Comrades in Arms by Jackie Barbosa
Comrades in Arms By Jackie Barbosa
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Comrades in Arms by Jackie Barbosa
Comrades in Arms By Jackie Barbosa
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Comrades in Arms by Jackie Barbosa
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Comrades in Arms Copyright© 2008 Jackie Barbosa ISBN: 978‐1‐60088‐339‐2 Cover Artist: Bree Bridges Editor: Stephanie Parent All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. Cobblestone Press, LLC www.cobblestone‐press.com
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Comrades in Arms by Jackie Barbosa
Dedication As always, to my wonderful friends, fellow writers, and critique partners—too numerous to name, but you all know who you are—with special thanks to Anna Leigh Keaton and Ericka Scott and my editor, Stephanie Parent, all of whom made this piece the best it could be. And to my readers…the only ones whose opinion truly matters.
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Comrades in Arms by Jackie Barbosa
Somewhere in the English Channel, August 1815 The war was over. Napoleon was banished, peace restored. And he was on his way home. For the first time in years, Lieutenant Heath Wetherill of the 12th Light Dragoons had a reason to be happy. And yet, he was miserable. Because going home meant the end of his year‐long affair with Lord Charles Langdon, Earl of Kettlesing and captain of his regiment. An affair they’d never intended to begin, but which had sustained them both through the horrors of battle and the otherwise dreary routine of regimental life. But now they were bound for England, their commissions sold, their lives as cavalry officers at an end. And that would bring the end of the association that had come to mean everything to Heath. Charles was married, and Heath soon would be if his family had anything to say about it. In fact, he anticipated a line of debutantes would await him in the foyer, right behind his parents, when he arrived at the ancestral home. He might be second in line for the title, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be expected to produce legitimate offspring, just in case his older brother continued to fail at the task of fathering an heir. Heath braced his arms against the ship’s railings and stared into the unfathomable depths of the churning, gray‐green ocean waters below. A thousand times he had expected to die. Each night, as he drifted off to sleep in the safety of Charles’ embrace, he’d known the joy couldn’t last. Known that the very next day, one or both of them could be killed in the line of duty. Somehow, that thought had never bothered him. Heath accepted
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the hazards of military service the same way he accepted the blueness of the sky or the bitterness of absinthe—without question or complaint. He took each day as it came and gave no thought to tomorrow. But now, he knew what tomorrow held. Death would almost be preferable to certainty. He pushed away from the railing. He was many things, but he was not a coward. And he would find a way to live the life he’d somehow managed to survive long enough to face. But first, he would have one last night with Charles. His captain. His friend. His lover. * * * * * Heath slipped into Charles’ cabin just as the sun sank beneath the rim of the horizon, leaving streaks of pink, orange, and gold to fade across the darkening deep blue sky. Charles stretched out on the narrow bunk, clad only in tight breeches that accentuated the muscular curves of his calves and thighs. Propped against a bevy of pillows, he held a book in one hand and a glass of fine French brandy in the other. When Heath closed the door, Charles turned his dark blond head and smiled. “I thought perhaps you wouldn’t come.” He set the glass on the small table beside him and swung his legs over the edge of the bunk as he sat up. “How could I not?” Heath closed the brief space between them in three long strides and knelt between his lover’s legs. “I want you tonight more than ever.” He placed his hands on Charles’ hard thighs, aching to feel skin beneath his palms instead of fabric. “And I intend to come as often as possible.” Charles laughed, but only briefly. Heath could see Charles’ cock hardening and lengthening through the tight breeches. Nothing made Charles more serious than lust. He fucked with more deadly concentration than he exuded in battle. “Then we’d better get started,” Charles said. He stood up and shifted his fingers to the falls of his breeches. He unfastened one button,
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then another, with slow, teasing precision. When the last button came undone, he jerked his cock free and rubbed the head across Heath’s waiting lips. Heath’s breath caught as Charles’ familiar, musky scent assailed his nostrils, causing his own cock to thicken and his blood to pound in his ears. He sucked Charles into his mouth and down into his throat, reveling in the silky texture and salty flavor of his lover’s skin. Charles speared his fingers into Heath’s hair to hold his head steady and then fucked Heath’s mouth, first slowly and then with rough abandon. Heath reached up to fondle Charles’ balls through his drawers, drawing a shuddery moan. Charles pulled out abruptly, his breath coming in harsh pants. “Not ready to come yet. Get up and disrobe, Lieutenant.” “Yes, sir!” Heath shucked his clothing with swift efficiency while Charles removed his breeches. A pitch of the ship caused Heath to lose his balance as he was removing his Hessians, but Charles caught him before he fell. When Heath was nude, Charles pulled him into his arms and kissed him, a searing, open‐mouthed, tongue‐laden kiss that left Heath hot and breathless and harder than ever. God knew Heath had never expected to fall in love with a man, never expected to lust for the touch of another man’s hands, mouth, and cock. But after one particularly gory battle in which the 12th had lost three of its best men, Heath had gone to Charles’ tent, hoping for some words of comfort from his friend and commanding officer. Somehow, what had begun as a reassuring embrace had changed, mutating into desire. Perhaps it was just a need for physical pleasure to drive out the maddening emptiness of grief and loss, or perhaps it was something that had been latent in Heath all his life. All he knew was that when Charles moved to kiss him, Heath hadn’t thought to stop him, and when Charles removed his cock from his breeches and asked Heath to suck him, he hadn’t thought to say no. And when Charles laid Heath down upon the bed and slowly, carefully slid his cock into Heath’s arse, it didn’t occur to Heath to do anything but savor the incredible intensity of sensation and eroticism of the moment.
