Page 9 of Measure of a Man

“If my lord won’t consent to a tie, then how about—Ah yes! May I?” The tailor cuffed his hand round Virtue’s wrist, halting his rhythm. He hadn’t even realised that his hand had made its way back to his cock. “Do you see how your hand fits your person like a glove? Note the positioning around the circumference of your thumb and forefinger. The tips of both comfortably kissing each other, with no stretch needed.”

Dibden pried Virtue’s hand free. His cock flipped up and grazed Exeter’s hip. A streak of pale iridescence marked where he’d been. Overwhelmed by mortification; he paid no heed to what Dibden was doing.

What the devil!

The damned man had wrapped Virtue’s hand around Exeter’s shaft and squeezed his grip close. Exeter’s softly throbbing cock was in his hand. He gave a slow, dazed blink. His thumb and forefinger, while in a similar position, were not quite closed.

Exeter was monstrously thick.

A hot shiver ran through him to be out-manned.

Dibden removed his hand from Virtue’s and cleared his throat. “Congratulations, Lord Exeter, on your decisive win. You have outclassed your opponent with your girth. If that’ll be all you need, I should very much like to start opening the front of my shop in the next few minutes.”

Virtue couldn’t stop staring at his hand. His hand around Exeter’s length.

The door to the back room pulled shut leaving them alone.

Exeter’s silence was disturbing. If he knew his friend well—and he did—then Exeter should be crowing with delight. He’d proven his whole point that his cock was bigger than Virtue’s. Every time they went out in his phaeton, Exeter wouldn’t even have to say anything; he could just lean back against the squabs with an irritating look of smugness.

He could—hell, Virtue had forgotten all about it—as the winner, he’d won the right to court Miss Douglas, who, as it turned out, was rather unmemorable, despite her sixty thousand pounds. They’d be two handsome blonds in Exeter’s boring curricle and Virtue would be alone in his phaeton. And then, in a few months, they’d announce their engagement, because of course Miss Douglas would want to wed Exeter. No other suitor could possibly compare. Their marriage would be the event of the season…and…and…

…why wasn’t Exeter saying anything?

Ah. He still had Exeter’s cock in his hand. What a fool he was. Embarrassed, he moved to drop it; but Exeter swayed forward, nudging his shaft through Virtue’s grip. The slick head slipping further through the loose circle of his fingers.

Shocked, Virtue looked up. There was a faint tremor to Exeter’s jaw as he stared right back. Exeter’s chest hitched rapidly, his blue eyes pleading with him. A swoop of pink flushed his skin from his chest to his crown. God, he was so beautiful. He’d always known that, but seeing Exeter undone yanked at something raw in Virtue’s chest. It made him greedy.

There was no reason to keep his hand there. Yet he did. And Exeter thrust again.

Call it bravery or stupidity, he’d find out later, but Virtue inched his thumb across the slit and down to rest under the head. He was rewarded with an awe-choked groan. He should have pulled away. Instead, his grip firmed, savouring the hot pulse against his palm as he worked his friend’s cock.

Exeter’s breath shortened till he grunted like he’d been punched in the gut. His abdomen clenching as he sagged over him. His sweat-soaked blond head pushed against Virtue’s chest, breath tickling his chest hair.

A flash of masculine pride shot through him. Yes, I thought you’d like that. I can show you more.

Not that he had a chance to. Exeter’s hand closed tight over his as he came. His spend coated Virtue’s hand, seeping between his knuckles. The musk of sex hung in the air. Exeter’s hand slackened, then dropped sharply away as he pulled his weight back.

Virtue swallowed. His neglected cock brushed against the soft weight of Exeter’s sac. A lick of warmth shot down his spine. He was gunpowder, ready to explode.

The door to the backroom opened.

In damning silence, they stared at one another in panic.

“Ah. Yes, I see. Would my lord like a cloth to wipe himself with?”

They both reared back, mortified.

“No!” Exeter said hastily, tugging up his trousers and tucking himself away wet. Lord, he couldn’t get away fast enough. “Can’t stay. I have an appointment to keep. But we’ll settle everything at White’s Club. Tonight, that is.” He didn’t look at Virtue, choosing to address all this to the floor. Then the rag-mannered swine bolted from the store, leaving the bell above the door jangling in his wake.

Not that Virtue could have looked him in the eye if he’d stayed. The palm of his hand was a sticky puddle of his friend’s seed. His friend, who had thrust his hot, thick prick into Virtue’s fist, who had rubbed himself to completion using his body. His friend who had got him as hard as a cudgel.

Good lord.

“Awfully sorry about the mess,” he said, taking the tailor’s proffered cloth. With the rapid cooling of his blood, reason reasserted itself in all its bleakness. The whole affair had been rag-mannered of them both. “I, er, needed to finish myself off,” he lied.

“It is no problem, my lord. For a young man, such as yourself, it’s only natural when meditating on the bounties of a woman, to come to such an eruption.”

While Dibden’s face remained a mask of politeness, a tiny glint of mirth lurked around his eyes. Virtue yanked his trousers back up, tucking away his softening cock. What the devil had they done? The story would be circulating London within the hour if he didn’t nip it in the bud. The question of knowing quite how much one could rely on the discretion of one’s tailor was suddenly more imperative than it had been a mere hour before. He’d need to buy something disgustingly expensive that required multiple fittings and would keep the man so busy with work that he’d never utter a bad word about him in his lifetime. Hell, he’d probably have to order a full wardrobe.