A Seditious Affair(11)

“Do I need to concentrate your mind? Reckon I do.” The brute released him with a shove. “Strip.”

Dominic undressed, hands shaking. Coat, waistcoat; pulling his fine lawn shirt over his head—

“Stop.”

Dominic froze, arms high, cloth over his face, and felt the brute nearer. Felt his heat, his bulk. A rough hand slid over his bared, vulnerable belly and down the front of his breeches, forcing a reaction. He became aware he wasn’t breathing, and inhaled hard.

“Huh.” The brute was an indistinct shape in the dim light through the cloth that muffled Dom’s face. He felt a possessive hand curling over his stand, sliding between his legs. “Very nice. If I wanted a tuppenny upright in a back alley.”

Dominic could feel himself trembling. From the strain of holding his arms up, or from the brute’s caress, his hands so gentle as they ran up Dominic’s sides, over his chest.

They didn’t know each other’s names; they’d never kissed. Still, it felt like a lover’s touch.

A long moment, both of them breathing shallowly. Then the brute took hold of a nipple and pinched, hard, making Dominic gasp. “Well, get on.”

Dominic pulled the shirt the rest of the way off and bent to remove his top boots, bowing at his tormentor’s feet. Pushed down breeches and drawers until he stood naked under the brute’s unsparing gaze.

“Turn.” The brute pushed him against the four-poster bed. “Arms up. Hold the rail.” Dominic curled his fingers around the wood of the top rail so that he was facing the bed, naked, vulnerable.

“Legs apart. Further.” A kick at his ankle. “Further, I said.”

“Please,” Dominic whispered, skin shuddering with awareness. “Please.”

Work-hardened fingers trailed down his spine, the rough skin scraping his. “Please what?”

“Don’t hurt me.” Such a lie, such a damned lie.

A knee between his, shoving his legs still further apart. He felt the stretch in his arms, gripped the rail desperately. “I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to ride you cock-horse till I’m done and make you suck me after. And I’m not going to let you spend.” A hand on his balls, clamping hard. “Not till you’ve begged me, maybe not even then. I’m going to bring you to your knees, Tory, where you belong. And if I catch you fucking thinking, I’m going to do it twice.” His fingers tangled in Dominic’s hair, pulled hard, dragging his head back. “You’re mine to play with, and I’ll use you as I please. Understand?”

“Yes.” The piercing, exquisite shame of it. “Yours.”

“Good.” A rustle of cloth behind him, and Dominic could already feel the strange peace that only this brutal treatment brought, shutting out all the memories and obligations and misery. He closed his eyes and surrendered.

—

“This is good.” The brute lay back on the bed, a glass in each hand. Dominic’s arms still hurt too much to hold anything after what must have been a good half hour hanging off the bed rail. It had been a painful relief to be forced to his knees at last. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, emptied. “Just a moment now.” The brute sipped again. “This is what you call a Mozle, right?”

“A Moselle, yes.” Dominic would have wagered his purse the mispronunciation was deliberate. “French this time. Last week’s bottle came from the Rhine. I think I prefer the French vineyards.”

“Do you now.” The brute took another sip, considering. “It’s growing on me, I’ll give you that.”

“Don’t drink it all before I can lift my arms again.”

The brute smiled down at him. “You’ll think of me tomorrow.”

Dominic thought of him every day, but tomorrow would definitely be memorable. He hurt from the scalp, where the brute’s hand had gripped his hair, to the toes, on which he’d had to stand to keep his precarious balance against the savage fucking. His mind flitted from Not going to want to sit down to At least I’ll be out of the office, and then it all came back.

“Huh.” The brute was watching him. “You all right?”

Dominic hauled himself up on his elbows and took the proffered glass. “Yes. It’s just…Ah, the devil. May I ask you something?” The brute grunted. “Well. Suppose I had a duty.” How to phrase this? “Suppose I were a Bow Street Runner, say, investigating a man that I believed guilty of a crime. And suppose I discovered that my investigation would implicate, let’s say, my wife’s brother.”

The brute was giving him a look. Dominic waved his hand. “I am neither married nor a Bow Street Runner. It’s an analogy. My point is…say my wife’s brother worked for this man. Probably wasn’t greatly involved in his crimes, but knew about them. Is living a decent life now. And to investigate a man I believe to be guilty would be to bring him down and enrage my wife. What should I do?”