Page 56 of Thief Taker

Kit groaned, rolling back against Elias’s hand. “Just—Do it. Now.”

“Not yet.”

With one finger Elias rubbed that spot inside Kit that drew tension deep into the pit of his belly, his thighs, everywhere. Then, he slid his other hand beneath Kit’s shirt. Strong fingers caressed the arc of his back, running over his spine, his hips, up and down. Tender, that caress, too gentle for what they were doing. Too intimate. Something stirred beneath the storm of Kit’s desire. Something deeper, quieter. More powerful.

Up to his shoulder ran Elias’s hand, caressing him there with his thumb. Kit’s breath stuttered, or perhaps it was his heart. And perhaps Elias felt it too, because his grip tightened. “Kit,” he said, voice shaking. “Christ.”

Kit closed his eyes and pushed back against him. “For the love of God, just take me.”

Elias gave a soft, unsteady laugh and withdrew his fingers from Kit’s body. He sagged at the loss of contact, but it was only momentary. Elias firmed his grip on Kit’s shoulder, steadying them both, and then began to push into him slowly, so carefully at first. The sensation—the pressure, the oil-slicked hardness—was overwhelming. “Elias,” he panted. “Good God…”

And then Elias was moving, one hand hard on Kit’s shoulder, the other gripping his hip, murmuring half-words and incoherence, setting a slow but steady pace. Reaching down, Kit took hold of his own cock—heavy and rigid in his oiled palm—and started to work himself.

Behind him, Elias grunted and cursed. “Jesus,” he gasped out. “God’s teeth, Kit…”

Tension pooled at the base of Kit’s spine, a burning liquid heat that just kept building with every thrust. For a short eternity the only sounds in the room were Elias’s grunts and Kit’s panting breaths, the accelerating slap of flesh on flesh and the slick whisper of Kit’s hand on his cock. And then, with a long, deep thrust Elias gave a low moan that swelled and exploded into a cry as he spent, hot and shuddering, deep inside Kit’s body.

“Bloody hell!” Kit hissed and drove himself back onto Elias once, twice more before he followed him over the edge, straining and gasping as he spilled into his own hand.

By the time he returned to himself, sweaty and sticky in the cool room, Elias was drawing away from him. Kit let him go, ignoring the absurd sense of loss, the dangerous desire to press himself back against that warm, bare chest. To be enfolded in his arms.

This was just a tupping. He couldn’t pretend it was more. He mustn’t.

Behind him, he heard Elias pull up his breeches with short, jerky movements. Kit did the same, keeping his eyes averted while he put himself back together.

“Well,” Elias said when Kit eventually turned around. His hair was sweat-damp, cheeks and lips flushed. “I bloody needed that.”

But his smile, Kit thought, was restrained. He was withdrawing, and any tenderness that had passed between them was over. For both their sakes, Kit must not cling to it. “I hope,” he said, caught by a sudden fear, “that you have no regrets.”

“None at all,” Elias said with another careful smile. “I’d say it eased the tension, wouldn’t you? Sir.”

Kit nodded and didn’t comment on the title, though he was learning to hate that word.

“I’ll, uh,” Elias jerked his head towards the door. “Better make myself presentable before the household gets up. That is, if you reckon we can both think clearly enough to continue together?”

Kit laughed darkly at the question. “I hardly know. Do you?”

“I do,” Elias said, quite seriously. “All things considered, I think it’s best that we stick together. That way, I can keep my eye on you.”

“Yes,” Kit said, his humour fading. “That’s what concerns me.”

Elias didn’t respond, save for a slight frown as he turned to unlock the door. With a final, parting nod, he slipped out of the study.

But alone in the room, Ned’s words came back to Kit.

Tup him and be done.

What stupid bloody advice! They were entangled deeper than ever: hunter and prey, servant and master. Now lovers? Each held the fate of the other in his hands.

And he feared their doomed entanglement could only end in betraying or being betrayed.

Kit sat down hard at his desk, his oil-covered hands in his lap, and wondered whether he could endure either.

Chapter 20

Elias stood in his room, studying what he could see of himself in the small mirror above the basin. How was it possible that there was no evidence in his face of what had just happened? Perhaps, he thought, his lips were a little flushed. Otherwise, he looked as he always did, hair neat and his black coat brushed and smart.

Just an ordinary man.