Harvest of Sighs (#3)

Coming May 1, 2020

SNEAK PEEK #1: Auden + St Sebastian

“I didn’t come here for you,” I say. It’s a lie, we both know that, but I have to say it anyway. “I didn’t come here for this.”

“I think you did,” Auden says softly. “I think you came here for exactly this.”

I look down to where his hand still caresses my lapel. It’s hypnotic to watch his fingertips ghosting over the fabric, lingering over the neatly tailored peaks, dancing over the single button that keeps the jacket closed.

“Grosgrain,” he says after a minute, his eyes on the lapel now too. “Instead of satin. I thought it suited you better.”

“I don’t know what grosgrain is,” I tell him. His fingers are plucking at my jacket button, each little tug and pull of the fabric like a whispering kiss along my stomach. If he popped the button open, there’d be nothing between his hands and my stomach but my dress shirt.

“It’s silk,” he says, “but it’s been pulled and twisted into something rough and strong. Unlike other fabrics, grosgrain shows its bones.” And then my jacket button releases and his hands are inside, sliding up my stomach to my chest. When his palms drag over my nipples, obviously bunched into tiny points even with the shirt between us, he lets out a long-suffering sigh. As if I should be ashamed I’ve been denying him the pleasure of this.

“This shirt is Egyptian cotton,” he tells me. “It has the longest fibers of any of the cotton breeds. It makes the fabric stronger, but softer too. Almost silky. Do you feel it? The silkiness?”

His hands are everywhere under my jacket now, rubbing along my spine and shaping the blades of my shoulders, tracing the waistband of my trousers, pushing gently against my navel. I can’t bear to look at his haughty, handsome face, and so I have to close my eyes.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I feel it.”

“The tuxedo itself is made of wool,” he says, his hands moving down to my hips, and then around to my ass. He doesn’t linger there, and neither does he pause over the obvious ridge of my erection, but my body hums as if he’s already inside of me, as if he’s already wrapped a strong hand around my staff and started squeezing. “Sturdy but so finely carded that you could almost believe it a cousin to silk. Listen to my tuxedo against yours—it’s barely a whisper, isn’t it? It’s like a breeze in the evening or the wash of the river when the water is low. Barely any noise at all.”

He’s stepped into me in order to prove his point—his thighs moving against mine, his closed jacket brushing against my open one—and my eyes are still closed and I’m shuddering, shuddering, shuddering.

“And our shoes,” he murmurs, his voice so close that I know his mouth is hovering near my jaw, “are calf leather. Made in Italy. Supple—” One of his shoes nudges against mine, forcing me to step out to the side. “—but robust.” His other shoe pushes against my foot and then my legs are spread wide enough that he can fit both of his between mine. I’m unsteady like this, off balance with my back against the wall and my feet planted wide, and so I have no choice but to press against Auden’s touch. His hands sliding under my jacket to grip my shoulders and triceps, his hips pinned firmly to mine. I can feel his cock, hard and stretching to his hip.

“Rich boy,” I say.

“Maybe,” he says back, and then his lips are on my neck. Right above my collar, hot and hard, a kiss immediately turning into a vicious, toe-curling suck.

“We can’t,” I say, finally opening my eyes. His face is buried in my neck, and so I can see the back curve of his head—caramel hair, thick and gleaming—framed by the barley ceiling. “We can’t, Auden.”

“Then why did you come?” he says into my neck, biting me hard enough that I feel it in my marrow. My cock jolts in neglected agony, as if it’s trying to get closer to Auden, as if it’s seeking its owner. “Why did you come here at all if you don’t want this?”

Why doesn’t he understand? Wanting is exactly the problem when it comes to him. Wanting is why I can’t trust myself around him, it’s why I’m here shivering against a wall while he brands me with his mouth instead of safely at home where I can’t be tempted.

Auden seems to realize this the moment he asks the question anyway. I feel his lips curl against my neck. “You do want it, though, don’t you?” He pulls away enough that his fingers can find the buttons of my shirt. They slide between the buttons, teasing little touches against the flat skin near my navel. And then he deftly unbuttons the three above my waistband. “Look at how you tremble when I touch you, stubborn boy. Look at how you flutter those long, gorgeous eyelashes and nibble on that lip ring. I think you more than want this, I think you need it. I think you need it from me.”

I can’t stifle the noise I make when he unfastens my trouser button or when he unzips me. My cock pushes against the sudden freedom, seeking the cool air, seeking the wicked heat of Auden’s hand.

“I don’t want to want it,” I mumble, my head dropping onto his shoulder as he finally takes me in his hand. “I don’t.”