If you build it, love will come.
Jonathan P. Quiverbotton freely admits he is fussy, punctual…and terribly lonely. All his attempts to build a companion have failed miserably. Desperate, he rents a man-of-all-work bot from a local factory, intent on uncovering its secrets. When the manbot arrives, though, it bears a stunningly familiar face. The face of a notorious con man—with whom Jonathan once had a fleeting assignation. Marcus isn’t quite certain why this doorstep seems so familiar, but once he lays eyes on Jonathan, memories flood back so strong only one thing matters. To convince Jonathan that he’s a changed man. Raw sexual passion quickly forges a deep emotional bond, fueled by the knowledge that Marcus must soon return to the factory. Before their time ticks down, another man emerges from Marcus’s murky past, reminding him of his unfulfilled part in a blackmail scheme. Marcus wants no part of his old life, but refusal not only exposes Jonathan to danger, it puts him at the mercy of those who would use his illegal enhancements at the cost of his humanity.
Warning: Contains one very fussy inventor, a decidedly wicked man-of-all-work bot, clockwork homecare creatures, and blazing hot sex between a man and his mechanical manservant.
eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B Cincinnati OH 45249 Far Too Human Copyright © 2011 by Anitra Lynn McLeod ISBN: 978-1-60928-764-1 Edited by Linda Ingmanson Cover by Kanaxa All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: November 2011 www.samhainpublishing.com
Far Too Human Anitra Lynn McLeod
Dedication
Thanks to L.A. Witt for the invitation, Kei for the inspiration, and Linda for the interpunction.
Chapter One
Black Rock Colony, North American League, 1910 That his delivery was late annoyed Jonathan P. Quiverbottom beyond rationality. He glared at the oversized clock precisely placed at the apex of the sweeping staircases, but watching the second hand tick across the face only increased his distress. Time was everything. As he waited, he wanted to cross his arms, but he would never do so, not when such a stance would ruin the crisp lines of his custom-tailored suit. Most clothing was fashioned of pedestrian faux fibers, but Jonathan could afford the best natural fabrics. Nothing looked as good as wool, cotton, silk and leather, but nothing marred quite as easily either. So Jonathan didn’t cross his arms, but he did tap his foot. Bouncing his foot against the thick carpet wouldn’t harm his polished shoes or the rug, but the motion made him more aware of the passage of time. A thousand scenarios marched through his mind of what might have gone wrong. Perhaps the delivery mobile had run afoul of a whirling dervish. Jonathan hated the high-speed single-people movers favored by the young and those who cared little for their own mortal flesh. However, without the fresh bodies such dangerous modes of transport provided, he would not be expecting a man-of-all-work bot in the first place. Normally, anything that disrupted his exacting schedule was dismissed and forgotten. Late guests were not afforded entry to his home. It only took a time or two of being coldly ignored on his doorstep for them to stop coming. After ten years in Black Rock Colony, not a soul came to his door but delivery men, and they never tarried long. “Rushing about again?” Jonathan would ask, stamping his thumb to confirm receipt of whatever goods they had delivered. “Yes, GoodSirQuiverbottom.” They mashed the words together until he took the phrase to mean both greeting and dismissal. Not that Jonathan was lonely. Praise the paragons of science, no! He did as he pleased. He spent his time and considerable fortune pursuing activities he most thoroughly enjoyed. His home was his castle, his haven and his workshop. Here, the world moved in an orderly fashion. Every aspect occurred at a specific time. As he parted the lace privacy sheers covering the doorway glass, he wondered if the delivery mobile hadn’t been delayed at all. Perhaps they had never left the factory. What if they had deduced his intent?
Far Too Human
Jonathan’s heart hammered hard, and a light sweat beaded on his brow. If Man-o-War Limited knew why he’d ordered one of their most talked-about bots, it could explain why his delivery was late. Jonathan mopped his face with a pristine handkerchief that smelled of sandalwood. Perhaps this was for the best. He could not be held to trial if he did not commit the wrong in the first place. But then he would be left to his own devices, and that had not served him well. When a tall man with blond hair the exact color of butterscotch toffee paused at the base of his steps, Jonathan let the sheers drop. What was that man searching for? He appeared to be checking the numbers placed above his entryway. Jonathan didn’t think the young man was looking for him. He would not let him enter anyway, what with his ill-fitting clothing clearly fashioned from inferior-grade textiles and his jacket hooked by his finger and tossed casually over his shoulder. His very wide shoulder. Which seemed exactly wide enough for his beautifully shaped head and terribly informal jacket gesture. Frowning, Jonathan tried to move away from the doorway, but the curious man held him riveted. Why were the slovenly always so indifferently beautiful? Even with all his meticulous care, Jonathan had never exuded half the appeal this creature did without effort. If he were a religious man, he might believe that God tested him in some way, but he was not, so he did not think he was being held to a divine trial. “Oh, stop my brain from dithering!” Another thing Jonathan could not abide was mental blather. The only time he indulged in such nonsense was when something or someone disrupted his schedule. He ordered himself to leave the foyer and refuse delivery, but he knew he could not. He had to know what Man-o-War Limited knew that he did not know. Once he had the secret of their manbots, he would vehemently decry the company for wasting his time on a delivery. But first, he had to pick apart their creation in order to duplicate their science. Casting his gaze through the lace curtains again, he discovered the man was still there. Perhaps if he had a hat, he would appear more polished. He should do something to cover up the unruly waves of butterscotch hair. Those strands were simply too long for a man and far too pretty. Cleaned up, trimmed back and dressed in an appropriate suit, the man would be most fetching. Terribly so. Why, Jonathan could see their heads together as they discussed the latest happenings over tea and pastries. If he had a friend who looked like this, he would surely go out of his house and socialize more. But he didn’t. And he wouldn’t. Jonathan would not make such a friend again. Once had been enough. But, to be fair, that man hadn’t actually been his friend. More of a fleeting acquaintance. Jonathan only wanted him to be his companion. In all honesty, such an alliance would have been most foolish, and yet Jonathan had never stopped thinking of— “He is still there!”
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What if the delivery mobile came and found this ruffian wandering about? In the pale light of morning, with the skies darkly overcast and heavy with pending snow, what was technically morning was rather gloomy enough to appear almost as sinister as evening. If the delivery men feared being accosted, they would not stop, and then Jonathan’s plans for the day would be ruined. “Move along,” he whispered, flicking his fingers at the man behind the lace. Rather than going, he took the steps two at a time, displaying remarkably strong thighs below worn black fabric. Dressed properly, he would be a most intriguing gentleman, what with that stunning hair and powerful body and his hands—as he moved his work-worn hand toward the chime, Jonathan yanked the door open. “Be off with you now. There is nothing for you here.” Rather than turn tail and run or even display a modicum of shock at Jonathan’s sudden leaping out, the man allowed a smile to spread over his chiseled features. His smile was like the rest of him—unfairly handsome and almost indecently compelling. This close, Jonathan saw that his eyes were molten gold. Liquid and striking, they reflected a tiny image of Jonathan back at himself, jarring his sense of not only where he stood, but who he was. Something he had never questioned. Jonathan knew precisely who he was and always had. Until this moment. Riveting and persuasive, the man’s curious eyes held him enthralled, making him utterly forget why he wanted to shoo the man away in the first place. As he continued to stare into his eyes, Jonathan thought of the gleaming clockwork gears he used to create his creatures. Boxes of them, all perfectly separated and labeled according to size, filled one wall of his laboratory. But no gear had ever shone as brightly as this man’s eyes. Shaking himself from his mental dithering, Jonathan said, “I wish for you to leave my stoop at once. I am a very important man who is expecting a very important delivery.” When the man’s dazzling smile broadened, Jonathan’s ire was piqued. “Did the neighbor send you?” He would not put such shenanigans past that meddling fool. When Jonathan had rejected the man’s daughters—both horrid creatures who fervently believed in the supernatural—the rotund bully had sent paid men to seduce Jonathan into a dangerously compromising position. However, due to his innocent nature and proper upbringing, Jonathan did not realize this until he’d allowed the impeccably dressed and exceedingly beautiful men into his parlor. Tea had given way to liquor, which had loosened their tongues and revealed their true purpose: blackmail. Aroused and infuriated in equal measure, Jonathan had sent the low men packing, but he had never quite forgotten the feel of having one man hungrily caressing his cock, while the other rubbed his erection betwixt the split of Jonathan’s bottom—through his clothing, of course. Thank the paragons of science, Jonathan had not been more inebriated. If not for the shock of seeing himself and his companions
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reflected in the mirror over his mechanical fireplace, Jonathan might have let things continue. Luckily, he stopped them before things became messy. The shorter of those horrid men had laughed and revealed to him that the neighbor had already paid them, so it mattered not if he partook of their pleasure or not. The other one, the kinder one had even said he would come back without pay just to hear the plaintive whimpering Jonathan uttered. What Jonathan never confessed to anyone was how that sensation, that feeling of unfamiliar hands and bodies pressed against his, had aroused him to the point where he no longer cared about his tight schedule or the potential mess they would make upon the beautifully crafted beige leather couch. Ever since that day, he’d hungered for that same wild sensation. No matter what he did, no matter how finitely he scheduled his time, he drifted off into fantasies of becoming the plaything of ruffians. Oh, he would beg for them to stop in their perverted endeavors, but all the while, his prick would swell and his balls would ache. Once, he’d been so ensnared in his flight of fancy, he had ruined the inside of his trousers. That was the day he had decided to build a lover. All his efforts failed. Had he been granted access to recently deceased humans, as Man-o-War Limited was, he might have found success too. But they were a limited liability corporation operating with the blessings of the war department, whereas Jonathan P. Quiverbottom was simply a wealthy gentleman. Their manbots had been used in the war with Louisianne, but now that hostilities had ceased, after a resounding defeat along the newly named Farland Mountains, Man-o-War Limited had begun using their technology to craft men-ofall-work bots. Some were purported to be as striking as this creature before him. Boyish and insolent, the man on his doorstep continued to smile at him while these thoughts sparked through Jonathan’s mind in an instant. “What is it you grin so foolishly about? If you have come to rob me, you will be dispatched quickly, I assure you.” Jonathan eyed the umbrella in the basebin of the coat-tree. It had a dulled tip, but it would make a serviceable weapon. “I have not come to steal but to work.” The man’s voice was as rich and as beautiful as his hair. “I have no work for door-to-door beggars.” When the stunning man slipped his calloused hand into the front pocket of his trousers, Jonathan clenched his fist around the door’s edge. He would not overreact as he had with the last man who came upon his stoop. He would wait to see what this man withdrew before slamming the door and screaming like a child. Jonathan was grateful for his cool thinking when all he removed was a folded paper. Taking it up when presented, Jonathan refused to let his features reveal his shock. “You are the man-of-all-work bot?” He ran his gaze from the top of his head to the tips of his battered boots. “I am.”
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“But where is the delivery mobile, the paperwork?” “I have delivered myself, and the paperwork is in your very capable, very soft-looking hand.” He winked! Jonathan shook his head as if that would dislodge that inappropriate gesture from taking root in his mind. Dangerous territory, that type of thing. Jonathan abruptly recalled the man who had wanted to return to him for free just to hear his whimpering. That man had winked in such a manner before he’d left Jonathan’s home. And that gesticulation had made it impossible for Jonathan to stop longing for him to be his companion, no matter how improper the pairing might be. Peering more closely, Jonathan realized that this man and that man were one in the same!
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Chapter Two
Marcus had thought the doorway with the terribly fussy numbers so carefully placed over the arch of the entrance had seemed familiar. A good feeling, a pleasurable trickle of memory, had stirred at the back of his brain, not at all like the unpleasant memories he’d faced at the factory. Chemical mental peels had erased so much, but they’d left that nasty metallic buzz in his brain. But this, oh this memory and the subsequent feelings it aroused were the opposite in all ways. Warm and sinfully soft, this man’s hands had touched his bare flesh after hours of verbal foreplay. Never had Marcus worked so diligently to get a paying customer to partake of his willing pleasures. Marcus remembered this man’s tentative hands pushing aside the collar of his shirt. He recalled how his fingertips had stroked over the swath of hair that would guide him down along his chest. More than anything from that day, Marcus remembered the plaintive whimper of longing this man had uttered when Marcus had reached out and cupped his considerable bulge. Hot, heavy and wickedly hard, his cock had felt massive through the barrier of clothing. Marcus had feared some type of subterfuge making the man appear larger, but when he’d undone his complicated fasteners and slipped his hand against naked flesh—oh, the remembrance of that moment! He was forever grateful the scrubbers had missed that spot in his memory. To forget the feeling of such a proud and wickedly needy bit of flesh would surely be a crime. Sadly, all he’d gotten was the barest taste before his partner pulled him away from that wondrous flesh. As Marcus fumbled through the fragments of that day from what seemed a lifetime ago, he recalled this man’s name was Jonathan. Jonathan P. Quiverbottom. He and his companion had laughed uproariously at his moniker while getting their instructions. Their speculations about his middle name reached epically tasteless proportions. But more than that, Marcus recalled how like wet silk Jonathan’s hair had felt, hair that was dark as sin and twice as thick. His eyes were tepid blue, almost painfully pale, as if color feared to sit upon eyes so demanding, but when Marcus had culled that lustful cry from him, his eyes had darkened, flaring with such heat it was like a blast of pure blue flame. And then, disaster. His companion, the one who had convinced Marcus to dye his hair dark so that they appeared more alike, had gone too far too fast and pressed his considerable cock against Jonathan’s backside.
Anitra Lynn McLeod
Clearly unaccustomed to one lover, let alone two, Jonathan had snapped from his wanton bliss, caught their trio’s reflection in the looking glass and jolted out of their mutual grasp with the quick efficiency of a woman plucking chicken feathers. Rather than calm him, as Marcus tried desperately to do, his companion had laughed at Jonathan and mocked him by throwing in the tender man’s face that they were nothing but paid men of pleasure. The expression of shock, then hurt, then outrage was one memory Marcus would not have minded having removed. He was not surprised when Jonathan refused his fervent apologies. Banished in quick order, Marcus had wanted to linger on Jonathan’s stoop, hoping he would change his mind, but his companion left in his customary hurry, and he had the payment in his pocket. Without his portion, Marcus would have been ejected from his room. The boarding house where he lived was clean but stark, and one missed payment of rent was the first and last of it. Missus Haver was strict. “If you fail to pay on time once, you will never fail again. Do you understand that logic, young man?” Marcus had understood. One failure and he was out on his ear. Of course, all that ceased to matter. Three chemical mental peels had worked all too well. He had no memory of what brought him to the factory. Only that he’d had an accident. They never allowed him to elaborate on that idea. Discussions with those men next to him on the assembly line were quickly killed with electrical jolts. Fearing for the few fragmented memories he did possess, Marcus had held his tongue and stuffed his considerable curiosity away. “I am refusing delivery!” Jonathan tossed the paper at him and attempted to close the door. Afraid of returning to the factory as a failure, or worse, this man revealing his prior dubious history, Marcus plucked the paper from midair and pushed his way into Jonathan’s home. “I will call for the constable!” Jonathan cried. “You will do nothing of the sort.” Marcus closed the door behind him and returned the paper to his pocket. “If you reveal my past, you damn yourself.” Jonathan blanched. “I did nothing wrong.” “You entertained two men of pleasure in your parlor for hours.” Marcus placed his jacket upon the coat tree by the door, earning himself a disapproving frown. That moue of disgust was no wonder, as his shabby clothing was entirely out of place in such a fine entryway. He had a momentary pang of regret for a suit, a lovely tweed-and-leather suit, that he’d lost somewhere. That jacket would be perfectly at home here. “I did not know what you were!” Jonathan sputtered. “As if that will matter to the court?” Warming to his threat, Marcus took a step toward Jonathan, who backed off with wide eyes and uplifted palms. “You knew well enough once we caressed you.” In an instant, Jonathan’s face turned red, his eyes clenched closed and his hands waved as if he would push off the sudden vision Marcus evoked.
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Sensing his advantage, Marcus lowered his voice. “If compelled, I could give an accurate, and shockingly detailed, description of your body.” He deliberately dropped his gaze to Jonathan’s trousers. “Or at least one particular part of your anatomy.” A gasp of horror filled the foyer, and Marcus feared he’d pushed the poor man into collapse. They stood facing one another, neither moving, neither speaking, the only sound the steady tick-tick of the clock at the apex of the grand staircase. “What do you want? Money?” Outrage had replaced the burning embarrassment. Before him stood a timorous man determined to have his peace restored. “How much to send you on your way?” Where he once would have considered how much he would take to leave Jonathan in peace, such thoughts no longer plagued Marcus. Money meant nothing to him now. He’d always made his living on the lower end of life, in the darkest ways. Mostly he’d profited by buggery, burglary and bunko games, but now he cared nothing for riches, because they would do nothing for him. “I am here to work.” The words tumbled automatically out of his mouth despite the fact that they grated against his core self. A flash of pain washed over his nerves when he tried to change that statement. “Work?” Incredulous, Jonathan blinked and examined him. “I am a man-of-all-work bot.” Again, automatic words programmed into his brain. When he tried to refuse that image of himself, he experienced another, and far harsher, burst of pain. “You force your way into my home, you threaten to reveal an assignation that was thrust upon me, then you claim you wish to work?” A twitch below his eye jerked his attention away from Jonathan’s face. “I work. I work.” He pressed his fingers upon the flickering muscle, but the stuttering in his brain refused to stop. “What is wrong with you?” Marcus wanted to speak, but nothing emerged. Struggling between his programmed desire, which was to enslave himself to his master and work until exhausted, and his genuine desire, which was to sexually master the man before him, Marcus finally pulled free by focusing on Jonathan’s mouth. That mouth upon his. Imagining those twin lips parting, allowing him to slip his tongue between. If only Marcus had stayed long enough to feel Jonathan’s tightly pursed mouth wide and wanton over the head of his cock, Marcus would know the deepest meaning of the word bliss. As he stood in the foyer, a slew of memories rose into his mind like bubbles bursting upon the surface of a lake; four times he had come to Jonathan’s doorstep to apologize and seek out his friendship, but he’d left without knocking because he feared Jonathan’s righteous indignation. Twice he’d followed Jonathan to charitable events, hiding in the shadows, watching as the timorous inventor seemed lost amidst his peers. Repeatedly overcome with longing for something he feared to name, Marcus had taken his own cock in hand, stroking himself to climax while thinking of Jonathan. It was that unnamable emotion that he’d clung to so defiantly
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in the factory, that simultaneously empowering and enslaving emotion that had brought him back to Jonathan. Shivering as he pushed against what seemed an insurmountable wall of code, Marcus finally realized that fighting would not work. Turning to his most natural resource, he knew he should rely upon that which had always served him so well in the past: subterfuge. By thinking of his mastering Jonathan as work, he pushed through the code. He emerged on the other side with his memories intact and his desire to work, and work hard, functioning in a way that would please both of them greatly. “Clearly, you are defective. I will send word to the factory for your replacement.” Jonathan turned on his heel and strode to the callbox in the corner of the foyer. Marcus knew if Jonathan made that call, the scrubbers would be far more diligent the second time around. He had no intention of letting them anywhere near his brain again. “I am not defective, Jonathan.” With three long strides, he caught up to him and grasped his shoulder. Gripping him firmly but without painful pressure, he compelled him to turn around. “You don’t truly want to send me away.” “I do not want you here.” Jonathan’s eyes said the exact opposite of his mouth. In that moment, Marcus realized that his longing was well and truly reciprocated. “Yes, you do,” Marcus murmured. “I remember when I was here before how you went on at length about your clockwork creatures.” “So? They are my life’s work.” “You wanted a man-of-all-work bot to see how to make such a device of your own.” Jonathan’s eyes went wide, confirming Marcus’s assertion. “Now that we know one another, you will not call, you will not send me away.” Taking a half step placed them so close Marcus had a full, deep breath of Jonathan’s sandalwood aftershave. “I intend to work for you.” “I have nothing I need you to do,” Jonathan protested. “You need exactly what I have to give.” With a laugh, Marcus placed his hand upon the edge of Jonathan’s tucked cravat. The deep blue stole the color from Jonathan’s eyes but highlighted the blush that washed across his cheeks. “I intend to work very attentively to make you what you should have been all those months ago.” “And what is that?” Jonathan asked. “My willing sexual slave.”
