AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Connor’s look went quietly wary. He gestured to the side. “The lads got a bit loud for my tastes. I decided to turn in.”
“Alone?” Reggie pressed. He had the sense he was riding hard and fast for a cliff’s edge; stupid and reckless, but unable to stop, no matter what harm might come.
Slowly, Connor’s expression hardened. He’d caught on, now, and looked more resigned than anything. “Yes.” His head tilted, and Reggie caught the glint of a challenge in his gaze. “Disappointed?”
Reggie hesitated; the anger was boiling up his throat, scorching the back of his tongue – stupid, rootless anger he had no right to feel, but there all the same, choking him. When he shifted his weight, the rub of his trousers against his half-hard cock was unbearable. He was going out of his mind, falling faster and harder with each too-forceful throb of his pulse, but he had enough sense left to know that Connor had just thrown down a snare. He intended to trap him, somehow, and not in a friendly way, he didn’t think. The sting of rejection prickled along his skin, the memory of last night putting a lump in the pit of his belly.
He swallowed with difficulty. “Pleased, actually,” he said, aiming for cool, sounding stiff instead. The worst part was, he wasn’t lying. Not yet, anyway, but here he went: “I was afraid poor Liam might see his father in a less-than-flattering light if he found him…enjoying himself.”
One corner of Connor’s mouth twitched in an aborted grin, the bastard. “Hm. Enjoyinghimself? Or enjoying a lovely lady?”
“No one out there could be counted as ‘lovely.’ And nothing like a ‘lady.’”
“Come now,” Connor said with a tsk. “That’s ungenerous. Not to mention you’re biased.” He took a half-step forward, swaying subtly into Reggie’s personal space. Reggie held his ground, unsure if he wanted to retreat…or lean in. “You don’t find any ladies lovely.”
Reggie couldn’t keep from scowling. “Speaking of ungenerous…”
Connor laughed.
“Oh, is that every man’s fantasy? An unwashed camp follower with half her teeth missing?”
“Been inspecting their teeth, have you? That’s a good practice for judging horses, lad, and I feel obliged to tell you that women aren’t horses. They tend not to like it when you go lifting their lips up for a peek.”
Reggie’s knuckles cracked as his hands curled to fists. He sucked in a too-sharp breath that hurt his lungs. “I’m talking about yourson, you ass. About preserving some sort of innocence, though gods know he hasn’t had much of that in his poor, miserable life. And as usual, you turn everything into a tasteless joke.”
“And you turn everything into a bloody lecture,” Connor shot back. With real offense coloring his voice, he said, “I may not have him dressed like a little fop – like you – but I damn well don’t neglect my son. If you want to stammer and blush and hurl insults like an overwrought maiden in need of a good fucking, then fine, but if you’re here to call me a terrible father, you can get the fuck out.”
Reggie was good and bowed up, ready to lash out in response to the maiden remark – but Connor’s expression pulled him up short. He was angry, now, and offended, yes, but hurt, too. Reggie’s comments had hurt him.
“I…” he began, and all the fight drained out of him. In its wake, he was exhausted, sore, shaky from the adrenaline come-down. He was still half-hard, though, and on the edge of oversensitive. Wanting.
He’d been that way when he first marched to war, before he was captured, before he was hanged. There’d always been something thrilling about the kill, but it was a sensation that gave way to quiet horror, after, when his blood had cooled, and he always felt a desperate need to be reminded that he was alive; to feel base, purely physical pleasure, sex washing away the taint of death that clung to his hands, an invisible stain that no amount of scrubbing had been able to lift.
He wanted that now, even if he was frightened, even if ugly memories crowded close at the edges of his vision.
Wanted it from this man in particular, who would not hurt him unless he asked for it.
Connor made a disgusted, disappointed face and turned away from him. “Get out. Go back to the house where you belong.”
Reggie did neither. He reached out, before he could think better of it, and snagged Connor’s sleeve. A light touch, a pinch of fabric between thumb and forefinger, easily brushed aside.
But Connor halted. And then turned back to him, brows drawn together.
Reggie had never been a reckless person. Spoiled, early on; entitled, yes: when he wanted something, he took it, or cajoled his way into its trousers at the end of a long party. But he didn’t blunder his way into things. Didn’t throw caution to the wind, the way he did now.
“Reggie,” Connor said, and his voice held a fine note of strain.
“Is this what you normally do after a battle? Read a book?”
Connor attempted, but didn’t quite succeed in delivering a rueful smile. “How many battles do you think I’ve participated in?”
“Answer the question,” Reggie pressed. His own expression must be wild, he thought, going by the bright starbursts at the edges of his vision, the heat in his cheeks, the way his breath came in unsteady huffs through his open mouth. He wet his lips, for all the good that did, and was rewarded by the flick of Connor’s gaze following the motion of his tongue. “Is that what you do? When you’ve been fighting? Do you settle in for a night ofreading?”
Connor’s brows went up in disbelief. “While you, clearly, enjoy interrogating your allies after you’ve spilled a little blood. You’re welcome, by the way, for the assist earlier.”
Reggie huffed in frustration. His skin felt too tight, too thin. “I thanked you for that.”
“Yes, and then treated me tothis.” He gestured between them, and when he turned away this time, Reggie let him go, fists tightening helplessly at his sides.