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From then on, there had never been a question. He and Charles were true comrades‐in‐arms. “God, I want you,” Charles whispered against Heath’s open lips, drawing him back from his reminiscences of their first time together. In truth, their couplings had only gotten better, hotter, more deeply erotic since then. Heath stroked the taut musculature of Charles’ back and sighed. “And I, you.” Charles reached down between their bodies and grasped Heath’s penis firmly in his palm. Their mouths met again as Charles worked Heath with expert fingers, bringing him near to climax several times. But Heath knew from experience that Charles wouldn’t let him come. Not until Charles was buried deep inside him and ready to come himself. Anticipation for that moment made him shiver, nearly throwing him over the edge into an inadvertent orgasm. Charles lifted his head. “I’d like to try something different tonight, if you’ve no objection.” Heath struggled to rouse himself from his lust‐induced stupor. “Different?” he repeated dumbly. Charles nodded, a small twinkle of amusement lighting his beautiful, deep brown eyes. “I would have you fuck me tonight, Lieutenant.” To emphasize his point, he squeezed Heath’s thick erection and said, “I would have this cock in my arse as I have had mine in yours.” Heath’s head swam, his vision blurring. So many times, he had wanted to know what Charles felt when he fucked Heath. But he had never dreamed of asking Charles to permit such a thing—partly because Charles had always taken the lead in all their erotic encounters, and partly because, in truth, Heath had never experienced anything as radiantly intense as coming with Charles’ cock inside him. Heath had coupled with women before, of course, mostly courtesans and whores of various levels of expertise and expense, and while there was nothing objectionable in the experience—indeed, it was quite satisfactory—it was nothing compared to the pleasures he found in Charles’ bed.
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“Are you game, soldier?” Charles’ question broke through Heath’s riotous thoughts. Heath met Charles’ gaze and nodded slowly. “Excellent.” Charles pulled himself from Heath’s embrace and crawled onto the bunk on all fours, his ripe, round buttocks sticking up into the air. It was an invitation Heath recognized instantly. He climbed on the bed behind Charles and kneaded the muscles for a moment, wringing a groan from his lover. Then he spread Charles’ cheeks wide and leaned down, swiping his tongue across the tightly puckered hole. Charles sucked in an audible breath as Heath licked and probed. Having been at the receiving end of this treatment many times, Heath was more than familiar with how wickedly good it felt. What he didn’t expect was for his own arousal to explode like cannon fire through his veins at the tangy, peppery taste of his lover’s arsehole beneath his tongue and at the knowledge he was driving the other man mad with desire. Heath slipped one hand around Charles’ hip and found his cock, thick and proud and humming with life. Charles gasped, perhaps with surprise, at the contact, but Heath didn’t waver from his goal. He worked Charles’ cock and arse together, taking a fierce, triumphant delight in the heavy moans and muffled curses the combination of sensations wrung from his lover. Sounds he knew he himself had made many times during their couplings, but that he, Heath, now controlled. It was heady and more erotic than anything he could ever have imagined. His cock throbbed heavily, pulsating with need, and he knew it was time. Heath slapped one of Charles’ cheeks. “Roll over,” he ordered gruffly. “I would fuck you now.” The tables turned, Charles scrambled to comply. When he lay on his back, legs spread, knees bent, hips tilted, Heath reached for the oil on the bedside table and poured a generous dollop on his fingers. Bracing himself on one arm, he leaned down to tease Charles’ nipples with his tongue as he worked one fingertip past the tight rim of his anus. When a second digit joined the first, Charles’ sphincter tightened in refusal, but Heath knew the reflex well—that it was unavoidable but possible to
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overcome—and continued the invasion. Slowly, with infinite care and…yes…love, he added a third finger and waited for the muscles to yield as he knew they would. “Jesus,” Charles muttered thickly as Heath began to work his fingers in and out of the tight orifice. Charles grabbed his cock and began wanking himself with swift, even strokes. “That feels so fucking good,” he groaned, his hips working up and down in time with Heath’s thrusting fingers. Heath laughed. “I know.” He swatted Charles’ hand. “Stop that. It’ll be better if you come later.” Charles grunted in displeasure but obeyed. Heath withdrew his fingers and retrieved the oil again, this time lubricating his cock with it. He pushed Charles’ legs forward and apart to gain a better angle before lining up with his already shrinking hole and pressing the head of his cock past the rim. A giddy wave of pleasure rushed over him as he slowly seated himself deeper and deeper into Charles’ arse. This was better than pussy by several orders of magnitude—tighter, hotter, nastier. Heath rested his forehead against Charles’, panting in a desperate attempt to keep from coming at nothing more than the sensation of being inside his lover for the first time. And the last. Heath pushed away the thought, determined not to allow thoughts of the future to invade and spoil the present. Charles’ cock had softened a bit as a result of the penetration, something Heath had experienced the first few times they’d fucked. Having one’s arse stretched and filled with the entire length and breadth of another man’s cock was such an intense feeling, it could overcome all others. He tugged Charles’ hand back down to his cock. “Now would be a good time to toss off,” he said with a grin. It didn’t take long for Charles to bring himself back to a thick, hard erection, and that was when Heath began to move. He thrust slowly at first, withdrawing only a fraction before sinking back in again, but it
