The Red King Page 19

  “Come to me,” Andrew said.

  Rory did away with his clothes and sank into Andrew’s arms, putting their mouths together and kissing him desperately. He was hard even before Andrew’s fingers closed around him, beginning that perfect rhythmic tug. Moaning a little, Rory felt Andrew’s legs lock around his waist. He was just reaching for where he thought Etienne’s vial of almond oil had been left when Andrew shifted, using his newfound strength to flip Rory onto his back with a whuff of surprise.

  “I would have you,” Andrew murmured, catching Rory’s lower lip in his and nipping hard. “Not gently.”

  Rory groaned, sore balls tightening as he clenched inside, astonished. He’d explored many pleasures since his escape but never…never had he cared for any man to penetrate him. The mere idea, the surrender of his primacy, of his control, had soured him on the notion with every lover, even Fleming whom he’d trusted so much.

  Taking Andrew’s cock, Rory guided it between his legs, not even bothering to moisten it with spit. “Do it,” he whispered, amazed by the fierce light in Andrew’s eyes. “No oil. Take me. Do your worst.”

  He didn’t cry out as the other man forced himself inside, didn’t shudder or make a sound. It hurt, of course it hurt, but the pain had a new quality, a meaning Maarten’s brutality had always lacked. Rory lifted his hips, opening himself wide, and grasped Andrew’s lower back to push him in completely, absorbing the burning pain in silence. Andrew groaned, shuddered and began to rock. Rory felt a sudden stab of deep revelatory pleasure. Andrew was inside him, fucking him, beautiful Andrew, perfect Andrew, his Andrew.

  “Oh,” Rory gasped, unable to hold back the sound.

  Andrew moved faster, pushing in violently, pounding flesh against flesh. Rory’s belly clenched, cock trembling and already pleasured right to the edge of climax. Long ago Maarten had taken him this way; fast, brutal, fucking him hard and heedless like an animal, but this was Andrew, Andrew, Andrew…Andrew’s eyes were watching him, filled with predatory hunger, his lips parted and curled in a feral snarl.

  “Oh!” Rory cried again, so loud Brighid whinnied in answer.

  “Say it,” Andrew demanded, slick with sweat from his own struggle not to come first.

  “I…”

  “Say it!”

  “I love you!” Rory’s seed pumped out, hot and sticky between them as his body clenched inside. With a choked, guttural sound, Andrew let go, collapsing in Rory’s arms. They just breathed, not moving, resting in a tangle of limbs and sweat and cooling come. Andrew shifted, lowering Rory’s legs and letting his softening cock slip free of Rory’s ass. Rory moaned, arms tightening, pulling Andrew closer. “I love you,” he repeated, softly this time.

  “I love you,” Andrew said, voice trembling but solemn, rising up to look into his eyes. “Stop hiding from me, Rory. I want all of you, every bit. I will never turn from you no matter what you reveal to me.”

  He pressed his face into Rory’s neck and Rory, for the first time, thanked God for his blessing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rory woke at first light to the sensation of fingers combing slowly through his hair. He opened his eyes to find Andrew beside him, smiling, while his hand gently tamed the knots.

  “Hello,” Andrew whispered.

  Turning on his side to face him, Rory answered, “I wish you luck with that.” His eyes rolled up, indicating the messy snarls in his hair.

  “I do not want them gone,” Andrew said, his smile widening to a grin. “I enjoy the feel of it.” He moved his hand down to Rory’s face, tracing the edges of the thickening beard. “Although, I do miss the smoothness here” his fingers moved to Rory’s mouth “and being able to see your lips.”

  With a playful growl, Rory reached for him, pulling and rolling so that he rested atop Andrew. “Does it burn your tender flesh?” he asked, his voice taking on a villainous but comical flair.

  Andrew laughed while circling him with arms and legs. “Not so much as your kisses, my king, and I find that they start to cool when your lips are wearing a winter’s coat.”

  “A shave, then, and a bath for both of us,” Rory said, lowering his head to catch Andrew’s lip between his teeth, mimicking Andrew’s action of the previous evening.

  Andrew tightened his limbs and rolled them over again, his mouth latched to Rory’s. They parted and Andrew pushed himself up to hover over Rory. “Teach me something new,” he breathed, rolling his hips.

