Page 10 of The Last Crimes of Peregrine Hind
Peregrine shuddered, the flush deepening on his cheeks, and Sandy knew he’d found a weakness. Peregrine wanted inside his mouth. Badly.
Maybe even other places . . .
But a huge crash resounded from outside the sacristy door, followed by roars of laughter, and Peregrine seemed to snap out of whatever spell had overtaken him. With a sharp shake of his head, the highwayman walked over to the table and, using the ewer and a fresh towel, cleaned his hand. Then he came over to Sandy and wiped Sandy’s messy stomach clean.
The thickness in the thief’s breeches was unabated, but Peregrine didn’t unbutton them to relieve his desire, and he didn’t—as Sandy secretly hoped—climb onto the bed next to Sandy and make use of him. Instead, the thief began untying him, loosening the knots and then checking to make sure Sandy could still move his fingers and toes.
When he was completely untied, Sandy sat up and stared at him. “Let me make you feel better with my mouth,” he said. “I’m very good at it.”
Peregrine bundled the lengths of silk into neat coils as the silence after Sandy’s offer filled the room. The highwayman’s eyes glittered behind his lowered lashes—glittered with something less than vengeance and something more than lust. Secret things that made Sandy’s pulse speed up. Finally Peregrine said brusquely, “I’m your captor.”
“I thought we went over this,” Sandy said impatiently. “It’s revenge. You’re getting revenge and stuff.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you’re trying to seduce your way free.”
“Well, that sounds like a winning scenario for both of us!”
Peregrine leveled a look at him.
Sandy did his best to look innocent, but the effect was doubtful since he’d just done very not innocent things all over his stomach. “Did I mention that I’m so very good at it and also how vengeful you’ll feel while it’s happening?”
“Good night, Alexander,” the highwayman said. “There will be a guard outside your door tonight. I’ll make sure they bring in some food and wine for you too.”
A sharp displeasure sliced through Sandy at the thought of Peregrine leaving. He wanted more bed-play, yes, but he also just wanted his captor here, with him. He wasn’t sure why, exactly. Maybe it had something to do with those secrets shimmering in the highwayman’s silver eyes.
“Peregrine!” Sandy called, but there was no reply. His captor had gone.
Five
Peregrine
For as long as he lived, Peregrine would never forget the way Alexander looked while tied to a bed, hair tousled and gleaming in the lamplight, his stomach pearled with his orgasm. And for as long as he lived, he’d never forget the way Alexander’s cock felt as he stroked it. Hotter than a brand, harder than steel. Yet soft and velvety too, like pure heaven in his hand.
For the sake of his own sanity, Peregrine didn’t take a shift guarding Alexander’s door that night or the next morning. He didn’t think he could listen to Alexander rustling around in bed or sighing his put-upon sighs, and he didn’t know how he’d respond if Alexander came to the door and tried to talk to him.
No. He did know how he’d respond. He’d push his way through that door and shove Alexander back onto the bed. And this time he wouldn’t leave Alexander’s cell with a cockstand still straining his pants.
Let me make you feel better.
I’m so very good at it.
Instead, Peregrine went to his cell and slept a little, waking with the sun to begin working his way through a list of things needing to be fenced soon. He’d been marking the papers for less than an hour when he heard a knock at the door.
“Yes?” he called.
Will, the youngest of their band and the person guarding Alexander today, pushed his head into the room. “Lord Alexander says he can’t fall back asleep because his bed linens are too scratchy.”
Peregrine stared. “Too scratchy?”
Will shrugged.
“I suppose,” Peregrine said slowly, “he could have some other bed linens if we have them.”
“Thanks,” Will said, and then left the room and closed the door behind him. Peregrine shook his head and then went back to the inventory sheets, unsure if captives were supposed to complain about their bed linens, but also certain that it probably didn’t matter, since Alexander had already proved himself to be a deeply vexing captive.
Let me make you feel better.
Well, perhaps not entirely vexing.