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didn’t take long for him to realize that Charles was not only with him, but a bit ahead of him. Soon, he was pumping Charles’ arse with wild, rough ferocity, his orgasm building deep in his balls as he watched his lover’s eyes glaze over in response to an impending climax of his own. He felt Charles’ muscles constrict around his cock seconds before the first spurt of semen erupted and fell onto Charles’ rippled abdomen. Heath grunted and let go, driving in once, twice more before he came in an explosion as sharp and gut‐wrenching as gunfire. * * * * * Heath woke to find the bunk cold and empty. The sway and roll of the ship had lulled him to sleep, though how long ago, he wasn’t sure. He blinked against the darkness, seeking Charles. His lover stood in one corner of the room, nude, arms folded across his chest. Heath had often seen Charles do this in the middle of the night, when he was contemplating strategy for an upcoming battle or considering the appropriate punishment for a cavalryman who had disobeyed an order, though the latter happened rarely. But now that their military lives were behind them, Heath couldn’t fathom what could occupy Charles’ thoughts with such single‐minded intensity. Unless he, too, was wracked by the knowledge that their time together was at its end. But Heath had never been certain that Charles loved him as he loved Charles. After all, Charles was ten years his senior and married to a woman whose surpassing beauty and charm was oft‐remarked among the officer corps. It was one thing for Charles to lie with Heath when he had few other options, when their need for one another was driven as much by the desire to erase horrors of war as by the desire for passion and pleasure. It would be quite different once Charles had his warm and willing wife back in his bed. Heath decided not to press the question. There must still be many hours until dawn, and he did not intend to waste them in maudlin contemplation when he could spend them making the memories that would have to sustain him from now on.
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But there was one question to which he needed answer. He rose up on one elbow. “Have you ever done that before?” Charles jerked his head in Heath’s direction. “Allowed a man to fuck me?” Heath nodded. Charles’ expression was inscrutable in the darkness. “No. You’re special.” He pushed away from the wall and came to sit on the edge of the bunk. “I love you, Heath.” Heath’s heart pranced like a warhorse on parade. The words he most longed to hear, spoken at last. “I love you, too.” Charles smiled. “I know.” He leaned down to kiss Heath, a tender brush of firm, sweet lips. When Charles would have pulled away, however, Heath drew him closer and deepened the contact, as if to brand Charles once and for all as his own. No matter that they must part. Charles growled, all gentleness banished by the harsh desire that arced between them. Their tongues met and sparred, and Heath reached down between Charles’ legs to caress his stiffening cock. Heath’s own cock was already fully hard and throbbing with need. He broke off the kiss. “Fuck me now, Charles.” “Your wish is my command.” Charles applied a generous amount of oil to his cock, then rolled Heath up onto his side and lifted his top leg. He slid into Heath’s ready and willing arse with little resistance, and Heath groaned with pleasure at the heavy, biting sensation of his lover’s thick shaft buried deep inside him. Nothing felt better, more right than Charles fucking him like this. “Damn me, that’s good,” Charles muttered as he drew almost all the way out and plunged back in, hard and fast. There was no mercy in Charles, and never had been. How could there be in a battle‐hardened officer who’d killed hundreds of men and watched hundreds more die? But Heath reveled in Charles’ violence, his ferocity—for this was how Charles demonstrated his devotion, whether to a man or to a cause. Heath stroked his cock and balls as Charles pummeled him. He’d
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be sore tomorrow, for this was by far the most aggressive fuck Charles had ever given him, yet he would revel in the pain as a memento of their time together. His orgasm curled up in his testicles and he massaged his prick with greater speed and precision, pushing himself up to the edge. Charles let out a shout and went rigid, and Heath felt the contractions as his lover pumped spurt after spurt of semen deep in his arse. His own climax came seconds later, his warm, wet seed spilling onto the blanket beside him. Bliss. * * * * * They made love twice more during the night. The first time, Heath stretched out on his stomach, his cock trapped between the bedsheets and his own abdomen, while Charles fucked him from behind. The second, Heath lay on his back and Charles straddled him, riding Heath’s cock with the expert precision of a fine horseman. As the early glow of dawn seeped in through the cabin’s porthole, Heath drifted off to sleep, cradled against Charles’ broad chest. “I don’t know how I shall go on without you,” Heath murmured drowsily just before slumber overcame him. Charles brushed his lips against Heath’s forehead. “Perhaps it won’t come to that.” Heath had no time to ponder the meaning of this remark, or even whether he’d really heard it or only imagined it as, exhausted and sated, he slipped off into dreams. * * * * * When Heath caught his first glimpse of Charles’ wife, Isabella, Countess of Kettlesing, through the crowd on the Portsmouth quayside, he knew he’d been relegated to Hell. She was even lovelier than rumor had led him to imagine. Her reddish‐gold curls peeked out from beneath her oversized straw bonnet, framing a flawless, oval face that rivaled that of an angel. Small and slender, she wore a white muslin gown that