  Rory smirked. “You needed no lessons last night.”

  Andrew looked discomfited. “I didn’t mean to…did I hurt you?”

  “You were perfect,” Rory said, reaching up to hold Andrew’s face. “You did exactly what was needed.” He let his hands move slowly down, sliding from neck to shoulders, to chest. His fingers closed hard on Andrew’s nipples and then flicked across them, causing Andrew to gasp and arch away. “No?”

  “I wasn’t expecting that,” Andrew said, breathlessly. “But now, yes.”

  Rory repeated the action, smiling when Andrew’s cock leapt to full thickness. Once more, twisting and toying with the reddened, puckering flesh and Andrew moaned. His hips rocked forward, pressing down on Rory’s own erection. “Ready for more?” Rory asked.

  Andrew nodded, biting his lip again.

  Rory grabbed his chin and pulled the lip down. “Stop that,” he chided, gently, pushing himself up with his other hand. Still holding Andrew’s chin, he leaned in to kiss him, nipping and sucking the lip in question until Andrew was panting into his mouth.

  “Where is the oil?” Rory asked in between kisses.

  Andrew had to swallow before he could speak. “The corner.”

  Smiling, Rory reclined again, stretching his arms over his head and arching up into Andrew. His fingers closed on the small bottle, but he waited. Andrew let his own hands spread across Rory’s stomach, thumbs pressing in below his ribs and travelling up to rest lightly on his nipples. His eyes rose to Rory’s and Rory nodded.

  Andrew caught them with finger and thumb, hard. Rory grunted and brought his hands back down. “I’m sorry,” Andrew said, withdrawing.

  “No, you did it right,” Rory laughed. “I did not take into account your quick and eager intellect.”

  Slowly, Andrew bent to his chest. “I am still sorry,” he whispered. He opened his mouth, extended his tongue, and licked the tender flesh, his eyes on Rory’s.

  Moaning, Rory slipped a hand behind his head. “You are forgiven.” Andrew remained, his lips and tongue drawing moans and gasps until a small nip of teeth caused Rory to yelp.

  Andrew looked up at him and grinned. “I’m not sorry for that.”

  “Take the oil, Andrew, and put some on your fingers,” Rory ordered, gruffly.

  Still grinning, Andrew sat back and took the vial. He pulled the stopper and poured oil onto his hand.

  Rory pulled him back down so that their chests pressed together. “Now, reach behind you, put your fingers in your ass. Prepare yourself for me.”

  Andrew shuddered, his eyes closing.

  “Eyes open. Look at me while you do it.”

  It took a moment for him to find the correct angle but Andrew was ever the able student. He had to arch his back, pressing harder into Rory’s chest as he was veiled with a layer of sweat. It went on, their gazes never wavering, even though Andrew’s eyes took on a dazed, unfocused look. He was panting, mouth open, and he was leaking onto Rory’s stomach from the tip of his cock.

  “Are you ready for me Andrew?” Rory asked, his voice dark with need.

  “Yes,” was Andrew’s breathless answer.

  “Sit back, lift up, and I will hold steady.”

  Andrew followed the instruction, only pausing for a moment when he felt the blunt head of Rory’s cock slip against his hole. He bit his lip and pressed, forcing it into him with a small cry.

  “Easy, we will need more oil,” Rory said and put one hand out to retrieve the bottle.

  Andrew dropped with all of his weight, trapping
Rory’s hand between them where it held his cock. He screamed, head thrown back and throat working frantically as he tried to swallow his cries. Both hands were spread across Rory’s chest, his thighs twitched and clenched; he remained still for several seconds while his body accommodated Rory’s girth. When he next took a breath it was shaky and shallow.

  Rory was stunned, both by the swiftness of Andrew’s action and the sudden and intense pleasure. He dug his fingers into Andrew’s waist, groaning, gritting his teeth and fighting his threatening climax even as he gazed upon the man above him, so exquisite in extremis. “Christ, Andrew,” he moaned, trembling as the urge to come receded. “Look at me now.”

