“I see you, Benedict. I see you for the man you are… and he is wonderful. Let me please you.”
I had never heard a man say silken words like that to me before. I was in my fifth decade and believed I was undesirable and invisible. Oh to be seen, to be desired. When the shroud of my religion was pulled away these were my deepest darkest wishes. I wanted to be seen, to be recognized as a virile, attractive man. I wanted to be desired, to be...touched. Cavell knew what I wanted to hear. I met his hazel-eyed gaze and saw the glint of gold reflected from the raging fire in the hearth… or was that his passion? His words had melted my steely core. I didn’t know or care about whom in society thought my needs indecent, for all common sense and fear of sin drained from me as Sebastian toyed with my prick and made me stand hard in my trousers.
Sebastian wanted me. He wanted ME! And if I was to sin then I would do it with a man who saw me for who I am and still desired me.
Sebastian Cavell—renowned master thief had me in his grasp. He was in control and as he leaned in to place his lips upon mine. I knew I would not fight it. Out of habit, I closed my eyes so that I was in the dark. Sebastian tasted of pipe tobacco, smoke, and Port. His kisses were tender and gentle. It was almost as if he expected me to protest and pull away, but so entranced was I by his fingers tracing the outline of my growing shaft and his lips upon mine.
Sebastian ended the kiss.
“Open your eyes, Benedict, dear.” He said. I did so, but I felt somewhat removed from myself and in a dreamlike state.
“I came to Scotland to claim a prize, and now it seems I will have it. The only thing that the new Lord Ardmillan ever had that I wanted… was you!”
I was stunned into silence.
“Shall we get you out of these?” Sebastian said, moving his nimble fingers to unhook the catch and buttons on my trousers.
Again, I did not protest, I did not assist. I could not allow myself to touch him in return for then I would be lost.
Some would say my desire to lay with men was the product of a mental disease, a sinful nature or a damned soul, but when Sebastian stripped us of our clothing, laid me on the bed and clambered naked atop me I knew I would rather be a sinner than live another day without the hard warmth of his masculine form pressing me into the mattress. Sebastian was not like Euan. He did not seek to gamahuche me so I would spend quickly to please him. Sebastian was a tender lover. He took his time. He removed my silver cross and placed it safely on the bedside table, and then he touched me—and I did not protest. His fingers traced my burning skin and he kissed me in places I had never been kissed before and I discovered that they elicited exquisite sensations. How was I to know that the backs of my knees and the soles of my feet were so sensitive that when Sebastian kissed and licked me there I had to pull a pillow over my face and howl my pleasure into the goose feathers?
I needed to reciprocate, to give him as much, if not more pleasure than he was giving me and so, my defenses melting like snow against the warmth of his passion, I reached out and caressed his face. Sebastian met my gaze. He looked a little startled that I had taken the initiative to touch him, and then he smiled. I tentatively mapped his face with my fingers and he turned into my touch and kissed my palms, his mustache tickling all the while. I was unable to fathom how this man came into my life, my bed, and made me feel as though my years of loneliness could float away like snowflakes on the wind.
The way he looked at me filled me and made my heart fit to burst. If this attraction was a sin, I was a happy sinner. I ran my hands over his sharp bony shoulders and down his smooth, warm back. I traced the shape of his taut buttocks and squeezed. I felt his member, hard and ruddy, throbbing and leaking pre-ejaculate against my belly. I put my hand between our stomachs and lined our pricks so the silky moist skin would slide side by side as we rutted. Then I claimed Sebastian’s mouth in a hungry kiss and began to push up against him.
Sebastian moved atop me like a boat cresting the waves, and such a stormy sea I had never sailed. Wave after wave of pleasure hit me and eventually when I shot I felt like a bullet had pierced my heart. I understood why the French called climax Le Petit Mort—The little death, because in Sebastian’s arms with the spiritual release that came with completion, I was liberated from my self-inflicted bonds, free.
I awoke the next morning wrapped in the warm embrace of the goose down duvet. My lips tingled with sensitivity and I licked them. They tasted of pipe smoke and someone else. Sebastian. I smiled at the memories of Sebastian’s kisses. I opened my eyes to the early morning sunlight peeping through the drapes. It appeared that the blizzard had passed and the world was calm again. I turned in the bed to find to my great disappointment that I was alone. Instead of my lover,
