Read Online A Fashionable Indulgence (Society of Gentlemen #1) by Kj Charles - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kj Charles
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hallway so that he could see only the pale oval of Harry’s face.
“What do you mean,
us
?” Harry repeated.
“The Ricardians. Their friends,” Julius said shortly.
He felt rather than heard Harry’s inhalation. “Do you all do that?”
Julius felt a sensation of cold that was nothing to do with the night. “That is a serious accusation.”
“I had guessed about Ash and Francis anyway. You can see it. The way Ash looks at him.” That was, regrettably, true. Julius had often wanted to slap some sense into the young fool. Harry moved nearer, the brush of shifting cloth sounding very loud in Julius’s ears. He could feel Harry’s warmth through the air. “Are Cousin Richard and Dominic—”
“No.”
“They seem close.”
“They’re good friends.”
“Are we good friends?” Harry asked, and Julius realized that his face was a matter of inches away. “Because I’d like to be. With you.”
Oh sweet Jesus. Julius wished he could see more. “What do you mean?” he managed, and was instantly annoyed by the feebleness of his own words.
“You’re beautiful, Julius.” Harry’s voice was low. “And I have thought a great deal about you. And if you don’t mind about Ash and Francis…” Julius felt the brush of a hand against the cloth of his breeches, light and swift but unmistakable, and realized, with a combination of relief, gratitude, and astonished fury, that after all this time and all that self-restraint, the little wretch he’d so carefully kept his hands off was attempting to seduce him. He would have cursed but for the rush of sudden arousal that seemed to suck the blood from his head.
“Oh.” Harry’s hand came back, the touch a little firmer, and then Julius felt fingers slide with certainty over the rigid line of his prick. “Julius. You’ve a fine ramrod here.”
Julius took a very deep breath. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Well, yes.” There was a laugh in Harry’s whisper. “You don’t need to teach me this.”
God damn him, the earthy, vulgar, confident brat that he was. Julius sought for words, couldn’t find any, because now Harry was closer still, as close as could be, body to body, with his own solid length against Julius’s thigh and his fingers delving for buttons.
“Are we safe here?” Harry murmured.
“We won’t be troubled.” Richard’s servants were trained to leave certain portions of the master’s domain alone in the evenings unless rung for. It was one of the many ways he sheltered his friends. Not that Julius felt sheltered now. Harry was groping him expertly, the movement of his hands occupying every available thought in Julius’s brain, and his body was so close. He could smell Harry’s pomade, feel the warmth of his brandy-scented breath.
And then he could taste it, because quite suddenly, Harry leaned in that bit farther and kissed him.
Julius didn’t like to kiss. It was one of the many ways in which he and Richard had proven spectacularly incompatible. He didn’t seek affection or welcome entanglements, and kissing was
needy.
In the light, he would have turned his face away. But it was dark, and he hadn’t, and now Harry’s mouth was on his, the warm tang of alcohol and the wet rasp of his tongue, the surprisingly soft movement of his lips, and a hand at the back of Julius’s hair pulling him forward.
He would have had to pull away to resist. He didn’t. He planted a hand on Harry’s arse, which felt just as good as it had looked, and allowed Harry to kiss him, his tongue to plunge and tangle and invade, with a surge of sudden breathless wanting as his cock sprang free and met Harry’s knowing hand. Then there was another sensation, of silky-hard flesh, and he realized Harry had freed his own prick and had them together.
Julius brought his hand up, wrapping it around both lengths, over Harry’s work-roughened fingers. Harry groaned in his mouth and leaned against him, pressing his back to the wall, tugging at
“What do you mean,
us
?” Harry repeated.
“The Ricardians. Their friends,” Julius said shortly.
He felt rather than heard Harry’s inhalation. “Do you all do that?”
Julius felt a sensation of cold that was nothing to do with the night. “That is a serious accusation.”
“I had guessed about Ash and Francis anyway. You can see it. The way Ash looks at him.” That was, regrettably, true. Julius had often wanted to slap some sense into the young fool. Harry moved nearer, the brush of shifting cloth sounding very loud in Julius’s ears. He could feel Harry’s warmth through the air. “Are Cousin Richard and Dominic—”
“No.”
“They seem close.”
“They’re good friends.”
“Are we good friends?” Harry asked, and Julius realized that his face was a matter of inches away. “Because I’d like to be. With you.”
Oh sweet Jesus. Julius wished he could see more. “What do you mean?” he managed, and was instantly annoyed by the feebleness of his own words.
“You’re beautiful, Julius.” Harry’s voice was low. “And I have thought a great deal about you. And if you don’t mind about Ash and Francis…” Julius felt the brush of a hand against the cloth of his breeches, light and swift but unmistakable, and realized, with a combination of relief, gratitude, and astonished fury, that after all this time and all that self-restraint, the little wretch he’d so carefully kept his hands off was attempting to seduce him. He would have cursed but for the rush of sudden arousal that seemed to suck the blood from his head.
“Oh.” Harry’s hand came back, the touch a little firmer, and then Julius felt fingers slide with certainty over the rigid line of his prick. “Julius. You’ve a fine ramrod here.”
Julius took a very deep breath. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Well, yes.” There was a laugh in Harry’s whisper. “You don’t need to teach me this.”
God damn him, the earthy, vulgar, confident brat that he was. Julius sought for words, couldn’t find any, because now Harry was closer still, as close as could be, body to body, with his own solid length against Julius’s thigh and his fingers delving for buttons.
“Are we safe here?” Harry murmured.
“We won’t be troubled.” Richard’s servants were trained to leave certain portions of the master’s domain alone in the evenings unless rung for. It was one of the many ways he sheltered his friends. Not that Julius felt sheltered now. Harry was groping him expertly, the movement of his hands occupying every available thought in Julius’s brain, and his body was so close. He could smell Harry’s pomade, feel the warmth of his brandy-scented breath.
And then he could taste it, because quite suddenly, Harry leaned in that bit farther and kissed him.
Julius didn’t like to kiss. It was one of the many ways in which he and Richard had proven spectacularly incompatible. He didn’t seek affection or welcome entanglements, and kissing was
needy.
In the light, he would have turned his face away. But it was dark, and he hadn’t, and now Harry’s mouth was on his, the warm tang of alcohol and the wet rasp of his tongue, the surprisingly soft movement of his lips, and a hand at the back of Julius’s hair pulling him forward.
He would have had to pull away to resist. He didn’t. He planted a hand on Harry’s arse, which felt just as good as it had looked, and allowed Harry to kiss him, his tongue to plunge and tangle and invade, with a surge of sudden breathless wanting as his cock sprang free and met Harry’s knowing hand. Then there was another sensation, of silky-hard flesh, and he realized Harry had freed his own prick and had them together.
Julius brought his hand up, wrapping it around both lengths, over Harry’s work-roughened fingers. Harry groaned in his mouth and leaned against him, pressing his back to the wall, tugging at
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