Scanning, uploading and/or distribution of this book via the Internet, print, audio recordings or any other means without the permission of the Publisher is illegal and will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and characters are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Devil’s Spawn Copyright©2009 Sarah Masters ISBN 978-1-60054-390-6 His and His Kisses Edition Cover art and design by Emmy Ellis All rights reserved. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation. Published by loveyoudivine Alterotica 2009 Find us on the World Wide Web at www.loveyoudivine.com Devil’s Spawn By Sarah Masters Book One of The Master Series For Tess One I do not wish to make enemies, but oftentimes it is essential. Fending off unwanted attentions from a certain individual is not difficult, not when my heart belongs to one who sails upon Le Frai de Démon. To one who thought nothing of leaving me behind. Why do I think of him still? A stupid question, for I know the answer. We shared a bond from our first meeting, yet how easily it broke—or so it seemed to those around us. It has remained strong for me—two years of separation strong—and I have yearned for him, for the sight of him, every day since his leaving. I know not when he will return, if ever, and my abstinence is proof of how strong my feelings are for him. Yet if the rumours are to be believed, he does not have the same feelings toward me. Though that fact saddens me, I shall not dwell on it, but I shall continue to grieve for his loss and his touch. Vincent’s carriage drew up outside Devil’s Spawn, dark shadows swallowing it with a fog-filled, frost-bitten maw. He puffed out an impatient breath, and his cloudy exhalation amalgamated with the mist. Damn this insufferable weather. Frost at the tail end of April does not please my fingertips or my nose. A figure emerged from a doorway, lantern held at chest height. Its light illuminated a yellow-skinned face topped by black narrowed brows and a mop of unkempt, shoulder-length hair. Hair much like Vincent’s should it see a brush. “You stayin’ long, sir?” the ageing man asked. “Onny we is set to close early. The master hisself is arrivin’ at dawn.” Vincent cocked his head, and his stomach clenched. Butterflies danced within, and he tamped down the desire to smile, to laugh, to cry. Curiosity piqued, he asked, “And why is the master returning, Fletcher? One thought he had deserted these parts aboard Le Frai de Démon.” Fletcher brought his other arm up out of the fog and rasped his palm against his cheek. “I got word, but, ah, I not be at liberty to say, sir.” Vincent jumped down from his carriage, his legs rubberised. His feet met the cobblestones, and he almost slipped on the slick surface. “I understand, Fletcher.” He cast his gaze up and down the nondescript street. No nightwalker would see him, the fog proved too thick, but old habits… “I will be staying until the master throws me out, which I am sure he will.” The horses snickered and stomped the ground as though in agreement. Shouts sounded in the distance—men working on the docks. Vincent did not envy them their task of unloading cargo in such treacherous weather. Had the master arrived already? He prayed he had. The idea of Julian steering a ship in such fog… Fletcher moved toward the carriage and swung onto the wooden seat. “Then I will make sure the horses be well fed and watered. And you be sure you is gone before dawn, Mr. Vincent, iffen you dassant want the master’s wrath on yer head. I heard he wassant best pleased wi. you when he left.” He flicked the reins and clucked his tongue, and the carriage pushed off, its rear end devoured by the formidable weather in short time. Vincent scowled at Fletcher thinking he knew his business, and stepped into the inconspicuous doorway. He plunged his hands into his black cloak pockets and contemplated walking to the rear of the club and reclaiming his carriage. Dear Christ, but his cock ached, its throb insistent as thoughts of the master and their last encounter sifted through his mind. Julian, the impious bastard, had teased Vincent’s hole with the tip of his cock but refused to enter. His taunts of him being “brand new” scored a gouge in Vincent’s psyche, and their following altercation resulted in Julian leaving the town to embark on a career in trade. The jibes stung, still did, for they implied Vincent was inexperienced. Far from it, he just had not allowed anyone inside him. He had heard rumours of Julian’s flit from one lover to another overseas, the news brought to him via the dashing young cads who sought to nestle their cocks inside him. No doubt his wealth and standing in society aided their desires to ensnare him, but he had refused all advances. Why waste his pleasure time with men who failed to arouse him? I should return home and damn this place. It serves no purpose other than to remind me of him. He will not wish to see me upon his arrival. He swivelled in the direction the carriage had gone, but his resolve crumbled. Frustration at his lack of fortitude huffed out of him in a heated breath, and he turned back to the doorway, raised his fist, and rapped. * * * * Cheroot smoke furnished the air with a blue-grey tinge. Vincent, his cloak taken by the lollygagging desk clerk, wandered into Devil’s Spawn’s main room. Youthful bartenders attired in tight breeches, long white stockings, and polished shoes, their chests bare for fondling, poured frothy ale into metal tankards. Patrons, their bawdy laughter indicative of too much alcohol, stretched over the counter and pawed torsos and nipples. The Devil’s Spawn catered to men unable to publicly admit their desires, and Vincent gave a wry smile at the many women who might wake this night to an empty space beside them. Every week night men gathered on the pretence they visited other pubs in the area so as not to arouse suspicion among those unforgiving souls who did not understand nor care for what they termed debase practises. Vincent sat at a corner table beside a door that led to the private rooms, thankful no wall sconces burned in the vicinity to give away his location to those not looking. He did not want the company of fresh-faced, bawdy youths. Fending them off proved…tiresome, though they would seek him out regardless of his obvious desire to only watch once they spied him in the gloom. He raised his arm and caught the attention of a bartender. The pale- eyed, pale-haired man winked and turned to pour Vincent’s usual tipple—a large brandy—and sauntered over, his fingers splayed around the glass’ bowl. He set the beverage down, and the ochre-coloured liquid sloshed over the rim and spread on the table. “A waste, do you not think?” Vincent asked with a frown, a bubble of ire inside him threatening to burst. The man bowed. “Apologies, sir.” He backed away, turned, and shook his tight derriere. Despite his recent flash of anger, Vincent smiled and reached for his drink. The liquid burned his throat and gullet on its way down, pooling in an already warm belly, the heat there stemming from his anticipation of the coming dawn. Would Julian have changed? Mayhap his jaunt into another way of life had calmed the master’s fiery temper and taught him not to be so damn…obnoxious. Vincent loosed a sour chuckle. No, nothing could change Julian’s temperament. He eyed the patrons. One old fellow, an unkempt powdered wig atop his head—worn, he suspected, to disguise the man’s appearance—reminded Vincent of his childhood on his