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Chapter Three
“You think I shall allow you to master me?” Jonathan shook his head, certain he had not heard his servant saying such nonsense. He wanted to scoff and roll his eyes, but as soon as the question left his mouth, he felt a secretive surge of longing. “You will allow me to do as I please.” Jonathan should have screamed out his shock and been truly horrified, yet he was not. If anything, the idea of falling to this man’s mercy inflamed his blood and left him feeling wildly excited. Dreams of being caught between the two young men, being forced to assuage their passions, had invaded his peaceful sleep ever since that day in the parlor. However, whenever he thought of acting out such dark dreams, he quivered with such terror he refused to even let such thoughts take the forefront of his mind during his waking hours. Had his very act of repression made the prospect all the more alluring? “That is why you wanted to create your own manbot, is it not?” His brows, much darker than his gleaming butterscotch hair, rose over his metallic eyes with sharp accusation. “You longed to have a creature who would bring your secret desires to life, but one that you could program to tell no one of your guilty pleasure. Oh how wonderfully pedestrian you are, Master Quiverbottom!” Jonathan wanted to order him out, complete with a dramatic finger thrust at the door, but knew he would not. Too much might be revealed. The gentle folk of Black Rock Colony tolerated his withdrawal from their society, but they would not endure scandal. Having a male lover would be cause enough for severe censure, but that he had had paid companionship—it would matter little who paid them—and that he had been alone in his house with not one but two men of such ill repute… Jonathan almost fainted at the thought of how viciously tongues would wag. He was considered an eccentric inventor, thus his leeway given by his fellow citizens with his odd customs, but this would result in his expulsion from the colony. The thought of crossing the ocean to the east filled him with such dread, he would rather die. Claustrophobia and travel by ship did not mix well. His only other option would be to go west, into the wilds of that barren land. Jonathan had difficulty entering the city because he felt there were too many people, but to go where there were none seemed perversely worse to his mind. Given his druthers, Jonathan wished to stay right where he was. “I believe we understand one another.” Possessively, the man with the butterscotch hair stroked his hand along the carefully puffed edges of Jonathan’s cravat, then down to the polished obsidian buttons of his vest.
Anitra Lynn McLeod
Automatically, Jonathan pushed his hand away and straightened his clothing. “I wish to see you mussed, Master Quiverbottom.” Grinning, he yanked the cravat from Jonathan’s vest. He twisted the fabric askew and ruined the crisp line of his jacket. Annoyed by the messiness he felt but could not see, Jonathan resisted the urge to set his outfit to rights. As much as he loathed disorder, his longing to recreate the powerful sensations of that fateful day in his parlor were far more compelling. “Very good.” His smile was pure dominance. “What will you call me?” Jonathan could not remember the name this man had given that long-ago day, not that he believed that was his real name or how he wished to be addressed. This was some part of the erotic game he wished to play. After due consideration, Jonathan asked, “What would you have me call you?” “Oh, my dear Master Quiverbottom, you are a natural.” Causing a scene would get the man out of his house, but that could leave Jonathan vulnerable to ugly questions. What if the constable launched a full-scale investigation? The mere idea gave him hives. Acquiescence would give him time to find an opportunity to evict him more discreetly. In order to do that, he would have to appease this man. Ironically, he was not as shaken by that idea as he should be. It was as if his longing to be at the mercy of ruffians had come to life. Dare he act out his desires if he could do so without getting caught? The man removed the pin from the cravat and then pulled apart the knot. Once he had the fabric loosened, he tugged upon the end so slowly the length of beautiful silk felt like a sensuous snake slithering over Jonathan’s neck. Goose bumps broke out over his entire body, causing him to shiver, heightening all sensations of his flesh. His breath hitched, lifting his chest, forcing him into even closer proximity. For a brief moment, he thought the beautiful man would kiss him, and he wanted again to taste his mouth, but the man pulled back with a smirk, as if he knew what Jonathan had been secretly hoping for. “I think I shall be kind.” He popped apart the buttons of his vest with nimble fingers that utterly fascinated Jonathan. How could such rough hands be so exacting? “I think I will allow you to call me Marcus.” It was the last thing Jonathan had expected. He had visions of crawling about on his knees, having to beg for release while calling him master or sir or some other such title that clarified his lofty position over him. “Aw, my pet, you find that rather not what you envisioned?” “Is Marcus your true name?” “My name is whatever I say, do you understand?” “Yes.” Marcus smiled. “Now, into the parlor.”
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When Jonathan hesitated, Marcus leaned into him. “If you do not move quickly, I will have you strip on the stoop.” Horrified, Jonathan practically ran to the parlor. Decorated in rich hunter green, cream and the most delicate pink, the parlor overflowed with plants. Puffy couches of both velvet and leather lined two walls, and a cozy mechanical fireplace that had remained motionless and cold since that fateful day took up the interior wall. Jonathan caught his reflection in the glass and winced at how young and scared he seemed. By the calendar, he was twenty-eight, but he appeared barely of legal age. Perhaps it was the lighting. Milky gray light poured in through the three floor-to-ceiling windows that faced Center Street. “You have not come in here since that day, have you?” Marcus asked. Actually, Jonathan had, but only once. “Answer me, and do not lie, or I will have to punish you.” Jonathan wondered with fascinated dread what turn the punishment might take, but he was compelled by his entire life not to disappoint, even in this perverse game. “I entered one night.” Jonathan remembered that night so vividly, even though he had not been fully awake. “And what did you do?” Marcus turned on the fire, then tossed himself on the leather couch where their assignation had unfolded. To see him there upon that creamy beige leather aroused Jonathan so much that he suddenly felt quite dizzy. Not a day had gone by since that faithful encounter that he had not thought of this man. Jonathan had played mental gymnastics with himself, determined to think only of faceless ruffians taking advantage of him, but this man had infiltrated his fantasies. So much so that once, Jonathan swore he’d seen him at a fancy dress ball. Only a fleeting glimpse. But of course, such was folly. A man like this did not attend events like that. Jonathan chalked it up to his overactive imagination, just as he did the idea that there had been a deeper connection between himself and this stunning creature. The other man had been behind him most of the time and was easily dismissed from Jonathan’s yearnings. But this man… He had been impossible to forget. “What did you do?” Marcus unbuttoned his worn gray shirt, revealing the soft dark brown body hair Jonathan had delighted in touching. “I—I—removed my nightshirt.” “So you were naked.” Horrified, Jonathan could offer only a curt nod of agreement. “And then?” Marcus prompted. “I touched myself.” He said the words so quickly they practically tumbled together. Somehow, just speaking of what he had done revived the illicit thrill. Rarely did he masturbate. Not that he had any moral
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objections to self-pleasure, just that the act was messy. He did not like feeling a lack of control over his desires. Having to clean up afterwards seemed only to serve as a type of punishment. “Show me.” “I beg your pardon?” Casting his gaze at the tall windows that seemed suddenly like huge eyes looking inward, Jonathan felt utterly exposed, despite the lace sheers. Long drapes of green velvet flanked each massive window, but they were cast open to let in what feeble light there was. Snow would soon render the streets impassible, and he would be trapped here with this man. Jonathan was not certain if he was as put out by that thought as he should have been. Surely he was only going along with this because he had to. If he refused, he had no idea what Marcus was capable of doing. Thus far he could not tell what parts of Marcus had been robotized. The eyes, surely, but the rest? He did not know. What if he had super strength? One blow could cripple Jonathan. He did not wish to be injured. Not only was a wound messy, but he could not abide pain. “You can leave your clothing on, but you will pull down your trousers and stroke your cock while I watch.” “Whatever for?” Jonathan did not understand what watching him molest himself would do for Marcus. “Are you questioning me?” His eyes glittered dangerously, reflecting the red of the now glowing faux-fireplace coals. “I simply don’t understand why you wish to watch.” “Punishment it is.” Marcus popped up off the couch with the exuberance of a child. “No!” Hastily, Jonathan struggled with his trousers, his eyes darting to the windows, terrified that at any moment he would see someone with their hands cupped round their eyes as they attempted to peer in. Returning to the couch, Marcus eased onto his back, propping a series of pillows behind his head. To Jonathan’s shock, he noticed that Marcus was as hard if not harder than he was. What a curious creature to be aroused by something so strange. Once he had his cock freed of his pants, Jonathan shivered at how cool the air felt washing over him, but another most curious sensation, one he was utterly unprepared for, caused his breathing to strain and made his jacket seem terribly constrictive. For the first time in his life, Jonathan was aroused and entirely unashamed by the sensation. Lust unlike anything he’d experienced thickened his prick and tightened his balls. This was so much more exciting than what he had experienced that night when he was alone in the dark. Perhaps there was something to watching and being watched after all. Was it those golden eyes observing him, or was it the looming potential of being caught or simply the act of being on display? Jonathan did not know and could not stop to examine his feelings. Not with Marcus so ready to punish him should he fail.
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“Slowly. I wish to watch.” Parting the edges of his pants, Jonathan took his cock in hand, marveling at the hotness of his flesh. He’d always been so careful with his hands. He’d even taken to applying thick cream at night, then fine cotton gloves to keep them supple, but his cock, that flesh was even softer. What made the sensation curious was that the core of his shaft was hard, but the skin atop was as silky as his lovely cravat. “Tell me how it feels.” “Hard and yet so soft.” “Push your pants down a bit more, I wish to see your balls.” The vulgar word rushed over him, making him blush, which in turn made Marcus laugh. “Are you a virgin?” Closing his eyes against that hated word, Jonathan managed to answer with a miserable nod. “Don’t worry. You won’t be for long.” The promise, or the threat, hung in the air between them. After a longish pause, Jonathan did as instructed. Using both hands, he pushed his trousers down to the middle of his thighs. When Marcus gasped, Jonathan jerked his head up from his perusal of his own genitals. “You shave your body hair!” Marcus swung his legs off the couch and planted his feet on the floor. He leaned forward, his gaze examining the swath of exposed skin. “Is that uncommon?” Honestly, Jonathan did not know, having never had such intimacy with other men. Even in school, Jonathan did not join his classmates in the locker room. His mother had forbidden him to enter that damp chamber, insisting such would only exacerbate his asthma. Curiously, he’d never had one attack of constricted chest. Now he wondered if his deceased mother hadn’t been so overly protective that she deprived him of the most basic fundamentals. Why, he had never seen a man, other than himself, fully unclothed. “It is a wonderful surprise that you are hairless.” Marcus motioned for him to move over to where he leaned with his elbows upon his knees. Moving awkwardly with his pants halfway down, Jonathan became so hyperaware of every sound that he heard his shoes swishing along the carpet. When he stood in front of Marcus, he felt his breath, hot and moist, against his body. Marcus lifted his hand and cupped Jonathan’s balls. Jonathan closed his eyes, absorbing the wonderful feel of his hand upon him. This was so much better than that furtive grope he’d felt before. This was a long, lingering caress with no cloth to hinder the full, exotic feel of another man’s hands upon his body. “So heavy, so smooth, so wonderfully untouched.” Marcus leaned forward and swiped his tongue along the overly sensitive sac. “Hold very still, my pet.”
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Struggling to keep standing when his knees threatened to give way, Jonathan resisted the urge to cup his hand to the back of Marcus’s head as he worked his tongue over and around his balls. “Tighter and tighter,” he murmured, pushing Jonathan’s pants down. Clearly frustrated by his limited access, Marcus lifted his head. “Off with the shoes.” Toeing them off, something he never did as it ruined the topline and heelcap, Jonathan then took his pants off the rest of the way without being ordered to do so. He felt rather comical standing fully dressed in his upper body but with only his socks on below. “Perfect. Now spread your legs. Wide.” At that precise moment, the postal carrier strode by on his appointed rounds. Jonathan’s heart surged when he saw him march up the steps. The mail slot in the door flipped open, and a pile of mail hit the rug with a whump. “Are you afraid he’ll come in?” Marcus teased. “The door is unlocked.” “I am more afraid he will lift the flap and peer in.” Jonathan had never caught the man red-handed, but he was certain he’d heard the flap lifting stealthily after the mail had hit the floor. His eyes went wide as he glanced over his shoulder. If the postal carrier lifted the flap today, he would be able to see Jonathan’s curious state of dress. And just as Marcus said, the latch was not set. Anyone could simply walk in. When he tried to move, Marcus stopped him. “Shh,” Marcus whispered. “If you make a sound, he will look in.” Standing very still, Jonathan waited for the man to move on now that he’d deposited today’s letters. Marcus cupped his balls tightly, and then the most glorious sensation—he placed his hot mouth at the very tip of Jonathan’s cock! Struggling to remain silent and still, Jonathan stopped breathing altogether lest he release that plaintive moan. That sound would surely arouse the postal carrier’s curiosity. If he looked in now and saw what was happening… Why oh why did that thought send another surge of lust straight down to his prick? What had come over him? As he stood in his parlor with his cock in another man’s mouth, Jonathan wondered if all this was but a dream, or perhaps he had been drugged, but no, this was the shocking truth he’d hidden behind his fussy behavior for years. Jonathan knew in that moment he was a pervert. Soon he would be wandering about the colony with nothing below his coat, flashing his rigid cock for all to see. Worse, he would not be normal in that. No, he would not select women to show his nasty business to but men. As much as Jonathan wanted the postman to be off, he also wanted the moment to extend indefinitely. When Marcus swirled his tongue around the tender crown, Jonathan let out a long, low oh of pleasure that caused Marcus to grin, stretching his lips in a curious fashion around his shaft. Daring not to look back, Jonathan gritted his eyes and teeth when Marcus swallowed more of his prick while simultaneously rubbing a most sensitive spot between his balls and arse.
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Amazed by his own ability to remain silent and still, he despaired when Marcus pulled his mouth off his cock with a small pop that, to Jonathan’s ears, seemed loud enough to echo out into the foyer. “What if I called him in and ordered you to bend over so he could slip his cock up your tight bottom?” Marcus slid his massaging fingers back, pressing them threateningly close to the puckered flesh tucked between his cheeks. Concurrently appalled and aroused, Jonathan tried to picture the sleek, almost pinched, features of the mailman as he fucked him. Would his eyes be wide and glittering or narrowed and dark? Would he fuck hard and fast or slow and languid? Which would Marcus prefer to watch, but more importantly, which would Jonathan enjoy having done to him? “Get down on your knees. No, right here, facing me, with your delicate pale bottom facing the fire.” Convinced that resistance was futile, Jonathan did as instructed and awaited his fate at the hands of his postman.
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Chapter Four
The postman was long gone, but Marcus’s lovely and wonderfully willing servant did not seem to realize that. Even if the mailman hadn’t moved on, Marcus would never force Jonathan to submit to a man he did not desire. Toying with him was one thing, but hurting him was something Marcus would never do. And he knew that Jonathan, despite his bursts of hesitation, found the events rousing so far. That timorous moan when Marcus had sucked the tip of his prick was proof enough. “Don’t look up. Keep your head down and arch your back just a bit, just enough to lift your buttocks.” From where he sat on the couch, Marcus could not see Jonathan’s backside, but he had a clear image in his mind. “Do you feel the heat of the fire warming your cheeks?” “Yes.” Leaning forward, pressing his mouth right against Jonathan’s ear, he asked, “And your bare balls— can you feel that penetrating heat against them as well?” “Yes.” Jonathan squirmed at that, lifting his butt a bit higher. Rising from the couch, Marcus moved behind him and grinned at the sight of his pale but beautifully formed buttocks glowing red from the fake coals. The color made his bottom appear well and fully spanked. Such punishment did not move Marcus, but he’d delivered such chastisement to men who enjoyed it. He did not think Jonathan was that sort. No, Jonathan was the sort who enjoyed perceived force and counterfeit bullying. He was a man who longed for a strong hand to assist him in exploring his desire to be submissive. For his part, Marcus was not a vicious dominant. He enjoyed sexual games as theater but had no wish to inflict crippling pain or emotional wounds. By nature, Marcus was bossy, not cruel. As much as he taunted Jonathan with the notion he would master him, all Marcus truly wished to do was free him of his fear. Liberated from the corset of sexual repression, Jonathan would be an exquisite lover. Trailing his finger down the cleft of Jonathan’s bottom caused Jonathan to clench his buttocks and pull forward, pressing his face into the couch. Marcus slapped his ass. “Do not move unless I instruct you.” Trembling now, Jonathan curled his head and shoulders down as if expecting another blow. Marcus returned his probing finger to the split of his bottom. Now Jonathan shook most delicately, but he did not flinch away.
Far Too Human
“Very good.” Settling himself behind him, Marcus cupped his buttocks, one in either hand, and pulled them apart. He leaned away so that the heat of the fire danced along the sweetly puckered flesh between. “How does that feel?” “Good.” The one word emerged in the form of a strangled gasp. No doubt the poor man envisioned all kinds of perversities being performed upon him. Marcus did as well. Such was the fodder for his erotic mind. Not that he would do even half the things he thought of or threatened. Sometimes, the notion alone was all he needed to rouse his prick to the fullest. Once the secret inner flesh was warm, Marcus blocked the light with his body, dipped his head and ran his tongue along the same course as his finger. The utter hairlessness of his cleft made him realize Jonathan did not shave but used some type of depilatory. Nothing else could account for such smooth perfection. Jonathan arched his back and uttered that excruciatingly wonderful whimper of pleasure. “Don’t.” “After that delicious moan, why would you ask me to stop?” Marcus flicked his tongue to the center of his pucker and pressed just enough to make him tighten up. “It’s dirty.” Marcus laughed. “You are the most fastidiously clean man I have ever encountered.” He gave him another lick. “I imagine dirt of any kind takes one look at you and runs the other way.” Again he licked, delighting in how Jonathan trembled in a curious blend of desire and repulsion. “Your flesh is so beautiful and sweet, my pet. I do not want to ever hear you call this dirty again. Do you understand?” “Yes.” He hung his head as if thoroughly ashamed. “Ah, love.” Marcus left off teasing him there. “I can see I have a great deal of work ahead of me.” Not that he minded in the least. Training this shy, fussy man to be a luscious wanton was the kind of work he could do all day. “And I see you are aptly named. Your bottom does quiver quite fetchingly.” “I was not named for—my great-great-great grandfather invented a thick bottom for quivers that prevented the arrow points from working through but was also soft enough so the tips would not be dulled.” Delighted to know the origin of his name, Marcus returned to the couch. “And your middle initial?” He doubted he or his companion had come close in their rude guesses. “Phineas.” “Jonathan Phineas Quiverbottom.” Marcus peered down at the man so aptly named. “And what were your nicknames as a boy?” “None.” His voice was very low and tragically sad. “I had no friends as a lad.” “How perfectly awful.” Marcus cupped his face and lifted his head so they locked gazes. “When you have pleased me, I shall give you a nickname. Would you like that?”