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whipped about her legs in the ocean wind. A bright, joyous smile lit her delicate features as she ran to embrace her husband. Heath could no more hope to compete with this creature for Charles’ affections than he could hope to fly. He could scarcely bear to watch their tender reunion, Isabella pressing tender kisses to Charles’ freshly‐shaved cheeks while he hugged her tightly, possessively to him. Feeling like an intruder, Heath was about to turn and walk away, his chest hollow, when a small palm closed around his upper arm. “You must be Heath,” Isabella said in a voice as sweet as her face. “Charles has written me many letters telling me all about you.” Surely, not all about him! Heath did his best to put on a sunny expression despite the pain in his chest. “I am, my lady. It is a pleasure to meet you.” He swept a bow then straightened, noticing for the first time the tiny dusting of freckles across Lady Kettlesing’s nose and cheeks. They made her look prettier, more real than an unmarred ivory complexion would have done, and to his surprise, he felt a twinge of lust as he stared down into her china blue eyes. She studied him in silence for several seconds, as though measuring him up, and Heath wanted to squirm with discomfort, but he didn’t. Instead, he caught Charles’ gaze and saw that his lover was…amused. At length, Isabella laughed, a husky, unexpectedly erotic sound, and turned to her husband. “Well, my darling, I quite see why you fell for him.” Heath’s head damn near exploded as he realized Charles had told her all about him. All about him. And she didn’t mind. Dumbstruck, he listened as the couple discussed him almost as though he weren’t there. And in truth, he felt as though he had somehow been dislocated from his body, which seemed to have been rendered quite incapable of either speech or movement. “Then you approve, my sweet?” Charles asked. “Oh, most assuredly. That is, if he is willing.” “I have little doubt of that, Belle, but I do suppose we ought to
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consult him.” “Then you haven’t told him?” “No. I did not wish to give him false hope, should you be opposed.” Heath at last roused himself from his stupor. “Willing to do what? Tell me what?” Charles exchanged a knowing glance with his wife, who nodded and took Heath’s rein‐roughened hand in her smooth, dainty one. The contact sent a fresh tingle of lust to his groin, and her blue eyes sparkled as if she read his mind…or, more accurately, his body…as easily as she would a street sign. “When I said Charles told me all about you, Lieutenant, I was speaking the truth.” She cast a brief, wary gaze around them, for the wharf still milled with people, and Heath realized she did not wish their conversation overheard by prying ears. But no one seemed to pay their trio any mind, and so she squeezed his hand and smiled. “You must understand that, before we married, Charles shared with me his need for the companionship of other men, not just as friends, but as lovers. I have always known and accepted this facet of my husband’s nature, and have even grown to enjoy it. Over the years, we have shared a number of lovers for short periods of time. “When Charles wrote me of you, however, I knew, perhaps before he did...” she cast an indulgent glance at her husband, and he raised his eyebrow in response, “...that you were different. Special. That he didn’t just desire you, but loved you. “At first, I was concerned. I feared Charles’ affections would be divided, that he could not love me if he also loved you. But then I thought of our three children, and how I love each of them, and how my love for one is never diluted by my love for another. And I realized perhaps it could be that way for Charles and you and me. “So when he wrote and asked if I would be willing to take you into our home and our bed, I knew I could only agree.” Heath’s head spun as he tried to compass what he had just heard.
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In all his time on the battlefield, through one bloody melee after another, he had never come close to losing consciousness, yet he thought he might now. Charles reached out to steady him, drawing him back from the blackening edges of his vision. “Why didn’t you tell me this…before?” he choked out. “Isabelle’s letter hadn’t time to reach me before we arrived home. I wasn’t certain what her answer would be. As I said, I did not wish to give you false hope. I am sorry if I caused you pain.” The memory of Charles’ words the previous night as he had drifted on into sleep came to him. “That’s what you meant last night.” “Aye. But I couldn’t say more then. And you must know, if you agree, you are taking on both of us. And my Belle...” He looked fondly toward his wife. “...can be a demanding lover.” She squared her shoulders and stuck out her tongue in mock reproof. “I am not demanding. I simply know what I like.” She turned back at Heath, her gaze sweeping over him with clear, feminine approval. “And I like you quite well, Lieutenant.” Heath grinned as an emotion resembling joy blossomed in his chest. He couldn’t quite believe this was real…indeed, he feared now he’d wake any moment to find himself still on the ship and know this was nothing but a crazy, impossible dream. But it looked and tasted and smelled real, for he could catch the salt air on his tongue and the sweet berries‐and‐cream scent of the woman who looked up at him and awaited his answer. What would it be like to kiss her, to touch her, to fuck her, a woman who wasn’t paid for her favors but gave herself freely because she chose to? He wasn’t sure, but his cock twitched, eager to find out. “I like you quite well, too, my lady.” “Isabelle, Lieutenant. Or Belle, if you prefer.” “Then you must call me Heath.” Isabelle hooked her arm through Heath’s on one side, Charles’ on the other. “Then it is settled. I’ve booked a suite at a nearby hotel.” Charles’ brow wrinkled. “I thought we would make Southampton by tonight.”