grandpa’s farm. He had loved shearing time, watching Grandpa hold the beasts down while clipping off their winter coats. His mother and father had died while Vincent was naught but a small boy, and he couldn’t recall their faces now. But he smelled them. Aye, he smelled them upon sniffing lilies or pipe smoke. Nostalgia assailed him, and he marvelled at how life had brought him to this town upon Grandpa’s death. Brought him to his love. Grandpa had left a substantial sum, enough that Vincent did not need to work, but boredom claimed him two months after his arrival at the town. He took employment at the bank as a teller, and on the second day, Julian had entered. Vincent’s heart had all but stopped for several beats upon seeing the blond vision before him. Such a chiselled face, such…beauty. And he knew of this man’s persuasion, oh yes, he knew. “Mayhap you would like to join me for luncheon?” Julian had asked. “Mayhap I would…” Vincent sighed at the recollection and allowed his mind to relive the past. Why do I do this? It only serves to upset. Another brandy and several advances from desperate young men later, Vincent withdrew his watch from his shirt pocket and squinted at its face. Two hours had passed. Whiling away the time thinking and watching men press themselves against one another before disappearing through the door to his left had its advantages. With Julian’s arrival not one hour into the future, Vincent’s guts clenched. A middle-aged man ambled toward him, his unsteady gait proof he had imbibed one too many. Vincent bit back a curse. He had no desire to fight off Dunbar Jacobs, a portly man rough with his paws and unrelenting in his quest for sexual contact. The last time Vincent refused him, Dunbar had spat at his feet and wasted a snifter of brandy, the liquid staining Vincent’s white ruffled shirt. “Ah, iffen it ain’t Vincent Waites, the man who thinks hisself above the likes o. me.” Dunbar lurched forward and steadied himself with a palm on the polished tabletop. He hiccoughed, and his eyelids drooped. Fat cheeks wobbled, and a belch escaped the corner of his fleshy mouth. Vincent shuddered. “Be gone, Jacobs. You tire me.” He waved a hand and feigned interest in the other patrons. “Still think ye a better man than me, eh?” Vincent barked laughter. “I do not think, I know.” He quaffed the remainder of his brandy and stood. “Sit down, ye foolish braggart, and consider what ye have said. To be amidst us, to be in Devil’s Spawn, ye know yer considered the lowest of the low. Making enemies of us is the last thing ye should do, for where else would ye go to sate the desires that tread through ye body in heavy ridin’ boots? Who else would keep yer secrets close to their chests like a reticule full of gold coin?” “Are you threatening me, Jacobs?” Vincent eased around the table and stepped toward the insufferable buffoon. Jacobs spluttered, his ruddy cheeks gaining a deeper hue. “I might well be, Waites. What ye able to do about it iffen I tell the town of ye yens?” Vincent’s face drew level with Jacobs’. The stench of whisky assailed him, and he bit back a gag. “I will chop off your bollocks, swine, and leave you to bleed.” Jacobs jumped back. His knees jerked, and his arms windmilled in his attempt to right himself. Balance ruined, he thumped down on the slate floor to a cacophony of jeers and ribald laughter. “Ye…ye…bastard!” he spat, eyes wide, spittle coating his lower lip. “I will ruin ye, I swear it.” He shuffled backward until his body met with the bar. Jacobs scrambled to his feet and smacked a fist on the countertop. Vincent positioned himself beside him and whispered, “And I swear I will slice—” “Vincent! Enough!” That voice, that voice stiffened Vincent’s spine and reduced his legs to naught more than aspic. He stood rigid, unable to turn and face the speaker behind him. “I suspect Mr. Jacobs understands the situation now.” Jacobs lowered his chin to chest and worried his mouth with work-worn fingers. He gave Vincent a sidelong glance, and Vincent jerked toward him. Jacobs quickly sidled away, a wide-eyed stare thrown over his shoulder the last sight Vincent had of him. “Still threatening to cut off men’s bollocks, Vincent? My, one would have thought a man of two score and ten would grow tired of such inane behaviour.” Julian gave a low, throaty chuckle. “Yet I see you have not changed over the past two years.” The derision in Julian’s voice urged Vincent to turn and face him, a volley of vitriol on his tongue ready to spill forth and cut the master to the quick. Words intended to wound the man who had left the town, left Vincent to mourn his departure, lovesick and heartsore. Julian, tanned of face and broad of smile, winked, and those words, those damn words he longed to unleash died, their once fiery zest now nothing but ash. The master’s blond hair, held back in a ponytail at his nape, showed signs of having been in sunnier climes, and Vincent longed to fist it and bring those beautiful full lips to his own. He swallowed. “Neither have you, except on the outside. I would wager you are still an insufferable bastard. A tease—” His former lover’s sharp outburst of merriment drew the gazes of many, and he procured Vincent’s elbow and led him to a corner. “Happen we should continue our conversation over here, my love, for it is evident by your mention of my being a tease that the feel of my cock against your hole has plagued you since we last traded company.” Vincent clenched his jaw and yanked his arm out of Julian’s grip. “Such a high opinion you have of yourself. What, do you think I have pined for you all this time?” His nostrils flared, and his heart thrummed painfully. “Have you not?” He inclined his head and eyed Vincent from beneath lowered lashes. Of course I have! Vincent guffawed. “Once again your arrogance rears its repugnant head.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I have had too much business to attend to which has prevented my pining for anyone.” “Ah, you have never lied well. Come.” Julian’s eyes flashed, and he beckoned Vincent to follow him through the door to the private rooms. “I wish to catch up on all that has transpired in my absence.” Inwardly, Vincent willed his feet not to scuttle behind Julian, but they deceived him, and he allowed them free rein. After all, this was what he had waited for, however much he tried to deny it. Two I have missed the sailor, the master, the owner of my heart, but I shall not utter what he wants to hear. The man has enough arrogance without my boosts to make it grow further. Yet…I do wish to tell him, to bare my emotions, for the past two years have been hellish. And I do not know how long he will stay before climbing aboard once more and floating out of my life. What I would give to thwart his new career, to ensure he stayed on dry land forevermore. Yet…I could not prevent him living his life this way, for if you love someone… Julian unlocked his office and pushed the door open, his hand out indicating Vincent should enter. He brushed past him and caught a whiff of his new scent—sea salt and the need for a good soak. Rather than disgust him, it heightened his desire. Contrary to this, he sat in a burgundy leather chair beside the empty fireplace and said, “You have a stink about you, Julian, one that—” “Appeals to your baser instincts, I would wager.” He sauntered to a walnut cabinet and opened the glass door. The hinges creaked, shouting of their disuse. He selected a bottle of rum—fitting—and two crystal