Read Hoarfrost (Whyborne & Griffin Book 6) for Free Online

refuse such a request. I took his hand and led him
to my bedroom on the second floor. We kept two bedchambers, so as to present
two sets of used linen to the laundress each week, but never slept apart.
    I turned
off the lights and lit the night candle with a whisper of power. We kissed,
tongues exploring each other’s mouths, lips caressing. I pushed his coat from
his shoulders and unknotted his tie. We attacked buttons and cuff links, slowly
stripping away layers of cloth to reveal skin. My fingers trailed over his
body, shaping the familiar planes, finding all the small scars and
imperfections.
    And a
larger one. An ugly scar, left by the caustic touch of the horror beneath
Chicago, wrapped about his right thigh. After so long together, I seldom
noticed it; it was a part of him, as beloved as the rest.
    Of
course, I had scars of my own now, tracing the path of lightning from the tips
of my fingers to my shoulder. Griffin traced them sometimes, with hands or
tongue. Tonight he merely ran his fingers up both arms, the marred and
unmarred. His member pushed against my thigh, hard and hot. The pupils of his
green eyes went wide with lust, and his breathing turned ragged and eager as he
said, “Take me, Ival. Make me feel it.”
    I shoved
him onto the bed, climbing in over him. He stretched his hands above his head,
wrists loosely crossed in invitation. I pinned them with one hand, and he writhed
beneath me. A moan escaped me at the friction of skin on skin. His hard length
pressed hot against my belly as I straddled him. I kissed him hungrily, before
trailing my lips to his throat. He arched his neck to give me access.
    A
whimper escaped him when I bit the juncture of neck and shoulder. His hips
worked, sliding his cock against my skin, his thigh against my own member. I
released his wrists so I could move lower, worrying his nipples with teeth and
tongue, then licking down the flat planes of his torso. The scent of bergamot
rose from his skin, mingled with sweat and musk.
    His cock
bobbed against my cheek, as if asking for attention. I licked down to the base,
then farther. Shifting my weight, I said, “Spread your legs.”
    I
nuzzled his sac, before dipping lower, drawing a groan from him. In the years
since we’d met, I’d learned every inch of his body with an intimacy I’d never
imagined having with anyone. And learned a great deal about myself in the
process.
    We faced
months living in God-knew-what conditions in the far north. Would we have our
own tent, as we had in Egypt? Or live in a cabin with other men? We always
maintained an acceptable fiction as to our relationship in public, but at least
we passed our nights in each other’s arms. Pretending to have no deeper
commitment, with no reprieve day or night, would be agonizing.
    Jack
could never find out. Griffin’s adoptive family had already deserted him
because of me. I couldn’t bear to cause him even more pain by driving away his
blood kin as well.
    Anticipating
long days of nothing but covert looks, I set myself to pleasuring him with more
intent than usual. I traced his puckered ring, teasing and jabbing with my
tongue, until he wriggled helplessly.
    “I want
you,” he panted.
    I sat
back on the bed to look at him. God, I loved seeing him like this: face flushed
and breath short, his gaze wild with need. And all for me, because of
me. “How?” I asked.
    He
turned, grasped the headboard, and spread himself wide. “Like this. I want you
to hold me while you fuck me.”
    “Yes,” I
managed to say through a haze of lust. I pulled open the nightstand drawer and
retrieved the petroleum jelly.
    I took
my time preparing him, working his body slowly with my fingers, until he
growled, “Damn it, Ival, do you wish me to beg?”
    Some
nights the answer would be yes, absolutely. But I knew his moods, and this wasn’t
one of them. “We can’t have that, can we?” I asked.
    I
finally touched my aching member, slicking myself thoroughly. His back arched
when