  With something like a whimper Andrew lowered his head. He had tears on his face and his lip was bruised, bitten, but the look in his eyes was as evident as his hard and leaking prick. He rolled his hips experimentally, gasping, his entire body quivering. Again he shifted and this time he let out groan. “Oh, God, this….Rory,” he choked out.

  “Yes, Andrew, now,” Rory said, rocking his hips up, lifting Andrew as he did. “Ride me. Fuck yourself on me.”

  Every movement made Andrew cry out but he did not stop. He rose and dropped, again, again, hands still spread across Rory’s chest and back arching to find his own pleasure. He wept, cursed, threw his head back again in wanton abandonment. Rory never looked away, rapt by the expressions on Andrew’s face. The tell-tale flush spread across Andrew’s features, down his neck and chest and Rory forced his hands open to release Andrew’s waist. His fingers trailed through the slick sweat of Andrew’s chest, stopped to clamp and twist his nipples, and then they wrapped around Andrew’s straining cock.

  Andrew lost his rhythm, rocked back hard, fast, and screamed again, painting Rory’s chest with his come. Rory pulled him down, holding him close as he rolled them over and he thrust, blindly, violently, the joy of it almost unbearable. Andrew’s arms came up around his neck and the softest of whispers, quietly chanted with each relentless push, reached his ears.

  “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

  Rory screamed now but it was swallowed by Andrew’s mouth, open and hungry and waiting for it. He could taste blood from Andrew’s lip, mixed with tears, and he knew it was he that put them there…and his body seized, his mind went white and there was roaring in his ears as he loosed his seed into Andrew.

  They lay wrapped in each other for a long time. They did not speak outside of contented murmurs and sighs between kisses. Rory propped on one elbow and stared at Andrew, committing every detail to his heart and mind; the fresh glow to his skin, the startling blue of his dark-lashed eyes, the curve of his brows and shape of his nose. With one finger he traced the delicate outline of Andrew’s lips, following as they smiled. Rory bent to kiss those lips and trailed up to press his mouth to the scrape from their tumble on the beach.

  “Rory,” Andrew sighed, and his stomach growled.

  They laughed.

  “I take it you’re hungry?” Rory asked, lowering his head to nuzzle at the flat surface above Andrew’s pubis.

  His fingers finding Rory’s hair once again, Andrew made a pleased humming sound, and said, “Yes, and I must admit, a bath sounds wonderful. I’ve enough of the salt water.”

  Rory rose and extended his hands to help Andrew stand. He did not miss the grimace as he hauled Andrew to his feet. Without asking permission, he gently swiped a finger into the crevice of Andrew’s bottom. It came back without blood, but Andrew hissed and tightened his hold on Rory’s shoulders.

  “It is not bad, only tender,” he said, softly. He looked into Rory’s face. “And I promise you that I thoroughly enjoyed it.”

  Not entirely soothed, Rory stared back, and said, “It is not worth injuring you.”

  Andrew smiled. “I am not injured, I am used. Taken wholly and rapaciously, as a starving man would devour a boar, and I am most satisfied by the feeling. It was worth it,” he said, licking his lips. Seeing that Rory was still not convinced, Andrew stretched up to whisper against his mouth, “Perhaps, later, you can kiss it for me to remove the sting.”

  Rory’s heart sped up and his hands clenched, digging into Andrew’s hips. “Christ, what you do to me…”

  Andrew’s stomach grumbled, persistently.

  “Hellfire,” Rory said without heat and smiled at Andrew’s happy laughter.

  ***

  Titrit was more than happy to provide them with food and tea while Idir continued his endless stream of verbal thoughts. They ate hummus with spiced meat, scooping it into warm, fresh flatbreads. “Malik is made of stern stuff. He drank, three, maybe four of those little barrels of wine, ended a scuffle between two others – your men, I must add – helped Malla Izza with her trays, and is now entertaining the little ones. What else can he do?”

  “He is a mystery, Idir. His discoveries are ours, as well. Though, judging by the size of his heart, that he would aid an old woman and play with children is not so surprising,” Rory answered. “What were my men arguing about?”

  Idir shook his head. “I do not know, but Malik threatened to throw one of them from a cliff.”

  Rory glanced at Andrew, who was curled upon a carpet, his cheek resting against a cushion. He looked half-asleep until Rory saw the shrewd sparkle in his eyes.