glasses. Vincent appraised Julian’s backside, the swell of each cheek goading his cock to attention. His hands itched to palm those globes, to press his fingertips into those slim hips and settle his cock inside the valley there. To feel the heat, the throb of blood in his cock’s tip. He crossed his legs. “Well?” Julian asked and turned, pouring a drink. “Would I win the bet?” He moved toward him and held the glass out, his pelvis at Vincent’s eye level. Vincent took it, their fingers brushing for an instant. His heartbeat quickened, and he swallowed. He stared into coal-black eyes. “I imagine so.” Julian threw his head back and laughed. Eye contact maintained once more, he whispered, “I know so.” Presenting his back, he strolled to the cabinet and poured his own beverage. Damn him. Vincent inhaled deeply and released a lust-laden, shaky breath. “Your business took you away for quite some time, then.” Julian’s shoulder’s straightened, and the muscles beneath his thin white shirt flexed. “It did, though I am gratified to see Shyler kept my other business in good order in my absence.” “Your brother proved a good host here.” Vincent smiled. Julian whipped around, his brows knitted, his mouth a tight line. “I do hope you refer to the running of Devil’s Spawn.” “Of course. Whatever did you think I meant?” Vincent compressed a laugh and sipped his rum. “The only trouble he encountered was from that disgusting fellow who approached me just now. Jacobs seems to think he is the only man with needs like ours and that they should be met by whomever he chooses.” “And he has chosen you, I take it.” Julian swallowed a mouthful of rum and winced. He paced the room, coming to a halt beside Vincent’s chair. “And I also take it that you refused his…offers.” “I did. He repulses me. I would rather—” “Go without? Or opt for a younger, tighter fellow?” He stood in front of the leather chair, his legs straddling Vincent’s, his cock tenting his breeches. The swell of his bollocks— “That is my business, Julian.” Vincent uncrossed his legs, his own arousal open for perusal. Julian’s gaze sought it out, and his eyes widened. “Have you abstained, my love? All this time?” Bastard. “I hear you have not,” Vincent said. Damn my treacherous mouth. Julian took Vincent’s drink and placed both their glasses on the mantel. He bent his knees and settled them either side of Vincent’s thighs. His crotch inches away from Vincent’s face, its scent permeating his breeches, almost, almost brought a groan from Vincent’s mouth. “I did not,” Julian said, running his fingertips over Vincent’s shoulders. “One is able to imagine them as just a body…one that belongs to someone else...” He stared at Vincent. “Though it pains me to admit it, I have missed you.” Vincent closed his eyes and clenched his fists. His cock twitched. “I have not…missed you.” Julian lowered his buttocks and leaned forward. “Ah, do not tell me you have not missed my touch. Do not tell me.” His tongue flicked Vincent’s earlobe. “You have not yearned for the feel of my cock against your cleft.” His hand glided over the bulge in Vincent’s breeches. “And do not tell me you have not wished for me to finish what I started so long ago.” His breath caught in his throat, and Vincent held back the urge to grasp Julian’s buttocks and bury his face in the desirable crotch before him. To peel down those breeches and free the cock straining against the fabric. To take that rigidity into his mouth and lick, suck, nip. To beg Julian to tease his hole once more… He gripped the chair arms and made to get up. Julian’s knees held him tight, and Vincent relaxed back into the chair, his desire a pain in his britches. “I have not,” Vincent muttered and stared at Julian’s midsection. “I have been quite…fine without you.” Julian’s hot breath tickled Vincent’s neck, exacerbating his need to be away from the master before he allowed the infuriating man access to his soul. With warm hands, Julian cupped his face and brushed soft lips against a mouth Vincent swore would give no response. Resolve ready to snap, Vincent again tried to leave the chair. “Be still, my love. Do not tell me you have not thought about me sans- culotte.” He chuckled, licked Vincent’s lower lip. “Do not tell me you have no desire to feel me inside you, or you inside me.” Vincent’s cock stiffened further. Tender laughter tickled his mouth. “So you have.” Abruptly, the master stood, unabashed by the turgid mound he sported. He reached for his rum and swallowed it in one gulp. “Come. Come and see Le Frai de Démon.” * * * * They exited Devil’s Spawn via the back door, their lanterns doing little to light the small cobblestoned yard. Vincent stumbled into a wooden crate. The corner dug into his shin and snagged on his breeches. Julian laughed, and Vincent bit back a string of curses. Glad for the foggy darkness hiding his heated face, Vincent allowed Julian to lead the way. Their silent walk along the rutted lane, decrepit houses in a straggly line to his right, gave Vincent time to think. He hated the ship that had taken his love away, a ship Julian knew more intimately than he did Vincent. Why had he agreed to a tour? Why…? Because I want to see my rival. Irked, Vincent snorted and clamped his jaw closed. How can I hate an object? One I have yet to set eyes upon at that. Shouts from dock workers rose in volume as the two men approached the wharf. Street lanterns glowed in the near distance, and the tang of ozone added to Vincent’s hatred for all things to do with the sea. He flared his nostrils and hunched his shoulders, the cold air seeping through his shirtsleeves, for he had left his cape with the clerk. Images of high seas and rum-addled sailors taunted him. Julian, their generous captain, provided food-laden tables and a reason to laugh each night after a hard day battling the waves. Their camaraderie when reaching ports and plying their wares birthed a feeling of such exclusion Vincent blinked away tears. The vision of Julian biting into a bread roll, his tongue flicking out to catch a stray crumb, almost wrenched a groan from Vincent, and he ousted the sights away. The houses in the lane gave way to a sea wall. Water lapped against it, the maddening sound something Vincent concentrated his efforts on lest his thoughts progress to a different, lustful level. Alcohol muddied his senses somewhat, the cold, fresh air aiding its efficiency in creating a weave to his footsteps. “Damn stupid weather,” he groused, and Julian’s answering laugh frustrated him further. “I have no idea what you find so amusing.” Julian’s voice filtered back to him. “Had you travelled the seas with me, you would be well able to walk in a straight line. You would have gained sea legs, my love.” Vincent bit back a retort. Had I known you were going to sea, mayhap I would have come with you. Bastard! You still know how to kindle my ire. Julian’s footsteps halted. “You did get my note?” Vincent stopped beside him, held up his lantern, and squinted at Julian through the gloom. “Note?” Julian inclined his head and gazed at Vincent. “I sent word of my leaving and an invitation for you to join me with that fellow… Never mind. This explains…many things.” He shifted his gaze to the right then focused on Vincent once more. “Like why you have denied your feelings for me since my return. Like why I took lovers…” He closed his eyes briefly only to snap them open, a bright smile on his face. “Come, come and see the other love in my life.” Confusing thoughts dallied on the