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Comrades in Arms by Jackie Barbosa
“Oh, darling, after you’d been away for more than a year, surely you didn’t think I’d wish to ride anything but your delicious cock for at least a full day.” Heath’s shock at hearing such dirty talk from such an angelic mouth was incinerated by Isabelle’s next words. “And with not one, but two cocks to ride, I think I may need a trifle longer than that.” * * * * * The hotel was small but immaculate, and the airy suite on its top floor was composed of a large sitting room adjoining a cozy bedchamber. The French doors to the sea were thrown open and a gentle, sea‐scented breeze wafted in, blowing the sheer lace curtains in elegant dips and swirls. Heath couldn’t quite shake the fear that this was naught but a dream. Indeed, he might have been convinced of it, if he weren’t certain his own mind could not conceive of anything as wild and wonderful as what happened after the servants left them. Isabelle shed her bonnet, displaying short, riotous curls, and knelt in front of him. She unbuttoned his fall with speedy, efficient fingers, freeing his semi‐erect cock and, after grazing the length with her fingernails, took him into her mouth. Her tongue swept from the underside of his glans to the base, sending a shudder up his spine and bringing him straight to attention. When he was fully erect, she loosed Heath’s cock and smiled up at Charles, who had opened his own fall and now pumped his growing shaft. “You’re right. He has a lovely cock. A bit longer than yours, I think,” she mused, “but perhaps not quite as thick.” She wrapped her thumb and forefinger around him as if to test the truth of her words. “If you are trying to make me jealous, it won’t work,” Charles said. “His cock is as much mine as yours.” To prove his point, Charles dropped to his knees and sucked Heath into his mouth. Rapture splintered across his flesh, and his knees weakened. He fisted his hands into Charles’ thick hair for support.
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Not the least bit miffed, Isabelle worked Heath’s breeches and drawers down to his knees and, with a quick tilt of her head, suckled one of his balls. “Jee‐sus,” he moaned, certain now that this wasn’t a dream but rather that he’d died and gone to Heaven, for surely this was paradise. No winged angels with harps and fluffy white clouds, but pure carnal delight, the sins of the flesh made sacred. Isabelle made a growl deep in her throat as she switched to the other side and slipped her hands up to clutch his buttocks. They’ve done this many times before, Heath thought. They played him like practiced musicians, each knowing exactly how his or her next caress would compliment the other’s. By comparison, Heath was a rank novice, a green recruit to their little game, but God help him, he loved it. He gave himself over to their care, and quite before he knew it, they were all stripped of their clothes. Isabelle was even more breathtaking naked. Her creamy skin and soft curves rivaled those of any Boticelli nude. The thatch of curls at her mons was a slightly darker shade of red than her hair, and Heath itched to delve his fingers and tongue between her slender thighs and touch the arousal‐dampened flesh there. As if reading his thoughts, Charles ordered his wife to sit on the settee and spread her legs. When she had done so, he nudged Heath. “She needs someone to take care of her pussy, Heath. Are you available?” Heath grinned and nodded. He’d never been more available in his life. Dropping to his knees and leaning back on his heels, he spread the pliant folds of her cunny—lips as pretty and peachy as those that graced her mouth—and used his thumb and forefinger to stimulate her clit. She gasped and arched her back, and Heath knew, despite his inexperience in such encounters, that he’d found precisely the right spot and pressure. Charles sat beside her and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth while he fondled the other breast with his hand. After attending her clit with his fingers for a bit, Heath slid them further down between her lips and into her warm wetness, marveling at the way her pussy yielded yet gripped his fingers. He didn’t think she’d be as tight as Charles’ arse had
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been, but the way her muscles flexed and squeezed around him as he lowered his mouth and teased her with his tongue, he thought fucking her would feel very fine indeed. She came almost without effort on his part, pulsing around his thrusting fingers as she panted for breath. When her orgasm subsided, Charles lifted his head from her breast and arched an eyebrow. “What do you think, pet?” “We definitely must keep him, darling.” She looked down at Heath, who had lifted his head and studied her beautifully flushed features—a flush he had brought to her—from his vantage between her legs. “And I believe I’d like you to fuck me now.” “Happy to oblige.” Heath rose up onto his knees and grabbed his cock in one hand. He rubbed the head along her slit, teasing her with the promise of penetration before at last sinking into her slick, steamy depths. “Oh, yessss,” she hissed. “That feels so good. It’s been so long, I’d almost forgot—” She broke off, for Heath pulled out and slammed back into her, twisting his hips to drive his cock further into her sweet, willing pussy. The sensation was unbelievably good, possibly better than fucking Charles, though he’d have to try that—and this—again…and again…and again, just to be certain. He was dimly aware of Charles getting up and moving behind him, but he didn’t think much of it until he felt the slick head of Charles’ cock press into his arse. Heath’s eyes rolled back in his head, overcome by the sheer pleasure of fucking while being fucked. He shifted his position to aid the angle of Charles’ entry, and gave himself over to the moment. In, out, in, out, the wet, slapping sounds of sex accompanied by gasps and moans and the heavy, heady musk of desire. As his orgasm overtook him, Heath leaned forward and kissed Isabelle, finding she tasted as sweet and lush as she smelled. She kissed him back, her small tongue darting into his mouth to tease his as she arched and came with him. Charles groaned behind them, and Heath felt his lover nip his neck as he, too, succumbed to his release.
