An Improper Holiday by K.A. Mitchell Read Free Book Online

to the floor.
    Nicky’s cravat parted company with his shirt, revealing a neck still defined with the strong tendons
    Ian had once traced with his tongue. Quelling thoughts of other flesh his mouth longed to revisit grew more impossible with each piece of clothing Nicky dropped onto the Aubusson rug.
    “What are you doing?”
    “I am preparing for bed. That bed.” Nicky indicated the four-poster in the center of the room.
    “Is the castle so crowded the son of the house has been turned out of his rooms?”
    “If it pleases you to think so.” Nicky straightened, torso bared to Ian’s gaze.
    Firelight gilded Nicky’s skin, gleaming on the fine hairs of his breast, drawing Ian’s eye to the waist of Nicky’s breeches where the hair thickened and darkened. The garnet on his signet ring flashed as
    Nicky’s hands moved to those buttons.
    Ian shut his eyes. “No.”
    “No?” The amusement in Nicky’s voice had Ian looking again, forgetting what imminent danger had
    prompted his action. But Nicky only bent to remove his shoes and stockings, gifting Ian with the sight of the firm curve of his backside under the tight kerseymere breeches.
    Nicky brought his hands to rest above his hips, fingers disappearing under the waistband. “Is it truly no or is that what the good soldier, the dutiful second son, feels compelled to say?”
    Ian’s throat burned as it tightened, but he could not look away.
    “Whom do you seek to save with your denial, me or you?” Nicky persisted. He stepped closer, but
    made no move to touch Ian. “Why are we to be denied pleasure when you must know how precious and
    brief life is?”
    “The risk of—”
    “You threw yourself against a wall of French rifles in service to your father’s idea of honor. Can you not permit yourself something your own honor knows is right? How can it be wrong when we both desire
    it?” Nicky shoved his breeches down and stepped free, the proof of his desire standing proud and hard.
    As swiftly as snow falling off a steep roof, Ian’s body dropped into a pit of raw need. He made a last effort to find any handhold which might keep him from the abyss.
    “I do want…” you “…this, but only what we did before. We cannot, I will not…” He tried making a gesture to communicate the specific deed.

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    K.A. Mitchell
    “Bugger me?” Nicky grinned. “Fuck me?”
    Despite Ian’s shock, the coarseness of Nicky’s words brought a faster beat of blood to Ian’s prick.
    That unabated grin suggested Nicky knew damned well what effect he had wrought. His next step brought
    Nicky close enough to try the truth with his hand. Fingers traced the outline of Ian’s prick beneath a layer of wool and linen, a light pressure that offered nothing beyond exquisite torment. A quick hard rub against the crown, dragging the linen across the damp skin until heat pulsed from the tip, the touch as unerringly accurate as Ian’s own.
    Pleasure stole his breath as surely as a fist to the stomach. Sucking the air through his teeth, he
    reached a hand to Nicky’s shoulder, hips tipping into the caress.
    Nicky leaned forward until his breath moved against Ian’s ear. “While I find your concern utterly
    charming, what makes you believe you could take my arse if I didn’t allow it?”
    Ignoring the wail of protest from his prick and balls, Ian transferred his grasp to Nicky’s wrist to still the motion of his palm. “I am well aware that many now consider me less a man, but with all your
    protestations, I would have thought—”
    Nicky laughed. “Christ, Ian, try not to be more of an ass than the good Lord intended you to be. You
    couldn’t best me even when you had four inches and two-stone advantage.”
    “I’ve never had two stones on you, you country-fed beast.” The retort came unbidden to his lips, their long habit of verbal sparring impossible to amend.
    “By God, how I’ve missed you.” Nicky chuckled and yanked Ian’s cravat