fringes of Vincent’s mind, but he concentrated on the last words Julian had spoken. Typical of him to love a club and a ship more than a human being. He stumbled after Julian, inwardly bemoaning his choice of beau, and smiled. Beau, indeed. The shadowy bulk of a ship came into view, turning the alcohol in his stomach sour. Julian clasped Vincent’s elbow and steered him to the right and up an incline. “Are we on the boarding ramp?” Vincent asked, his breaths coming fast and sharp. “We are.” “Then it had better have some guide ropes, or I shall—” “Fall into the water, yes. Why do you think I am holding your arm?” Vincent’s knees buckled. Brandy, rum, and bile surged up his throat. Julian released a loud guffaw and stepped faster, pulled harder. At the top of the ramp, Julian said, “I jest, dear fellow. Here, step down. You shall be quite safe once you do.” Tentative, Vincent stuck out a foot, relieved as it met with the wooden deck. “I cannot see a bastard thing, man!” Both feet onboard, he cursed himself for showing any sign of weakness. He did not want to reveal his softer side, not now, not after Julian had left him. He had returned as confident as ever that Vincent would allow their relationship to continue where it had left off, despite assuming Vincent had ignored the note. So sure of himself! Julian needed to understand the hurt, the desolation, the pain he had caused. No, Vincent would not make known his heartbreak. “The fog has a habit of obscuring. A little like yourself, do you not think? This ship and everything it contains is here. I cannot see it clearly, but know it inside and out. And you are here, as is everything you contain, and you think I cannot see you clearly.” Julian lowered his lantern to the deck. He trailed the backs of his fingers against Vincent’s cheek and placed the other hand at the small of his back. His lips brushed along the blonde’s jaw line, inciting a rash of goose flesh. Vincent held his breath and closed his eyes. “Yet…I see you, my love. I see you showing me only what you want me to see, but I remember what is inside. I confess I thought of nothing else in the hours I spent away.” The arrogance in Julian’s admission and his cock hardening at the master’s touch irked him. He stepped away from Julian and butted up against some form of railing. His heart beat faster at the thought he may have leaned into the gangplank opening and toppled into the filthy water below. Cheeks heated, he drew away and snapped, “Show me your damn boat, then, man.” Three It is proving more difficult to contain my emotions. To preserve my dignity should be paramount, yet it seems my yen to express myself is more so. My heart overrules my head, and I wonder…should I follow my heart? Should I lay bare my soul and allow him in, if only for the short time he has docked? Now he has a taste for the sea, I cannot imagine life on land will satisfy him. But can I bear to be just another man in another port? Alas, my mind is already made up, and I know I will see this through to its conclusion. Consequences be damned…for now. Julian’s expensive taste showed in the furnishings of the ship’s sitting room. Plush, maroon velvet settees lined two walls, the Persian rugs in front of each giving a sumptuous air. Five port holes showed nothing of the outside save the thick grey fog, and Vincent shuddered as his body acclimatised to the slightly warmer temperature. Glass-fronted cupboards, attached to the left wall, housed metal tankards, books, and knickknacks. Julian would have read many of those volumes when spare time gave him the chance. Oak coffee tables, chained to the wooden flooring, sported holes for cups and glasses. I might have known he would think of some way to prevent his alcohol spilling. The master moved to a mahogany drinks cabinet beside the door and bent to retrieve two glasses. As his rear end pointed in Vincent’s direction, he scoffed in a breath. Julian stood upright and poured whisky. Vincent, lightheaded and disorientated from holding his breath, released it in a loud exhale and swiped his palms over his face. His back still turned, Julian asked, “Something wrong, my love?” Vincent cleared his throat and blinked. “No.” Julian turned and handed him a crystal tumbler. “Here. Drink.” The thought of more alcohol turned Vincent’s stomach. He shook his head. “Do you have water?” Julian frowned in thought. “I am not sure. The men may not have restocked yet. We were running low as we sailed into the wharf earlier.” Fear at Julian leaving so soon after his arrival pierced Vincent. He stared at a porthole. The slow, oncoming daylight brightened it, though still did not afford a view of anything beyond the glass. “You will leave again later today?” Julian sipped his whisky and moved to a settee. “No. I am back for two days. There is much coin to be made out of trade.” He paused and eyed Vincent’s face. “And much fun to be had while travelling abroad. You should give up your stuffy position in the bank and join me.” Vincent barked out a laugh. “What, and have you use me as a rigging boy, no doubt. I would rather fuck Jacobs.” He turned to leave the sitting room but changed his mind. If he stormed off the ship—if he could get off the ship in this despicable weather—and made his way home, God only knew when he would see Julian again. “I do not believe you would fuck Jacobs.” Julian seated himself on a settee, set his drink on the table, and removed his boots. “I do not believe you would rather that man paw you than join me on this ship for the next two years.” He unbuttoned his shirt and threw it on the floor. “I do not believe,” he pulled down his britches and kicked them off, “you would turn down the chance to be with me a second time.” Julian stood, his erection proof of his perverse satisfaction in riling Vincent. Vincent’s eyes widened at the sight of Julian’s naked form. The hue of his suntanned skin accentuated every oblique plane of his physique. Not an ounce of fat. Vincent itched to run his hands from Julian’s wrists, up his arms, and down that muscle-packed chest. His cock twitched and hardened, and his bollocks throbbed. Oh, please let the fog clear, or so help me God… Julian strode across the room and stopped at the sitting room door beside Vincent. He ran his fingertips up and down Vincent’s arm. “Come.” Vincent followed him down a narrow corridor lined with wooden doors either side. The master’s rear end begged to be kneaded, and Vincent slowed his pace lest he reach out and touch it. His need for intimacy overwhelmed him, but he ignored the desire to follow his heart. He reined in his warring emotions and concentrated on his breathing. Fearing they headed toward a place that would change his life, he welcomed it yet dreaded it at the same time—and fretted on the outcome. Could he cope with the new memories once the master sailed out of his life again? Happen they may sustain me in the years to come. At the end, a portal stood ajar, and Julian pushed it open and walked inside. Vincent waited in the entryway, his heart beating too fast and his stomach in knots. The room beyond lay in darkness until a lantern flickered to life, Julian stooped over it, the light drawing him in stark relief. Though the bulge in Vincent’s breeches proved uncomfortable, he wanted…he needed to feel, to experience, but…no, he could not bear to look at him. No. Damn that I want to go through with this despite knowing the pain of our separation afterward will tear me to shreds. This is but a love of