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* * * * * Heath came awake to a rocking motion. His first thought was that he was still on the ship, that the events of this afternoon had been nothing but a wishful, wonderful dream. Despair welled in his chest, but then he heard the urgent moans and the wet, slapping sounds of skin against skin. He realized with a jolt that Charles and Isabella were coupling enthusiastically on the bed beside him. Well, a man and his wife who had been apart for more than a year certainly deserved to have congress without the interference of an interloper like himself. Heath kept his eyes shut and forced himself to continue breathing deeply and steadily, as though he were still asleep. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop himself from listening. Or from becoming aroused by the images that flashed through his mind with every breathy sigh, every grunt and groan. He could imagine Charles’ thick cock disappearing over and over between the glistening pink lips of Isabelle’s wet, willing pussy, and the knowledge that they fucked with such abandon despite his presence filled him with a curious sense of both acceptance and astonishment. Despite his best efforts, his shaft grew longer and harder with each passing moment, and he struggled to keep from giving up his pretense of sleep, if only so that he could toss off to relieve the ever‐intensifying pressure in his balls. He was on the verge of growling with frustration when a small, smooth palm wrapped around his aching erection. His eyes flew open to meet Isabelle’s hot blue ones. A knowing smile tilted the corners of her mouth. “I told you he was awake,” she said to Charles, whose nude hips she straddled. “About time, too.” Charles cuffed Heath’s shoulder. “We’d have been forced to break out the smelling salts if you hadn’t come around soon. I feared for a moment you’d taken an ague.” Heath’s face grew warm, though the heat in his loins grew warmer, for Isabelle wasn’t content to hold his cock, but instead worked the shaft with expert fingers. “I thought—” He gasped as Isabelle grazed a fingernail over the exposed head of his glans. “I thought the two of you
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might want to be…alone.” As soon as the word was out of his mouth, he knew it was ludicrous. They obviously weren’t alone and, had they wanted to be, they could have repaired to the sitting room and closed the door to the bedchamber. But they hadn’t done so. Which could only mean…. Isabelle threw back her head and laughed, a rich, throaty sound like thick, sweet honey. “Don’t be ridiculous, darling. Charles and I always want you to fuck with us if you wish to. Of course, if you don’t, then you are not obliged, but this,” she said, giving his blatantly interested cock a squeeze, “argues otherwise.” “That is not to say,” Charles added, his tone remarkably calm considering he continued to pump Isabelle with long, slow strokes, “that the three of us must always be together. You may fuck Belle or me alone if either of us are so inclined, and I may fuck Belle without your company if I wish. But today, we are all together, and Belle and I both desire that you join us.” Heath nodded, but his throat was dry as gunpowder. His heart beat a staccato rhythm as he wondered what sensual treat they had in store for him now. Whatever it was, he was certain of one thing. He was going to like—no, love—it. “Good.” Charles fondled his wife’s pretty, white tits. “Tell Heath what you want him to do, darling.” She released her hold on Heath’s cock and gripped her buttocks in her hands. “I want that delicious cock in my arse, that’s what I want.” Heath’s pulse stuttered, and he blinked in surprise. It had never occurred to him that a woman might want to be fucked in such a manner. After all, women had a pussy, precisely designed to house a man’s cock. Isabelle saw his expression and smiled. “Just like you, I love to be fucked in the arse. But even more, I love to be fucked both places at once—a cock in my cunny and another in my arse.” Her eyes glazed over dreamily. “I believe it is my favorite thing about having two men at once.” Hot, dirty arousal raced under Heath’s skin. If Isabelle’s pussy had been tight and wonderful, her arse could only be…much, much better.
