Chapter Four

M ichael removed the wet cloth from Percy’s arse and replaced it with another one. A chill swept over his skin. The cold cloth was supposed to help soothe his reddened arse, or at least that’s what Michael had once told him. And he had to admit that even though he felt a bit ridiculous lying on his stomach on Michael’s bed, a cloth draped over his bare arse, the remedy wasn’t for naught. It did work.

The leather line was gone, put back in its place in the trunk. Michael had also seen to the steel plug himself, wiped the seed from Percy’s stomach before it could dry, and stoked the fire in the hearth. A few more minutes, and Michael would deem his arse sufficiently tended to and remove the cloth. That would be Percy’s cue to drag himself out of Michael’s bed, pull on his clothes, and leave. Until then, though, he’d savor whatever was left of their night.

He watched as Michael crossed to the low cabinet by the door. A little clink of porcelain, and he returned to the bed bearing a teacup.

“Drink this.”

Pushing up onto one elbow, Percy took the proffered cup. “Thank you.” Cold tea, likely because the maid had heated it before she’d been dismissed for the night, but it did wonders for his parched throat.

Setting the empty cup on the bedside table, Michael sat on the edge of the bed. “How do you feel?”

“All right.” He could don his trousers without discomfort.

“No. How do you feel?” Michael asked again, his brow creased with concern.

Oh . Michael wasn’t referring to his arse, but to him. “All right.” Michael’s hard stare demanded a more thorough answer. “A bit tired, but all and all, right as can be. And no regrets,” he added before Michael could press him again.

And he did not have any regrets. He actually felt rather damned good. The worry and shame that usually began to form over his head about now were wonderfully absent. Gone. The only thing that kept the smile from his lips was the knowledge that he would need to leave soon, return to his lonely apartments. But there was no use bemoaning it.

Michael studied him for a moment. “Would you care to stay for the night?”

“Honestly, Michael, I’m fine.” The man needn’t put him up in a guest bedchamber, keep watch over him like some sort of invalid. He was well able to see himself to his apartments.

“I don’t doubt that. Still, I’d like you to stay with me tonight.”

With him? “But . . .” He now knew Michael cared for him—their evening had been proof of that astonishing fact. Yet . . . Michael wanted him to stay with him, in his bed? “Truly?”

“Yes, truly.”

Before the smile could show itself, rational thought descended, dampening that light, wonderful feeling sweeping through his body. “But your maid. Your valet. I can’t be here”—he nudged his chin to indicate the bed—“come dawn.”

“Yes, you can. I gave my staff the night free, including the morning. They won’t arrive until noon. An early present of sorts for Boxing Day.”

“You enjoy giving presents, don’t you?” And Michael, bless his generous soul, had given Percy the most amazing one of all—the gift of his own voice. Of accepting his desires, of owning them. He wasn’t certain if he could ever repay him.

Michael tipped his head. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

“Yes,” he replied, unable to contain the smile a moment longer.

A crisp nod from Michael, and he got to his feet, taking the damp cloth with him. As he extinguished the candles, Percy slipped beneath the coverlet and wiggled to the right, being sure to leave enough space for Michael to sleep comfortably.

With the room lit only by the faint glow of the fire in the hearth, Michael got into bed. The mattress shifted, the ropes beneath creaking. Then an arm wrapped around Percy’s back, pulling him close to a strong, bare body.

“I want you with me, not on the other side of the bed.”

Percy didn’t need to be told twice. Resting his head on the man’s broad shoulder, he eagerly snuggled up to Michael’s side. Sleep tugged heavily at his eyes, but he didn’t want to surrender to it just yet. He wanted to savor every detail. The way the heat from Michael’s body warmed his own. The steady rhythm of his breaths. The feel of Michael’s arm holding him tight.

Michael tucked him closer to his side. “I would have you know that I’d welcome a call from you, whatever the time of day or night. You needn’t feel compelled to wait for a note to knock on my door. It’s always open to you.”

Percy lifted his head. He couldn’t make out Michael’s features, yet the dark shadows surrounding them could not mask the sincerity in the man’s tone.

“In fact, I would like for it to be only us. No others. If you agree, that is.”

The rise and fall of Michael’s chest picked up a notch, the steady rhythm gone. As if Michael wasn’t fully certain he would agree. As if the man hadn’t a notion that he’d just presented Percy with his fondest wish, the one he’d been too afraid even to hope for. “There haven’t been any others, not since our first evening together.” He wanted no doubt in Michael’s mind on that point. “I’ve only wanted to be with you. I only want to be with you.”

The tension eased from the strong body beneath him. “As I with you. Hence my question. So do you agree?”

Shifting up, he pressed his lips to Michael’s, put his answer into the kiss. Then, pulling back, he gave Michael the words. “Yes. I would like that above all else.”

They would need to be discreet, to appear only as friends outside of this room. Yet the knowledge that he was Michael’s, just as Michael was now his, would be more than enough to compensate for the need for discretion.

Feeling happier and more secure than he could ever remember, he snuggled back up to Michael’s side. “Will you tell me your full name?”

“Michael Albert Barlow.”

“Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure, Percival Joseph Owens. Being with you is always my pleasure.” Lips brushed the top of Percy’s head. “Happy Christmas.”

Percy smiled against Michael’s chest. “Happy Christmas to you, too.”

Tonight had truly been a Christmas he would never forget, a Christmas he knew would be the first of many more to come with Michael.