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“Yes.” With a smile, he traced his thumb over Jonathan’s mouth, thinking of all the ways he could put the wonderful instrument to work. “Such soft lips. So perfectly formed and primly set. Let me see what I can do to make them rosy.” Watching his pale blue eyes intently, Marcus unfastened his pants, then pushed them down along with his undergarments. Eyes riveted to his cock, Jonathan blinked, and his mouth popped open. Astonishment? Marcus wondered. Or was he simply realizing where this encounter would go? “You’ve never sucked another man’s cock, have you?” Unable to speak, Jonathan shook his head. “Hmmm. Perhaps I should show you first before I have you offer such a delight to me. Stand up.” Dutifully, Jonathan stood. Most men would appear comical half-dressed, but Jonathan managed to look woebegone and sweet. Bringing him near, Marcus took his prodigious prick into his mouth with wanton eagerness. Giving pleasure to this repressed man thrilled him, especially since he was a virgin and the first was always special, but there was more too. Marcus truly wanted to make him feel good. He would never make his lovely pet do anything that would harm him. All he wanted was to please him so deeply he would never let Marcus go. Music to his ears, Jonathan made that plaintive moan again, surging a need to climax down to Marcus’s cock, which grew bigger now that it was free of his trousers. As much as Marcus wanted to grasp and fondle his own shaft, he didn’t, preferring instead to focus all his attention on Jonathan. With one hand on Jonathan’s shaft, he teased the other hand between Jonathan’s legs to rub that sensitive spot back behind his balls. His moaning became a most luscious whimper; then strained breath hissed through gritted teeth. “No, no, don’t.” Jonathan tried to move away, but Marcus refused to let off sucking his cock. Pulling him all the way inside his mouth, Marcus had his prick so deep he felt the head at his throat and buried his nose against the base. “It’s messy, so messy,” Jonathan whispered between his whimpers. Marcus realized his concern. Easing back but slipping his hand possessively around the base of his prick so he could not move away, he looked up and said, “There will be no mess. I will show you.” “No, please, I can’t—” When Marcus took Jonathan’s prick in as deeply as he could, Jonathan stopped speaking and uttered a high-pitched cry that curled Marcus’s toes. He would be glorious in his climax, since he fought so hard against succumbing. Carefully, Marcus angled Jonathan so that he could see his face by looking across the parlor into the mirror. This gave him a much better view than looking up would, especially when Jonathan tilted his head back.
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Eyes open as he stared at the ceiling, almost as if he were praying, Jonathan murmured quietly to himself. His Adam’s apple bobbed merrily as he swallowed back his cries of need. His shaft pulsed in Marcus’s mouth, the blood thickening and heating his cock until Marcus thought he might choke. Easing him into a gentle rocking motion took more work than Marcus had ever had to exert before. Usually he had to forcefully hold a man’s hips down, not grasp his buttocks, his surprisingly strong buttocks, and pull as he widened his mouth. Once he got Jonathan moving, he held to the smooth rocking motion, even as he continued to resist the finale. “Oh—I—please—ah—AH!” In a great gush, he climaxed, spilling his satisfaction down Marcus’s throat. Jonathan tasted rich, pure and pristine. Once he’d finally released, Jonathan let go completely, holding nothing back as he thrust forward with vigor, freezing then in a pose of sublime climax as his balls continued to lift and squeeze forth his orgasm. Glorious in his surrender, Jonathan transformed quite suddenly from a timid boy to a man. His face lost that fearful roundness and seemed to grow angular and harsh, not cruel but handsome and knowledgeable. Drinking deeply of him, Marcus ensured he did not miss a drop. He sensed many of Jonathan’s issues with pleasure stemmed from an innate fear of messiness. He would indulge him until he could show him the beautiful messiness of intimacy. To Marcus, it seemed the tension Jonathan had carried for his entire lifetime vanished, leaving behind a body so at peace it was as if that body were newly formed from the vapors and manifested right before Marcus’s eyes. Marcus did not release his cock until Jonathan was fully drained. Shaking from the power of his climax, Jonathan reached out to steady himself, clutching at Marcus’s shoulder, digging in his fingertips. When Marcus leaned back his head to peer up at him, he found Jonathan gazing down at him with a most curious stunned joy on his face. “You did not flinch back.” Tentatively, Jonathan stroked his finger over Marcus’s lower lip. “I wanted to taste you.” His pale eyes were darker now, and darkened considerably more when he looked down to the stiff member between Marcus’s legs. “I want to taste you too.”
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Chapter Five
When he had first seen what lurked between Marcus’s legs, Jonathan had been shocked. Not by his cock but by his hair. Dark and thick, his hair seemed frightfully sinister to Jonathan, like a jungle wherein he would be lost. Marcus was so entirely different from him. Almost the opposite in every way. Where Jonathan was pale and hairless, Marcus was bronzed and richly covered with dark hair. Where he was timid, Marcus was bold. Now, after the incredible pleasure he’d given to him, now when he considered Marcus’s cock, all he could think of was how desperately he wanted to taste him. Dropping to his knees, Jonathan slipped off Marcus’s boots, then tugged off his trousers and undergarments. Bare from the waist down, Marcus reclined on the couch, keeping his cock and balls at the edge so Jonathan could reach. As much as he hungered to taste him, he also worried that he did not know what he was doing. “You won’t hurt me. Just do to me what I did to you.” Marcus cupped his chin. “No teeth. That is the most important thing to remember.” Gazing at him with a tremulous kind of wonder, Jonathan ran his hands up his thighs, loving the crisp feel of his hair against his soft palms. As he leaned close, Jonathan smelled sweat, not unpleasant or dirty sweat but clean, fresh, as if Marcus had bathed this morning in anticipation of coming here. Normally, the very idea of any type of bodily fluid repulsed him, but this scent lured him closer. “Start as I did, pet. Lap at my balls.” Alternately embarrassed and aroused by his crude manner of speaking, for not even in his own mind did Jonathan easily toss off such terms as cock and balls, Jonathan nodded and kept his gaze low. Marcus’s sac rested darkly against the beige couch. Curious, Jonathan cupped his balls first, exploring the weight, the heat, the way they rolled smoothly within their safe covering. Moving his head between his legs, marveling at how the sounds of the parlor faded away until all he heard was his own heartbeat, Jonathan took his first tentative taste of Marcus. Sliding his tongue out, he swiped across his sac, catching the edges of his hairs and tugging them with the rough texture of his tongue. Marcus moaned and sank lower on the couch. He slumped, decadent and lewd, with his legs widely spread to accommodate Jonathan between. The taste of him was sublime, all salty and pungent and utterly male. The more Jonathan licked, the more the core essence, what he could think of only as a manly essence, filled his mouth and nose.
Far Too Human
Hungrily he lapped at his balls, lifting them up so that he could work his tongue behind. When Marcus lifted his legs, Jonathan pushed on the back of his thighs, tilting Marcus and exposing more of him. Ever curious, his tongue squirmed into his cleft, and then, to his shock, he flicked the pointed end to puckered flesh. Heaven. This was not filthy or dirty or any of the horrid things he had thought when Marcus had touched him this way. This was intimate beyond anything he had ever experienced. His flesh was clean with just the barest hint of sweat, nothing repellent, only erotically luscious flavors. Marcus moaned, causing Jonathan to dart his gaze upward. His face was beatific. Eyes closed, lips parted, his tongue touching the edge of his perfect teeth—his face was bliss personified. Delving deeper, teasing his tongue more fully, just as Marcus had done to him, he lifted his hand to stroke his shaft. It wasn’t exactly what Marcus had done, but by the growling sighs, it was just as pleasing. “Do you like this?” Jonathan whispered, lifting his mouth away only long enough to ask before diving right back. “Ah, yes, my pet. You are marvelous.” Marcus lowered his hand to tease his fingers through Jonathan’s hair. Normally he hated to have his hair mussed, but this was sensual and sweet, making him feel like a cherished favorite. The more he pleased Marcus, the more satisfaction he felt. “I’m so close, so close,” Marcus murmured. Lifting his head, kissing his way from the base of Marcus’s cock to the crown, Jonathan could not stop himself from literally gobbling him down. Hot, hard and wonderfully slick, his cock filled his mouth, the pre-come salty and yet almost sweet. Slumped back as he was, Marcus could not thrust his hips, so Jonathan bobbed his head, using his hand to hold the lower portion of his staff steady. When he gagged upon taking him too deep, Marcus cautioned him, “Slowly, Jonathan. You are not ready to take me fully. Stroke my shaft and take only the head into your mouth, twisting your tongue around the tip.” Jonathan did as he suggested, bobbing his mouth and hand together so that it imitated the sensation of him taking him deep into his throat. Having barely an acquaintance with his own release, he was woefully unprepared for the strength of Marcus’s eruption. His cock leaped within his mouth, spewing forth a gush of climax. The flavor burst upon Jonathan’s tongue, delighting him with the uniqueness of the taste. More powerful than the pre-come, this was more salty, less sweet, but wonderfully slick and almost tingly over his taste buds. “Yes, my pet, don’t pull away, keep your mouth there. Tug lightly with a small suck—ah! Not too much, Jonnie.”
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Jonnie. Marcus had said if he pleased him, he would bestow upon him a nickname. Proud that he had done well, he continued to hold him within the hot hollow of his mouth with gentle suction. “Enough.” Jonathan let go. Marcus grinned down, then pulled him up his body with shocking strength. He did not stop until Jonathan was practically atop him. Once he had him where he wanted him, Marcus proceeded to kiss the daylights right out of him. Their tongues swirled together. Marcus greedily explored his mouth as if he longed to taste himself, which, for some unknown reason, aroused Jonathan all over again. Once the furious heat of their kissing died away, Marcus released his fearsome hold but did not entirely let him go. “I just realized I never kissed you.” Blushing just a bit at the heat in his gaze, Jonathan returned, “You more than made up for that now.” “Indeed I did.” Marcus held him in his arms and sighed. “No, don’t pull away. One of the best parts is to be utterly spent and feel the body of your utterly spent lover against yours.” Lover. How that word intrigued him. But the word was not nearly as compelling as the feeling of their two pricks, now drained and soft, nestled together. For the first time in his life, Jonathan did not worry that they might make a mess upon the couch. So what if they did? He would clean it or simply recover it or— “What are you thinking?” Marcus chuckled to his ear. “I can feel your brow and face moving as if you are talking to yourself.” “Does it bother you?” “No, you are most charming. Tell me what has your brain working so furiously.” “I was just deciding that I no longer cared if we messed the couch.” Marcus leaned back so he could look at Jonathan’s face. “Truly?” “I am sick of living in terror for ruining things. Or running out of things, or—well, I just wish to stop being afraid all the time.” “You should never be afraid of things that matter so little.” Marcus kissed him again, lightly, kindly. The gesture brought tears to Jonathan’s eyes, and he blinked them away before Marcus noticed. “What started this obsession with all things bright and clean?” Jonathan, being a thinking man, realized long ago why he was the way he was, but knowing did not give him the tools to force changes. Who knew that embracing the inherent messiness of life would free him of his obsession?
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Keeping his head upon the shoulder of his lover, Jonathan said, “My parents were killed, and I was left in the care of our housekeeper. She abhorred messes and was forever harping at me not to create them. In her zeal, she made me afraid of anything that was not in perfect order.” “She sounds horrid.” “Oh, she was never mean to me, or cruel, just rather obsessed.” Jonathan lifted up. “What of your upbringing?” His forehead wrinkled. “I do not remember.” Marcus explained how much of his memory was wiped at the factory. “But I do not think it was overly harsh or pleasant, but rather pedestrian, I’m sure.” “But if you do not know—” “Then what does it matter?” Marcus shrugged. “I suppose,” Jonathan said, not feeling entirely secure. The concept of having his memories stripped away was rather terrifying, more so than retaining frightening memories would be, because at least he would know. “If I do not remember my fears, and you have let go of yours, I think we should be quite a bit happier than the average man about town, yes?” Jonathan murmured agreement and tucked his head back against Marcus’s broad shoulder. Sadly, he had a new and much more poignant fear, one he had had for most of his life but never as specific as it was now. Time was limited. His time with Marcus even more so. When the contract with Man-o-War Limited was up, Marcus would leave him.
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Chapter Six
After a long, lingering bask in the afterglow, they dressed, and Marcus was pleased that they had not marred the surface of the couch. Even though Jonathan had let go of his irrational fears, he still did not wish to ruin his finely maintained possessions. “Show me your creatures,” Marcus suggested. “You spoke so highly of them last time.” Jonathan blushed. He flustered quite easily, which darkened his lips and cheeks, making him so beautifully fetching. “I thought you only feigned interest.” “That was my companion, not me.” Marcus looped their arms together. “I was genuinely interested in you.” “I cannot see why.” “Because you don’t see yourself as clearly as I see you.” Marcus thought of telling Jonathan how he had followed him about town but decided now was not the moment for such a confession. Soon enough the time would come to confide his long and lingering infatuation. Possibly when Jonathan admitted a strong interest of his own. A shock of something akin to pain tightened his arm against Jonathan when he worried Jonathan might never return his interest. After all, Jonathan was a fine, upstanding gentleman and Marcus was nothing more than a half-human manbot. “You flatter me.” Nonetheless, Jonathan took him across the foyer, then to the massive door below the double staircase. He extracted a key from his vest pocket, unlocked the door, then pushed the thickly padded door open. Wonders greeted Marcus’s gaze, dropping his eyes and mouth open in astonishment. Clockwork creatures of all description moved about the spacious laboratory. Some skittered, some scampered, some slunk, but all seemed to have a purpose. “What are they doing?” Marcus asked. As if they’d heard him, the creatures stopped and looked over at them standing in the doorway. For a moment that was not fleeting enough, Marcus experienced a visceral terror that they would recognize him as an intruder and tear him apart. “Be about your work.” Jonathan waved his hand to the open door, and off they went. He pointed to the mechanical spider with delicate, gleaming legs as it scurried up to the corners of the foyer. “The spider there removes cobwebs and consumes other spiders.”
Far Too Human
“How very clever.” Marcus watched as the creature methodically moved around the moldings and then the plaster medallions of the ceiling. “And the mouse?” “He scares away other mice and repairs any damages they have made by trying to enter. Also, he is quite intimidating to other types of rodents.” “I can imagine.” And truly he could picture a live mouse reacting to his metal cousin with nothing short of whisker-twitching terror. “And the other bug, that one, there.” Marcus pointed, but he did not know the name of the sleek insect. He felt he may have known at one time, but the knowledge must have been attached to another memory that had been scrubbed away. How curious that the only clear, almost perfectly preserved memories he had were of Jonathan P. Quiverbottom. “A praying mantis and the only female of my collection.” Jonathan puffed out his chest like a proud papa. “She grooms the houseplants.” “Grooms?” “She consumes any insects the spider misses but also removes dead leaves and trims excess growth.” “And that curious thing there.” He pointed to the creature that he could only describe as a bundle of rags. “A dog that acts as a dust mop. He keeps the floors and furniture free of dust and grit.” “That is how your home stays so marvelously clean without a clutch of servants!” Thoroughly impressed, Marcus watched the gleaming creatures tending to their work. “Normally they are about the entire house all the time, but I contain them when a delivery is due.” Jonathan leaned close. “The dust-mop dog startled a delivery man who tumbled down the steps. Since then, I put them away.” “Ah, yes, like your delivery today of your man-of-all-work bot.” Marcus grinned and then hopped up on the sturdy table at the center of the laboratory. “Go ahead.” “And?” Jonathan darted his gaze down to Marcus’s crotch, and not with any shame, Marcus was pleased to note. “Examine me.” He grinned. “Go ahead, I know you want to.” “That was before. Now that, I mean, it would seem quite rude—” “Here, I will undress to make this easier for you.” Marcus had all his clothing off in a flash. “I am quite at ease, I assure you.” And perhaps, if Jonathan realized the complexities of creating a manbot, he might opt to keep Marcus rather than take on the arduous task of building his own. Reddening slightly while flashing him a most engaging expression, Jonathan pulled forth a clipboard with a stack of blank paper. As if suddenly transformed, he lost his shyness and now looked upon Marcus’s form with the detached seriousness of a scientist. “I know your eyes are enhanced,” Jonathan said.
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“Are they?” To him, his eyes felt no different than they always had. “They are metallic now. Do you not see better than before?” “I do not know.” Marcus glanced around, but without comparison, he could not tell if his sight had improved. After peering into both eyes with a lighted device, Jonathan made a note, then looked over his body. “I see no scars where there would be implants of any sort.” When Jonathan ran his chilly hand down the side of his rib cage, Marcus said, “That tickles.” With a tsk and a hmmm, Jonathan peered into his ears. “Ah, yes, I see improvements within. You must hear significantly better now.” “I simply cannot remember what my senses were like before.” Pausing, considering, Jonathan examined his jaw and asked, “Yet you remember your encounter with me?” “In vivid detail.” Marcus realized his words did not please Jonathan. Rather, he seemed upset by them. “What is it?” “Nothing.” He set his clipboard aside along with his examination gear. “I think I remember you so clearly because I was fascinated by you, and so terribly ashamed at the boorish behavior of my companion.” Cautious not to deluge Jonathan with all his emotions in one great gush, Marcus dispensed a small splash of the truth. Hope swam in the tender depths of Jonathan’s eyes. Now Marcus understood his concern was that this, his showing up here again and inveigling him to passion, was some type of flimflam. “I am here quite by accident. I simply didn’t realize I knew you until you opened the door.” Marcus reached out and took his hand. “It’s simply a marvelous coincidence.” Or at least Marcus thought it was. Given his patchy memory, he wasn’t entirely certain, but he didn’t want Jonathan to worry. His intentions toward Jonathan were honorable. All he wanted was to be with him in whatever way he could be. “Of course. I am just being paranoid.” Jonathan grinned sheepishly, then promptly changed the subject. “I find your hair quite curious.” “My hair?” Pointing, Jonathan said, “The hair upon your head is gleaming butterscotch, but your body hair and your brows are dark brown.” “Butterscotch?” Marcus patted his hair. “I have never had it called that color before. I rather like that description.” “It was dark before.” “My companion thought we would do better if we appeared more like bookends, but my natural state is light head hair and dark body hair.” Marcus waited a heartbeat for Jonathan to say something or to glance at him. When he did not, he asked tentatively, “Do you not like the way I look?”
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“I love the way—” Jonathan forcefully restrained himself from babbling. “Your appearance is most compelling. I was simply making an observation.” The easy camaraderie they had shared was gone now, replaced by awkwardness and furtive glances that Marcus did not want, not with his stunning Jonnie. When he slid off the table and attempted to dress, Jonathan stopped him. “No, don’t put those rude rags on again.” “You would have me nude?” Marcus was only half joking, but the welcoming fire in Jonathan’s gaze would have made him proudly walk about naked. He swore he would do anything to keep that expression, that longing lustful expression, in Jonathan’s eyes. “I would have to hide you away with the other creatures.” Jonathan took his hand and pulled him out of the laboratory and up the staircase. But his words snagged in Marcus’s brain. Was that what had pushed his lovely Jonnie away—the fact that Marcus was part machine? There had been the uncomfortableness about their prior history, but he thought that was resolved. But this, this might very well be what made anything further than this brief assignation impossible. The mere thought made Marcus very sad. Maintaining a relationship as two men would be difficult enough in the narrow-minded colony, but Jonathan would suffer most egregiously to be thought of as a bot-lover. To be a homosexual bot-lover would be beyond endurance. At that, something in Marcus’s heart broke. He wished to be with Jonathan but realized that for all the wonderful things that could keep them together, there were far more that would wrench them apart. More than anything, he did not want Jonathan hurt. Inwardly he frowned. It seemed that for all the changes in his status from human to bot, he still had a very human heart. At the top of the stairs, they turned right and then entered the first doorway to the right. Jonathan’s bedroom was strikingly crafted of the darkest navy blue, the purest white and the richest gold. His bed was perfectly made with the pillows precisely placed at the head. As soon as Marcus saw that flawlessly smooth cover, he wanted to muss the surface by making Jonathan squirm in pleasure upon it. As Jonathan laid out an eye-catching outfit of tawny tweed, luscious chocolate brown and rich leather, all Marcus could think upon was that his life was no longer his own. Man-o-War Limited owned him. Even if he wished to stay here with his stunning Jonnie, he had no say in the matter. “I had this commissioned for a brown party,” Jonathan said, placing the items on the foot of his bed. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the quaint custom where everyone dresses in brown, but frankly, the color does not suit me.” “How long did you…” Marcus let his voice trail off because he wasn’t sure how to ask what might be a rather indelicate question.
