That evening I watched nervously from my drawing room window. Again, I was to venture unwillingly out into a frigid London night. I could have ignored the mysterious invitation, but my fears about the young noble’s safety and my curiosity about who sent me the invitation got the better of me. There was a person or persons who knew something about my private habits, and they were drawing me into their circle. I needed to understand what this peculiar business was all about.
At exactly eight-thirty pm, with its lamps blazing, a Clarence carriage pulled up outside my townhouse. Mr. Wilkins assisted me with my greatcoat, hat, gloves, and cane, and with a pause at the threshold to say a silent prayer I stepped out into the glacial night and rushed down the steps to the carriage.
As I approached the door was opened from within. I removed my top hat and stepped up and into the growler. I settled myself beside my guest then tapped my cane on the ceiling to inform the driver to move on. The Clarence or growler carriage was my preferred mode of transport, not only for comfort sake with its interior of buttoned black leather upholstery, but because the front of the carriage had windows, and when sitting facing the driver, the rear of the carriage was shrouded in darkness. I liked to travel anonymously, and so, even though it was more expensive than taking a Hansom cab, I preferred anonymous comfort over price.
In the shadows I looked down at the boots of the man sitting beside me, they were fine leather and the silver-tipped laces glinted. I tossed my hat and cane onto the empty banquette seat opposite. Cavell’s leather-gloved hand gripped my thigh and a pulse of pure electricity rushed through me. My gut curdled with that wondrous, fleeting happiness that was swiftly becoming my drug. I turned to him and I saw that once again he was sporting a foxy ginger waxed mustache and chin beard postiche.
“How was your day?” I asked politely, ludicrously unable to think of anything else to say. Sebastian did not say a word in reply. We stared at one another for the length of a breath as the carriage moved in and out of the range of street lights. Sebastian then moved to the seat opposite to pull the curtains closed until we were in near darkness.
Sebastian’s cologne of musk and spices filled the carriage. He moved again to sit beside me; then his leather-gloved hand roughly gripped my chin. He pushed me back against the straining black leather upholstery and held me in place as he leaned in to give me a near-violent kiss. With his other hand, he threaded his fingers into my curls and tugged a little as he ravaged my mouth. The fire rushing through me was unstoppable. With the mingling of pain and pleasure, my heart forgot to beat and I was sure that if the grappling kiss continued I would pass out from the lack of oxygen.
Sebastian drew back and we panted to catch our breaths. I realized I was near sprawled on the banquette, my stand straining for release.
“You sir, are a dreadful tease.” Sebastian accused. “I didn’t get a bally wink of sleep last night… knowing there was just a brick wall between us.” He added with a rakish snicker. He wiped his satisfied mouth with the back of a hand.
“I should punish you, you know. How terrifying would it be to let me gamahuche you here and now?” He threatened.
I gulped, awash with arousal and fear in equal measure. We were more or less in public, no matter that the carriage doors and curtains were closed. I could hear people shouting on the streets, the braying of horses, and the sound of hooves on the road. The rhythms of the wheels upon cobblestones rocked the carriage and added to my arousal. I stared, searching for Sebastian in the low light. My brain was all a-jumble and my prick, hard from that one stolen kiss. I was not used to snatching lustful moments with a paramour, although I had had privately dreamed of such things while on long, interminably boring coach journeys. This whole experience of having a secret lover was far more intense than I could have imagined. To let him take me, here—now—I could not risk it.
But then Sebastian ran his leather-clad hand up my inner thigh and pressed it to my throbbing tumescence. He moved in, thrusting his leg between my own, easing me back into the seat. He kissed me again, and, God forgive me, the taste of Sebastian Cavell was narcotic and I could not resist.
The pressure of his hand rubbing at my cockstand and his own erection frotting against my thigh moved us in syncopation to the vibrations beneath, from cobbles to flat roadways and the rocking gait of the carriage. I felt far too hot in my suit and greatcoat and wished I could remove them. I ripped my mouth away from Cavell’s and in a rough whisper said,
“You’ve done this to me on purpose, you scoundrel! You’ll damn well drink me dry so I don’t soil my suit.”
I pushed Sebastian’s hand away from my crotch as I hurriedly undid my button and fly then fished my stiff rod from my undergarments. Sebastian laughed with delight at seeing how quickly he could undo me, I was sure then that pure devilry was afoot.
My free hand fisted in Sebastian’s hair and I pulled his head down. “Here, take it, damn you, and swallow every drop.”
Cavell went willingly and a moment later I was engulfed in moist velvet heat as he licked and sucked