cruelty. Vincent shifted his gaze. A double bed, armoire, and two three-drawer cabinets filled the space. Julian turned to face Vincent, his thick erection calling for Vincent.s mouth to cover it. I must not look. I must not… Julian stepped toward him, his arm extended. “Come here, my love.” Against his better judgment, he did so. Julian’s fingers deftly unbuttoned Vincent’s shirt, the tips of them snaking beneath the fabric and caressing his chest. Light, circular movements around his nipples wrought a gasp from Vincent, and he released a shuddering breath and a silent curse that his body had betrayed him. The master bent his head, and his tongue swirled around one taut peak. Vincent’s body stiffened, and he clenched his hands to stop himself reaching for Julian or rubbing his own cock. “You like that, my love? Yes, I remember.” The wet tongue moved to the other nipple, then up to Vincent’s neck. The vein there pulsated, and Vincent swallowed, gritted his teeth. Light kisses peppered his neck, his earlobe, his jaw line, and finally his mouth. The softness of the master’s lips against his all but shattered Vincent’s resolve. He brought his hands up to fist Julian’s hair but let them fall back to his sides. Lord, but I…I cannot… Julian’s tongue slipped between Vincent’s lips, and the master stared at Vincent, a silent plead for him to open up. Those beautiful eyes, so black… Vincent’s cock spasmed so… He wanted to come, come hard and fast. Desire overtook him, and he clasped Julian’s buttocks and pulled his body against him. Their erections pressed together, and the warmth of Julian’s cock heated Vincent’s desire, ratcheted it up to a maddening degree. Vincent parted his lips, and Julian’s tongue entered his mouth and began a delicious exploration. Vincent groaned, his yen for release an all-consuming thing that wiped out any other emotion, any argument he had previously entertained. The kiss deepened, their tongues fast-moving, and Vincent’s grunts and pained groans matched Julian’s. He kneaded that tight rump then discovered the smooth skin of Julian’s back, the way his shoulder blades jutted and fitted inside his palms. The master’s hands roamed Vincent’s chest, teased his nipples. Vincent’s bollocks tightened, and his cock jumped. He broke away from Julian and stepped back, hands up, palms facing the master. “Stop. We must stop. I cannot—” “It is too much, hmm?” Julian asked and fondled his cock with languid strokes. His foreskin ruched and smoothed, ruched and smoothed, and a bead of cum seeped from his cock’s hole. Fuck. Fuck…! “You want me, Vincent? You want the master?” Julian spread his legs, and his other hand cupped his balls. His knees buckled, and he closed his eyes. A low „Mmmm. left him, and he let his head hang back. “Do not stand there… and… ahhh… tell me you…mmm…do not want me. Come here, my love.” Vincent rubbed his cock through his breeches but snatched his hand away. By God, I am going to…I am nearly… He shrugged off his shirt. Kicking off his boots, he eyed Julian’s movements, memorising the way he touched himself. Ah, how his cock ached. With fumbling hands, he undid his breeches and stepped out of them and toward Julian. Their bodies joined, and the heat of Julian’s skin and the feel of him still fisting his cock brought a surge of lust so foreign that Vincent’s head lightened. He looked down. Julian spread his fingers and coupled Vincent’s cock with his own. The silky softness against his member almost tipped Vincent over the edge. “It feels so good, does it not, my love?” Fierce desire swept through Vincent, and he looked up, away from the beautiful sight of their cocks, and into Julian’s eyes. He clasped the master’s neck and kissed him—a kiss that portrayed his raging lust, his need to show Julian his…love? His cock vein pulsated. He clenched his ass-hole and whimpered, knowing it would be over soon, too soon. If Julian continued…if Vincent did not step away… He broke the kiss and trailed his tongue along Julian’s salty jaw line. Julian buried his face in the crook of Vincent’s neck. “Do not fight it… ahhh fuck! Please. Do not fight this.” The master’s movements quickened, his hold tightened, and a coil of craving unravelled in the pit of Vincent’s stomach. It spread to his testicles and up his cock. Strong tingles grew to almost painful proportions, and Vincent gripped Julian’s biceps, loving the feel of the muscles contracting on the master’s pumping arm. Their foreheads touched as both looked down. Julian pressed his thigh into Vincent’s, their hips lurching forward at the same time. Vincent’s balls clapped against Julian’s, and the master gave Vincent’s ass a resounding whack, the open-palmed strike a sting of pleasure-pain. “Ahh, my love…you…missed me.” Creamy cum erupted from Julian, and a second later Vincent’s release spurted, once, twice, and landed on Julian’s pelvis. The result of their orgasms combined and covered Julian’s hand. He smoothed it over their cocks with each gush, and the wetness, the beautiful wetness encouraged more from Vincent. He gave a strangled groan. Spent, he drew the master closer into an embrace and revelled in the feel of Julian’s cum-soaked palm caressing his back. With ragged breaths Vincent rubbed his torso across Julian’s, their mixing cum releasing a heady aroma. Sticky, slick, so…wet. Julian’s lips touched Vincent’s, and his tongue flicked along Vincent’s lower lip. His heated breaths fanned Vincent’s mouth and, coupled with their gyrations, birthed a new desire, a slow-burning, raw need that ignited at the root of Vincent’s cock. “Have you ever wondered why they call me the master?” Julian asked. He kneeled and began licking Vincent clean with flat-tongued strokes. “I…I have…thought about it, yes.” Vincent stroked the top of Julian’s head. “But I assumed it was because you owned—” “Devil’s Spawn? No, it is not because of that.” “Then…?” Julian stood and palmed Vincent’s shoulders, pressed him to his knees. “Clean me, then I will show you.” Four I am lying atop Julian’s bed, a bed he has undoubtedly entertained others on, yet…it does not matter. Not in this instant. For now, I am content to revel in the moment. The time to ruminate comes later, after…he has gone. How will I continue? How will I…? Stop. Stop fretting over what is yet to come, over what has past. He will be return to this room with whatever it is that makes him the master. I must concentrate on all that he is about to show me and imprint it in my mind for perusal in the imminent lonely years. The door creaked open, and Julian entered, a coil of rope and a large canvas reticule in hand. He closed the door and moved to a set of drawers, twisting a knob on the lantern to intensify the light. Semi-darkness loitered in the corners, and Julian’s shadow stretched across the wall, the porthole an alien mar on his ghostly Doppelganger. Full daylight had emerged, and the fog had lifted. A dull grey sky banked with heavy, greyer clouds indicated rain. Julian placed the rope on the drawer top and the bag on the bed. Opening it, he withdrew a small riding crop and a slim, smooth wooden phallus. Vincent’s stomach rolled, and anticipation bunched his muscles. Julian looked at him. “Fear not; I will not hurt you.” He smiled, and it reached his eyes. “Nor will I do anything you do not wish.” Vincent nodded and clasped his hands behind his head. “Ah, such a movement is a welcome sight.” Julian climbed on the bed and straddled Vincent, their balls and cocks touching. “What…movement?” Julian