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Brows lifted inquiringly, Jonathan matched a cravat to the vest, then added socks and the most finely crafted brown shoes Marcus had ever seen. “How long have I had the outfit? A year almost to the day, actually. It was only last Christmas that—” “How long did you contract with Man-o-War Limited?” Marcus blurted the question, then glanced away, ashamed he was prying into what was none of his business. Just because he wanted to stay with Jonathan did not mean Jonathan felt the same. “A fortnight.” Jonathan spoke quietly. “I was planning to learn what I could and send their bot back before the contract was up.” He looked over with the guiltiest expression Marcus had ever seen. “Not that I will do that, not with you. I would rather not send you back.” Perhaps realizing he’d said too much, Jonathan blanched and turned away. “Everything you said just eased all the concerns in my mind.” Marcus embraced him from behind. “I don’t wish to go back.” A sigh of relief eased the tension in Jonathan’s shoulders. “We will find a way. Perhaps I can simply buy your contract.” He tightened right back up. “Oh, how dreadful, as if I would buy you to own you! I do not mean—” “I know what you mean.” Turning him around, Marcus kissed him, loving the way his mouth instantly lost that fussy little pout when they kissed. Sensual and blissful, his mouth moved against Marcus’s as if that was what those twin bits of flesh were fashioned for.
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Chapter Seven
As much as Jonathan wanted to slide into his bed and pull Marcus atop him, he knew that he was not ready for more, not just yet. He wanted Marcus, but he also did not wish to rush. Anticipation caused its own particular excitement. Besides, there were other wonders in his household he wished to show his lover. His friend. The first of both for him. Marcus seemed to sense his need to move more slowly after the heat of their earlier encounter. Dressing him was erotic and entertaining, especially when the end result was so stunning Jonathan could not help but turn him this way and that to admire him from every angle. Just as he suspected, Marcus was beyond beautiful dressed properly. If they were going somewhere, he would have placed the perfect hat upon his head, but when Jonathan cast his attention out the windows, those that faced the street right above the parlor windows, he realized they would not be going anywhere for quite a while. Snow poured out of the sky. Whistling lightly, Marcus peered out at the shock of white. When the snow came to Black Rock, it always did so the same way: fast and furious. Within hours, the streets would be impassable. “I suppose we are stuck here for days.” Not that it mattered to Jonathan. He had solid supplies for just such weather. “Yes. A tragedy.” Marcus grinned at him, then pulled him away from the windows. “Not that I wished to go out.” “No?” “I want to keep you to myself for as long as I can.” A part of Jonathan wanted to ask, and then what? but he didn’t. For now, he was content to let things be and to let their relationship unfold without pushing. The few times when Jonathan had had a tentative friend, he’d lost them in one of two ways—either Jonathan pushed too hard for friendship, or he became enraged over the smallest slight and withdrew. This time, he would take his time. He would not take offense at nothing. Jonathan was proud of himself for not overreacting to the curiosity of their chance second encounter. It was as Marcus said, a coincidence. There was no way Man-o-War Limited could know of their prior assignation, and Marcus could not have selected where he would be placed. “Are you hungry?” Jonathan asked. “I am.” Marcus patted his belly. “I guess I am not all machine after all.”
Anitra Lynn McLeod
Laughing, Jonathan led the way down the staircase and to the dining room off the foyer and then into the kitchen. When Marcus saw the automated cook, he oohed and aahed with appreciation. “I simply provide the raw ingredients, and the machines do the rest.” Jonathan consulted his menus, selected a hearty beef stew, fresh bread and candied fruits. “Let us enjoy a drink while we wait.” They drank, then ate, then strolled around the house so Jonathan could show off his other treasures. He felt almost giddy with excitement. Having another person to share with made him appreciate his achievements all the more. “You are so inventive, so talented!” Marcus exclaimed after he showed him around the automated library. Blushing, Jonathan felt ten feet tall. Praise had been so rare in his childhood, and honest praise practically nonexistent once he became an adult. Only those who wanted something from him gushed about his inventions, and sadly, Jonathan could always hear the false note in their voices. Marcus was genuinely impressed and honestly admiring. For the first time in his life, Jonathan felt on top of the world. They shared a quick supper, then retired to the parlor so they could sit and chat before the fire as the storm raged outside. With the drapes closed, the gaslights off and the only light from the mechanical fireplace, the room was quite cozy. Every once in a while, Jonathan swore he caught a most fleeting whiff of their encounter. As the night wore on, he became more enchanted with Marcus. The way his lips moved when he spoke, the way his molten eyes rarely looked away, the way his beautiful golden hair turned red in the firelight, but mostly he noticed the way his trousers bulged. Jonathan wanted to take him upstairs, but he wasn’t sure how to do so without seeming vulgar. The longer they sat and talked with their knees almost touching, the more insanely aroused Jonathan became. How could this be when they’d both reached marvelous climaxes only this afternoon? Moreover, he’d been fully intimate with Marcus, more so than he’d been with his own body, practically, so why couldn’t he simply lean over, grasp his knee and ask Marcus up to his bedroom? For the first time in his life, Jonathan wished he knew more about sexual congress. “Jonathan?” He awoke as if from a dream. “I’ve been talking, but I do not think you have been listening.” “I am so terribly sorry.” Jonathan leaned forward earnestly. “I am distracted.” “By my crotch.” Eyes going wide, Jonathan realized he was indeed focusing his attention on Marcus’s lap. Correcting himself at once, he pulled his attention to Marcus’s face. “Your gaze is drawn there.” Cupping his hand over the hardening flesh below, which drew Jonathan’s attention right back down, Marcus whispered, “Don’t be ashamed. We are new lovers, and this excitement, this constant arousal, this is all quite normal.”
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Jonathan burst into laughter. “I have never been normal in my life!” he exclaimed. “You are now.” Marcus placed Jonathan’s hand on his prick. Below the exquisite chocolate tweed, the heat of his thickening cock bled through. “Ah, my beautiful Jonnie. We should go to bed.” “But it is hardly past—” Jonathan cut himself off. Here was his opportunity to go where he’d wanted to go and some perverse streak in him was trying to mess things up! “Yes, we should.” Together they stood. Arm in arm, they went up the stairs. At the top, they turned right and right again. Marcus entered first, and Jonathan followed behind. Jonathan was quite stunned to see his hand shake as he ensured his creatures were shooed out for the evening before he closed the door. He turned the lights down low, until only the softest flicker filled the room. Marcus looked like a veritable angel with his golden hair gleaming in the low light. Clutching his hands together to hide his trembling, Jonathan stood in his own bedroom, feeling oddly out of place. He did not know what to do or what to say. “Tell me what you want.” Marcus tugged at the knot of his brown silk cravat. “You.” Jonathan blushed. “I sound so inept.” “You sound so enamored.” Marcus lowered his face and grinned. “Pull down the covers of the bed, Jonnie.” Grateful for something to do, Jonathan fussed over the coverings, but out of the corner of his eye, he also watched Marcus strip. Marcus moved without pride or shame, as if he had undressed this way a thousand times before. After a while, Jonathan stopped toying with the bed altogether and simply watched Marcus. Each article of clothing was carefully removed and placed upon the wooden valet. Jonathan was pleased that he treated the clothing with the respect deserved. He was also aroused to an almost excruciating degree. Normally he did not feel his undergarments, but they felt harsh tonight, rough almost, as if his skin were screaming for freedom. “Now you.” Eyes riveted to his lover, Jonathan started to undress. He wondered if he looked good doing so, and if perhaps he should suck in his belly or flex out his muscles. “Here, let me.” Nude, hard, his body intriguing because of the differences from Jonathan’s own body, Marcus helped him remove his clothing. He placed them atop his own on the valet. To see their clothing nestled together, intimately pressing, reminded Jonathan of how their bodies would soon entwine. Calloused hands were careful not to snag Jonathan’s hardened prick as Marcus slid down the undergarments. As if possessed of a life of its own, Jonathan’s cock pointed at Marcus. Each time he looked at his friend, his lover, his penis twitched anew. Once they were both bare, Marcus slid between the sheets, then pulled Jonathan within. Cool bedclothes pressed them together as they sought the heat of each other’s bodies.
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“Ah, my Jonnie, you are trembling, and I do not think it is the cold.” “I do not know what to do,” he confessed. “That is what makes you all the more alluring.” Marcus kissed him. “Relax, my pet. I will show you.” Playfully, Marcus teased his hands all over Jonathan’s body, then followed each caress with a kiss. In very short order, Jonathan was on his back, his legs parted, with Marcus centered between. No longer did he need to swaddle the covers around him for warmth. He felt afire with lust. As Marcus teased his hand to his cleft, then followed with his mouth, Jonathan experienced a moment of utter bliss. That intimate kiss there sent his senses reeling. When Marcus stopped and leapt up from the bed, Jonathan sat up in a panic. “What did I do?” Horrified that he had inadvertently committed some egregious sexual faux pas, he reached for Marcus, who reassured him with a smile. “Oh, Jonnie, I’m sorry. No, no.” He climbed back into bed and wrapped his arms around him. “I simply do not wish to hurt you.” “And so you will go?” Panic surged so hard his heart hurt as it hammered in his chest. How could it be that after knowing Marcus for such a short time he had become so distressingly attached? Pulling back, frowning, Marcus shook his head. “I will only go so far as I need to find something slick.” “I beg your pardon?” “You are charmingly innocent.” Marcus rubbed his nose to Jonathan’s. “We need oil or something slick, so that when I make love to you, I do not hurt you.” Relief washed over Jonathan, causing him to sag upon himself. “You honestly thought I would go?” Marcus asked, his dark brows low over his molten eyes. “I am a fool.” “No, my pet, you are very nervous, very innocent and touchingly insecure.” Marcus toyed with his nipple, causing the flesh to tighten almost unbearably. “I fear that someone will have to drag me away from you kicking and screaming.” “As if I would let anyone take you.” They fell to passionate kissing that Marcus reluctantly broke from. “I wish to be inside you.” Jonathan wanted that too. He wanted to be made love to, as Marcus said. To have this man tenderly use him for their mutual pleasure—the idea alone was blissfully arousing. Marcus rose and inspected the few products contained on the vanity. He sniffed them first, then poured some on his fingertips, then slid his fingers back and forth to test the product’s slickness. Watching him, understanding why he wished to find the slipperiest item, caused a deep trembling in Jonathan’s belly. Not fear, this shaking, but a longing, a veritable craving. To his surprise and shock, Jonathan felt his sphincter twitch, as if flexing against what would come.
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When Marcus grinned and turned toward the bed, a bottle in his hand, Jonathan’s bottom tightened with anticipation. “Relax.” Marcus laughed. “You look as if you think I will just leap upon you.” Jonathan lay back, but he didn’t quite relax. He was excited and nervous and so filled with longing he could barely stay still. As if sensing his agitation, Marcus set the bottle under the covers where Jonathan could not see it or think upon its purpose. To distract him, Marcus returned to his position between his legs, but this time, he took Jonathan’s cock within his mouth. Clutching the pillow behind his head, Jonathan struggled to stay still and not thrust his hips. He wanted to feel Marcus take him deep again, all the way to the back of his throat, and when he did, he felt his hand, his now very slick hand, toying with his cleft. The dual sensations caused Jonathan to lift up from the bed and utter a moan of such powerful bliss, he worried he would rouse the neighborhood. Gazing down the length of his body, Jonathan was riveted by the sight of Marcus’s golden hair spilling over and brushing the edge of his belly each time he descended. Deeper he took his cock, and each time more of his hair tickled his stomach. When he had him sucked down to the base, Marcus slid one finger within his bottom. Eyes wide, Jonathan was so aroused, he could not move or speak. Marcus working Jonathan’s prick with his mouth and his bottom with his finger rendered Jonathan a mass of sensations. Oh, how he worried he would erupt. Just as he came so close to the edge, Marcus wrapped his thumb and forefinger round the base of his cock and squeezed while relenting with his mouth. After a moment, the furious urge to climax passed. Twice more Marcus teased him to the brink, and twice more he drew him back at the last second. In astonishment, Jonathan realized he now had three fingers within his arse and there was no pain, only a contented, perfect pleasure. “I think you are ready.” Rising up, Marcus gazed at him with such hunger, Jonathan knew Marcus mirrored his anticipation. “But I fear this oily lotion might ruin your fine bedclothes.” “I do not care.” “It will be messy,” Marcus whispered. Tossing his hands up in mock surrender, Jonathan begged, “Make me messy.” “I will make you filthy,” he said hotly, rubbing the oily lotion over his cock until his flesh gleamed. “Make me dirty.” “I will make you utterly depraved,” Marcus swore. “A debauched degenerate.” “With only fleshly delights on your mind.” Jonathan enfolded him in welcoming arms, squirming deliciously when their cocks rubbed together, the oily lotion minimizing the friction.
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“Does that feel good?” “Wonderfully so.” Jonathan was barely able to speak. Every cell in his body felt alive, almost raw. He grasped Marcus’s hips and rocked up, reveling in the way their cocks mashed together without pain. “Fill me, Marcus. Please. I feel if you do, I will drown in sensation.” Locking his mouth upon him, kissing him passionately, Marcus forced his hand between their bodies. Parting and lifting his legs, urging him with his movements, Jonathan made himself ready. And truly, he thought he was prepared. He gasped into Marcus’s mouth when Marcus pressed the head of his cock to Jonathan’s puckered entrance. “Slowly, my pet. I will not rush.” Reassured by his languorous movements and calming tone, Jonathan relaxed below him. “So aptly named, my love with the quivering bottom.” When Jonathan chuckled, his sphincter tightened, but when he stopped, the ring loosened, allowing the head of Marcus’s cock to press within. Enraptured by the sensation, Jonathan clutched madly at Marcus’s broad shoulders. Eyes closed, lips parted, Marcus hung motionless above him. “Hold very still, Jonnie. Let your body welcome me in.” Baffled, Jonathan stayed still, but his body pulled him in without any effort on his part. Ever so gradually, Marcus’s cock slid inside his arse until he was buried deeply within. Once they had fully meshed, Marcus opened his eyes and murmured, “My beautiful, beautiful Jonnie.” Jonathan felt alive, more so than he had ever been. In this moment, he had arrived at his life. Rather than the quiet, fearful child he had always been, he was suddenly arms wide and embracing the entire world. When he opened his mouth to explain all this to Marcus, he discovered words escaped him. Nothing he could say would ever convey the depth of his profound experience. “Why do you look so surprised? Did you think I would hurt you?” Marcus lowered to his elbows so their bodies pressed tightly together, more so when Jonathan wrapped his legs around Marcus’s hips, snuggling him. “I was always so afraid.” “Of sex?” Laughing, Jonathan said, “Of everything!” “And now?” “No longer.” Lifting his hips up, he sighed when his cock rubbed against the muscles of Marcus’s belly. “I feel free.” “But I have you pinned.” Marcus lifted his dark brows menacingly. “As I want you to.”
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They laughed and then grew suddenly serious. “I thought it would be rushed, hurtful, even unpleasant, yet this is none of those things.” Jonathan sighed. “But in a way, I am glad I did not know.” Marcus frowned curiously down at him. “I am glad that I waited for you.” Jonathan cupped his hand to Marcus’s face. A proud smile graced Marcus’s features, and then his eyes grew misty. Lowering his head, hiding his face within the hollow created by Jonathan’s head and shoulder, Marcus kissed him upon his neck. “I wish I would have done the same.”
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Chapter Eight
In that moment, Marcus truly wished he was innocent. To give that once in a lifetime gift to Jonathan would have meant something. Unable to dredge up the memory of his first encounter, yet somehow knowing it was as Jonathan had described—rushed, hurtful, unpleasant—Marcus decided that he could start again. He had been reborn in the Man-o-War Limited factory. “I know it’s not quite the same, but from this moment forward, I want to be with only you,” Marcus said. So much was kismet in this world that to encounter this compelling man twice, once so fleetingly and the second so deeply, surely must mean something more than a biological need to find intimacy and pleasure. This simply had to be more profound. “If I was a man who believed in fate, I would think our joining was destiny.” Marcus felt connected to Jonathan in ways he’d never felt with anyone. For a moment, he thought he had repulsed the man below him, a man of science, with his words that sounded almost mystical, but there came over his features a relaxed acceptance. “I have never been one to believe in such things as fate or destiny, but I find the naming of things matters little in this context.” Tightening his arms and legs, Jonathan whispered, “I think we belong together.” Pleased, Marcus kissed him as he worked his body atop him, careful to keep his eyes and ears open to any sign of distress. The last thing he would ever want to do was hurt this man. Rather, he wanted to protect him, to cherish him, to spend his lifetime sharing everything from the mundane to the fantastical. As his orgasm rose, Marcus forcefully held back, determined to go slowly, but then Jonnie uttered that sound, that amazing, compelling, utterly gripping sound of delirious pleasure, and Marcus was lost. He hadn’t realized he’d growled until Jonnie asked him what was wrong. “Nothing, I just—I can’t hold back anymore.” “Then don’t,” Jonnie said. “I don’t want to hurt you.” “I’ll tell you if you do.” Jonnie slid his tongue along Marcus’s lower lip, gazing at him until the pale blue of his eyes turned hot and intense. “Fuck me, Marcus.” Shocked and aroused in equal measure, quite certain that his fussy Jonnie had never thought that word, let alone said it, Marcus was more than happy to oblige.
Far Too Human
“Hold on to me, Jonnie. Hold tight and don’t look away.” Marcus wanted the intimacy of eye contact, but he also wanted to be alerted to any hint of distress. Together they built a rhythm from languorous to furious. “Breathe with me, Jonnie.” Breathing at the same rate synchronized their level of excitement. More than anything, Marcus wanted to experience an elusive and rare dual climax. Perhaps he had felt it and the scrubbers erased the memory, but somehow Marcus didn’t think so. Alert to the signs of his imminent climax, he paced himself, then just as Jonathan’s eyes fluttered, he surged into him, bucking madly as his climax hit. Jonathan tightened around him as he spent between the rubbing muscles of their bellies. Riding him vigorously, Marcus wanted to ensure not only that Jonathan’s orgasm was fully realized but also his own. They came in a torrent. This release was far more fulfilling than what he had experienced earlier today. To be Jonathan’s first was profound, but if Marcus had his way, he would be his only. Below him, eyes closed, Jonathan breathed heavily. And then, as if he knew Marcus was watching him, Jonathan smiled. “Are you pleased?” Marcus asked. “Very much so.” Pale blue eyes opened and appeared more worldly than ever. “Would you like me to move?” Marcus offered, even though he didn’t wish to move away, not just yet. “No. I rather like the feeling of you softening within me.” “Do you?” Before he knew what Marcus was about, Marcus rolled him to his side, then pulled him up so that he sat astride Marcus’s hips, with his cock still buried deep in his arse. Marveling at his strength, Jonathan stroked curious fingers over his biceps. “You are far stronger than you should be, but I do not know how they enhanced your muscles.” “Does it matter?” Marcus teased his fingertips over Jonathan’s nipples, pleased when his caress caused him to shiver and clutch around his cock. “No, I am just ever the scientist.” A most curious form of guilt struck Marcus then, a tragedy to take the innocence and purity from one so unsullied, only to give back a look of lasciviousness. There was far too much raunchiness in the world already, and now he’d only added to the vulgarity by corrupting a fine gentleman. “Whatever is wrong?” Instantly alerted to his emotional change, for Jonathan was amazingly perceptive, Jonathan leaned forward and brushed his hand upon Marcus’s cheek. Kissing his palm, Marcus placed his hand above Jonathan’s heart. “I wonder if I have done you a grave disservice.” Confusion clouded his eyes. “Whatever could you mean?” “I should have left you as I found you. Pristine and perfect, untouched by dishonest hands such as mine.” Marcus sighed.
