Agamemnon Frost and the Crown of Towers (8 page)

9. Before the Storm

“You want me to...?” Mason stared at him, his heart in his throat and the need for him to say yes a heavy ache in his gut.

Frost licked the head of his dick, a slow, wet slide that broke a curse from Mason. Frost’s thumb teased, his strong fingers stroking, urging his dick ever closer to his mouth. “I want you.”

Mason caught his hand in Frost’s hair and the man groaned. A thudding heartbeat later Frost’s hot mouth took him deep. Mason’s knees almost buckled, sheer force of will fighting back the shock of pleasure that worked to break his thoughts. Not yet. Frost wanted their stolen time to be perfect. And he
would
give him that.

His free hand cracked back against the oak panelling, wanting the pain, the distraction, because Frost’s mouth, his tongue, the sight of him on his knees, taking him with such wanton joy...

Mason crushed his eyes shut, but his other senses burst over him. The wet slide of Frost’s mouth. His soft moans. The bite of his fingers into Mason’s thigh, his other hand cupping his balls, with his fingers stroking over the base of his dick. Each sensation distinct and searing lightning under his flesh.

“Frost, if you don’t stop...”

His tongue curled—its shape, its pressure of such perfection that stars sparked behind Mason’s eyelids. Fire flickered through his flesh, the tightness of his balls and the ache to give in to the desperate pleasure pounded in his blood.

“You have to stop. Fuck...”

Frost took the whole of his dick. All of it. Mason cried out as painful joy blistered over him, searing white, his body hardly his own. Crackles of electricity ran from his toes to his skull, melting his spine. And still Frost’s mouth remained, taking all of him.

Mason shook and only the other man’s hand firm on his thigh kept him upright and pinned to the wall. It was insanity not to want this joy. Absolute insanity.

Frost eased back, swirling his clever tongue, licking and chasing the final flickers of Mason’s pleasure. Fingers stroked his thighs, the sensitive stir of his skin teasing him anew...but with his hold gone, Mason couldn’t stop himself. He slid to the floor in a boneless heap. Opening his mouth to speak, he found his dried tongue as useless as the rest of his body.

Frost’s smile was sin itself. “I told you. I have a talent for pleasure.”

A broken laugh escaped Mason. “Yes.” He wiped a shaking hand down his face. “I would have to agree.”

Frost leaned in, tilting up Mason’s chin to drop a salt-sweet kiss on his lips. “And I’m not finished with you.”

Mason blinked, the haze of his release falling away. Frost was still completely dressed, not even a coat button undone. The only evidence of their time together was the wet shine to his firm lips.

His heart clenched. Frost was more than handsome. He was utterly beautiful. And Mason loved him. The words burned on his tongue, but remained unsaid. He grasped for something else to say. “Did you imagine us on the floor?”

Frost grinned. “On the floor. On a chair. Over the side of an
aeolipile
.” He offered his hand and the grin deepened. “My imagination is broad.”

Mason took his hand, the fresh spark of need flashing under his skin. He wanted everything about the man. His body, his mind and every mask he wore. The playful dandy. The soldier. The brilliant inventor. The pain of it was an ache in his chest. He couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t admit it.

Frost read him with ease. At times, the man seemed to squat in his mind as effortlessly as the now silent voice of Pandarus. Frost
had
to know how he felt. And yet he’d said nothing. It gave Mason only one answer. Frost didn’t want or return his love.

Mason pressed his mouth to Frost’s, his eyes closed, tasting him, a slow burn that stirred him even as it brought pain. He couldn’t let Frost see the bite of his rejection.

Already Frost’s fingers moved to his coat and he shrugged free of it without his lips leaving Mason. His smile seared Mason’s skin. It was lust to Frost. A way to chase out the darkness and the end that hung over them both.

His coat hit the floor.

Mason drew back, startled. He blinked. This was Agamemnon Frost. His clothes were more precious than gold to a miser. “Not a favourite?”

“I only commented on the shine of Gladstone’s head wearing this one.”

Mason snorted. “An easy shot.”

“Exactly.”

“Whereas the waistcoat...” He sighed as Mason unfastened the jet buttons. “I flirted with Sophia of Prussia in this.”

Mason lifted an eyebrow, ignoring the quick spike of jealousy. He had Frost now. Not some German princess. “A conquest?”