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“Fetch the oil from the other room,” Charles said. Heath did as he was bid. When he returned, Isabelle was braced over Charles on two arms, and he was working two fingers in and out of her back entrance, readying her for Heath. His cock throbbed with eagerness, but he knew from experience that lubrication and relaxation were essential. Too fast or too rough, and the experience would be painful rather than pleasurable. Heath climbed onto the bed behind her and poured a small amount of the oil where Charles probed, and Isabelle gave a little sob as her husband inserted a third finger. Heath massaged the velvety, round globes of her arse as she continued to ride her husband’s cock and fingers. “Mmmm,” she moaned at last. “I’m ready now.” Charles withdrew his fingers while Heath poured oil over the head of his aching penis and down to the base of the shaft. When he was done, he got up on one foot and one knee, spread her cheeks with both hands, and pressed himself gently against her slick opening. Her muscles tensed in momentary revolt against the invasion—another response he recognized—but he pushed past it, sliding into the impossible heat and tightness. “Oh, God,” he groaned as he seated himself to the hilt. Not only because being inside her this way was incredible, but because he could feel Charles’s cock on the other side of the membrane that separated her pussy from her arse, and the sensation was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. “So fucking good.” His gaze locked with Charles’. Heath realized Charles knew exactly what he was feeling for the first time, and that the knowledge increased his lover’s arousal. “Fuck her,” Charles muttered thickly. “You’re in control. As slow or as fast as you want.” His heart pounding as if he’d just escaped death, Heath did. He started with short, measured strokes, but Isabelle was quickly ready for more, and soon he was plunging into her arse with long, deep strokes that gave no quarter. Not that she wanted it. She panted and twisted her hips to meet his thrusts, and with each one, he felt Charles’s cock slide against
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his on the other side, a sensation that magnified Heath’s pleasure to almost unbearable heights. While Charles kissed her mouth and her face and her breasts, Heath leaned forward to nibble her neck, her earlobe, her shoulder. She murmured sounds of approval even as her breathing became harsher, broken. Impending orgasm curled up inside him, but he didn’t want to come until his lovers did. God, his lovers. That sounded so decadent. So lush and salacious and…right. “Oh, Charles, Heath, I’m coming,” Isabelle gasped just before her inner muscles contracted around Heath’s cock so hard, his eyes rolled back in his head. A moment later, Charles stiffened and shuddered, and Heath felt the pulse of his lover’s cock spurting his seed. Heath threw back his head and let go at last, his climax as bright and blinding as a Roman candle set off on a moonless night. He had only one thought when he withdrew and the three of them lay entwined in a sated embrace. When can we do this again? * * * * * Several hours later, Isabelle was the one to fall asleep, no doubt exhausted by her travels—she had come all the way from Yorkshire to meet their ship—and by several more vigorous bouts of lovemaking. Heath could scarcely believe how sexually naïve he’d been when he’d begun this day. He would never have imagined even a quarter of the things he’d done with Charles and Isabelle this afternoon, and those he had imagined, he’d never dreamed to actually experience. His cock roused a little at the thought of everything they’d done together this afternoon. Charles noticed. He lay next to Heath, trailing his fingers absently over Heath’s chest and abdomen as Heath’s cock stirred to life. “Already?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.
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“I am insatiable,” Heath admitted, “at least when it comes to you.” Charles leaned over and gave him a swift, hard kiss. “And Belle?” Heath frowned, not entirely certain how Charles would take his next words. “I want her more than I have ever wanted any woman. She is amazing.” Charles nodded. “She is. In time, perhaps, the two of you will come to love one another as much as I love each of you. I know it is too soon for—” Heath pressed his fingers to Charles’ mouth to silence him. “How can you wish another man to love your wife? Or your wife to love another man?” Charles shrugged. “I love both of you and could not do without either of you. And I know if I am the only one who binds us together, this cannot last.” Heath understood immediately what Charles meant. If both Heath and Isabelle loved only Charles, they would always be in competition for his affections. But if Heath and Isabelle loved one another as well, they would be equals—three legs of a tripod, each as indispensable to the stability of the whole as the others. “If there was ever a woman I could love,” Heath admitted after some thought, “it is Isabelle. But I don’t see how this can last. My parents will expect me to marry one day and produce heirs for the viscountcy. My brother has a propensity for fathering daughters, but not sons.” Five so far, in fact. And then, a terrible thought occurred to him. He looked at Charles in horror. “What if I impregnate your wife?” He remembered emptying his balls into Isabelle’s womb this afternoon and shuddered. “I may have done so already.” Charles brushed back a lock of black hair that had fallen in Heath’s eyes and smiled. “Isabelle and I have two sons and a daughter. I have my heir and spare, but even if I didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. Any child of yours is a child of mine. Our child.” Heath’s chest cracked with joy at the incredible generosity of the man he loved. Perhaps he would come to love Isabelle as much in time,
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but if he did, it would only serve to break his heart more when the day came that he must fulfill his duty to his family line. And if Isabelle bore his children…what then? How would he separate himself not just from his lovers, but from his own flesh and blood? But did he have any choice? Could he walk away and leave Charles when he had the opportunity to stay? He didn’t even have to finish asking himself the question to know the answer. And then all thought fled as Charles stretched out atop him and kissed him soundly. There was really no question at all. For however long it lasted, Heath was theirs. * * * * * Five years later… “Unka Heath, Unka Heath!” The excited squeals assailed Heath’s ears as he exited the coach. Seconds later, the tiny bearer of the big voice assaulted his legs, all sticky fingers and thick, black curls. Heath reached down and lifted her up, and the child flung her arms around his neck. “You’re home, you’re home.” “Yes, poppet,” he chuckled, “I’m home.” Charles and Isabella had left London over a month ago, Isabella’s pending confinement with their fifth child demanding they return home before travel became unsafe for her. Heath had remained behind to close up the townhouse and take care of business in Parliament before returning to Farthingale Hall. The child in his arms began to pat down the front of his coat. “You bwing pwesents?” she asked. “Of course, sweeting.” He set the girl back down on the gravel drive at the same instant her breathless nursemaid appeared in the front doorway. “I’m sorry, sir,” the gray‐haired woman apologized, “but when she saw your coach from the window, she ran so fast I couldn’t keep up.”