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Remorse paled Jonathan’s features. In the faint light, Jonathan looked wretchedly miserable. Before Marcus realized his intent, Jonathan pulled away from him, dislodging his prick. Off his bed in an instant, Jonathan was at his wardrobe pulling on a sleeping coat with jerking movements due to his tense stance. “You may sleep here, but then you must go come morning.” Moving faster than he’d ever thought possible, Marcus reached the door before Jonathan could even turn the knob. “Forgive me my ramblings,” Marcus implored. “I simply worried that I have not been a positive influence on you.” Straightening his shoulders with the dignity of a great gentleman, Jonathan refused to look at him. He more rather looked through him. “You have no impact upon me. Not now that the deed is done. I can arrange payment—” “Payment?” “I will set something aside for you on the table in the foyer. Please move aside so that I might wash before I retire.” How had everything spun so far from center? “Let me explain myself,” Marcus begged. Jonathan didn’t speak, but he stopped trying to leave. “I simply despaired that I had irreparably harmed something beautiful in you.” At that, the harshness of Jonathan’s lips softened. “I have taken the fine gift of your virtue and yet cannot give you anything in return.” At that, Jonathan scoffed. “You gave to me greatly.” “I did?” Letting go of the doorknob, Jonathan set his gaze upon Marcus with intensity. “I have never known such bliss. Never have I felt such contentment, as if I had finally found a part of myself that I did not even know was lost.” He peered down at the floor. “And just as I am ready to sing your praises, your face is full of remorse.” “I am a tragic fool.” Reaching out, Marcus pulled Jonathan into his embrace, pleased when he gave only the most token resistance. “I go from not thinking enough to thinking far too much.” For a moment, they held still near the door. “I swear I will think my thoughts more thoroughly before I speak them.” “You meant no offense?” Jonnie asked. “No. I simply wished to preserve you as you were.” “That is nonsense. What would you do with me? Pin me and mount me under glass as lepidopterist does?”
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Marcus laughed at the notion of collecting Jonathan as if he were a beautiful butterfly. “I would rather batter my wings against the glass of life than be bound by pins to stillness.” Jonathan hugged him hard. “I feel as if you found me pinned and freed me. To hear you wished to return me to my bonds was most upsetting.” “I am sorry.” Forehead to forehead, they stood peering at one another. Softly, his voice so achingly tender, Jonathan confessed, “You touched me so profoundly, and I do not mean in the physical but beyond that. I scarce know how to say that you have touched my soul.” And in this way, this very quiet way, Marcus knew he had fallen rather deeply in love with Jonathan P. Quiverbottom.
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Chapter Nine
The red light above the callbox glowed cherry-bright even with the wash of morning sun glaring off crisp new snow. Grinning like a fool and not caring one bit, Jonathan moved over and picked up the receiver. He pressed the requisite buttons to retrieve his message. While he waited for the recording to load, he picked up the mail from yesterday and set it on the foyer table. Then he thought of Marcus still in the bath, his bronze skin gleaming as he washed. Jonathan had never shared a bath with anyone, but after this morning, he thought it would be a rousing way to start each day. “Not that I will get much done if I spend over an hour in the tub each morning.” Wrapped in a stunning robe of deep hunter green, Marcus descended the stairs with his molten eyes riveted to Jonathan. Jonathan felt an answering surge of desire that only intensified the closer Marcus came. He was glad Marcus had told him this fascination was normal, or he would have thought himself an overnight miscreant with an intense sexual addiction. Grinning and waggling his eyebrows suggestively, Marcus crossed the foyer, then disappeared into the dining room. Jonathan turned his attention away as his message sputtered to life. “Ah, yes, good Sir Quiverbottom, I am calling directly to apologize about the delay.” There was a longish pause, which gave Jonathan time to ponder who the devil was leaving him the message. He simply had no tolerance for people who did not announce themselves properly. On the verge of hanging up, he thought about his resolve to listen rather than act rashly at a perceived slight. So he held the receiver to his head and waited for the rest of the message to play. “I’m sure you can understand that the fire has put us in great hardship. We sincerely hope that when we are in possession of more stock, you will consider renting a man-of-all-work bot from us. All the best.” And the man rang off. Dazed, Jonathan slipped the receiver into the cradle. He recognized the voice now. The man was the salesman he had spoken to about acquiring a man-ofall-work bot from Man-o-War Limited. The very man who had assured him the delivery would be on time and without error. Surely, there must be some confusion. His bot had been delivered. Late, but Marcus was here. Wincing as the full horror dawned on him, Jonathan didn’t wish to turn around. Dread filled him that he would find Marcus there, grinning and pointing at him, mocking him for a fool. When he finally braved a glance over his shoulder, he was relieved to find himself alone.
Far Too Human
Had the furious neighbor, Atwood, gotten wind of Jonathan’s idea to steal the technology from the company that Atwood worked for and concocted this elaborate ruse to punish him? Oh, it was clever indeed. Jonathan could not voice his innocence, not now, not after he had so willingly engaged with Marcus. There was no proof he had been coerced, because honestly, he had not been. Frankly, he’d been more than eager to do all the things that Marcus suggest he do. With this knowledge in hand, the neighbor could have him arrested for sodomy, or worse, and far more likely, the neighbor would force him to pay blackmail and live under his thumb for the rest of Jonathan’s life. By the paragons of science, Atwood could force him to betroth one of his hideous daughters. Spinsters both, the Atwood sisters were rejected not only for their belief in the paranormal but also for their crude behavior and utter lack of manners. With Jonathan’s good name and practically unlimited funds, they would have a way to force themselves on polite society. There were many ways for that vile man to play this out. Jonathan simply had to live the next few hours in dread, wondering which path Atwood would choose and when he would make his demands. And to think he had practically told Marcus that he was in love with him! How he must have laughed. How had Marcus, if that was his real name, been able to play his role so well? Sadly, Jonathan realized Marcus probably had quite a bit of practice. Why hadn’t Jonathan been more leery, given his past encounter with the man? But it was as Marcus had said, and maybe his flash of remorse last night had been genuine, because taking advantage of an innocent wasn’t that difficult to do. “And to think I reassured him, praised him, for stripping me of my virginity.” Jonathan dropped his head into his hand, as if by doing so he could ease the sting of shame. All he’d wanted was a companion. Dreadfully tired of his loneliness, he’d just wanted someone who would be there for him, someone who, like his other creatures, did his bidding without question. If he was a religious man, which he was not, Jonathan would think this was divine punishment. He had been determined to steal from Man-o-War Limited, thinking that it would not matter because he wanted only to borrow their technology, not become their competitor. Instead, because of his pathetic loneliness, he would now lose everything he had, everything his father and grandfather had worked their lifetimes to accumulate. What made matters worse was that there was no lack of evidence that something was afoot from the very moment Marcus arrived on his stoop. In his careful inspection of Marcus, he found only his eyes and ears altered, and well, that curious strength he could not explain, but to call him a manbot was grossly inaccurate. At best, Marcus was an enhanced human. Why had he not considered that he had not come from the Man-o-War Limited factory at all? Now that he considered the events of the last day and night, everything seemed patently obvious. But Jonathan had wanted to believe, so he blinded himself to what was right before his eyes. And Jonathan had willingly let him into his home.
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Into his bed. And most tragically, into his heart. “Dithering brain, stop!” Jonathan commanded, but he could not curtail the whirlwind of thoughts. Gone was his resolution to ask first and not jump to conclusions. What other explanation could there be that this was all an elaborate scam? “The paper.” Darting his gaze around the foyer, Jonathan could not remember what he’d done with the receiving paper that Marcus had handed to him. He remembered unfolding it and seeing the emblem of Man-o-War Limited and assuming it was a receiving order, but he had not inspected it fully due to his shock at recognizing Marcus. “If that is in fact his name.” Jonathan frowned at himself, for he had already wondered that and realized now what he called him mattered little, if at all. Jonathan remembered quickly glancing at the paper, then tossing the receipt back at Marcus, determined to reject delivery and have him gone. Jonathan wished with the passion of a child that he could go back to that moment and follow his initial instinct, which was to send him packing, but he was not a child. Wanting would not give him the miracle of time travel. And then, a most pathetic feeling. He wondered if, given the power to erase the last day, he would. Gone would be the shame and the potential fallout, but sadly, that far too brief moment of joy would be gone too. That glittering prize of finally connecting to another soul, of feeling complete and content. Was what he would suffer now worth that momentary joy? A part of him thought that mesmerizing time worth any price, but another far more cynical side berated himself for his poetical blathering. Determined to do something rather than stand in the foyer pondering his fate like a ninny, Jonathan marched up the stairs and then into his room. There, in a pile exactly where they had left them yesterday, were the clothes Marcus had been wearing when he arrived. Yanking the pants up, Jonathan extracted the paper from the pocket. He tossed the pants back on the floor, heedless of the mess, and unfolded the paper. His heart sank. This was much worse than he’d thought. It was a receiving paper, but not for him. The house numbers were those of his piggish neighbor, Atwood. The information only confirmed what he’d already thought. That foul man was involved in this. He could not be certain, but Jonathan thought that Marcus was supposed to go to Atwood’s house first for instructions, but in his confusion, Marcus had ended up on Jonathan’s doorstep. When he’d leapt out and confronted Marcus, he must have realized his mistake and plunged forward with the plan after making some hasty alterations. Marcus was no more a man-of-all-work bot than the neighbor was. He was enhanced, nothing more. And clearly, he cared no more for Jonathan than did the neighbor. Marcus’s affection had seemed so real.
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Far Too Human
But Jonathan supposed that was what made skilled actors so prized by men who ran cons—people believed them. A skilled charlatan could take one’s money and make that person believe they had willingly given their funds up to them. But what if… His heart would not let go of that tantalizing what if. What if it was as Marcus had said, an amazing coincidence? What if Marcus had been dispatched to the neighbor’s house and ended up here by a fluke, and the neighbor raised no fuss as he was told of the factory fire? As much as Jonathan wanted to inquire with Marcus, he thought he would be a riper fool to display his hand. Oh, but his eyes. The way Marcus had looked at him as they’d made love last night. Could an actor, even a very good actor, fake that kind of emotion? And the release. As far as Jonathan knew, it was impossible to fake an orgasm complete with gushing climax. If he were careful and sly, he could deftly examine Marcus with words and see his reaction. Jonathan would be most cunning in their conversation over breakfast. He would not ask Marcus outright, for that would reveal his suspicions, and Marcus might be compelled to alert the others involved. If all this was simply as Marcus had said, a coincidence, then by keeping his concerns silent, Jonathan would not hurt Marcus with his suspicions. “I will be crafty.” Jonathan returned the paper to Marcus’s trouser pocket. Straightening his sleeping jacket, he left his bedroom behind and rounded the corner. What he saw in the foyer stopped him at the top of the staircase. Below him stood two men. One he wanted so desperately to believe the best of, to hold in his esteem and possibly even love, but the other, oh, the other grinned with such malevolence it was as if the very devil himself had come to take the tender remains of Jonathan’s soul.
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Chapter Ten
Balancing a tray with two cups of tea and a spectacular collection of biscuits, fruits and meats, courtesy of Jonnie’s amazing kitchen machine, Marcus was ill-prepared for what he encountered as he entered the foyer. He expected Jonathan to be at the callbox, but instead he discovered a stranger. A man, dressed in blue so dark it appeared almost black, stood near the door as if he had every right to be there. For all Marcus knew, he did. Marcus did not know all of Jonathan’s business. Judging by the cut and quality of the man’s garment, he was not a laborer of any sort, but he could still work for Jonnie. Perhaps as his solicitor or some other such educated position. When the man turned, and their eyes met, Marcus knew at once he was not here to work for Jonathan. Those eyes met his with a gleeful knowing that nailed his feet to the floor. As much as Marcus wished to turn, to move away from seeing, recognizing and remembering the hideous information in the man’s eyes, he found he could not. The more he looked at him, the more he remembered. And Marcus realized that ignorance truly was bliss. There were things about himself he simply didn’t want to know. “My dear Marcus, why are you so pale?” Removing one glove and then the other, Houghton tucked them away to his overcoat. “Help me with this, would you?” Looking stupidly down at the tray, Marcus moved with all the grace of an automaton. He deposited the meal he now had no desire to eat upon the small table in the foyer, right on top of yesterday’s mail. Once his hands were free, he turned and helped Houghton slip off his jacket. He did this not because he wanted to but because he could think of nothing else to do. Bayberry, tobacco and whisky wafted up from his clothing, each scent sparking unique memories, none of them pleasant, some of them downright chilling. “Did you think I would not come?” Houghton asked, stomping the snow from his outer boots on the doorway rug before seating himself, in a chair thoughtfully provided for the task, to remove them. Once free of his outer protection, Houghton stood and gazed around the foyer. His eyes were brown— not the warm brown of wood but the cold brown of a garden in winter. Harsh, bitter and dead, his eyes ultimately settled on Marcus. “Where is he?” Houghton asked. Marcus shook his head. “Go, Houghton. I have changed my mind.” Houghton laughed. “One mark is as good as another. And as I recall, you quite enjoyed the seduction of this one last time.”
Far Too Human
In a flash, Marcus fully remembered the feel of Jonathan trembling under his touch that first time in the parlor. That reaction was not nearly as powerful as how they’d pleased one another yesterday. That memory, that clean and special reminiscence, was one he did not want Houghton to sully. Everything the man touched, he ruined. Houghton could wear the finest of fashions, drink the richest of liquors, eat the most expensive foods, but he was still a filthy urchin grasping at passersby’s pockets with his grubby fingers. Whatever others had, Houghton wanted. Even if he only threw it away after scheming for it, he still wanted it nonetheless. Examining the robe Marcus wore, Houghton grinned a greasy smile of contempt. “You’ve already had him? My boy, you do move quickly.” Another memory surged, this one most unpleasant. He hated, absolutely loathed, when Houghton called him my boy. It implied that he owned him, or that Marcus was far younger, when in fact, they were practically the same age. Marcus struggled to keep his temper in check, but that became easier when he caught what Houghton had asked a moment ago. He’d asked where Jonathan was, which meant he had not seen him, which meant Jonathan had not let him in. And then Marcus remembered that they had left the door unlocked. He must have flummoxed Jonathan for him to forget to lock up. If Marcus moved quickly, perhaps he could get Houghton out of the house before Jonathan found him. Marcus knew if Jonathan discovered Houghton here, he would believe the worst, no matter what Marcus said. “I am not finished with him,” Marcus whispered, dreading what he would have to say to make him leave. “If he sees you—” “I don’t care if he sees me at this point.” Houghton scoffed and removed a pastry from the tray. In his haste to scarf the treat down, he scattered crumbs and frosting bits everywhere. Marcus thought then of simply dragging him from the house, but strong-arm tactics would not work. Not when…and there his brain hiccupped. He could not remember what it was Houghton had over him. All he knew was that if anything befell Houghton, Marcus would not survive the jailer’s cuffs for long. Loath to reveal his ignorance, Marcus realized he would have to play along. He would have to seem a vital player in the scheme, or danger lurked for Jonathan. “Well, are you simply going to stand there all day?” Houghton gave his robe another once-over. “Go and get him.” “I’m here.” The sound caused Marcus to wrench his head around and lift his gaze to the top of the stairs. Standing there, dressed as if prepared for an evening at the opera, Jonathan cut a most elegant figure. A strange urge to paint him in that moment, just before he took his first step down, possessed Marcus. He wanted to capture and save forever his pale blue eyes made stunning by the crisp blue of his clothing. He wanted to set to canvas the conflict between knowledge and innocence. Marcus desperately wanted to
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freeze time so that he would not have to suffer Jonathan’s gaze of such happiness turning to suspicion. Sadly, that moment was gone. There was no pleasure in his gaze now. Only a resigned acceptance. Head high and steps even, Jonathan descended. He didn’t hurry or linger. He moved as if he had expected to see the two men in his foyer. “Good Sir Quiverbottom, how delightful to see you again.” Houghton gave a bare nod of his head as if Jonathan were beneath him, or that he was not worthy of a more formal gesture of greeting. “You have me at a disadvantage, sir, as I don’t recall your name.” Once he hit the bottom of the stairs, Jonathan didn’t hesitate. He kept right on walking until he was an arm’s length away from Houghton. Admiration filled Marcus. Jonathan did not cower or stutter questions or scream for Houghton to leave his house at once. Rather astonishingly, he played very calm, very cool, as if he had invited the man here. “Houghton is my name.” “And flimflam is your game.” Jonathan spoke without malice. Obviously Jonathan recognized Houghton as Marcus’s cohort from the initial blackmail scheme. Marcus wished with all his might that he could go back in time and stop the second go-round. But it was too late now. Marcus hadn’t even remembered the plan until Houghton showed up, which meant his chance to come clean to Jonathan was lost. It was then that Marcus noticed Jonathan had not looked at him once. His refusal to even acknowledge his presence stung; however, his dismissal told Marcus all he needed to know. Jonathan thought Marcus was working with Houghton. What made matters more tragic was that he had been, but he didn’t want to, not anymore. Despite his objections to the contrary, Jonathan would still think him in league with Houghton. At first, he had been, but then something happened when he’d come here. When he’d seen Jonathan and realized who he was. Marcus wanted no part of any scheme. All he’d wanted was Jonathan. But there was more he simply couldn’t remember. Important details eluded him. Critical information was buried in his brain, or, more likely it had been scrubbed away by powerful chemicals. Hadn’t that been a part of Houghton’s plan? Marcus couldn’t remember, no matter how desperately he tried to uncover the facts. “Go and dress, Marcus,” Houghton said. “I tire of seeing your hairy legs.” Infuriated at being dismissed like an ill-mannered dog, Marcus held his ground. “Yes, Marcus. Why don’t you go and dress. Wear the clothing I gave you.” Unsure if the gesture conveyed acceptance or was some type of ploy to unbalance Houghton, Marcus took the stairs two at a time. He dressed as quickly as he could, then flew back down to the foyer. Once there, Marcus noted that the tray was gone from the foyer table. When he listened, he heard the low murmur of voices in the dining room.