“A dare.” His gaze narrowed. “And as much as I enjoy your undressing me—as I have
always
enjoyed it—I have the more pressing need to fuck you.” Mason’s fingers stumbled over the last button, and heat surged in his belly. Frost glanced down at Mason’s dick. He looked back, the fire and want in his gaze stopping Mason’s breath. “And you need me to.” He pointed to the canopied bed. “There. Now.”

Mason stepped back, his heels catching on the deep pile of the carpet. The sight of Frost stripping
for him
dried his mouth. His spine hit the cold metal of the bed frame and he watched the man undress with quick efficiency.

Frost was a statue, his chest and feet bare, the sleek perfection of his muscles gilded by light. Dark eyes held Mason mesmerised as he undid his fly. “Five weeks.” His head tilted. “Just five. I feel as if I’ve known you forever.”

The soft tone threaded through Mason, followed by a pinch of pain. “I’ve never seen you take off your clothes so quick.”

Frost smirked. “With you, I draw out the pleasure. Right now.” The last of his clothes joined the pile on the chair. “I only need you.”

He closed the short distance between them, his fingers catching in Mason’s hair. The first tantalising brush of skin against skin ran a hot current under his flesh, wiping his mind momentarily clean of all thought.

“I said on the bed.” The order was firm.

“You weren’t specific...”

Frost growled, a low, throaty sound that scalded through Mason’s veins. “Bed.” He stepped back, and the absence of his warmth, of the pleasure of his touch, ran a shiver over Mason. “Now.”

Mason took his hand, entwining his fingers, and pulled Frost around the bed. He pushed back the heavy winter blankets and a blush crept across his face. He fought down his embarrassment. He wanted Frost. He loved him. “The last man I had—more than three years ago now—it was rushed.” His gaze flicked to the wall where Frost had simply wrung him dry. “A ship’s wall. I’ve never had a bed.”

Frost kissed him, a light stroke of his lips, his breath a hot sigh. “For me, it’s been years.”

“You?” Mason stared at him. “But...”

“Mason, get on the bed.”

A smile broke from him and he climbed onto the bed, the mattress creaking and groaning under his weight.

“On your back,” Frost murmured as Mason rolled onto his stomach. “I want to watch you.”

Mason briefly closed his eyes, the flutter in his belly and the ache in his already hard dick reacting to the thought.

Frost knelt between his legs, the mattress groaning. Mason winced. “They’ll hear.”

“So?” Frost ran strong hands over Mason’s thighs, parting them, the hot slide of his palms, the digging tracks of his fingers pure torture. “Nestor knows. He doesn’t care.”

Mason stilled, the sudden shock of their commander
knowing
about them chasing fear through him. “He said something?”

“No. But he knows. Now.” Frost’s thumbs traced hard lines along the crease of his thighs and all thought of Nestor evaporated. “Can I
please
fuck you?”

Mason let out a long slow breath. “Give me your hand.”

Frost frowned, but did as he asked. Mason brought it to his mouth and licked Frost’s index and middle fingers. The tremor that ran through the man, the sudden darkening of Frost’s eyes, drove Mason to take his fingers, mirroring how Frost had almost devoured his dick.

And he held Frost’s gaze. Watching his lover, enjoying the bite of his fingers into his thigh as he lost a portion of the steely control that had held him since they began. He wanted to see his effect, know that the wildness thrumming through his own flesh was there with Frost too. And it was. Sweat touched his upper lip now, darkened his hairline. The familiar exotic aromas of sandalwood and vanilla had deepened, offering a hint of Frost’s own warm scent.

Mason gave the fingers a final lick, and Frost withdrew his hand to tease his wet fingers under Mason’s balls. His devilish smile would have graced a copy of the
News
. And he knew it. He drew a line, closer and closer until the anticipation was almost an agony.

“Stroke yourself.” Frost’s hard command jerked his hand down as his lover eased a finger inside him. The ignition of heat chased up his spine and Mason bit his lip to hold back a cry. Frost curled and stretched him, adding a second finger.

Mason gripped his dick, denying himself the boneless ecstasy that could all too easily overwhelm him. “Frost. Enough control. Fuck me.”

“Lick.” Frost offered his other hand and Mason swiped his tongue from the base of his palm to the finger tips. He grinned as Frost swore softly. “Knees up to your chest.”