leaned forward, his palms either side of Vincent’s head. “You have placed your hands behind your head, perhaps not realising that you show your trust in me by doing so. You are open to me, do you see?” I have always been open to you. Vincent nodded. “I…I have decided to let this…thing take its course. I shall deal with whatever follows…later.” Julian stared at Vincent. “Ah, a wise choice, my love.” He kissed Vincent’s nose. “Would you allow me to show you a different side of me?” “That would depend on what it involves.” Vincent glanced at the whip and phallus. Laughter bellowed out of Julian, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. His features softened, and he looked upon Vincent, serious now. “It involves learning how to gain pleasure from pain. How to fully trust me. The last time…” He took a deep breath. “You have thought me a tease the past two years, have you not, but that was not my intention. I did not penetrate because—” “I was not ready to receive.” Vincent pulled his hands from beneath his head and caressed Julian’s sides, roamed the mounds of his ass. “I was the one to give—but now I feel it is time to explore…to let…” Julian kissed Vincent with such ardour he stole his breath. Vincent fingered Julian’s nipple, the skin so soft there, so tempting. Julian’s cock bobbed against Vincent’s. Desire stirred, Vincent lifted his hips. “Hmm. You are ready again. Good.” Julian reached for the rope, moved off of Vincent, and kneeled beside him. “Turn over.” Brows raised, guts tightening, Vincent asked, “What are you going to do?” “You will see. Or rather, you will feel.” Vincent flipped over onto his hands and knees. “Do not do anything now unless I order it. Keep your palms and knees on the bed. Spread your legs a little more.” His heart rate accelerated, and Vincent hiked in a breath and released it through pursed lips. This is what I want, what I need… He widened his legs, and his ass-hole puckered. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he licked his salty lips, smiled at the recollection the taste brought. Julian’s skin…his smell… The master positioned himself behind Vincent. The cool, rough touch of the rope slithered across his back. Vincent’s torso jerked, and his cock hardened. The rope tickled his buttocks, the backs of his thighs, and up the valley of his ass. The contact disappeared, and Vincent swallowed the words asking for its return. “Lay your cheek on the bed and give me your hands.” Julian’s commanding voice stiffened Vincent’s bollocks, and he complied with the master’s wishes, placing both hands at the small of his back. Rope coiled around his wrists, tight enough to incite a wince but not uncomfortable. Movements indicated Julian making a knot, and then the remaining rope’s length hung beside him and coiled on the bed. The exposure of his puckered hole wrought such excitement Vincent’s cock bobbed, and the vein there pulsed in quick time with his heart. Fuck…I want him inside me… “You must not speak, my love. Or make a sound. If you do, I will…punish you.” Julian ran his hands over Vincent’s arms and along his sides, their journey finishing on his buttocks. He caressed them, fingers splayed, and his thumbs smoothed down the cleft, up the cleft, down… Vincent held his breath and closed his eyes. His cock ached, and the need to touch it grew fierce. He flexed his fingers, and the rope chafed his skin. Fingers spread, palms warm upon his ass. A thumb circled his hole. “Do you like that?” Julian asked. Vincent opened his mouth to answer but snapped it closed and nodded, opened his eyes. The master took his hands away, leaving Vincent hollow inside, grieving the loss of contact. He bit his lower lip to stop himself from asking for more of the same. Julian shuffled the bag’s contents and removed something so quickly Vincent couldn’t make it out. Cold wetness dripped onto the top of his ass cleft and dribbled down. Vincent gasped. “Ah, you made a sound.” Julian grasped the riding crop. The sting of harsh contact on his thigh shocked Vincent, and he loosed a startled grunt. “Another noise.” The master picked up the end of the rope. “Bite on this.” The rope, coarse against his lips, slotted between Vincent’s teeth. “You may be…thankful for it.” The crop landed on the bed beside him, and Vincent warred with feeling relieved yet disappointed. Once again, hands spanned his ass and the thumb returned its ministrations to his hole, the moisture a delicious addition. Slight pressure, and the thumb tip eased him open. Julian leaned in, his thumb entering a little more, and his cock teased the underside of Vincent’s balls. The urge to spit out the rope and voice his needs assailed Vincent, and to his shock, he almost spoke for the want of the crop against his skin. In, out, in, out, the thumb’s languid strokes a tease, a beautiful, beautiful tease. “Ah…so…tight, my love.” Vincent bit the rope. Julian selected the phallus. Its tip trailed down his cleft and took the place of the thumb, harder, smoother as it entered him slowly, so slowly his hole accommodated it without much protest. “Feels good, does it not?” Julian asked. Vincent nodded, scrunched his eyes closed, and swallowed. The master moved the phallus in and out, and his wet tongue licked one of Vincent’s pointer fingers before Julian took it into his mouth and mimicked the phallus’ action. The need to cry out, to beg for mercy, gripped Vincent, and his teeth clamped the rope harder. He snapped his eyes open. A young man stared through the porthole. Vincent spat out the rope. “By God, someone is watching!” The crop’s double bite stung, stung. “Oh, fuck. Fuck!” “Pay him no heed.” In his peripheral, Vincent saw Julian beckon the man. “You have asked him in?” To Vincent’s surprise, his cock strained, bobbed, and released a drop of pre-cum. The rope met his mouth. The phallus continued its maddening thrusts. “Quiet, my love.” Julian caressed Vincent’s back, his shoulder blade, and his nails dug into the tender flesh of his collarbone. In, out, in, out… Footsteps sounded in the corridor, and Vincent stiffened yet welcomed the imminent intrusion. My God, I am perverse in wanting that man to see I am with the master. I am with the master! The door creaked open, and the young man stood in the entryway, his cheeks flushed, his hands fisted by his sides. His mouth hung slack and worked as if speaking, though the words would not come. Then, “Master? I— ” In, out, in, out… “I told you, did I not, that you could never take the place of,” smooth glides, so smooth, “my one…special love.” Vincent closed his eyes to rid himself of the pain on the young man’s face, but the image remained beneath his eyelids. Euphoria overtook the momentary sorrow. My one…special love. “You did, sir, but I—” “But see this. Behold this man on my bed.” In, out, in, out. “He is mine now. Be gone with my blessing.” “May I…may I join you, sir?” Oh Lord, Lord! Do I want this? “Vincent?” Julian kissed his back. Hot breaths fanned his skin and brought goose flesh. Vincent shook his head. “My love does not wish it, and what he desires…” The sound of the door closing reached Vincent, and tears formed. I know how he is feeling, yet I have waited for this, to hear this, for too long. He pushed the sadness away. “He will adapt. He was but a dalliance, you understand? He knew that.” Vincent nodded. The phallus left him, and the tip of Julian’s cock butted against his hole, the soft yet rigid head a new sensation. More moisture dripped down his cleft, and