanced at Merritt, who guided his cock to her lips as Peter spoke. She nodded, holding his stare as she sucked him. He groaned as she took him, as Peter stroked the length she couldn’t manage in her throat. It was almost the point of no return. The place where he would do exactly as they desired, exactly as he feared: he would let go. He would hand himself over, never giving anything in return.
And he would take instead of earning.
“Please,” Peter whispered. The strong fingers of one hand worked the base of Elliot’s cock as the other traced his jawline. “Please.”
Elliot couldn’t deny them, or himself, any longer. He came with a roar. Merritt pulled away, his come splashing on her cheeks. Peter opened his mouth, and together they each let him come against their tongues as he groaned in pure pleasure. At last Peter and Merritt kissed, each moaning in desire and pleasure of their own.
But they didn’t do anything more. Slowly they each took their place next to him, arms embracing him, holding him as if they would each protect him. Protecthim. These two people he had worshipped and pleasured and taken care of for years…they were offering him something so precious now in return.
But he frowned even as the pleasure faded slowly. They offered him everything in this cottage, for a short time. But would that offer extend beyond this week of pleasure and bliss? Because it was hard for him to imagine that he could truly surrender to them after they returned to London. Surrender himself to two people who had loved each other first, long before either had known him. Surrender himself without doing anything else in return except be himself.
That…well, that seemed like the real fantasy of this place. And he wasn’t certain it was one he could live when these heady days were over.
CHAPTER12
Peter
Peter scrubbed a hand through his hair as he entered the kitchen one late afternoon a few days later. He found Elliot there, just as he had expected, brewing tea for a very late breakfast that the marquess had already arranged on a tray.
“I wondered where you’d gone,” Peter said as he crossed to kiss Elliot.
Elliot softened to the caress, but then went back to his work. “I said I was going to gather breakfast.”
There was something sharp in his tone and Peter tilted his head at it. “Well, I’ve come to help.”
“I don’t need help.” Elliot turned to the kettle and poured hot water into the teapot.
Peter stared at him. Since the morning he and Merry had sucked Elliot’s cock together, when he had surrendered fully to them for perhaps the first time, Elliot had been softer. More open. But now he was back to being the harder, harsher marquess. And Peter didn’t understand why.
“What is wrong with you?” he asked. “Did I…do something to offend you?”
“No.” Elliot’s tone was gentler, but he didn’t look up from the small adjustments he was making to the tray. “No. I suppose I’m just thinking about what comes next. Already in my head about the trip home tomorrow.”
Peter lifted his brows. “I haven’t thought that far ahead, but I suppose it is a good question to ask. What…what does happen tomorrow?”
Now Elliot did look at him, dark eyes lifting, moving over his face, hesitating on his lips, then drifting away. Desire and tension, almost like they’d gone back to the beginning. Peter found himself wanting to grasp at keeping Elliot here instead.
“Merritt and I will go home,” Elliot said softly. “And I suppose you will soon follow, as I know you are putting on your next play very soon. There must be much to do.”
“I wasn’t talking about plays, Elliot,” Peter said, and grabbed for his hand.
Elliot stared at their intertwined digits for a moment, flexing his fingers in Peter’s. Then he slowly drew himself away. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Everything has changed, hasn’t it? Especially in the last few days. And I will confess that I am not certain about what that means for me. For you, for her.”
“What about forus?” Peter asked. “Isn’t this a discussion for us, since it is about us?” Elliot huffed out a breath and Peter wrinkled his brow. “You aren’t going lord of the manor on me about this, are you? Deciding you know best for all of us? I thought we had moved past that.”
“I don’t know best about anything,” Elliot snapped. “I’m wondering if I ever did.” He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “Look, I apologize. I’m in an ill humor thinking about everything that needs to be done before we go home. Why don’t I just go into Brighton, make the arrangements, and I’ll try to be in a better mindset when I return?”
Peter drew in a breath. He could understand where Elliot was coming from, in truth. The marquess was a serious person, one who had spent a lifetime holding back some part of himself. The last few days of utter surrender and vulnerability were likely not easy for him.
“Very well,” he said as gently as he could. “I’ll take the tray to Merry and explain. And we’ll be waiting for you when you return.”
Elliot stared at the tray he’d made and then up at Peter. “Yes. Fine. Thank you.”
He said nothing else, he made no effort to touch Peter. He just turned and left the kitchen. Leaving Peter entirely confused and worried about what exactly Elliot’s ill humor meant.