  “Not that I cannot picture Malik doing it, but to threaten seems somehow not in his character,” Andrew commented.

  There was a cacophony of ecstatic screams from outside.

  “I think,” Idir said, smiling, “that is him now. You could ask him.”

  Rory rose, turning to Andrew to help him. Again there was a pained look, but it dissolved quickly into a grin. “I’m all right.”

  “Must I tend to your injury sooner than later?” Rory asked, his voice low to keep the words from Idir.

  “Perhaps,” Andrew answered, shyly, “but I would like to speak to Malik.”

  The high-pitched squeals rose in volume once more. Both of them laughed and gave their thanks to Idir before they left. They exited the little house and were greeted by more screams. Moving slowly up the center of the stone lined street was Malik; he had one child on his back, one hanging from each arm, and one holding on to each leg, being dragged as he took great, lumbering steps.

  The children shrieked as he roared, declaring to all of them, “I shall grind your bones to make my bread!”

  “One would be nervous, Malik, except for that great silly grin on your face!” Andrew called.

  Malik began the removal of the clinging children, flipping the one on his back to his front to lower the boy to the ground, straightening his arms to let those two there to slide to the ground, and peeling the two on his legs away with some difficulty. They moved as a group, threatening to attach themselves once more, but he growled with mock ferocity and they ran away, laughing and screaming.

  “Are you seeking a new crew?” Rory asked, smiling broadly. He liked this side of Malik; it suited his kind face.

  “Aye, make proper ruffians, they would,” Malik said. He extended a hand to Rory and they took each other’s arms like brothers. He wiped his brow. “Although, I think the sailing of ships is less strenuous.”

  Then he turned to Andrew and took him in another great hug. “Ah, Coinin, you look better. Much better.”

  “I am better, Malik,” Andrew said, embracing him as best he could. “Thank you.”

  “What’s this I hear about a fight?” Rory asked when they separated.

  Malik looked away from them. “It is nothing, Captain, a misspoken word, that is all.”

  “I would like to know. It involves my crew.” Malik’s hesitation made Rory nervous. “If it is truly nothing, it will be told and we will laugh about it.”

  Taking a deep breath, Malik explained. “It was Malachi and one of the new ones, a man named Burke.”

  “I know the man. He seemed very level-headed. I know Malachi is. What could have possibly set them to blows?” Rory asked.

  “Burke is not…easy w
ith your way, Captain. He chose to say it while in his cups and was not delicate about the matter,” Malik said, looking back at Rory, then to Andrew.

  Andrew’s mouth made an ‘O’ of understanding, brows raised.

  “That is fine, as you know. Take him to another port and release him with a bit of silver. This isn’t the first time we’ve done this,” Rory said, clapping him on the shoulder.

  Malik frowned. “It was the malice with which he said it, Captain. Such hate for the man who pulled him from fire and death….and for what? Malachi took him to task and was served a blackened eye for it.”

  “Where is Burke? I would tell him that there is no trouble and he is able to return to Algiers or Tunis, or where he would like.”

  “He’s gone. He didn’t return to the ship with the others and no one has seen him today,” Malik said, uneasily.

  “He left on his own then, probably to return to Algiers. It is not his way, bear him no ill will. Now, enjoy a day of rest, Malik. Sleep, swim, play with the children. Do not worry where it is not warranted,” Rory said. “We’ll discuss business on the morrow.”

  “Aye, Captain.” Malik turned to go, smiling gratefully.

  “Wait, what did he say?” Andrew asked. When the other men looked at him he said, “I’d like to know.”

  Malik looked to Rory, who nodded. “He said the captain was the devil and that you were his concubine.”

  Andrew burst out laughing. “That’s all?”

  Malik was dumbstruck. “You’re not offended?”

  “Truly. Malik, I expected…worse, I suppose. I spent my life trying to avoid the devil in all of his forms and now …” Andrew stopped, still smiling, “Well, I see the humor, if neither of you do.”

  Rory was smiling. “Malik, I beg your pardon, but this must be done.”

  He kissed Andrew soundly on the mouth.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ruaidhri. Coinin,” Malik said, chuckling.