Julian stroked his cock up and down the valley. Vincent flexed his fingers, bunched them tight as the master’s cock eased him open, inserted so slowly his hole widened with simplicity. “Ah. Mmm. Still brand new, my love.” The words did not sting, this time spoken with tenderness, with wonder that Vincent had saved himself for so long. Julian’s rhythm increased pace. He fisted Vincent’s cock, matching that rhythm, and a coil of lust unfurled at the base of Vincent’s bollocks. It spread, hardening his cock further, and Vincent pushed back against Julian, the need for skin-on-skin a wrenching, wanton craving. “You may speak. God, yes, you may speak.” Julian leaned over, the heat of his body warming Vincent’s hands and arms. “Untie me. I need…I need to touch.” The rope loosened and fell beside him, and Vincent rolled his wrists then grasped Julian’s buttocks, bringing him closer, closer still. Julian’s thrusts grew quicker, more urgent, and Vincent’s cock throbbed. He fingered his own nipple, licked his lips, imagined Julian’s tongue there. “Ah…such a sweet…sweet ass. Mmm.” Pressure built in Vincent’s bollocks, and his cock vein pulsated, the head aching, aching… “Fist me harder. Harder. Fuck me harder.” Movements changed. Cocks pumped, fingers on nipple, Julian’s free hand gripping Vincent’s shoulder, balls slapping, pleasure-pain in Vincent’s ass… “Oh fuck. Fuck!” “That’s it, my love. Ah…mmmm…yes!” Cum erupted, inside Vincent’s ass and out of his cock. He caught cum with his free hand and licked his moisture, tasted himself, gasped out his pleasure, the release akin to an explosion of now free, pent-up love. The slickness in his ass-hole milked the last of his cum, pushing it out with such force he whimpered. Christ, how I love this man. Love this man. Julian slowed, his breaths fast pants, his sweat-riddled thighs slipping against Vincent’s. He smoothed cum down Vincent’s semi-hard cock, across his lower stomach, over his balls, and stilled inside him. Vincent lowered himself flat on the bed, Julian following. Light kisses brushed his shoulder blade, the back of his neck. The master pulled out, lay facing Vincent, and kissed his lips, soft, featherlight. Their bodies fitted together, arms embracing. Vincent stared into his eyes. “I do not kiss other fellows. You are my one special love, you understand?” Vincent nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat. Five There was enough water on board after all. Julian heated some and filled a tin tub in the sitting room. He bathed me, cleaned every crevice, and I loved his attention. In turn, I bathed him and memorised each part of him, filed it away in my mind. This Saturday, this day, I vow to enjoy whatever it presents. Contemplating his leaving is not an avenue I wish to travel yet. We are alone on Le Frai de Démon, the crew off to pursue whatever they wish until the ship sets sail once more. Earlier, he left me for a while to visit the market and purchase some fresh provisions. Oh, how I missed him then. Missed him. I wish…I wish… “Do you like my other love?” Julian asked and dipped his bread in egg yolk. He bit the soggy crust and chewed. Vincent stared at the scarred wooden table in the galley. His appetite vanished. “I do, though I steeled myself not to. I also like your other love, though I only visited there to,” his face heated, “be closer to you in some way.” Julian swallowed. “Ah, admissions. They are somewhat painful to utter, are they not?” Nodding, Vincent pushed his plate aside. Do I tell him more? Do I dare? He looked at Julian, found him staring, a sad smile on his face. Julian’s eyes…the understanding look in them touched Vincent so brutally he choked back a sob. “I…I am…” Julian covered Vincent’s balled fist with his hand and squeezed. “When I told my father of…about me, he did the obligatory ostracising. I… Though hurt, I had expected such behaviour, and something inside me grew. I was indignant that I could not be myself with the one person I had trusted my whole life. I did not run, did not hide away. Instead, I remained in the town and opened Devil’s Spawn—his new term for me—knowing he would hear of it. I wanted to become known, rich, someone of influence so that every turn that man took, I would be there. Le Frai de Démon is the biggest trade ship in these parts, and I have no doubt he has heard of it, of my success.” Vincent took in Julian’s features, and the pain etched on them hurt his soul. “In a twist of irony, it is he who has hidden away in shame, yet the people of the town have accepted me, or so it seems. I have given men employment, good wages, and I suspect their wives worry that I may corrupt their husbands while at sea, but…I have not. Admissions. Yes, they are somewhat painful to utter.” His mouth opened and closed, but Vincent had no words, no sentiments to express his gratitude in the master opening up to him. This new closeness, such a delight, a treasure, would be broken in a matter of hours, unless… And, yes, Vincent would be his rigging boy. Anything he asked. Julian squeezed Vincent’s fist once more and sat upright, slapped his palms against the table. “I have something for you, though I fear your reaction when you receive it.” Eyes wide, Vincent sipped his coffee, then, “You? Fear?” The master’s laugh sounded bitter, hollow, desolate. “Yes, I fear, though anyone but you knowing would…” He stared through a porthole. Blue sky had broken through the grey. “I am quite taken with you, you understand?” Vincent’s stomach knotted, and his mind struggled to comprehend. He had heard correctly, but— “I was from the first. You have a tough exterior, but your inner softness drew me. I spotted it and hoped…hoped it would come to this. To where we are now.” He looked at Vincent and gave a low chuckle. “And you thought you were the only one capable of feeling such, hmm?” He brushed the backs of his fingers down Vincent’s cheeks. “I missed you. Missed you so much I thought I would go insane. And the one thing I want you to utter…you will not. I know that. And I know why. I understand.” “I cannot…I am afraid that—” Julian’s lips against Vincent’s stilled whatever words would follow. Vincent closed his eyes to savour the moment. Julian’s fingers through his hair, such a tender caress, stirred his cock to life. Tears pricked his eyes, and he opened them to find Julian’s cheeks wet with the same. A lump formed in Vincent’s throat, and he fought the desire to free a yell so loud, so full of rage, love, want, longing… “Ah, fuck! Bastard life! I despise this…this…” Vincent scraped back his chair and stood, fists balled. He paced beside the table, his footsteps heavy, anger-filled. “I… Christ, I want to say so much, yet the words won’t come. They are here, here inside me, but I am afraid, so damn afraid you will—” Julian stood and stopped Vincent’s pacing, brought him into an embrace, his hands in his hair, his wet cheek against Vincent’s neck. “Even after what I have said? I still understand, my love.” Pain at the thought of Julian leaving twisted Vincent’s heart, his guts, his whole being, and he pressed the master against him, his arms a lock, a plead, a please do not go. Do not leave me. Frantic, Vincent grabbed Julian’s lapels and ripped the shirt from his body. He undid Julian’s breeches, and the master joined him in their disrobing. Naked, pressed together, hands roaming backs, buttocks, shoulders, Vincent released a sob and covered Julian’s mouth with his own. I love you. Love you. Do not…please do not…go. A groan