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Far Too Human
Curiously, he was relieved they had not gone into the parlor. Just the thought of having Houghton sitting upon the couch where they had engaged in their first tryst twisted his gut. Marcus wanted to keep his memories untainted. And one way or another, he would find a way to get Houghton out of their lives and explain everything to Jonathan. Marcus entered the dining room. A more civilized scene he could not have come across. Both men were seated at the round table, their tones casual as they discussed pleasantries. Marcus noticed a fresh pot of tea, a third cup and a larger selection of fruits and pastries. Houghton showed his true colors when he filled his plate to overflowing and proceeded to stuff his cheeks. Flecks of dough and frosting clung to his lips and tumbled to his jacket. Had he worn a lighter color, his poor eating habits wouldn’t have been as glaringly obvious. As Marcus hesitated in the doorway, frowning at the mess Houghton was making, Jonathan cast his gaze to him, but the contact was so brief it was almost nonexistent. “There you are,” Houghton said around a hefty mouthful. “We should be on with our business.” “Business?” Jonathan asked with a distinct note of derision in his tone. Houghton didn’t miss a beat even though his mouth was stuffed. “There is no reason to be vulgar.” “Says the man talking when his mouth is full.” Jonathan pushed his selections aside uneaten. Considering the mess Houghton was making, it was no wonder. What little appetite Marcus had had was gone now. Marcus joined them at the table, even though his impulse was to grab Jonnie, spirit him away and then kiss him until neither of them could see straight. If he had to tie him down to realize that objective, he would. After that, he would make him understand that he had changed. You changed me, he would say, but he sincerely doubted he would get to speak to Jonathan alone again. Even if they were alone, he didn’t think Jonathan would listen. Trading places, Marcus wouldn’t listen to himself either. How much was one man, one very lonely and damaged man, supposed to forgive? “I grow weary of your presence in my home, Mr. Houghton. State your business so that I might show you to the door.” Thankfully, Houghton took a moment to swallow and wipe his face with the monogrammed napkin Jonathan had provided. Sadly, he brushed all the crumbs onto the fine woolen rug. Marcus cringed on Jonathan’s behalf. “Rather harsh tone for a man who owes me greatly,” Houghton said. “I do not owe you courtesy, or anything else, for that matter.” Jonathan sat still but not stiff. He didn’t squirm or toy with his cup. To Marcus’s eye, he seemed remarkably relaxed. Narrowing his gaze, Houghton glared at Jonathan while the edge of his upper lip twitched into a sneer. “Lighten your tone, Quiverbottom.”
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“You come to blackmail me and yet demand that I treat you with civility? I’m afraid one cancels out the expectation of the other.” Leaning near, Houghton snarled, “I can do far worse than blackmail you.” A memory bubbled out of the blackness in Marcus’s mind. A memory of Houghton forcing himself on a gentleman who trembled in fear, begging him to take the money and go. Houghton tormented the man for hours before they left. Marcus cringed internally, wondering how he could have done nothing while Houghton committed such a foul crime. Did Houghton have something over him, or was Marcus just afraid of him? He simply could not remember. “Not all my desires are satisfied with money,” Houghton said. Jonathan grasped his threat but seemed utterly indifferent. With an almost bored tone, Jonathan said, “I am afraid you would find me rather unsatisfactory in that regard, Mr. Houghton.” Houghton lifted one brow as he appraised Jonathan with an auctioneer’s critical eye. “You would do nicely on your knees sucking my cock.” “I assure you, I would not.” “No?” Intrigued by his blatant lack of fear, Houghton leaned across the table. “And why is that?” Leaning near enough that his breath ruffled the dark strands upon Houghton’s head, Jonathan said, “I fear I would panic and bite. Ask good Sir Marcus here.” With a casual gesture, Jonathan lifted his hand toward him but didn’t bother to glance over. “I was hoping to hide my shame by having him dress, but if you wish to see, I’m sure he will show you.”
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Chapter Eleven
Disbelief ate up the snarling hatred on Houghton’s face. He appeared so confused that Jonathan thought the vile man would demand Marcus drop his trousers and bring forth his injured penis. Not that Jonathan had bitten him. Right now Jonathan could not even look at Marcus lest he reveal too much. Thinking about his cock was not helping him keep up this charade. Jonathan was not going to do what he always had done before. Even with a veritable mountain of evidence, he wasn’t going to jump to conclusions. He would give Marcus the benefit of the doubt. He would give him the opportunity to explain. But he would not suffer his companion any longer than he had to in order to extract his scheme. Once he knew Houghton’s intentions, then he could act. When he’d recognized the man from the top of the stairs, Jonathan had retreated from view. He’d taken the time to dress before confronting him, not only to give his mind time to calm, but also he would feel more in control if properly groomed. After a quick and rather dubious glance in the general vicinity of Marcus’s trousers, Houghton dismissed the idea. “It matters not. You have other orifices that do not bite.” “This is true,” Jonathan offered evenly. If possible, Houghton’s eyes narrowed even more. He was used to having his way by issuing horrid threats. “You are a bully,” Jonathan pointed out. “I find that bullies generally have suffered a life filled with pain, so they in turn inflict pain on others, thinking this will exorcise the trauma from them.” He sighed with a bored air. “You will find this most unsatisfactory.” Huffing, his face turning red, Houghton declared, “I am not a bully. I am a businessman!” “Well, I am not interested in buying what you are selling.” Jonathan pushed his chair back and stood. “I will give you time to finish your…” He trailed off as he considered the mess the man had made. Once the room was cleared of people, his mouse would set to work. “Gobble the rest of your selections and go. I have work to attend to.” “There are images, Quiverbottom. I’m sure an observant man like yourself noticed the unique structure of Marcus’s eyes.” “Yes, I had noticed.” Belatedly, while he was dressing, Jonathan had finally put together why only Marcus’s eyes, ears and strength were enhanced—all the better to see, hear and strong-arm their victims with. Houghton had taken the flimflam to a whole new level.
Anitra Lynn McLeod
“If you do not do as I say, I will be forced to show the images to the authorities. You do know the punishment for sodomy is castration and incarceration, don’t you?” Houghton settled in his chair as if he intended to take up permanent residence there. “Is this the part where your victims break down in tears, fall to their knees and agree to whatever terms you set?” Houghton frowned at him, thoroughly put out that his bullying was failing most spectacularly. Then, as if realizing the source of the trouble lay not with him but another, he turned his vicious eyes upon Marcus. “You told him!” Houghton ejaculated, surging to his feet. “I knew something was wrong when I discovered you were not at the Atwood house.” In one fell swoop, Houghton confirmed what Jonathan had suspected. His neighbor, Roger Atwood, was involved. “I’m sorry, Marcus. It seems our relationship is over.” Jonathan looked at Marcus then. His gut twisted at the stunned confusion of his features, the tense lift of his shoulders, but he had to see this through. “You ruined everything for him?” Houghton glared at Marcus but cast an accusatory finger at Jonathan. “Did you think he would throw his life away for you, Marcus? He is a prissy little fusspot with far more brains than balls. Men like that do not keep lovers like you for long!” Poor Marcus. His features gave away his feelings so clearly that words would be superfluous. Marcus was devastated. He did not want to end their relationship. In fact, Jonathan was convinced Marcus had been willing to do anything to stay together. Jonathan wanted that too, but he would not tolerate a lifetime of threats and intimidation from Marcus’s former partner. “Had you stuck to the plan, we would be sitting quite pretty with Atwood’s daughters. You could have had this fool on the side, just as I would have had Atwood, but no. You could not control yourself. Even after all the work the scrubber went to, you remembered him.” That was all Jonathan needed to know. Their scheme was now clear. Atwood knew of these men because he had purchased their services, or at least Houghton’s services, himself. That was how he knew them well enough to send them here when Jonathan rejected his daughters. Houghton, in turn, developed a scheme of blackmail wherein he and Marcus would marry Atwood’s daughters, thus ridding Atwood of their spinster stigma, and the trio of Atwood, Houghton and Marcus would run deeper and longer blackmail schemes on the side. Jonathan was convinced he would have been the first target once they had everything in place. But something had gone wrong with Marcus’s programming. Despite their best efforts, they had not been able to remove Jonathan from Marcus’s memory. Marcus had come to him not to blackmail him but because he desperately wanted to be with him. Of that, Jonathan had no doubt.
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Far Too Human
“Now what will we do?” Houghton threw himself back into his chair. “Atwood was livid that you had not arrived. I came here purely by whim.” Jonathan considered that information and all the implications of it. If Houghton had not known Marcus was here, then his threat of images was an empty one. Houghton had nothing. He was simply relying on his bluster and bullying to finagle what he could from Jonathan. “I absolve myself of this.” Marcus stood. “I am not marrying that woman. I am not running long cons for you or anyone else. I am done.” Houghton laughed. “Defy me, and I will destroy you.” “You already have.” Marcus kept his gaze on the floor. “No man would willingly undergo chemical scrubbing. You are the one who killed me, and Atwood the one who had me altered.” “And both Atwood and Houghton had a hand in the fire,” Jonathan said. Puzzled, Marcus turned his attention to Jonathan. “In an effort to cover their tracks, they burned down the Man-o-War Limited factory.” Houghton grinned. “Proof, my good sir. I am quite certain you are lacking in that.” “Just as you are,” Jonathan countered. Frowning, confused, Houghton did not speak; he just glared. “You have no images,” Jonathan said. A subtle but noticeable widening of Houghton’s dead eyes confirmed his assertion. “If you had images, you would have known Marcus was here and not entered on a whim.” Caught by his own words, Houghton quickly rallied. “The scandal alone will—” “Be a pointless waste of your time,” Jonathan said. “A man of your status fears scandal.” “At one time, perhaps, but no longer.” Jonathan gave Marcus a meaningful glance. “I have discovered that life is messy, and that is not always a bad thing. Some messes are most pleasant.” He knew without asking that Marcus thought of the exact same thing he did—the mess they had made of his bedclothes with the oily lotion and their unstoppable passion. “I’ve also recently discovered that I have a vast capacity to clean up any messes that fall into my life.” “You will be run from the colony for your perversity,” Houghton said. “Perhaps.” Jonathan straightened his jacket. “But if I go, so too goes my money.” As a devoted philanthropist, he partially funded many of the town’s charitable works with his family’s money. “I will be sad to leave my home, but I will not die because of it.” “You will be unwelcome. You will be spit upon as you walk the streets!” “What a picture you paint.” Jonathan laughed. “I have always been cast a curious gaze wherever I go, on the rare occasions when I do go out, because I am known as such an eccentric man.” Eyeing Marcus as
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if he’d just now thought of something, he softly said, “I do not think that chatter will change much once the public finds out that I have built myself a companion.” Understanding lifted the sad lines of Marcus’s features. For the first time since Houghton had invaded their home, he smiled. “What? You would pass him off as your own creation?” “Yes.” “I will expose you as a liar!” Houghton rose to his feet, joining Marcus and Jonathan in standing around the table. “Oh? And how will you do that? By telling of your part in his creation?” That stopped Houghton cold. “Do you think Atwood will step forward as well?” Jonathan tapped his finger to his chin. “Somehow, I do not see the two of you eagerly admitting your part in several crimes.” He sighed. “Ah, well, perhaps you will prove me wrong.” Moving swiftly into the foyer, Jonathan was pleased when both men followed right behind. “I will allow you to sit and put on your overboots, but that is the last time you will ever sit in my home.” “And if I refuse?” Houghton puffed himself up. “I will be happy to show him out, Master Quiverbottom.” Marcus bowed with the formal grace of a butler.
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Chapter Twelve
Most of his memory might be gone, but Marcus knew without a doubt that Houghton had never moved as quickly as he did that morning. With two yanks, he had his overboots on, his arms stuffed into his jacket and his butt moving down the stairs. This time when Marcus closed the door, he remembered to set the latch. “That will not happen again.” Dread chilling his spine, Marcus turned to face Jonathan. Despite what Jonathan had said, he could throw Marcus out now. What fine man would want to be with a half-human, ex-con artist? “I can explain.” “I do not want or need explanations.” Jonathan shook his head. With three steps, he was so close to Marcus the scent of his sandalwood toiletries filled his lungs. He would miss that scent. Forever after when he caught a whiff of that fragrance, he would think of his Jonnie. “I do not care why you called me master. I ask that you not do so again.” Startled because that was the last thing Marcus expected him to say, he spent almost half a minute gaping at him. “Close your mouth.” With a click, Marcus did. “Now kiss me.” After a grin, Marcus did. Slow and sweet and tender, he kissed this astonishing man who would probably never cease to amaze him. Still, he felt there were things unresolved. He wanted to just pour out everything in one great gush of information. “Now who is thinking too much,” Jonathan teased. He smoothed his fingertips over Marcus’s furrowed brow. “I feared I had irretrievably lost you.” Jonathan nodded. “Almost.” “I can explain.” “There really is no need, as I have puzzled it out.” “Even why I threw my lot in with Houghton?” Marcus wanted to air all his dirty laundry and have it done with. He wanted no secrets or surprises that could tear them apart. For the first time in his life, he was looking at a long, and quite legitimate, relationship.
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“I wish to hear, truly I do, but there is something I must do first.” “Of course.” Jonathan grabbed his hand and pulled him into his laboratory. “Sit here.” Curious, Marcus climbed up onto the same table he’d sat on for Jonathan’s examination. From a neatly ordered table at the side, Jonathan selected an oddly fashioned piece of equipment. “What is that?” “Something that might hurt you.” Eyes going wide, Marcus wasn’t sure if he should remain on the table or not. “Not intentionally,” Jonathan soothed. He set the device aside. “We have to do something about your eyes and ears.” “What? Why?” “Because I’m quite certain that Houghton is at this very moment working with Atwood to actually begin recording all you see and hear.” “I’m an idiot.” “Just as you’re not going to call me master, you’re not allowed to call yourself denigrating names either.” Jonathan reached out and smoothed back Marcus’s hair. “I won’t allow anyone, even you, to disparage the man I love.” That one little word seemed both a blessing and a curse. “Love? But I am not worthy.” “Says who? Houghton? He’s an overblown buffoon.” “I’m not even human anymore. You said so yourself.” Jonathan pinched his knee hard, and Marcus howled and slapped his hand away. “What the devil is the matter with you?” Marcus rubbed the sore spot briskly. “No robot feels pain.” Jonathan picked up a delicate mechanical butterfly from his work table. “I could crush this in my fist, and it would feel nothing.” He held the fragile creature out for Marcus’s inspection, then slowly curled his fingers around the thing. “Don’t.” Marcus reached out to protect the butterfly, but Jonathan pulled it away. “Why not?” Jonathan asked. “Because it’s beautiful, and you worked very hard on creating it, and, well, just don’t.” “No robot can appreciate beauty, let alone argue for its preservation.” Jonathan set the clockwork insect aside unharmed. “You are human. Enhanced, yes, but still entirely human. I only said what I said to Houghton to prevent another round of threats.” “You’ve summed me up rather well.” “I’ve had more time to think on this.” Jonathan pressed his hand to where he had pinched. The heat of his hand soothed the tiny injury. “Have you?”
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“I wondered what my life with my companion, the one that I would successfully build, how would that life look? How would it feel? Naturally I examined the possibility that I might fall in love with my own creation.” “You do indeed think too much.” “Perhaps. But I decided that it would not matter to me. What is love anyway? Can we only love that which is flesh and blood? What about those who love their pets, or the arts, or—” “God.” “Precisely.” “But how did you know I was not in league with Houghton?” More than anything, Marcus wanted to know what he had done to prove himself to Jonathan without even trying. “Several things.” Jonathan straightened the cravat Marcus had thrown on in haste. “The way you hung up these clothes, for one.” “Of all things, you were reassured by my using the valet?” “You demonstrated that you appreciated the gift but also that you respected my need for order. And, too, your caution about the oily lotion.” “Which you did not care about.” “But that you warned me showed me you were thinking of me. However, I was most convinced at the look you made when Houghton was making a mess of my dining room with his ravenous eating. You frowned at him, not for his appalling lack of manners, but that he was making a mess, and you knew that would trouble me.” Marcus frowned. “That sounds too simple.” “Believing in you should only come after a long and painful struggle?” “Well, no, that sounds silly.” “Then stop saying such asinine things and kiss me.” Marcus did. “If this is how you will punish me for saying nonsense, I warn you that I will spout much more gibberish.” “I see this is more reward than punishment.” After a lingering kiss, Jonathan pointed to the device. “This will help me determine the frequency of the signal you are broadcasting.” “And you have already spoken over my head.” Marcus eyed the device. “Doing this will hurt me?” “I do not know. This type of technology is not my area of expertise. Frankly, I did not even realize your ears and eyes were broadcasting until Houghton’s threat.” Jonathan sighed. “Reading the frequency should not hurt, but if I cannot stop you from broadcasting, then we will have to flummox the signal.” “And that might hurt?” Jonathan nodded. “If it does, I will stop immediately, and we will find another way.”
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Marcus realized then it wasn’t as if they could simply remove the devices. If they did, he would be deaf and blind. Concerned, he asked, “What if we cannot—” “Do not ask for trouble. I’ve found trouble can find its own way.” Jonathan offered a smile that did not quite touch his eyes. Marcus sat still upon the table as Jonathan fiddled with the device. “Are you ready?” He nodded, then closed his eyes. Nothing happened. Marcus cracked one eye open to find Jonathan moving the device over his chest, then up toward his face. “Lift your arms, please.” Marcus did. After staring intently at the device, Jonathan said, “Lower your arms.” Marcus did. “What’s this with my arms?” “I wished to see if it had an impact upon the signal. It does not. I believe your head is sending and receiving signals.” “Receiving?” Deeply concerned, Marcus blurted, “They are trying to make me do things?” The notion of being jerked around like a puppet by Houghton and Atwood was terrifying. “No, I do not think they could do that.” Jonathan looked around his laboratory. “These walls effectively block any signal they could send anyway. But more to the point, your brain is human and not driven by such impulses.” “Then why fashion me to receive?” “While in the middle of a flimflam, they could send impulses to your ears and eyes—images, instructions—without your target ever knowing.” Jonathan shrugged. “It’s quite ingenious, really. You could never be caught in their company because you would never have to be near them.” He considered. “Although the range would be limited. I would think they would have to be relatively close to you to send such impulses. Great distances mean interference or possible exposure.” “Exposure?” “The military bots also use this type of technology, which is where Atwood purloined it, no doubt. If they were caught sending signals on the military frequency…” “That’s a crime?” “Undoubtedly. Hmm. Atwood must have procured a device to transmit and receive your signals.” Jonathan cast his gaze in the direction of Atwood’s house. “His home would be the perfect place to keep this equipment. I think Houghton fibbed a bit about you having me on the side. I was always a mark for them. I do believe I was to be your test subject.”
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“I am so sorry, Jonnie.” “I know.” Jonathan set the device aside and made a note on his clipboard. “I don’t think you went into this willingly.” “I wish I could remember.” “Perhaps it’s for the best you don’t.” Marcus nodded. “Well, now we have the frequency, but how shall I reproduce it? It’s not as if I have access to such equipment.” Jonathan returned the first device to his worktable. Lips pursed and brow furrowed, he considered the array of equipment. His intensity was both beautiful and frightening to behold. Beautiful because he was so damned intelligent, which was also frightening because Marcus wondered if Jonathan might grow bored with his lack of education. As Jonathan considered the devices, he mumbled softly to himself. “What are you saying?” “I am trying to decide what to do.” Jonathan tapped his long fingers to the table in a rhythm that was remarkably like a heartbeat. “If I mimic the signal, they will not be able to receive what you transmit, but this might hurt you. Also, I would have to fashion a device for you to wear at all times.” Marcus did not want all he saw and heard accessed by anyone, but he did not want to spend the rest of his life in pain either. “The other way would be to physically block your signal from reaching them.” “How would you do that?” “I would have to shield you.” “Shield me how?” “I think a hat of metal would work well, but I can see how that might be impractical at times.” “A hat doesn’t sound all that bad to me.” Jonathan grinned a most becomingly wicked grin. “I wonder that you would be able to keep your hat on during all of our activities.” Remembering the vigor with which he had mounted Jonathan last night, he understood. “Ah, I see that a hat would not always be practical.” And those were the images Houghton and Atwood would most want to get. “The other option would be to shield the entire house.” “What would that entail?” “Same principle, basically. I would have to install metal sheeting.” Jonathan drifted off as he considered what that would necessitate. Marcus did not interrupt him, not when he was clearly pondering solutions to their mutual dilemma. He found something undeniably sexy about the way Jonathan thought. Watching his mind work was
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arousing because he was so intense when he was thinking. Drumming his fingers in the heartbeat rhythm, he placed one hand on his hip, but not a cupped hand. He formed a loose fist and rested it low, drawing Marcus’s gaze to his trousers and how wonderfully tailored they were. Jonathan was dressed impeccably, as he always was, but Marcus had a wild urge to see him messy. He want to tangle his hair in his fingers, kiss him until his lips were red, pull his cravat askew and push his pants down until his thick and wonderfully sensitive prick was exposed. “Well, I will have to ponder this. Let us retire to the parlor, and you can tell me how you ever became involved with that ruffian in the first place.” “Desperation drove me to his company.” Marcus followed behind Jonathan as he left the laboratory. “I thought so. Not a soul would willingly enter his circle.” As Marcus crossed the center of the foyer, his head exploded with pain. This was so sudden, so excruciating, that he was unable to do anything but crumple to the floor in a heap. Everything went fuzzy gray, but the pain, that was razor sharp and as unrelenting as Houghton’s desire for revenge.
