It’s time for Perry and Quinn to settle some old scores…
Petit Goâve, Saint-Domingue
Before Quinn even closed the door, Perry had ripped off his neckcloth. He paid little heed to the chamber Quinn had hired, but he did note the enormous poster bed against one wall. Hot water waited on the stand, but having already washed, he ignored it. He shrugged out of his doublet, looking for somewhere to toss his weapons, and his eyes fell on a neat coil of rope lying on a guéridon table. A seductive fear clutched his gut, followed by a voluptuous shiver that tightened his skin.
Quinn was lighting the tapers in a large candelabrum. In the candlelight, his eyes gleamed, but they did not leave his work.
“Keep going,” he said softly.
Perry’s breath quickened as he recognised his lover’s mood. He peeled off his shirt, hanging it and his doublet on a hook. Balancing on one foot at a time, he slipped off his shoes and stockings, lining them up by the wall. He turned to face Quinn.
Lit by half a dozen golden flames, Quinn was a regal creature, formidable in his beauty. All shadow and light, his face a perfect blend of angles and planes, his hair a dark river Perry longed to run his hands through. But though he was eager for Quinn’s embraces, to feel his lover’s skin against his own, he stood still in the middle of the dark panelled room, barefoot on the oaken boards.
Extinguishing the spill, Quinn took up the candle-shears.
“I didn’t tell you to stop,” he said without so much as a sideways glance.
Perry’s hands went to his buttons, undoing them slowly. He let his breeches fall to the floor and bent to collect them, making much of pointing his arse in Quinn’s direction, before hanging them up next to his doublet. Returning to the middle of the room, he smoothed the front of his drawers, hoping to entice Quinn to look. His cock was hard, outlined in thin cotton, a small damp patch growing where his arousal leaked. But Quinn looked straight ahead, trimming a wick with great care.
“And the undergarment,” came the command.
Sliding his hands under the waistband, Perry inched the cloth down, exposing first his hip bones, then the hair at the top of his groin. His swollen cock prevented him from pushing his drawers down further, and he wriggled a little, trying to get them over the base of his shaft. Finally, Quinn looked directly at him, his gaze intense.
“You could just untie them.”
Perry grinned. He continued his slow tease, turning his back to Quinn and easing the fabric over his buttocks. Quinn came up behind him, a hand stroking one cheek.
“You’ve the finest arse in the Indies, Thomas. A pity to cover it up.”
Quinn’s hand slid around to the front, and then with a sharp movement, yanked the tie on Perry’s drawers. The knot came undone and the garment slithered down, pooling at his ankles and leaving him naked. Hand flat on Perry’s stomach, Quinn pressed up against his back. Perry could feel satin cool on his skin, breath warm on his nape.
“I’ve a gift for you, my Thomas.” Quinn nipped his ear, sending a quiver through him. “There were many long, lonely hours on Night Hawk whilst you sailed on another ship. I used those hours most industriously.”
“Oh?”
Quinn stepped away and picked up the pile of rope. Capturing Perry’s gaze, he passed it slowly through his hands, looping it over his arm. “I fashioned this from the finest cotton. ’Twill be gentle on your skin, caressing your wrists in a loving grip.”
His heart thudding, Perry reached for it, running his palm over the rope. “’Tis most soft. I-I would fain feel it…feel it hold me.”
“You will.”
Perry met his lover’s eyes, burning like coals. Tight anticipation spiralled up from his gut. Being bound, being helpless, always unnerved him. He considered refusing. In the past, with other men, he always had. Some would accept his refusal, which invariably disappointed. Others would force him to obey, making his submission easy.
Right now, he wanted Quinn to take control, wrest him into place, firm and inexorable as he wept and begged. He would struggle, but Quinn was bigger, stronger. Quinn would win.
But Quinn never fought. Never forced. To submit must always be Perry’s choice. His gift.
Breath shuddering with tension, stomach churning with humiliation, he held out his hands.
Copyright © Jules Radcliffe