Her Husband’s Lover. Madelynne Ellis
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didn’t want to pull back and walk away either.
‘Don’t brood, act,’ Lyle enticed him.
It was damned hard to resist when the offer was being dangled before him like that. Darleston grabbed the open front of Lyle’s dress coat and tugged him closer. He’d remained abstinent since the last time with Giles, save for the unmentionable mistake of the day before. Now his cock craved release like a drunkard longed for a bath of gin. He needed this. It was what he was. And it was easy. Oh, so very easy and real.
Why wouldn’t he risk everything when it felt this good?
Memories, sparked by Lyle’s scent, came flooding back as he reversed their positions and shoved Lyle hard up against the unforgiving bark of the tree. Good times and bad, the terrible pain of separation and the numbness that followed. Suddenly, he had to fill that empty void he’d been burdened with. He crushed Lyle to him, revelled in the hard press of muscle against his torso as they kissed again. Furious this time. He wanted to get closer, to rub up against the man’s bare skin. He inhaled Lyle’s scent like it was perfume; grew intoxicated on the musky aroma.
Dexterous fingers began to work open the buttons of his frontfall.
‘You’ve a wife now. Are you sure about this?’
The tip of Lyle’s tongue brushed the outer edge of Darleston’s earlobe, causing a waterfall of bliss to shoot through his veins. ‘I’ve a wife. You’ve a wife. Damn near entire population has a wife. And mine won’t mind. I need to have you, Robert. Do you realise you never allowed me that pleasure before?’
Was that true? He guessed it was. Pretty much everything about their relationship had been lopsided in those days. As an Earl’s son he’d taken precedence, and that had applied within the bedroom as well as without. Few men had topped him in any way since.
Lyle’s hot palm wrapped around his shaft. Vivid memories snapped sharply into focus, of things they’d done together and said. ‘You could kiss me first,’ he gasped.
Lyle chuckled. ‘I think I’ve forgotten how that works.’
A reminder seemed wholly inappropriate given the way that Lyle’s tongue stabbed between his parted lips. He held nothing back. Raw passion rolled off him in waves. It infused his breath and his grip, so that they clutched one another, fists closing around cloth and fingertips digging into the exposed flesh beneath, unable to break apart.
The sweetness of kitchen dainties lingered upon Lyle’s tongue mingled with the dark residue of after-dinner port. His touch, cradling at first, soon grew bolder and transformed into a sliding caress. Whole languages had surely been invented to describe this very act, but right now Darleston couldn’t recall a single word of any of them. All he knew was that he wanted – oh, God, how he’d missed – that touch.
With a few deft twists, he released the placket of Lyle’s breeches. There were times when he was all about taking, but this wasn’t one of them. He needed to give pleasure too. Following Lyle’s movements he curled his thumb over the tip of his cock and rubbed slow circles around the sensitive eye.
Not that finesse was really about to play a great part in this.
‘Together,’ Lyle hissed into his ear, before he pressed their cocks tight to one another and began stroking them as one.
Darleston’s hips rolled. He clung to Lyle, fingertips curled into one bicep, the other hand fast upon his hip, while the dual caress upon his cock worked him rapidly towards fever pitch. Strange that Lyle could bring him to this so quickly, when it was his legendary control that had wooed so many matrons in the bedroom.
He guessed the difference was desire. Not only his, but Lyle’s too. This wasn’t just about satisfying an itch, it was a physical need. The threat of climax loomed. It drew his balls up tight and set him walking a knife’s edge. It came as a shock when Lyle got there first, crying into his shoulder as his seed spilled. Darleston’s hips still rocked, but he was thrusting his cock against nothing but the cool night air. Bereft, he felt the sting of rejection in his cheeks. Then Lyle dropped to his knees and buried his fair head beneath the hem of Darleston’s shirt.
Warm heat surrounded him. Then months of stagnant tension finally ran out of his limbs. His arms fell momentarily limp by his sides. Lyle had always possessed outstanding skills and his ability to suck had only improved in the intervening years. Tricks he played with his tongue left Darleston breathless and grasping at handfuls of blond hair just to steady himself. He’d often wondered what it was about this man that made him so damn special. Well, maybe it was this. He simply had a knack, a certain way, of turning what was usually a pleasurable act into something monumental.
Darleston urged more of his prick into the wet enveloping heat, knowing he was being overly rough but quite unable to stop. Lyle’s little grunts of protest only made the moment sweeter. Pain, pushing things to their limitations, had always gotten him off. This was going to be swift or he might have tested those limitations. Lyle’s fingers curled claw-like into his buttocks. Damn, his fingernails were sharp. He’d have half-moon-shaped bruises there tomorrow. The heat, the raw intensity of this … He couldn’t tolerate much more. He needed relief, not torture.
A week or two would give them plenty of time to draw things out.
Lyle’s fingers uncurled. He began to knead the tensed flesh, and then two digits speared into the channel between Darleston’s cheeks and headed straight for the sensitive hidden whorl of muscle. Just a tickle there, the very suggestion of a fingertip sliding within undid him completely.
His body gave up its gift in long shuddering rolls of bliss.
Legs, knees, arms – his limbs were jelly. Only Lyle’s hold kept him upright.
He heard him swallow.
‘Fuck!’
Lyle stood, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.
‘Fuck!’
Lyle’s kisses tore at his mouth. The taste of his own arousal mingled upon their lips.
‘I mean to have you, Robert. I’m not going to let you run away from me. I need a lover, not a wife.’
‘Right.’ The thought sobered him somewhat. Emma – Lyle’s wife, who was sweet and charming and no doubt sitting up waiting for him. Field House wasn’t anywhere near large enough to host couples separately when there were this many guests.
‘Come on, the Orangery is this way.’ Lyle tugged him along in his wake. Darleston followed somewhat unsteadily, still trying to fasten his clothing so that he wasn’t walking around exposed. Had it been this chilly before? A shiver rolled through his limbs, and Lyle noticed. ‘There’s a stove in there. We can keep warm and we don’t need to worry about being overheard.’
* * *
Condensation clouded the numerous window panes of the Orangery, obscuring the views of both inside and out. Lyle led the way through the towering foliage to a small stone grotto near the back, which also housed a raised silken divan. Darleston had only a glimpse of its gaudy lamp-lit stripes and then he saw Lyle spread out along it, his dress coat cast aside and his breeches tugged down so that the pale globes of his bottom lay exposed. Though he guessed what Lyle had in mind would involve him being spread out, and while in some ways it would be easy to give in, he’d always enjoyed ruthless self-flagellation.
‘This is a bad idea.’
Articulating the thought failed to destroy the rather lovely image. Instead he saw the scenario developing, himself creeping forward and enjoying the firm expanse of muscle laid out for him. Heat rose off Lyle’s body as he fitted them together in one slow, delicious push. He heard the hitch in Lyle’s breath, the momentary sign of protest. If he said ‘stop’, would he do it? He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he could endure such torment. Things always got complicated when his heart said no and his cock said yes.
He followed Lyle over to the cushioned mattress. Watched him as he kicked off his shoes and perched