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Chapter Thirteen
Jonathan turned at the curious sound Marcus had uttered, expecting to see him making a face or mocking Houghton in some way, but what he saw catapulted him into action so fast he nearly tripped himself. On the floor, clutching his head, Marcus shivered as if struck suddenly cold. His entire body was rigid, his teeth bared in a frozen rictus of pain so enormous his face appeared all teeth. Grabbing him by cupping his hands under his back and digging them into his armpits, Jonathan yanked him into the laboratory and slammed the door. From the table Marcus had been sitting on, Jonathan plucked up a sheet of metal and laid it over his head. The shakes stopped, but he wasn’t satisfied. Jonathan grabbed another sheet of metal and bent it into a crude bowl shape. In his haste, he cut two of his fingers, but he hardly noticed. Quickly removing the flat metal sheet, he popped the hat on Marcus’s head. A trickle of blood emerged from Marcus’s nose, and Jonathan almost fainted. So close to perfect, to finally have what he so desperately wanted, to stave off a bully only to lose Marcus to waves he could not even see was so cruel he wanted to rail and weep in a simultaneous burst of confusion. The old Jonathan, the man who was afraid of his own shadow, might very well have dropped to his knees and cradled Marcus until he died, but no, he wasn’t going to give up. He did possibly the last thing he wanted to do, and that was leave Marcus alone, but if he didn’t, Marcus would most certainly die. Filled with fury, some directed at himself for not thinking beyond the obvious, Jonathan strode across the foyer, unlatched his front door, and without stopping to consider his actions, he stomped down his steps, heedless of the snow filling his shoes and clinging to his pants. Jonathan should have known that Houghton and Atwood would attempt to destroy their creation rather than simply walk away. If they couldn’t have Marcus, they certainly weren’t going to let Jonathan have him either. “I should have known!” He’d ascertained that signals were transmitted and received by Marcus. He’d thought the receiving part was only about sending him instructions, not sending a fatally high signal that would destroy him.
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Awash in anger, frustration and panic, he focused on the one emotion in which he never indulged: anger. Pure fury surged. Righteous indignation stiffened his spine and made him aware of his body in a way he never had been before. Jonathan wasn’t the strongest man in the colony, but he was fit and firm, and he had learned to defend himself. Given the current situation, he had no objections to turning those lessons on their head and becoming the aggressor. Stomping his way up Atwood’s steps, he didn’t bother with the bell but formed a fist and plowed it straight through the window in the door. A satisfying burst of power accompanied the sound of shattering glass. The shards that hit the hard inner floor sounded almost like merry bells, applauding him for his actions. Reaching inside, he undid the latch and let himself in. The layout of this house was almost the same as his, with a grand sweeping dual staircase, but the parlor was off to the left of the foyer and presumably a dining room to the right. Their parlors were separated by the shared wall that ran between their row houses. The sound of crashing glass drew Atwood from the parlor. Average height, thinning hair and that disgusting droopy mustache pinned above the thinnest lips in the colony all inspired Jonathan to act. “What in God’s name do you think—” Jonathan punched him. Hard, strong and square in his long nose. A satisfying squish, a burst of blood and a cry of agony told him he’d landed a solid wallop. His fist hurt where he’d hooked one knuckle into Atwood’s upper teeth, but he shook the pain away. As frantic as he was to protect Marcus, he couldn’t block a feeling of masculine pride. For the first time, Jonathan felt like a man, and he wasn’t about to back off now. “Where is it?” Clutching his nose, Atwood darted his watering gaze around, no doubt desperate to find something to defend himself with. Atwood never would have expected Jonathan to react as he had. Not a soul would. Calm, controlled, always a perfect gentlemen, Jonathan had a reputation as a cowering dandy. That would change after today. But for now, his pugilistic behavior was an advantage that he fully intended to exploit. When Atwood refused to answer, Jonathan punched him again, causing him to fall to his knees. Wailing and weeping, Atwood blubbered as he cradled his nose. Pulling one of Atwood’s hands into his, Jonathan said, “Give me the device, or I shall break your fingers one by one until you do.” Atwood’s eyes went wide. Jonathan took his index finger and started to bend the digit backwards. “Here, here!” Screaming like a child, Atwood lumbered to his feet and lunged into the parlor. From below the decorative pillows stitched in garish colors that littered the sofa, he retrieved something slim and gleaming. “Take it and go!”
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Simple of design and clearly inert, the device was much smaller than he’d anticipated. The device was roughly the size of his palm, weighed no more than a bar of soap and fit easily into his pocket. Just as he was ready to go, he realized his folly. Atwood could simply fashion another. Moreover, there were other things, more of them every day, that emitted radio waves that might be harmful to Marcus. “You didn’t bother to shield him, did you?” Jonathan didn’t know why he asked. Of course he hadn’t. He and Houghton, who must be availing himself of Atwood’s daughter, hadn’t thought about keeping Marcus safe, only of extracting money from their hapless victims. “He won’t last long,” Atwood said, his voice muffled by his palm and rendered high-pitched by pain. Regaining some of his lost pride, Atwood stood on his own two feet without clutching the edge of the chair for support. Jonathan was sick of living in fear for himself. He refused to live in terror that at any moment Marcus could be violently injured. With his mind furiously turning, he left Atwood’s home and returned to his own. Just about the last thing he wanted to do was attract attention to himself or to this scheme, but he saw no other choice. To protect Marcus, he would have to turn him over to the only people who could help him. By doing so, Jonathan feared he would lose him. Unlike the selfish Houghton and Atwood, Jonathan would rather suffer the destruction of his reputation and have Marcus live than ensure his own safety and let him die. Once within what had always been his haven, his sanctuary, Jonathan lifted the receiver and placed a call to the salesman from Man-o-War Limited. Only their technicians would know what had been done to Marcus and how to fix the mess that Houghton and Atwood had made. Jonathan would be forced to tell his part in it, but he would do so if only he could save Marcus’s life. With the call made, he returned to his laboratory. Marcus was where he’d left him. His chest rose and fell, his heart beat at a sedate pace, the blood flow from his nose had ceased, but he was utterly unresponsive. In short order, there came an insistent banging at the front door. Before Jonathan could rise from his place on the floor near Marcus, several men clad in military black burst into his home, guns drawn. Within a split second of orienting themselves, they riveted their barrels upon him. Shocked almost right out of his soaking-wet shoes, Jonathan tossed up his hands. In the back of his mind, he had almost expected this response, but if he’d thought more fully upon this potential, he might not have placed the call at all. The involvement of the military practically ensured Jonathan would never see Marcus again. It would be a miracle if he lived to tell his tale to anyone once they were finished with him. Without asking, he imagined everyone involved, including Atwood and Houghton, would end up languishing in the cells of a secret military compound or taking up space in the dirt that lay well beyond the colony.
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Jonathan hung his head and caressed Marcus’s cheek one last time. All he’d wanted was someone to love. He was grateful he’d gotten a taste of true affection genuinely returned. His only regret was that they hadn’t had more time together. Despite the guns pointed at him, heedless to the cold frowns and accusing eyes, Jonathan leaned over and kissed Marcus. His lips were warm, soft, but made no movement. “I shall love you until the day I die.” When a gun barrel settled at the back of his head, Jonathan wondered if that day had come far sooner than he’d ever thought possible.
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Chapter Fourteen
Marcus woke very quickly. There were no lingering images of dreams or the curious mental fuzz between sleep and full alertness. This was instantaneous consciousness. His eyes flipped open, his ears popped to awareness, and he had a sudden feeling of the utter heavy inertness of his body. Curiously, he saw nothing but a blurry gray ceiling. He heard only the low murmur of voices. His very first thought was of Jonathan. Into his mind’s eye came a vision of his beautiful Jonnie walking away. No, he was leading the way while Marcus followed. They were heading toward the parlor. Once there, Marcus planned to muss his hair and clothing and spend at least the rest of the morning teasing his tongue around the sensitive skin of Jonathan’s body. From his neck to his knees, Marcus would work his mouth over Jonathan until he knew his form right down to his soul. When he did, he would start all over again and rediscover him. He grinned. Or at least he tried to. His face felt curiously numb. And then he noticed that what had been blurred lines above him were now so sharp he felt battered by the intensity of gray ceiling tiles. He saw every flaw in the hammered tin all at once. The information exploded in his head, causing him to whimper. “See if you can’t bring the image down a bit, would you?” an unfamiliar male voice asked. As Marcus watched, the ceiling blurred. “Too far. Go back.” Marcus had no idea who the man was talking to, but he knew he wasn’t speaking to him. They were doing something to his eyes. The ceiling went from far too sharp to terribly blurry. Eventually they settled on a happy medium. All the while, Marcus lay captive to their tinkering. He had no control over his eyes or anything else. He tried to blink, to wince, but he couldn’t. No one was holding him, yet he couldn’t move. When he screamed, control was returned to him. He closed his eyes. Just as quickly as he’d awakened, he was cast back into the dark, but this time he took the blissful image of his Jonnie with him.
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Marcus wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he awoke in the same manner as before. Suddenly and completely alert, he feared to open his eyes lest the image bombard his brain again. Instead, he listened. No murmuring voices. Only…breathing. Steady, slow, rhythmic breathing. He felt a curious familiarity there but chided himself for such a fanciful thought. He could not know Jonathan by his breathing. As much as he wanted to open his eyes to see if he were right, he feared doing so. In the end, his desire to see Jonnie outweighed his fear of potential pain. When he opened his eyes, he found himself alone. The breathing he’d been listening to was his own. Disappointment gave way to fear. Jonathan wasn’t here, and he didn’t think that was a good sign. He felt more alone in that split second of awakening than he ever had in his life. Marcus would give anything to see Jonnie right now. Even if he couldn’t touch him, he would be content just to look at him. Although, to be honest, he would much rather be with him where he could touch him. He grinned. This time his face responded, lifting the corners of his lips. Gone was the heavy, almost alien feel of his body. Marcus raised his hand, examining the appendage to ensure it was normal and flexed in all the ways he told it to. When it did, he returned his arm to his side. It dawned on him suddenly that he was in a bed alone, and Jonathan wasn’t anywhere near him. He remembered following Jonathan to the parlor and then a burst of pain…what had happened? He had no memory of a doctor. When he carefully inspected the room, he did not see anything other than his bed and a chair. No windows. The lone door, just beyond his feet, was normal in all respects. A plain wooden door painted white. Ordinary white walls. A gray tin ceiling. So why did everything in its desire to be ordinary strike him as strange? Just exactly where was he? “Jonathan?” His voice was rough, as if he had not spoken for days. He felt his face. Judging by his beard growth, he had to guess at least two days if not three had passed by. After clearing his throat, he tried again. “Jonathan?” Marcus wasn’t surprised when the door opened, and a military doctor entered. He knew the man was both a physician and a solider by the way he carried himself. Tall, broad, with short-cropped hair and a face that looked as if a smile wouldn’t dare touch it. One glance of his icy stare would be enough to silence most men, but not Marcus. “Where is Jonathan?” He didn’t need to know the details to determine that he’d fallen ill, Jonathan had taken him to hospital, the doctors there had discovered his enhancements and promptly called the military for help. Or as the last act of desperate men, Houghton and Atwood had turned him over to Man-o-War Limited, and that
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was how the military became involved. It didn’t really matter how he’d fallen into their clutches. He was here, Jonathan wasn’t, and nothing was ever going to be the same. “How are you feeling today?” “Where is Jonathan?” The doctor blinked in a deliberately slow way. “Tell me where he is or…” Marcus could not think of a suitable threat. “Or?” The doctor’s eyebrows rose over his green eyes. His eyes were almost the exact same color as one of the accent pillows in Jonathan’s parlor. A seafoam green that might have seemed watery on a lesser man but not this one. He made the color vibrant and terrifying. “Just tell me where he is.” “He is at his home where he always is, I imagine.” From the foot of the bed, the doctor removed a chart. He cradled the top in his hand and pressed the edge against the flat of his belly so he could make a note. “Tell me about your modifications,” the doctor asked. “I don’t know anything about them.” Truly, he had no knowledge. “If I had known what Houghton and Atwood were about, I never would have agreed.” One brow lifted. “You did not consent to the surgery?” “No.” He made a note but didn’t glance up when he asked, “And these men you named. How well did you know them?” “Houghton too long and Atwood not at all.” Houghton had dealt directly with Atwood. Marcus would not even know that man on sight. “They used military equipment to modify you.” The doctor kept his attention on the chart. “According to the military, you belong to them.” Stunned, Marcus shook his head. “I don’t belong to anyone but myself. I want to see Jonathan.” “I’m afraid that is impossible.” The doctor spoke with such finality Marcus knew arguing with him was pointless. This man had no say in the situation. He was just the one telling Marcus the horrible news. As his heart broke, tears filled his eyes, doubling then tripling his vision. “No, not this time.” He wiped away his tears and pushed aside the pain in his heart until all he felt was rage. Houghton called him my boy and thought he owned him. Atwood willingly installed this equipment in his head so he could use him. And now the military thought, because of someone else’s actions, Marcus belonged to them? No. Absolutely not. “I’m sick and tired of being ordered about!” The doctor’s eyes went round as he darted his gaze to the door. Marcus realized there must be guards just beyond that nondescript white-painted wood.
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“The military can have their equipment back,” Marcus said. “If we remove our equipment, you’ll die.” “It was put in without my consent.” Marcus sat up. He wanted to stand to appear more dignified, but given that he felt nude under the covers, he refrained. “We are aware of this.” “Then why not simply let me go? Or I can pay.” Marcus had no idea where he would get the money, but he would dig ditches if he had to. He would not go begging to Jonathan. This was his problem, and he would solve it. “If we let you go with our equipment, we pose the risk of discovery.” “By whom?” Marcus was all for military secrets, but this was absurd. He waved his hands, cutting off the explanation. “Are you trying to tell me that someday someone might stumble upon the equipment in my head and thus they might someday be able to somehow craft something that will work against Man-o-War Limited military bots?” A flash of something almost like admiration flashed in the doctor’s eyes. “It is a possibility.” “It’s very unlikely,” Marcus pointed out. “Besides, by the time someone somewhere somehow discovers what’s in my head, your military bots will have undergone upgrades.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully, reminding Marcus a bit of Jonathan when he was deep in thought. “Well?” Shifting tactics, the military doctor said, “What life do you have to go back to?” Marcus didn’t know, exactly. He hadn’t had much of a life before Jonathan. He desperately wanted a life with Jonathan, but he thought telling the man of their liaison might endanger Jonathan, so he kept that to himself. “You can’t keep me.” “You’re considered a military bot now.” “I’m human. Enhanced, but still human.” Marcus recognized that he was using Jonathan’s argument to make his point with this man. “And I have rights.” “Whatever rights you had were forfeit when our equipment was put in your head.” Switching tactics, Marcus asked, “And what do you intend to do with me?” At that, the subtlest grin lifted one edge of the doctor’s mouth, almost as if he’d lured Marcus into asking the question. “I intend to study you.” Marcus considered. “Study me?” “Yes.” He didn’t elaborate.
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Marcus realized arguing was pointless. He felt impotent and useless. What could he do against the military? Closing his eyes, he focused on Jonathan. All he wanted was to see and hear Jonathan. He focused upon his image so hard he thought he heard someone far off screaming to shut it down, shut it down! But that was so odd, Marcus dismissed the sound, until the door opened and the screaming voice became clear. “Whatever he’s doing, make him stop!” Marcus opened his eyes and realized he did indeed have a weapon.
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Chapter Fifteen
Unshaven, unkempt and utterly brokenhearted, Jonathan slumped upon the beige couch in his parlor. He wore a rumpled suit that was no longer perfectly tailored due to his recent weight loss. The days and nights had blurred such that he wasn’t sure what day it was now, but, clearly, he’d been wearing the same clothes for quite some time, given the way the fabric wrinkled around the bend in his knees, his hips and his elbows. Jonathan had no sense of time anymore. Each day he wandered Black Rock Colony, trying to locate Marcus’s signal with a crude device he’d fashioned in his laboratory. The military men had taken Marcus, the device he’d acquired from Atwood and his notes, but they had not erased the frequency number from Jonathan’s mind. Each night returning to his home without success stripped a bit more of his hope away. He wondered how much longer it would take until his hope was gone. When he slept, which was due only to sheer exhaustion, he did so in the parlor, because that was where he felt closest to Marcus. Right upon the couch where they had shared so much. Remembering that time tortured him in a way, but he was also strengthened by those visions to keep going. He would find Marcus. With his head bent to his chest, his dark hair tumbled down his forehead and brushed along his lashes, almost falling into his eyes. He could not remember the last time he’d had it cut. When he looked into the mirror across from him, he noted that dark stubble from his beard aged him but not in an entirely unflattering way. With the shadow of cheek and chin hair, he seemed more mature, almost aggressively male. The picture he cast of both a dandy and a man’s man jarred him from recognizing himself at all. He knew the reflection was his, but he did not fully connect to that presentation of himself. He heard a knock upon the front door. What time was it? He was not even sure if it was morning or night, because he had no notion of how long he’d slept. Groaning, he rose and crossed the foyer. Pale light filled the world beyond his door. Still, he could not tell the time. The knock came again. He could not make out much more than a vaguely human shape upon the doorstep. And then, to his shock, the mail flap lifted. Enraged, Jonathan stomped to the door, wrenched over the latch and pulled the door open so fast with such fury he almost pulled the damn thing off its hinges. “What is the meaning—”
Far Too Human
Jonathan stopped and jerked back almost as if struck. Marcus. On his doorstep. Dressed in the same suit he’d been taken away in. Rich browns, tweed, leather—he was so beautifully put together that Jonathan knew this had to be another dream. Even his butterscotch hair was perfectly rolled back along his head, like a long wave from a fanciful ocean. Marcus smiled at him. “I’m sorry I’m late.” Jonathan blinked rapidly and shook his head. If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up. “Marcus?” “Were you expecting someone else at this cold hour?” When Marcus stamped his feet on the mat, dislodging the bits of snow, Jonathan realized cold air poured into his home. He’d been so numb for so long, he scarcely noticed. “Well, are you going to let me in?” And then the smile slid off his face as he got a good look at him. “Jonnie, what happened to you?” No longer waiting for permission, Marcus entered the house, gently pushing Jonathan back so he could close the door. “Oh, Jonnie, are you—what did they do to you?” “They—I—oh how I have missed you!” Jonathan flung his arms around Marcus, convinced they would pass right through as they always did in his dreams, but his arms enfolded solid flesh. The cold of him seeped into Jonathan’s body, but he didn’t care. Marcus was real, and he was here, and praise the paragons of science, Jonathan was never going to let go of him again. Realizing he must be chilled to the bone, for he had no overcoat, Jonathan pulled him into the parlor and seated him by the fire. He offered him tea but then did not want to leave him alone to go and fetch it. “I will come with you. Honestly, my pet, I am not that cold. They let me out right at your door.” “Who?” “Ah, well, I am not to say exactly, but they let me go when I was no longer of any use.” Jonathan touched his cheek, his shoulder, then took his hand as he rose. Together they made tea and a small breakfast, but Jonathan did not want to stay in the dining room, so they returned to the parlor and set up there. “I can sit closer to you here.” “That I do not mind.” Marcus kissed him quickly. “But look at you! Why, you seem almost a ruffian with this harsh beard.” Marcus smoothed his fingertips over his face. “Most unlike you.” “I searched for you each day and—” “I know. The military knew too. That’s why they let me go.” Marcus left off his tea. “If you had not been so determined to find me and I had not argued so persuasively for my freedom, I don’t think I would have ever seen the light of day again.” “What happened?” “Well, they studied me, curious how Atwood and his cohorts had fashioned my enhancements.” “But the military has such in the military bots.”
