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strip away every one of Vincent s inhibitions and pull those four words from his lips. The words he had once promised himself he would
wait for.
The opportunity had presented itself many times. He adored lavishing Vincent with pleasure, trailing his lips over every inch of his
body, feeling those powerful muscles tighten to the point of trembling with need, hearing those deep, low groans of pure lust. Yet he
always held back, just enough, and had long ago stopped questioning his reasons. But now he knew the true cause. He could not ask it of
Vincent, could not accept that gift from him when the possibility of being forced to part still hung over them.
But with the direct threat now gone&
A broad smile curved his lips, one he knew had to appear downright wicked. Anticipation nipped at every nerve in his body. Tonight,
if Vincent was amenable, the man would be well and truly his, in every sense of the word.
The carriage turned right, onto the road that led to Vincent s estate. A few large oak trees lined the long dirt road. All hints of the
day s sun were gone from the sky. The light from the full moon cast the trees bare branches in spidery shadows across the sparse winter
grass. Oliver settled back against the black leather bench and turned his mind to how best to get Vincent to abandon his own plan for the
evening and put himself in Oliver s hands.
An outright request was out of the question. A shrewd businessman, Vincent tended to analyze a situation. Best if he did not have
time to think on it, else his nerves would seize hold and destroy any hope for an enjoyable evening, regardless of the man s willingness. He
would need a strategic assault. Slow and careful yet deliberate. Building the tension, the want. Nurturing the need he knew lay buried
deep within Vincent. Until his lover could not stop those words from tumbling past his lips.
Please, Oliver. Fuck me.
Chapter Four
Vincent reached for the silver bowl of carrots and spooned more onto his plate.  Was the appointment a success? Oliver had
returned to the house before Vincent even started to worry he had been left to his own company for supper, prompting Vincent to wonder
if the appointment had been worth the effort. Present Oliver with a stack of books and the man tended to lose track of all sense of time.
 Oh yes. Oliver took another bite of the pork.  Middleton s library&  He let out a blissful little sigh that Vincent knew had nothing
to do with the quality of the pork tenderloin.  Books everywhere and most were in pristine condition. Well, at least those I was able to sort
through. Mr. Wallace will certainly be pleased when the books I selected arrive, he said, referring to the shop s prior owner who had
remained on to assist Oliver with the day-to-day running of the small bookshop. Oliver paused, his fork suspended a couple of inches from
his open mouth. He looked to Vincent, who sat at his left at the head of the table.  I need to arrange for someone to crate them and deliver
them to the shop.
Likely that detail had just occurred to him. Oliver was not the most organized of individuals. Vincent reached for his glass of wine
and took a sip.  Inquire with the blacksmith, Mr. Young. You can find him at the inn s livery, and his son should be able to transport the
crates to London.
The line of Oliver s shoulders went lax with relief. He popped the piece of pork into his mouth. His jaw worked as he chewed, and then
he swallowed the food down with a sip of wine. A sheen of Bordeaux clung to his full lips, reminding Vincent of how those lips looked
slicked with spit after sucking him off. A memory he could verify just as soon as they finished supper and Mrs. Hollister left the house.
And after Oliver put his beautiful mouth to good use, then Vincent would strip him of his clothes, restrain him, and redden his arse with
the flogger. Or perhaps the bullwhip? It had been some time since he d heard the erotic snap of leather cracking through the air, followed
by Oliver s shuddered moan of pleasure. An entirely different moan than when he applied the flogger. One breathy and broken, thin and
delicate, like the sleek, long length of a bullwhip. The other low and guttural, thicker and more substantial, like the smack of a flogger.
His hand curled around his fork. He could almost feel the leather handle warming in his palm, could almost hear those thin, breathy
moans slipping past Oliver s lips.
 I ll call on him tomorrow, Oliver said, jolting Vincent s thoughts away from the bedchamber and back to the dining room.  It will
cost considerably less to hire someone in Rotherham than to have someone travel from London to see to the task. As it is, I wish the shop s
bank account could afford more. Had to limit it to four crates, and it definitely took some doing to narrow the selection. That library was a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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