Page 16 of Measure of a Man

“Feels good there,” Virtue admitted breathily. “You can be firmer. I like it.”

“I rather thought you would. Your face did a thing in the shop.”

With the way Exeter was smiling at him, all teasing and warm, Virtue could have melted, flustered and undone, right into the feather mattress.

“That face exactly. When your jaw goes slack, it makes me want to slide my cock right into that pretty mouth of yours,” he teased.

That painted such a picture for Virtue that his jaw dropped open a little more at the audacity. The thought of that thick prick in his mouth turned him red from embarrassment. Oh, he’d take it all right. Virtue squirmed, his prick aching for friction. Why couldn’t Exeter get his out right now? He wished he would. The hard outline in Exeter’s trousers was enough of a reminder of what he was hiding away.

“Oh, do shut up, Exeter,” he spluttered once he’d recovered enough to speak.

Exeter laughed deeply. Then, Virtue could think of very little apart from the rasp of Exeter’s stubble against his inner thigh. Then Exeter’s mouth was on him; thick lips wrapped tight around the crown. He couldn’t tell what was more flushed, his ruddy prick or Exeter’s shiny, wet mouth.

Christ, he’d heard of men paying hundreds of guineas for some beautiful creature with an eager mouth to give them the sucking of a lifetime. He’d never understood the appeal of a kept mistress and had always dismissed out of hand those who maintained them as strange, dishonourable perverts with a peccadillo for frittering their money away in a most extravagant fashion. But now the gifts of furnished apartments in Marylebone, deliveries of fresh flowers, Parisian wardrobes, and jewellery all made sense.

If one couldn’t marry the person who made one feel that way, what, in God’s name, did one give the most eligible gentleman of one’s acquaintance to make him want to do it again? He’d need to dwell on that later. At present, all his thoughts were slowly being sucked out of his prick…and it felt so good.

He whimpered.

Heavens above. He whimpered?!

His hand tremored as he reached out. Exeter’s blue eyes, slitted like a cat’s, turned to track the motion. Virtue settled for touching Exeter’s soft gold curls.

“You’re so very lovely, you know.” He didn’t think he could even be embarrassed at having said it; he was completely undone by Exeter.

His next words were rather less romantic.

“Fair warning. I’m going to spend like a Roman candle if you don’t stop.”

Exeter’s languor had vanished beneath the sudden flush of colour across his cheeks. Even his forehead had gone pink. He broke away with a gasp.

“I think I had better take my clothes off.” For the first time since kissing him, Exeter looked uncertain. “If that is amenable?”

“Amenable? Please do.”

Virtue cuffed the base of his cockstand so as not to spend while Exeter stripped his clothes off in a button-ruining fashion. He was not surprised to see one fall from his trousers and roll across the carpet. When it settled, he realised it was not a button, but the acorn from the shop. He turned to ask Exeter why he had it, when his words were stolen from him.

Virtue had always known his friend was a handsome devil, but in the glow from the oil lamp, his body gleamed like marble. Exeter’s face was anything but cold; it was warm and dazed with pleasure, his lips soft and swollen, his hair disordered. If Virtue’s face could be accused of doing a thing, he could lay the same crime at Exeter’s door.

Oh, how much he’d wanted this, and he still didn’t know quite what he’d finally done right to warrant it.

His friend, usually so cocksure, was now flustered and somewhat shy as he climbed naked into Virtue’s bed. Together, they shuffled up the sheets, all nervous smiles and lingering touches.

Virtue ran his hands over the solid breadth of Exeter’s chest. His nipples tightened beneath his touch, and Exeter shuddered helplessly when Virtue circled one with his thumb. Sensitive, just as he’d guessed.

“Come here, Julian. You’re going to get me too excited,” Exeter said unsteadily, pulling him in, till Virtue’s back settled against Exeter’s wonderfully solid chest. It was rare for anyone to call him Julian. Exeter normally reserved the use of his Christian name for taking the piss out of him, but it had been said with such tenderness that he almost felt glossy eyed. Exeter’s prick, insistent and hard, pressed into the cleft of Virtue’s arse. He cursed as he pushed his thick prick between the tight press of Virtue’s thighs.

“Just like that. That feels—yes. You feel so good to me.”

Virtue hardly knew what to think, apart from to be thrilled that Exeter was frigging himself between Virtue’s legs. Then one of those big beautiful hands wrapped around Virtue’s prick and convinced him he’d gone to heaven. He wriggled and bucked with the pace Exeter set, determined to show him a good time.

“Oh, George. George,” he cried.

Virtue’s knee locked and shook as he reached a crest.

“That’s it. Let go,” Exeter coaxed him to his peak. He spent with a cry into Exeter’s hand, a juddering mess of a man, as his lover wrung him dry. A moment later, Exeter groaned into Virtue’s neck, coming in a hot rush between his thighs.

“I could do that again,” he blabbed into the quiet.