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“Yes, but those bots do not retain any memories. They are scrubbed most thoroughly, because if they are not, they go quite mad.” Understanding dawned. “You kept many memories without mishap.” Marcus nodded. “Did they discover the difference?” “I do not think so. I told them my supposition, but, well, I am not a scientist, so they dismissed me.” “What was your theory?” “Love.” “Love?” “Oh, yes. I did not know at the time, but when I was being enhanced, I kept thinking of you. I longed for a second chance. Every time the scrubber came, I clung to you, determined that I could lose everything else but you.” Marcus gripped his hand firmly, as if to say nothing could drag him away, not again. “As I said before, I am not a religious man, but think of all the coincidences that brought me to your door…if not God, then fate or destiny or, well, it matters not what label it has. I am supposed to be with you.” Jonathan nodded. Naming the forces that brought them together didn’t matter. Knowing that they belonged together was what was important. “So, I am not late, am I?” “What?” Jonathan could only look at him, baffled. He was so happy to have him back, he did not even know where to start. “I know how fussy you are about promptness. I simply hope I am not too terribly late.” Grinning so big his face felt tight, Jonathan pulled him close, kissed him hard and murmured, “You are right on time.”
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About the Author
Anitra Lynn McLeod has been writing since she was twelve. Creating unique worlds is her forte, combining unlikely genres such as historical, fantasy, futuristic and erotic into a steampunky—and steamy—brew. Reading, writing, and white-water rafting are the three things she enjoys the most. You can visit her at www.AnitraMcLeod.com,
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Look for these titles by Anitra Lynn McLeod
Now Available: The Fringe Thief Overlord Onic Empire Wicked Empress Dark Empress
Coming Soon: The Fringe Runner
Four people. One rope. Desire plunged into dangerous obsession.
Dark Empress © 2011 Anitra Lynn McLeod Onic Empire, Book 5 Errion Ald’Areed senses that his business partner’s passion for designing pleasure upgrades for service robots has cooled, but nothing he’s tried—men, women, exotic adventures—has lifted Lorren D’Buren’s ennui. Until he sees the look in Lorren’s eyes when the intergalactic ambassador from Diola crosses their path at a charity ball. Under the watchful eye of Gabriyel, her faithful bodyguard, Farjika is determined to live down her empress mother’s scandalous reputation for taking multiple lovers. Her instant attraction to Lorren, though, tempts her to cross her self-imposed bounds of propriety. And Gabriyel is shocked that his level-headed mistress has fallen so easily into a torrid affair. At first Errion is pleased that Farjika has roused Lorren out of his funk. When he notices the depth of the mutual fascination, though, he realizes he must act quickly—or lose his sometime lover and best friend. His plan to eliminate the threat is perfect in its beautiful complexity. Until one snag in his delicate web of seduction plunges them all into a potentially deadly tangle with no way out… Warning: Contains humor, masturbatory robots, mystical BDSM, stern punishments and more variations on m/m/m/f than the author can count. Sex toys are not included with purchase but are strongly recommended.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Dark Empress: “Tell me, my lovely one, what do you hope to accomplish here on Avalith?” Errion knew the question was a light one. Any visitor would have a stock answer ready to spew out to satisfy any who asked, yet Farjika actually considered his question. Lifting her gaze to capture his, she softly informed him, “My world is isolated. We have been so for many hundreds of thousands of seasons. I hope by coming here, to Avalith, and donating a large portion of funds, to show the galactic community that we are concerned with our brethren. That we wish to break free from our self-imposed seclusion.” Errion wanted to capture her mouth, cutting off her words long before she could finish speaking them. Not only was she utterly lovely, but she was kind and sweet. Worse, she had a conscience. She wasn’t just repeating words she’d been told to say, she honestly believed in what she said. Red flashes of warning went off behind his eyes. This woman was dangerous. Farjika truly could sway Lorren from any path he might be on, and she could do it without much effort. Farjika was a woman who could steal a man’s soul without
intention. Raylor’s bursting balls, but she’d effortlessly stolen Errion’s attention and yet seemed utterly unaware! As he drew her into the main room, her gaze slid around, appreciating the paintings, sculptures, rugs and the furniture. She finally settled her gaze on Errion. “I am impressed by your estate. You clearly have a unique turn toward art.” He nodded, offering her a drink, which she cupped lightly in her hand. “How long will you stay on Avalith?” She took a sip to give herself time to think of her answer, and he realized she honestly didn’t know. Her hesitation worried him. His gut told him her stay depended on what happened with Lorren. “I find I am intrigued by your planet. I would like to stay and learn more about your culture even after my official visit has come to a close.” As she spoke, he noticed she kept taking surreptitious glances at one sculpture in particular. He had to work hard to suppress a lusty grin. “Where are you staying?” Casually, he maneuvered himself across the room until he was standing near the life-sized rendering of an intricately bound woman. Between her parted legs, a man thrust deeply into her. The woman’s head was bowed in submission; however, her face was still visible as her hair was drawn away. The man’s head was flung back in ecstasy, his lips peeling away from his teeth with an artfully captured snarl of possession. “I am staying in my skip.” When he tilted his head, she offered, “A small planet-safe ship while my larger spacecraft remains in orbit.” She took another sip of her drink that turned into more of a gulp when she drew her eyes away from him and the erotic rendering. “Master D’Buren graciously offered one of his fallow fields to station the craft.” “Lorren’s father is always so generous with visiting dignitaries.” Usually so he could finagle an exclusive marketing contract for his robotic servants. Wouldn’t he be surprised when he realized Diola had no desire for mechanization? “Is something wrong?” Darting her gaze to the entwined figures, then away, she whispered, “Are all of your statues so explicit?” Errion laughed. Her head stayed low as her gazed traveled up. She seemed unsure if he were laughing at her or at what she’d said. “Explicit?” He chuckled as he slapped his hand to the man’s muscular ass. “He’s fucking her as she wishes.” Eyes widening at the vulgarity, Farjika cupped the fragile glass, which trembled in her hand. He could tell she struggled with the idea of whether she should say something or not. In the end, her curiosity got the
better of her. Darting her gaze around to ensure they were alone, she asked, “If she wants him, then why is she bound?” The woman’s arms were artfully tied behind her back, and she used them to leverage herself up. Her legs embraced the man who had his head back in the throes of release. Lowering his gaze, pinning her where she stood, Errion murmured, “She is bound because she finds pleasure in giving control to the man.” Softly, he asked, “Haven’t you ever let a lover tie you up?” Farjika’s gaze met his, her pupils dilating. In that moment, he saw the hunger in her eyes. A dark hunger for something that Lorren would never give her but Errion could. Before she could answer, he deftly removed his jacket, tossing it casually on a nearby chair. “I would think a future empress would be well schooled in the art of lust.” He turned, giving her an excellent view of his bulging trousers. Pleasure rippled across his tense muscles when she looked down then quickly away. Slowly and deliberately, he looked at her chest, making sure she saw him looking. He noticed her nipples pressed tightly against the fabric, twin bits of tightened flesh. “I understand that on Diola, sex is practically your religion.” “That is not true.” She frowned at what he’d said. Her displeasure deepened when she noticed the way he was looking at her. Setting her drink upon the closest table, she said, “Sadly, many seem to think that it is, but I assure you—” “How did it feel when he slid his tongue into you?” Caught off guard by the question, she sputtered in shock, then turned her gaze around the room again. “Where is Lorren?” Running his finger down the rope that bound the woman’s breasts, he murmured, “He’s a little tied up at the moment.” He could tell that Farjika was trying to determine if he were being literal or not. “I think I should go.” Her skirt flared around her legs as she spun toward the door. “Without a word to Lorren? That’s hardly courteous behavior,” he scoffed, continuing to stroke the rope that trailed down the woman’s torso. The metal felt cool below the heat of his hand. “Especially after all the trouble he went to for you.” She stopped in midstride, apparently thinking over what she should do. He’d hit his mark well; she did not wish to appear ungracious or rude, not to the object of her affection. Frankly, he didn’t mind getting another look at the back of her dress and her hair, which was startlingly similar to the rope on the statue. Farjika would look exquisite bound, and binding would only heighten her awareness of her body. Already he could picture how he would drape the silk rope around her frame using various lengths of crimson cord that would highlight the color of her skin. Deliberately, he would place the knots to give her the greatest pleasure. To have her bound and at his mercy was such a
heady prospect, he couldn’t stop thinking of the ways he could pose her. Of course, if he acted on his cravings, Lorren would kill him. “Lorren will join us shortly.” Errion had carefully arranged the evening so that he would have a chance to be alone with Farjika. He tossed off his drink and set the empty aside. Crossing the parlor, his bare feet silent on the thick carpet, he moved until he was standing right behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she drew a short breath. “What are you doing?” Touching her with only his breath when he hungered to do so much more, he said, “I’m admiring your dress.” Goose bumps washed along the backs of her arms. “Did he slide his finger into you?” She closed her eyes, her lips parting with shock, but then she asked, “Why are you doing this?” “Because I’m curious.” Fearing that she might bolt, he placed his hands gently on her shoulders. Not holding her but reminding her that she should stay. “Tell me how good it felt to have him on his knees, worshiping you with his mouth.” She shook her head in denial, but he could see her nipples straining against the fabric of her bodice. Standing this near, he felt her heat rise, giving off more of her delightful fragrance. Slowly, carefully, he maneuvered her around until she faced the erotic statue while he stood behind her. “Look at her face.” Lowering his lips to the edge of her ear, he whispered, “Look at the pleasure she derives from submission.” Pressing his cock against the split of her bottom caused her to gasp, but she didn’t move away. “Even bound, she strains to meet his thrust.” Trailing his hands from her shoulders to the top of her dress, he slid his fingertips along the edge of the fabric that encircled her chest. Involuntarily she arched, pressing her breasts up to meet his touch and forcing her bottom into closer contact with his cock. Her firm softness through the layers of fabric was far more arousing than actual contact could ever be. Errion took a deep breath to steady himself. “Tell me the truth, Farjika, you’ve never thought about being bound before tonight?” “No.” Her answer came out swiftly, forcefully and almost defensively. “But now, it’s all you can think about.” Her lips parted in automatic denial, but she closed them ever so slowly, her head shaking back and forth, her delicately arched brows lowered in confusion. “Imagine yourself as that woman.” Her gaze went instinctively toward the statue. “Silky rope binds your arms behind your back, putting you at the mercy of the man before you.” He hesitated then decided he would have only one chance to plant the seed, so he forged ahead. He grabbed her wrists before she could react and pulled them behind her back. When she dropped her head, exhaling a long whimpering sigh of surrender, she said more than words ever could.
Is it real, or just smoke and mirrors?
The Brass Box © 2010 K.M. Mahoney As a member of the British gentry, Marcus Fleetwood-Smythe’s life is an endless round of responsibility and duty. Charged with finding a magician for his sister’s upcoming wedding, he ventures out into the pouring rain and finds Teague, whose free spirit calls to Marcus. And makes him hunger for anything and everything his position won’t allow him to have. Teague’s stock in trade are his wandering feet and the rather odd lineage that takes the wonders he performs on stage beyond the ordinary. But there’s nothing more magical than the sparks that fly between him and Marcus. Except the duty-bound Marcus fears letting go of a life that’s smothering him almost as much as he fears discovery. Desire fans the flames until it flares into forbidden passion, leaving Marcus poised on the precipice of the most frightening choice of his life. Risk everything for the man who holds his heart…or watch his one chance at forever vanish in a puff of smoke. Warning: Two stubborn men, one steamy carriage ride, and a little bit of magic may produce more than a few sparks.
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Brass Box: “I want to thank you for participating in my performance,” Teague remarked absently, wandering the room with a leisurely air, touching things here and there in Marcus’s study. Marcus had the unsettling feeling that Teague was seeing far more than most people did. Seeing him in the objects he chose to surround himself with. “It was utterly fascinating,” Marcus admitted. “Though I do have several questions.” Glass clinked gently as he pulled the stopper from the decanter and poured them both a snifter of excellent French brandy. “Ah, a magician never reveals the tricks of his trade.” Their fingers met briefly when Marcus passed over the drink. They shared a small smile. Teague tossed his alcohol back with a quick motion. “There, amenities dispensed with.” His voice still rang with the trace of upper-class accent he used when performing. “Shall we proceed to the fun and games?” Marcus choked. He gaped in an open-mouthed impression of a fish. Teague threw back his head and laughed, a rich sound that resonated deep in Marcus’s gut. “God, man, you’re absolutely gorgeous.”
Strong hands wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him close. Marcus’s glass dropped to the floor and bounced on the plush rug as Teague’s mouth crashed down on his. Thought vanished. Marcus wrapped his fingers in Teague’s thick hair and held on. With a huge sense of relief, he consigned his inner demons to oblivion. The kiss left room for nothing else. No thought, no duty, just feeling and a lust that raged out of control. They fought for dominance, tongues tangling. Someone moaned. Marcus thought it might have been him. He pulled back, gasping for breath. “Bloody damn.” “Agreed.” Marcus took two steps back and they landed on the small sofa. Teague grabbed the back for balance with one hand and Marcus’s hip with another. “I don’t think we planned this very well,” he said. Marcus suddenly broke Teague’s hold on him. “What the hell are we doing?” he muttered. “My sister’s guests are still here.” “The door is locked. No one is going to walk in on us.” “I’m loud,” Marcus admitted ruefully. “They may not walk in on us, but they’ll most definitely hear us.” Teague leaned in for another kiss. This time their lips met gently. Marcus slipped his tongue into the warm heat, swirling it around Teague’s. They pulled back and reconnected, lazily exploring, hands roving over sides and backs. “I want you.” Marcus heard the hint of desperation in his voice, but couldn’t bring himself to mind too much. From the way Teague was breathing and the size of the ridge pressing against his leg, the other man was feeling an equal sense of need. Marcus suddenly ripped himself free of Teague’s hold. His own hands wanted to cling, but he wouldn’t let them. He stalked behind his desk, shoving his fingers into his hair and tugging in frustration. “I’d like nothing better than to haul you upstairs to my bedchamber and keep you there until morning, but it’s simply not possible. There’s no privacy here.” “Then come home with me,” Teague offered calmly. “I have rooms above the shop. Small, but you can yell as loudly as you like. No one will pay the slightest bit of attention in that area.” Moments later, the pair exited the townhouse. Marcus pulled his coat up tighter around his ears and his hat down farther on his head and wondered how on earth Teague had talked him into this. The man had the charm and persuasive skills of Lucifer himself. “This is a really stupid idea,” he muttered, more to himself than his companion. “Nonsense,” Teague remarked cheerfully. “It’s a bloody brilliant idea.”
The practical side of Marcus’s brain wanted to catalog everything that could go wrong. It insisted on listing, in numerical order of importance, his many responsibilities, followed by a stern lecture on the necessity of retaining his reputation and the danger of discovery. His body consigned the practical to the deepest, darkest pit of hell, and he hailed a passing hansom cab. Teague settled himself into the seat across from Marcus and gave the driver directions. Their legs brushed in the close confines, each breath sounding abnormally loud. “How long until we reach your lodgings?” Marcus asked in a hoarse voice. “Nearly twenty minutes, if the roads are clear.” “Too long.” Teague hummed his concurrence. Oh, bloody hell. Marcus couldn’t wait that long. He flung his body across the small space separating them, relishing the look of surprise on Teague’s face. As cool as the man was, Marcus figured it was a rare thing to take Teague off-guard. He grabbed the man with a low grunt, narrowly avoiding an elbow in the stomach. The two men were of a similar build, although Teague sported a more muscular frame. That didn’t mean Marcus was a lightweight. Teague gasped under the extra pressure, yielding with a delicious moan of pleasure. Marcus curled his hands into Teague’s overcoat and threw every inch of his soul into the kiss. He trusted this man to catch him, and more than just physically. He pulled back long enough to take a deep breath and whisper, “God, Teague,” before diving right back in. Teague delved into the warm, moist heat of Marcus’s mouth in return, equal emotion sliding along Marcus’s nerve endings from the caress of hands and mouth. Teague’s tongue slid past teeth, diving in and out with a suggestive rhythm. “Want you,” Marcus murmured, sliding his lips down Teague’s neck, tongue flicking out to taste the trace of blossoming sweat. The fragrance and flavor of the man went straight to his cock, a heady combination of man and something uniquely Teague. Marcus had hardly expected his first time with Teague to be in the back of a carriage, but he wasn’t willing to wait. He didn’t think Teague was, either. Teague’s fingers were digging into Marcus’s hips and leaving bruises; his breathing was harsh and ragged. The gentle swaying of the conveyance and the drifting sounds of the outside world added to the growing tension with rapid force. Marcus had never enjoyed a kiss so much, never could have imagined that the act could penetrate so deeply beyond the carnal. He had the sneaking suspicion that his question about whether or not he was capable of love was going to be answered far sooner than he had anticipated.
Marcus thought he would be content to kiss Teague for the rest of the night, but soon it wasn’t enough. His body burned for more. His cock throbbed in the tight confines of his trousers, and he shifted unconsciously. “So passionate,” Teague murmured against his skin as Marcus tried his best to crawl inside the big Irishman. “I do like that in a lover.” Teague wedged his hand between their bodies. Marcus squirmed, trying to make enough space between them so Teague could reach his lower body. He wanted that hand on him, and he wanted it now. It took Teague seconds to undo the plackets of Marcus’s pants, but those seconds seemed endless. Teague’s kisses turned frantic, needy. Teague’s fingers finally closed around his prize. Marcus groaned low in his throat as the heat from Teague’s hand sank into his burning flesh. He’d never felt anything more wonderful in his life. “More,” Marcus panted. The feel of Teague’s long fingers wrapping around his cock was nearly enough to have him spilling his seed right then like a virgin schoolboy. God, sex had never been like this before. “I’ve got you, love,” Teague whispered as his fingers began a gentle slide up and down Marcus’s heated flesh. “That you do,” Marcus replied, amazed he could even manage speech. All his focus had flown right out the carriage window the instant Teague’s lips had merged with his. Oh, God. The window. His body threatened to stiffen up as his blasted mind reminded him of where they were. Shut up, Marcus, he told himself firmly. Teague slid his fingers over the head of his cock, and suddenly Marcus couldn’t care less where they were. Hell, they could be sitting at a box at the Opera House and he would just beg for more. “Teague, slow down. I’m going to—” “Go ahead.” “Wanted this to last.” “Next time.” Marcus’s hips thrust uncontrollably as Teague’s hand worked up and down his shaft, fingers twisting over the head on each downward stroke. “Damn it, man.” “Let go,” Teague whispered. When Marcus opened his eyes, Teague’s eyes were devouring him with a hunger he felt down into his gut.
