Spectred Isle (Green Men #1)(56)

“No argument here,” Saul said hoarsely, and then convulsed as Randolph’s questing finger met the knot of nerve endings he’d been seeking. “Jesus. God.”

Randolph took him in his mouth again. Saul’s heels thumped the floor. He was groaning, a hand tangled in Randolph’s hair, holding on for dear life. Abandoned to pleasure, free from every thought, helplessly aroused, and entirely Randolph’s in this moment.

He pulled his mouth away and knelt up to get a look at the ecstatic torment on Saul’s face. “Dear God, you are beautiful beyond words. I need to see how you look when you’re fucked.”

Saul shifted his legs wordlessly, eyes flickering open. He watched as Randolph scooped out another fingerful of petroleum jelly and slid his hand along his own length. The smooth slide against hot, rigid skin was pleasant, but nothing to the look in Saul’s eyes. Randolph wanted to give him everything—or to rid him of everything, to drive it all away and leave nothing but this, the two of them in a room, the world locked out.

His palms were slick with the grease. He took hold of Saul’s hot prick, sliding his hands up and down, feeling it twitch, until Saul said, as one driven beyond endurance, “Randolph.”

They moved together, Randolph crawling over him to position himself so they could be face to face. He needed that, and Saul’s silent shift to give him access told its own story. His long legs wrapped around Randolph’s back; his hands on Randolph’s shoulders, over skin and scars, all of him ready and waiting.

“Now?”

“Just a second. Yes.”

Randolph pushed in, and Saul’s face in that moment of penetration, the second as the muscle loosened and his body gave way, was everything he could have dreamed.

“Christ. Oh Christ. Randolph.”

“All right?”

“So good.” His hands tightened. “Please.”

“I’m going to fuck you insensible,” Randolph told him hoarsely. Saul’s feet were flat against his thighs, his fingers digging in, and Randolph rocked into him, carefully at first, then thrusting deeper. He wanted to root himself in Saul, to grow through him, the pair of them entwined forever. “Jesus, you’re lovely. Your face.” Mouth open, head tipped back, so willingly helpless under him. The thought made him dig his teeth savagely into his own lip, forcing himself not to spill too soon. “You feel superb.”

“So do you,” Saul said on a breath. “More. All of it.” He pulled with hands and legs as Randolph pushed, flesh meeting flesh with an audible slap. “Yes. God. Hard, please.”

“At your disposal,” Randolph assured him. He had one arm behind Saul’s head; he grabbed with his free hand for one of Saul’s, pushing his hand against the floor, entwining their fingers. Thrusting, kissing, feeling the slide of Saul’s cock against his belly, the slide of his own in the heat of Saul’s body, watching his face contort. Harder, deeper, losing himself in the sheer joy of seeing Saul lost, driving upward to push him closer to the fall.

“Randolph,” Saul gasped. “Please, God, I can’t. I can’t.” He clutched harder at Randolph’s hand and shoulder as he spoke, urging him on.

“Oh, you can,” Randolph whispered. “You can and will.” He released Saul’s hand, pushed his own between their bellies. Saul gave a strangled yelp as Randolph’s fingers met his prick and slid under it. “You’ll come as I fuck you and I’m going to see you do it. Christ.” He couldn’t hold back much longer himself; the look on Saul’s face was so naked, so perfect in its abandonment. They were lifting off the rug now, Saul arching to meet his thrusts, crying out, coming in pulses against Randolph’s skin. Randolph let go then, driving into him as though fucking could make everything all right, and for a few seconds, as he shot and shuddered, it did.

They lay together, gasping, letting their breathing calm, sweaty and sticky. Randolph’s thigh muscles felt like chewed string. He felt a kiss against the side of his head and managed to angle his neck sufficiently so that his lips met Saul’s.

“Good God,” Saul said at last. “You may give me orders any time. Great Scott, I wanted that.”

“So did I.” Randolph withdrew, with a grunt of effort, and collapsed back down over Saul with a show of perhaps more exhaustion than he felt.

He wasn’t entirely sure of the etiquette here. He’d never actually had anyone come to his home for this purpose before, since he had too many reasons for privacy; and on the occasions he’d gone to other men’s rooms, his concern had always been how to leave as quickly as possible, without any unwanted sentiment or awkward scenes.

Randolph didn’t want Saul to leave, and had no idea how to ask him to stay.

“You look somewhat perplexed,” Saul said.

“Merely drained. Are you, or might you become, hungry?”

“I’d say so.”

“Well, we have a great deal to discuss,” Randolph said. “Theresa’s parting gift, the Ministry and so on. And it’s nearly six. Suppose I order something brought up and we can get down to business?”

Saul blinked. “That would be very kind. I’d like a wash, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, old chap. I’ll look you out a towel.” He sat up.

“Randolph?” Saul sat up too.