Cry Melusine

An eBook By James Buchanan.

Well, I understand that the terms of my pardon require my service in this land for a term of ten years and I have been here but five, but I would humbly ask that myself and my valet Curran Shee, the Irishman whom you also so pardoned, be allowed to accompany my wife and son to Scotland from whence she hails. I await your word.

Your humble servant, Julius Montclair LaRousse Vidamé du Caroline.

The slap of the water against the side of the Étoile Matin had become a constant feature in the past months. Before long we would be in sight of the Scottish shore. It would be some time before we had another opportunity to be alone together. I pressed up against Curran and he tried to push me away. "Jules, there's naw privacy here."

"There's no privacy anywhere on board a ship." The Irishman's back was to the inside hull. "At least we're better off this time then we were the last, non?" My lips traced down the side of his neck and Curran sucked in his breath, his black eyes smoldering. The Irishman's arms wound about my waist. "Aye, true enough." "I've latched the cabin door. It's a fine day. Jean-Paul will keep his mother occupied on deck. We have some time, if we're quick about it." I slid my hands under his shirt, the hard planes of his stomach tensing under my touch. I kissed his lips and his tongue snaked between my teeth. His kisses were always so hot and hungry, as though he were starved for my touch.

My fingers fumbled with the ties of his britches, loosing them, pushing them down off his hips. I drew away, my teeth grazing his bottom lip, and pulled his shirt over his head. Mon Dieu, he was beautiful there—half naked, jackboots tight on his thighs, his purple head throbbing in time to his heart. Thick black hair had drifted across his eyes, veiling their passion. He reached out to touch me and I caught his hand, kissing the tips of his fingers as I freed myself. "Turn around," I breathed, and he complied, dropping to his knees. I knelt behind him, tasting the skin of his neck and back.

Curran turned his face, viewing me over his shoulder, obsidian eyes burning. I kissed him again, biting his cheek as I fumbled for the little jar of unguent I kept in my effects for this purpose. Thank God things couldn't go far on board ship. Still, it took me enough time that he started to laugh, just a bit. By then I had it out and coated my fingers with the oil. I wrapped my arm about his chest, pulled his back against my body, and shoved two of my fingers inside him. Curran threw his head back and moaned.

"Laugh at me, will you?" I whispered into his collar, nuzzling his neck, caressing his tight channel, making him sigh in delight. "Mon amour, I can't have that." When he was slick, I let go my grip about his body.

Curran's hand was up against the wall, supporting us as we knelt on the floor; his other was working his shaft. I grabbed his hips and thrust my throbbing cock inside him. As I slid between his legs a cold heat ran under my skin. We both hissed at the pleasure of it. He was so tight and hot. It burned. It always burned; a cold, hard fire between my legs. I pounded him, stroking his insides while he pulled at his cock. The oil warmed with the friction of my shaft inside his channel. I rammed again and again, pushing us harder. Each thrust forward was met with his own back against me.

My forehead pressed between his shoulders, I pled with him, "Die with me. Die with me." Black hair fell across his face as he buried his cheek into his bicep. The pace was near frantic now. I added my hand to his, stroking his cock. The feel of his velvet skin under my touch was maddening. Sliding my grip back, I cupped his balls in my hand and caressed them...

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