Read Online Lord Loxley's Lover by Katherine Marlowe - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Katherine Marlowe
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“I’ll be back promptly.”
Quickly re-buttoning Miles’ waistcoat for him so that he wouldn’t look indecent on the way down to the kitchen, Fitz grinned back at him. “Go on. Hurry.”
Kissing him one last time, Miles let go and slipped out through the door of the study.
Fitz sighed once he was gone, leaning nude against the bookshelf and feeling how his heart thudded in his chest. “I love him,” he said aloud, testing the sound of the words. He’d never said them before. At Oxford, he’d never really thought about it—he had Miles and Miles had him. They were two parts of a complete unit, and Fitz had never needed words when he wanted to make Miles smile, or laugh, or moan…
Miles burst back through the door in barely a minute, making Fitz laugh with surprised delight.
Shutting the door, Miles leaned against it, watching him with a lopsided smile as he shamelessly took in the length of Fitz’s body. “I thought,” he said as he began to advance, “that I must have misremembered how radiant you are, for no human creature could possibly be so lovely. And I do not,” he continued, as one hand curled around Fitz’s hip, while the other set a bottle of oil on the shelf next to him, “preclude the possibility that you are no human at all but a faery come to tempt me. I swear you have become even more exquisite with the passing years.”
“Miles,” Fitz breathed, flushing with pleasure at the flattery.
“No,” Miles said, his face closing off immediately. “You don’t get to call me that.”
Fitz’s lips parted, almost asking why , but he caught the question behind his teeth. If he asked, they would fight, and Miles would storm out again. Looking aside briefly while he recovered his pride from that affront, Fitz recovered himself and tilted his head back, pretending that it was a moment ago, when Miles had praised him and lusted for him, and he watched his lover from low-lidded eyes. “Shall I call you Mr. Rochester?” he asked, letting it be part of their bedroom play.
Miles’ eyes widened at how he’d responded, but he relaxed again and stepped close. “Yes.”
“Mr. Rochester,” Fitz said, making it as playfully heated as he could, and Miles actually laughed , the first time Fitz had heard him laugh in years.
“You are such a tease ,” Miles said, returning to his knees in front of Fitz.
“Says the man who is still devilishly fully dressed.”
Snorting at that, Miles held his gaze as he stripped off coat and waistcoat, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to the side, letting Fitz see his body.
He was more muscular than when they were younger. Beneath his shirt, his skin was the pale honey-brown that it had been in Oxford winters, not the full, rich brown of summer when they would go picnicking along the Thames, and Miles would nap luxuriously in the sunshine while Fitz remained safely in the shade with a book, only venturing forth when the temptation of tasting Miles’ smooth brown skin became worth the risk of sunburn.
As Fitz stared admiringly at him, Miles drew his hands up Fitz’ thighs, kissing the side of his prick once as he reached for the bottle of oil. The color of it caught Fitz’s eye—rose and gold, made of glass, not the sort of earthenware ewer that Fitz would have expected him to fetch from the kitchen.
“Mi—” he said, and bit his tongue between his teeth before he could finish the name. He reached out for the bottle, and Miles let him take it. It was the same brand Miles had favored when they were in university. Possibly—as battered as it was—the same bottle. Rose scented ‘massage’ oil, in the Chinese style. “You still buy this?” he asked, stunned by a wave of nostalgia. Sex with Miles had always smelled of roses, and the two of them had gotten no end of teasing from their friends for their coordinating ‘cologne’.
“Haven’t had much use for it in the past years,” Miles said, taking the bottle back from him and
Quickly re-buttoning Miles’ waistcoat for him so that he wouldn’t look indecent on the way down to the kitchen, Fitz grinned back at him. “Go on. Hurry.”
Kissing him one last time, Miles let go and slipped out through the door of the study.
Fitz sighed once he was gone, leaning nude against the bookshelf and feeling how his heart thudded in his chest. “I love him,” he said aloud, testing the sound of the words. He’d never said them before. At Oxford, he’d never really thought about it—he had Miles and Miles had him. They were two parts of a complete unit, and Fitz had never needed words when he wanted to make Miles smile, or laugh, or moan…
Miles burst back through the door in barely a minute, making Fitz laugh with surprised delight.
Shutting the door, Miles leaned against it, watching him with a lopsided smile as he shamelessly took in the length of Fitz’s body. “I thought,” he said as he began to advance, “that I must have misremembered how radiant you are, for no human creature could possibly be so lovely. And I do not,” he continued, as one hand curled around Fitz’s hip, while the other set a bottle of oil on the shelf next to him, “preclude the possibility that you are no human at all but a faery come to tempt me. I swear you have become even more exquisite with the passing years.”
“Miles,” Fitz breathed, flushing with pleasure at the flattery.
“No,” Miles said, his face closing off immediately. “You don’t get to call me that.”
Fitz’s lips parted, almost asking why , but he caught the question behind his teeth. If he asked, they would fight, and Miles would storm out again. Looking aside briefly while he recovered his pride from that affront, Fitz recovered himself and tilted his head back, pretending that it was a moment ago, when Miles had praised him and lusted for him, and he watched his lover from low-lidded eyes. “Shall I call you Mr. Rochester?” he asked, letting it be part of their bedroom play.
Miles’ eyes widened at how he’d responded, but he relaxed again and stepped close. “Yes.”
“Mr. Rochester,” Fitz said, making it as playfully heated as he could, and Miles actually laughed , the first time Fitz had heard him laugh in years.
“You are such a tease ,” Miles said, returning to his knees in front of Fitz.
“Says the man who is still devilishly fully dressed.”
Snorting at that, Miles held his gaze as he stripped off coat and waistcoat, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to the side, letting Fitz see his body.
He was more muscular than when they were younger. Beneath his shirt, his skin was the pale honey-brown that it had been in Oxford winters, not the full, rich brown of summer when they would go picnicking along the Thames, and Miles would nap luxuriously in the sunshine while Fitz remained safely in the shade with a book, only venturing forth when the temptation of tasting Miles’ smooth brown skin became worth the risk of sunburn.
As Fitz stared admiringly at him, Miles drew his hands up Fitz’ thighs, kissing the side of his prick once as he reached for the bottle of oil. The color of it caught Fitz’s eye—rose and gold, made of glass, not the sort of earthenware ewer that Fitz would have expected him to fetch from the kitchen.
“Mi—” he said, and bit his tongue between his teeth before he could finish the name. He reached out for the bottle, and Miles let him take it. It was the same brand Miles had favored when they were in university. Possibly—as battered as it was—the same bottle. Rose scented ‘massage’ oil, in the Chinese style. “You still buy this?” he asked, stunned by a wave of nostalgia. Sex with Miles had always smelled of roses, and the two of them had gotten no end of teasing from their friends for their coordinating ‘cologne’.
“Haven’t had much use for it in the past years,” Miles said, taking the bottle back from him and
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