of despair left him, and he pushed down on Julian’s shoulders. The master descended to the wooden floor, lay waiting, and Vincent stared down at him, at his then Julian’s turgid cock. He stepped over him, his feet beside his head, and turned around and positioned himself above his man, cock poised over Julian’s mouth, Julian’s waiting for his to envelop it, to suck, to lick… “God, man, you… Fuck!” Vincent expelled a breath and plunged Julian’s cock into his mouth. Julian’s mouth encompassed Vincent’s, and the feel of Julian’s hardness in his mouth, the tip bumping his throat, his skin against his lips, combined with the feel of his inside Julian’s mouth, increased this excitement tenfold. Mumbled groans filled Vincent’s head, and his bollocks, so taut, his member so ready to spew its contents... Vincent took Julian deep into his throat then pulled up, repeating the action until both his and Julian’s cock veins pulsed their warning of imminent orgasms. Vincent grunted, moaned, writhed above Julian, and the master’s hips rose. The aroma of sex, male scents, and sweat attacked his senses, and Vincent gave in to the rising tide. Cum left him in three rapid jets, the wetness of it surrounding his cock before Julian swallowed, sucked the remainder from him. Julian’s low groan and grip on his ass foretold of his own release, and Vincent sucked harder, faster, fisting the base of Julian’s shaft with strong, rapid strokes, his tongue flat, suction tight. Tingles spread through his cock in the aftermath of his orgasm, Julian still sucking, still groaning, gripping. Cum filled his mouth, and he swallowed ready to take more. Sucked, fisted, gave all he had to give. He eased up, took his cock from Julian.s mouth, wanting to hear unrestrained groans. Julian thrust his hips up further. Another spurt of cum hit Vincent’s tonsils, and Julian released a hoarse cry. Vincent whimpered, and the master fondled his heavy balls. “You… You…?” Vincent sucked upward, released Julian’s cock, and licked the head, swirled his tongue around it. “Missed you. Yes, goddamn it, I missed you.” * * * * How strange that I once thought the master could not change. Mayhap he has not—he could have been like this the whole time. Mayhap I did not see beyond his exterior as he saw beyond mine. I see it now, see it all, yet here we stand upon deck, the ship prepared for another voyage, the crew aboard working on the last-minute details before raising anchor. Before the ship leaves with my love upon it once more. His hands encompass mine, and he looks at me, such pain in his eyes, as though he wars with an emotion he cannot express. Oh, I know that feeling well—I do—yet it has to come from him. I will not ask. Or beg. Julian’s eyes widened, brightened. He smiled and released Vincent’s hands, held up a finger. “I will be back. Wait. Please, wait one second.” He turned, the sunlight tinting his hair corn-coloured for an instant, and disappeared inside the ship. His leaving set the pot of loneliness bubbling inside Vincent—a slow boil, but a boil nonetheless. Pain rendered his stomach a sour-filled thing, and he soaked up the ache knowing the intensity of it would cripple him in the minutes to come. He looked up. The weather had changed dramatically, the grey skies of two days past gone, the blue above now meeting seamlessly with the ocean in the distance. Clouds scudded like tufts of freshly sheared sheep’s wool. He remembered of Grandpa, and tears pricked his eyes. I have no one. No one save Julian. As though the thought of him prompted his return, Julian stepped out onto the deck, a folded piece of paper in hand. He stood before Vincent and reached out, hooked a stray tress behind Vincent’s ear. “I—” Julian stared to his right, at the wharf and the town beyond. “I have this for you.” He looked at Vincent and held up the paper. “You may wish to read it on dry land. That will make it easier to walk away. I would not want you toppling over the gangplank guard rail.” A sad smile touched his lips, and moisture filled his eyes. Tears fell, and he swiped them away with the back of his hand, seemingly unabashed at their appearance. “Master?” someone shouted. “We be ready, sir!” Vincent’s stomach spasmed, and he swallowed a lump full of sorrow, love, unsaid words. Julian gestured to the gangplank. “Go.” He nodded. “Go on now.” Vincent raised his hand then let it fall to his side. Tears marred his vision, and Julian became a misty figure, mayhap how he should remember him, for recalling him as the sharp image imprinted in his mind would bring too much grief. He turned, his bottom lip quivering, and blinked to better see the gangplank. Once on it, he clutched the paper in one hand and the guardrail in the other, his steps down sluggish and wrong. Oh, God, were they wrong. Please…please do not leave me. Do not make me do this. He stepped onto the cobblestones of the town that had given him such freedom yet bound him to a life he no longer wished to lead. Did he dare turn around? More tears surged, and he swivelled, stared up at the ship, at the blurred image of his love standing at the rail, knuckles white from gripping. A sharp breeze shifted Julian’s hair, pressed his shirt against his body. Vincent blinked again, damned the tears, and wrenched his gaze from Julian to the note. He opened it. Read three words. Come. You understand? His heart stilled for two beats, and a strangled sob bloomed in his throat. Quivering lips broke into a smile, and he looked up, dashed the tears away to see his love’s face, the hope and worry written there. Vincent raced up the gangplank, exaltation lending his footsteps speed, his gaze on his love. On deck, he paused. Julian released the rail, faced him, arms rising. Vincent moved toward him, note still clutched in hand, and reached out, fingertips caressing Julian’s cheek. “I understand,” Vincent said. Julian’s smile brightened his face, chased away the fret lines, the uncertainty. “Your home…your place at the bank…?” “Home and bank be damned.” Vincent pulled Julian into a fierce embrace, tears running freely, his heart full, brimming, overflowing with love, with the sense of being home. Julian’s breaths tickled Vincent’s neck, and his fingers wound through his hair. Julian cleared his throat. “I’ll send word to Shyler at the next port. He will keep watch on your house until our return.” He lifted his head and stared into Vincent’s eyes. “So, you consent to being my rigging boy?” Laughter burbled into Vincent’s throat. He took a pace back and regarded his love. “Anything. Anything you ask.” Julian released Vincent and turned to address his crew. “Raise the gangplank and pull up anchor!” * * * * I will not turn and look at the town behind us. It would be akin to probing the past, something I no longer need to do. I will keep my eyesight firmly ahead, on the vast ocean spreading out before us. The sea…it scares me so, yet I will get used to it with the master by my side. He struts on deck now, issuing orders, and men scuttle to do his bidding. As will I. Aye, as will I. About the Author www.sarahmasters.wordpress.com Sarah writes in many genres. Her love of fantasy and historicals often features in her work, and she leans toward the highly erotic. She lives in England with her adorable husband and children. loveyoudivine is dedicated to bringing you the finest erotic literature on the web. You are cordially invited to join us on a journey of sexual awakening and sensual passion. Visit us on the web at: www.loveyoudivine.com