night, or he needed to be at the club early the next day, or when he wanted a nap before the evening ahead.
Henry was quiet as Kit led him into the bedchamber, watching as Kit used the chamber-stick to light the candles by the bed. The flames glowed weakly, then rallied, burning a little stronger and higher, casting flickering shadows against the wall.
He turned back to face Henry, excitement and fear twisting in his belly. The realisation of how much he wanted this—how much he still wanted Henry—alarmed him. His old feelings were surging up, like a milk pan boiling disastrously over, astonishing him.
Was it really only this afternoon that he’d first seen Henry again? Henry looked so familiar, standing there in the middle of the bedchamber. Almost as though no time had passed at all.
But things had changed—everything was, in fact, quite, quite different.
Now they stood before one another as equals, and Kit had the sudden, heady realisation that he was entirely in charge of this encounter.
“What shall I do with you?” He mused aloud.
Henry’s gaze was steady. He said, “Whatever you want, Christopher. I only want to serve you.”
Kit’s mouth went dry at that assurance, and his cock hardened. “Is that so?” he said breathlessly.
Henry nodded, and as if to make the point as clearly as possible, he sank to his knees on the rug.
The wave of lust that crashed over Kit at that sight was almost overwhelming. He tightened his hands into fists by his sides and said hoarsely, “You look very alluring like that, Henry, but I only want you to do it if you want it too. This is not a punishment.”
“I do want it,” Henry said, almost desperately. “Please, Christopher. Tell me what you want.”
For several beats, they stared at one another, then Kit stepped towards him and choked out, “Suck me, then. I want your mouth on me.”
Henry moaned and the sound went straight to Kit’s cock, his already-hard shaft stiffening further in his breeches. Christ.
Henry lifted shaking fingers and began unfastening the buttons at the placket of Kit’s breeches while Kit stripped off first his coat and then his waistcoat, tossing them aside. By the time he was tearing off his neckcloth, Henry had his breeches undone and was reaching into his drawers to pull out his engorged shaft.
Henry groaned at the sight. He leaned forward and rubbed his face along the length of Kit’s cock, before kissing the tip and then taking it into his mouth.
Kit cried out at the immediate pleasure of Henry’s tongue curling over his sensitive shaft, then moaned at the velvety clasp of his inner cheeks as he sucked.
Henry feasted on Kit’s cock for long minutes, kissing and licking and sucking, before diving deeper, forcing Kit’s cock into the warm, tight tunnel of his throat.
“Oh Christ,” Kit gasped. “That’s too good—I’ll be spending in a minute.”
It was far too long since he’d had a man on his knees for him like this. And he’d never had Henry Asquith on his knees. Kit stared down, tunnelling his fingers into Henry’s dark hair and tugging lightly, making Henry moan and look up. And Christ, the lust and the pleasure in that hazy grey gaze…
Henry pulled off Kit’s cock and stared at him. His lips were swollen and wet, and Kit wanted to kiss him, but before he could formulate words, Henry was learning forward again, licking another stripe up Kit’s cock that had Kit’s thighs trembling.
Henry looked up at him again. “Do you want to lay down while I do this?”
Kit blinked at him dazedly, and Henry added, seeming embarrassed, “In truth, my left knee is getting a little sore.”
“Oh!” Kit exclaimed. “Yes, of course. Shall I”—he paused—“undress?”
Henry’s smile was sweet and a little uncertain. “Yes. Please.”
Kit quickly removed his shoes, breeches, stockings, and drawers. When he was quite naked, he climbed on the bed, watching with rapt attention as Henry completed his own disrobing. And God, but he was a lovely sight. A little bigger in the chest and shoulders than before, Kit thought, and still as powerfully muscled as he’d ever been. His dark chest hair was speckled with grey, as was the nest of hair at the juncture of his thighs. Kit liked it—he liked these signs of maturity and experience in a man. He always had.
He wondered what Henry thought of him. He knew, without vanity, that he still looked good. His body was as slim and lithe as ever, his hair still mostly fair,