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The Innocent Auction
Their love was a death sentence.
Deacon, Viscount Carlisle, was aware of the slums and gin-lanes of London. Just as he was aware of the underground traffic that furnished the brothels and bath houses with human innocents. He was also aware that the so-called justice system would hang the accused without much of an attempt at a defense, unless the unfortunate had deep pockets to pay for it.
He just hadn’t expected to be directly involved in any of it.
It started with a plea for help and ended with forbidden love, the love between a Viscount and a stable-boy. An impossible love and a guarantee of the hangman's noose.
Will Deacon fight for Tom? Will he risk the death sentence and take that fight from the stately halls of his English mansion to the horrors of Newgate Prison and the slums of London?
Or will he realize that if he doesn't, death will be a welcome end to the loneliness of the sentence he is already living?
Tom was stunning in the candlelight. The servant’s clothes he wore were a hundred times softer than the rough shirt he had taken off him in the stables. Tom’s skin was just as soft, though, the muscles just as firm, and the reaction to Deacon’s touch just as thrilling.
He heard the small moan from Tom’s lips as he pulled the shirt from his trousers, his fingers touching the skin on his abdomen. Tom lifted his arms above his head in silent invitation, and Deacon’s cock swelled in eagerness. Tom let his arms fall as the shirt was thrown aside, and Deacon hurriedly unbuttoned his trousers, as Tom’s fingers went to work on Deacon’s.
Neither of them said a word. It wasn’t just fear that they would be heard, but more an affirmation that while ever they didn’t speak, they were equals, lovers. The sensation of Tom’s teeth as he grazed his collarbone was perfect. Something to be celebrated, not reviled. Surely something that made him feel so complete could never be a sin? For in that one moment, Deacon didn’t have to pretend anymore and he was content.
In moments, Tom had him undressed. “Stay still.”
Deacon groaned as the order went straight to his cock.
Tom’s calloused fingers swept over his shoulders and down his chest. Tom’s nails dug in around his nipples, and Deacon swayed towards him with every pull as if there were invisible strings attached. Tom bent his head, his warm lips drugging Deacon’s movements till they stilled. How could his skin vibrate as if alive, yet his body remain immovable as if cast in stone?
When Tom knelt in front of him, Deacon gasped. “You—” can’t? That was ridiculous, and Deacon bit the words off before they were uttered. His breaths came out in hurried gasps when Tom looked up, blue eyes on fire almost as they smoldered with heat.
Deacon almost couldn’t breathe as Tom wrapped his lips around his cock. His knees wobbled, inspiring Tom to bring two strong hands around to clasp his buttocks, pulling him nearer and making Tom almost seem to swallow him.
Almost immediately, Deacon felt the tingles in his spine. He had to hang on, and he threaded his fingers through Tom’s hair, desperate for some anchor before he exploded. Thrice. He’d had this done three times by whores, but never had he wished to think of something else while it was being done. Tom had his full attention.
“Oh.” Deacon pressed his lips together hard as Tom’s teeth scraped back and his tongue followed the fold on his foreskin, pushing it back slowly. He could nearly feel the come rush from his balls at the same speed as the blood pounding through his veins. Tom must have sensed this, because when Deacon’s back arched, he intensified the suction nearly to the point of pain, his fingers digging in Deacon’s buttocks to keep him close. That sinful tongue and commanding mouth wringing Deacon’s orgasm from him.
Deacon gasped. Eyes blinded by momentous pressure that rose in him and threatened to take over his body. He heard a small satisfied sound from the man on his knees and that was it, the catalyst that sent him over the edge. Deacon shot his pleasure into the warm mouth compelling it thus, and flung his head back, mouth open in a silent cry, his legs supported only by Tom’s hands.
Deacon’s cock jerked a final time just as Tom swallowed around it and let it drop from his lips. His eyes still closed, he felt the pressure from Tom’s hand pushing him backwards towards the bed. One more step, and Deacon hit the bed with the back of his knees, which folded, ably helped by the push of Tom’s hand. Deacon felt the bed dip and a cautious tongue lick at the side of his throat until he moved his head to the side to give the man better access. He vaguely heard a chuckle, and answered it with a tilt of his lips. He had neither the command of his body nor the presence of mind to do any other.
He just needed a minute. Then he would explore the gorgeous body laid beside him and return the favor. Just one minute.
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About the author:
Victoria Sue has loved books for as long as she can remember. Books were always what pocket money went on and what usually Father Christmas brought. When she ran out of her kids' adventure stories, she would go raid her mom's. By the age of eight she was devouring classics like Little Women, and fell in love with love stories.
She especially loves writing gay romance because as far as she’s concerned the only thing better than one hot guy, is two of them.
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