A hard heartbeat later, as Mason’s pulse pounded, Frost’s dick pushed at his hole. Mason fought to breathe at the agonisingly slow stroke of Frost into his body. Every nerve flared. His chest tightened. And his lover watched him, his bright eyes fevered, the hand that held Mason’s calf biting, the muscles in his arms shaking.

“Sweet...fuck.” Frost closed his eyes, his mouth parted and the sheen of sweat coating his skin. Mason doubted he’d ever seen a more beautiful sight. “Almost...”

Frost groaned as his hips pushed hard up against him. Mason fought to breathe through the incredible fullness. The utter joy of finally,
finally
having Frost as his lover was a source of pleasure and of pain. His. For the night. Just his.

Frost leaned forward, his strong hands effortless in lifting his body, and took a kiss from Mason’s mouth.

The light of the lamp edged his face in gold, but his eyes were shadowed. “This...” He kissed him again, the electric touch of their skin and the aching fullness wrapping around Mason. “That we had more time.”

Mason brushed a loose lock of hair from his lover’s face, his heart a pained stone in his chest. He wanted to tell him. Share that he loved him, but the words choked in his throat. “We’ll make the most of now.”

Frost kissed him, his tongue finding his mouth, a fierce tasting...as he pulled his hips back. Mason almost mewled, Frost swallowing the strangled sound. He slammed back and stars danced across Mason’s eyes.

“I’ll fuck you like I’ve ached to fuck you.” Frost leaned over him, their bodies tight and tangled, his hands fisting the bed sheet as he sank his teeth into Mason’s bottom lip. “Because we can.”

Mason took his mouth, one hand in Frost’s hair, the other on his dick, and met every fierce thrust of Frost into his body.

His lover’s slick skin slipped over his, hot, and the quick current arced sweet pleasure. It couldn’t be long. Already the thick ache in his balls promised a fast release. And Frost, Frost had controlled himself for too long. His loss of control was there in the tremor rippling through the muscles in his arms and his low moans.

His stroke changed. Harder. Faster. Mason broke his mouth free, his hand working his dick, wanting to share his release with Frost. He watched him, held his gaze. More intimate than the tangle of their bodies, the rub of sweat or him buried so hard inside.

Mason saw the building desire reflected in Frost’s eyes. The taut line of his body, the erratic strokes... So close. They were both so
very
close...

Frost buried his face against Mason’s neck, teeth catching his skin, and stroked deep. The pleasure-pain of it charged Mason’s bones, his flesh, chasing blistering heat and intense joy. Fire and white-hot light flashed and melted every thought in his skull, and he clung to Frost’s damp body.

Mason held him as he trembled in the aftermath of their lovemaking. He pressed a kiss to his hot shoulder, the salt taste of his skin delicious on his tongue. “Frost...”

His lover shivered and let out a long sigh, running a tingle under Mason’s skin. “I have to move, don’t I?”

“You have me wrapped in a knot.”

Frost’s low laughter followed and slowly he eased himself free. Mason stretched out his body, surprised to find no cramps, no aches, simply the pleasurable hum lingering in his flesh.

Frost brushed back the sweaty tangles of Mason’s hair, his thumb stroking over his cheek. Mason wanted to see something more in his eyes, but he found unfamiliar hesitation. It dug a new pain into his heart. “Was it enough?”

A dark smile pulled at Frost’s mouth and the familiar hint of wickedness shone in his gaze. “No.” His lover’s lips ghosted his, and the fresh stir of want moved through Mason’s body. Frost pushed him into the mattress, pinning him there with sure strength. His face fell into shadow. “And we are, as yet,
far
from dead.”

* * *

Mason stared into the grey-lit darkness, his altered sight picking out the hands on the clock. Just before five in the morning. Frost’s arms were tight around him, his breath stirring the hair at the nape of his neck, his thigh pushed hard between Mason’s own. The even thud of his heart, slow and precise, beat in time with his. It was comforting and at the same time painful.

They had lost the night in a haze of passion, their alien-made bodies never tiring and so sensitive to the slightest stir of breath or the play of fingers...

Mason closed his eyes, denying a fresh wave of want. It was the morning. The day they died. He eased himself free of Frost’s fierce hold, unable to hold back a smile as the man tugged at Mason’s still-warm pillow and pressed his face into it.

The smile faded. He still hadn’t told Frost he loved him. He doubted now he ever would. Turning away, he padded into the narrow bathroom and closed the door.