Page 104 of Rears & Vices

“What?” D’Arcy’s eyes flew up to Everard’s, wide and shocked, still layered with yellow-purple bruising; they flitted over to Vitaliy and back. His mouth opened, shut. “I don’t… think so,” he croaked. “Ever…?”

Yes. Of course he had.

Everard smiled waveringly, for now it was he who shook: with suppressed laughter, with delighted terror, shivering up from his gut, his groin. His heart couldn’t take it.

“Yes,” he whispered. “He has it right.”

D’Arcy’s eyes were narrowed, all-black, disbelieving. He swallowed.

Vitaliy’s hands dropped away from Everard’s wrists; they shared a look. Vitya nodded.

Everard slid his left hand free from the warm nape and beckoned.

“You’re here, too, Preston. Or do I not have you?”

D’Arcy reeled.

“Don’t be… dense,” he whispered. “You’ve had me since you first put eyes on me, no question. But—Vee?”

Vitaliy smiled. “Yes, lieutenant. If you are well enough.”

D’Arcy inhaled sharp. “You— Oh, sod off. Am I well enough?” He made an airless, rueful laugh. “Neither of you has the least idea.”

He stepped forward, halted—then circled round them, once, twice, as though working out the approach most ideal. His limp disappeared, and the rest of his injuries seemed to have dropped away; he was as tense as a stalking predator. One of the sleek, sable-red, sharp-toothed ones.

“Think I’ve been at a stand for days, watching you two circle. Christ. Am I well enough. I’d have to be dead.”

Vitaliy’s pulse was wild beneath Everard’s hand at his clavicle. His own heart was in much the same state, running so free and unrestrained, he was sure it showed in the buttons of his waistcoat.

D’Arcy stopped behind Vitaliy, close enough that his breath moved the fine-silk hair, warmed Everard’s fingers.

And then he pounced.

He put his hands to either side of Vitaliy’s hips and pulled—not quite far enough to break Everard apart from him—and nuzzled close where Vitaliy’s shoulder met his neck. Vitya sucked in a breath and clutched tight at Everard’s elbows; his head fell back and his eyes closed. D’Arcy slid his hands up, up, up across Vitya’s chest. He met Everard’s eyes.

“Mine,” Everard mouthed. D’Arcy nodded.

Everard pulled his hand forward, slid it over Vitya’s bared throat, entrapping him gently against D’Arcy’s body. He felt his pirate swallow and gasp as he was made pliant by D’Arcy’s slow grind behind him.

Vitya’s hands dropped to help with endless ties, his tucked shirtsleeves; soon he was peeled down to breeches, white-blond curls, pale pink nipples, the taper of shoulder to waist that drove Everard to madness when he had it beneath him. Or above him. Anywhere at all in his vicinity.

D’Arcy’s hands explored and pulled and splayed; his hips ground. Everard drew back and stared, biting his lip with restraint. Was this truly what D’Arcy wanted? What Vitya wanted?

Everard wanted it.

D’Arcy grinned as he watched him, sweat already on his brow, eyes dark. “Firstly, Captain,” he gasped, open-mouthed against Vitya’s pale, fuzzed nape, the shell of his ear, “kiss your husband. It’s been a very long week.” He pushed with his hips and hands, a sinuous wave, and Vitaliy straightened, pulled Everard close, and obeyed.

The kiss was soft and questioning. Everard didn’t mind, for as long as those lips were on him, he was pleased to lean in and deepen it; but D’Arcy, never a patient lovemaker, seemed to become frustrated with this. He ground forward, gently shoving, pulling back, demanding response. Vitaliy grunted over Everard’s mouth in irritation but, when a push-pull of D’Arcy’s put their pricks at last into hot, still-clothed contact, gasped and even bit once.

Content with this, D’Arcy had moved back; to watch, perhaps, or—no, he was behind Everard now, and his hands were wrapping round, tugging at the buttons of Everard’s fall, fast and deft. Vitaliy helped, now kissing Everard so thoroughly and full-on, it was a good thing Everard wasn’t focusing on undressing himself.

Quite strange, to have four hands upon Everard at once, ministrating, disrobing, everything but his shirt. D’Arcy’s fingers trailed his thigh, his calf, his ankle as each leg was bared; the odd kiss made a sparking path.

D’Arcy wrapped one hand round Everard’s prick, positioning it tenderly. He pushed, moving the three of them in tandem, hands, arse, pricks. Everard broke Vitya’s kiss to moan into his neck.

He didn’t see why he and Vitya had an opposite state of undress until D’Arcy reached round and tapped significantly on Vitya’s shoulders.

Vitya sank to his knees with a knowing smile.