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Heath grinned and tousled his daughter’s hair as they walked hand in hand up the stairway. There was no doubt he had fathered Katie—anyone with eyes could see the resemblance between them, from her ebony curls to her violet‐blue eyes to her determined little chin—but she would have been his daughter even if he hadn’t sired her. Charles was right. The children belonged to all of them. “It’s quite all right. I’m always pleased to receive such an enthusiastic greeting.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small batch of sweets, which he pressed into Katie’s palm. “Oh, thank you, Unka Heath!” she exclaimed happily, cradling the bounty to her chest. Suitably bribed, she toddled away with her nursemaid without further complaint. The butler, Stowe, met him in the foyer and took his hat and walking stick, an affectation Heath had taken up for good cause when an old battle injury began to plague his knee. “Where are my lord and lady?” he asked the butler. “In the solar, sir,” was the pokerfaced butler’s response. “Then Lady Kettlesing has not given birth yet?” Heath had missed Katie’s birth because his father had fallen gravely ill. He had no choice but to be with his mother and siblings at such a time, but he felt a profound sense of loss at not having met his first child until she was nearly a month old. “No, sir,” Stowe responded flatly. Heath hurried in the direction of the solar, anxious to see his lovers after so long apart. When he entered the sunny solar, he found Charles sitting in one chair, spectacles perched on his nose as he read the newspaper, and Isabelle ensconced in another, her head bent to her needlework, which she rested on the enormous swell of her belly. Heath was a bit taken aback by her sheer size, but reasoned he’d had to leave before she’d reached this stage of her pregnancy with Katie. He didn’t know how big she had actually become. Before he could speak, Charles set aside his newspaper and got to his feet. “Ah, you’re home at last.” He met Heath in the middle of the room and embraced him. Heath breathed in Charles’ familiar, spicy scent
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with pleasure and felt the instant stirrings of desire. Even after all this time, the passion was as fresh and fierce as ever. Isabelle set aside her stitchery. “Welcome home, Heath. We’ve missed you.” She gestured toward her bulging middle and chuckled. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t get up.” Heath laughed and extricated himself from Charles’ arms to go to her. He couldn’t say exactly when or how it had happened, but he’d gone from carnal desire to genuine affection and from there to love in short succession. And to his immense satisfaction and relief, she returned the feeling. He pressed his hand to Isabelle’s belly as they indulged in a sweet, tongue‐tangling kiss. “I’m glad I didn’t miss the baby’s birth this time,” he said when he came up for air. Isabelle squeezed his hand. “I’m glad you didn’t, either.” The muscles beneath his palm hardened. Isabelle grimaced and looked over at Charles. “It’s time,” she grunted. “Time?” Heath blinked in confusion. “For the baby to come,” Charles explained. “You arrived just in the nick. She’s been in labor since early this morning.” Heath’s gaze shot back to Isabelle’s face. Her features were relaxed now. “She has? Shouldn’t she be in bed?” Isabelle laughed and held up her hand. “Help me up, darling.” As Heath assisted her to rise, she added, “Labor can take a good many hours. I don’t like to lie about doing nothing the whole time. But now‐‐” She paused, and Heath knew another pain gripped her. After it passed, she continued, “But now, I need my bed and the doctor.” * * * * * If the doctor was scandalized by Lady Kettlesing’s insistence that both her husband and their friend remain with her in the birth chamber, he gave no evidence of it beyond a slight shake of his head. A short while later, the babe emerged, head covered in thick, black hair. The doctor swaddled the infant and handed him to Charles. “A son,
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my lord.” Charles smiled and leaned down to kiss Isabelle. “Thank you, my love.” Then, he handed the child to Heath. “You name him.” Heath looked from Charles to Isabelle. “Are you sure?” They both nodded. Heath looked down into the tiny, scrunched up face of his son—no, their son—and emotion swamped him. Love, joy, tenderness, devotion. The babe’s tiny hand worked its way out from beneath the blanket, and Heath placed his finger into the little fist, his heart swelling with happiness as the infant squeezed. “I name him Charles Isaiah Wetherill Langdon.” “A fine choice,” Isabelle and Charles said together. Heath handed the infant to Isabelle, who put him to her breast. As she did in so many other ways, Isabelle defied convention by suckling her babes herself. A fierce surge of admiration swept through Heath for Isabelle’s courage—the courage to love two men and to allow those two men to love each other. She was, indeed, amazing. A sense of peace and belonging stronger than any he had ever felt before descended over him. Everything and everyone he ever wanted or needed was here. To hell with his parents and family and duty. Heath’s duty was first and foremost to himself. And this was where he belonged. Home at last. Home forever. The End
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Comrades in Arms by Jackie Barbosa
Author Bio When Jackie isn’t trying to be a writer—and even when she is—she’s a happily married mother of three who makes her living writing technical training materials for the software industry. She lives with her husband and three children in Southern California, where she was born and raised. She holds a BA in Classical Studies from the University of California at Santa Cruz, and an MA in Classics from the University of Chicago. Jackie has been telling stories since before she learned to write—just ask her mother! You can visit her online at: http://www.jackiebarbosa.com
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