The house was a hive of activity, with staff busying themselves with the tasks at hand. Thomas awoke to the sound of voices outside his room—English, Spanish, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, even a bit of French being thrown about. 

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he pivoted out of bed and made his way to the shutters. Throwing them open, he was taken aback to find that the sun was only just breaching the horizon, setting the sky ablaze in hues of gold and orange. 

Pulling on a crisp shirt from the wardrobe, his heart sank. Yet another gift from the lord and lady—one of many—that he had so ungraciously dismissed the night before. 

With a sigh, he rubbed his eyes one last time and stepped into the corridor, determined to assess the commotion and repair the damage his close-mindedness had caused. 

But as suddenly as the noise had begun, it ceased. Thomas approached the landing at the top of the grand staircase just in time to see the double doors swing shut behind a line of staff who had reemerged from the courtyard. 

He reached for the arm of the elderly gentleman he had met the morning before, whom he had since learned was named Eduardo. 

“Señor, ¿qué está pasando? ¿Por qué está todo el mundo corriendo de un lado a otro? ¿Dónde están el señor y la señora?” 

Eduardo smiled warmly. “English, please, sir. I need the practice, and your Spanish is painful to the ear,” he chuckled. “His Lordship received word in the night of a French advance and has reported to the military command. Her Ladyship accompanied him. They will return soon enough. In the meantime, can I assist you with anything?” 

“No, thank you, sir,” Thomas stammered. “But thank you, Eduardo. I’ll be on the veranda if I’m needed.” 

--- 

As the morning sky blazed and birdsong carried on the wind, Thomas found himself lost in the beauty of his surroundings, watching as the world slowly awakened. 

He was so entranced that he failed to hear the approaching footsteps. It wasn’t until Lucia appeared beside his chair that he noticed her, startling slightly. 

She chuckled in the manner Thomas had become accustomed to whenever she caught him off guard. 

“Good morning,” she greeted him. 

Thomas rose from his chair, returned the greeting, and then sat back down. 

“I hope you don’t mind my intrusion, Thomas, but it seems we’ve both been left behind today. I saw you in the entrance this morning—you looked troubled.”

Thomas forced a small smile in response before turning his gaze back to the sunrise. 

“Perhaps some tea will mend whatever wounds you carry,” she suggested. “You British seem to believe a good pot of tea can solve all the world’s problems.” 

With that, she signalled to someone unseen by Thomas, who quickly arranged the china and poured tea for them both. 

“So?” she snapped. “Out with it, before I grow bored of this melancholy act and leave as well.” 

This time, her words carried weight, and the refined English gave way to the unmistakable lilt of her Spanish accent. 

Thomas met her eyes and offered a slight smile. “It’s hard to explain, and it wouldn’t be proper for me to discuss such matters with a lady of your stature—or, in fact, with a lady at all.” 

Lucia cut in. “Don’t give me that pompous nonsense! Society hides behind its etiquette and rules, but we both know you are not society, so such protocols don’t apply to you. You, sir, are either too scared to tell me or simply embarrassed!” 

Her tone had Thomas transfixed. For a moment, her carefully constructed mask had slipped—just ever so slightly—revealing the fiery Spanish beauty beneath. He wasn’t sure whether to be intimidated or aroused by it. 

After a moment of silence, broken only by the soft sipping of tea, Thomas mumbled, “Embarrassed and scared, I reckon.” 

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” she whispered over the rim of her teacup. “Let me see if I know the story, and you can fill in the gaps…” 

Lucia calmly recounted everything in painfully accurate detail. She knew about the kiss in the stables all those years ago, the letters they had exchanged. She described their first night together in vivid contrast, embellishing her account with Lady Ashcombe’s own words—how she had later complained that his seed had seeped from her all day, making her excited as she tried to shop. 

She caught Thomas’s blushing face and giggled. “Don’t be shy now, soldier boy. I know every little detail of your visit here, and about the arrangement you have with His Lordship to love Lady Ashcombe.”  

“But how?” Thomas cut in, his tone a little too sharp, betraying his vulnerability. He took a breath, then softened. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have shouted. Please, forgive me. But how do you know all this?” 

Reassuring him with a gentle smile, she resettled herself in her seat and sipped her tea calmly. 

“It’s simple, Thomas. I am Emily’s lady-in-waiting. There is nobody closer to her—I’m practically her sister. And, given the… unconventional nature of their marriage, I am even closer to Lady Ashcombe. She tells me everything. And on that note, so does Lord Ashcombe. As you can imagine, he doesn’t get to have many openly feminine chats in his usual social circles.” 

“Incredible,” Thomas muttered, taken aback by her openness and overwhelming confidence. “So, you already know about last night, then? You’ve heard how I reacted? How I’ve wrecked everything?” 

“Sí.” She nodded subtly. “But they didn’t need to tell me what happened on the veranda. I watched from the balcony,” she added with a mischievous smile. 

“And”, she said, “you haven’t wrecked anything. They understand your reaction. After all, you thought it was Her Ladyship pleasing you, only to realise it was His Lordship. Naturally, that would catch you off guard. But I still fail to see the problem.” 

 “It’s not proper,” Thomas repeated defensively. 

“Neither is sharing a married man’s wife,” Lucia shot back. “Nothing about your relationship with those two is ‘proper’ in the eyes of society. But if it suits the three of you and makes you happy, then to hell with what other people think. After all, it’s not as if anyone else will ever find out.” 

“But I liked it,” Thomas blurted out. 

“Of course you did. What man doesn’t enjoy having his cock sucked?” Lucia smirked. 

“No, not that.” Thomas’s voice softened as he turned his gaze toward the edge of the veranda. “Afterwards… I liked the fact that he was the one who did it.” 

Lucia stood, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Good. Build on that—lean into what you like and what you want. After all, if making love to him pleases Emily, isn’t that part of why you entered this arrangement?” Her voice was light, almost distant. “And, from what I’ve heard, he’s a gifted lover with a rather nice cock. Not as nice as yours, but still… nice.” 

Thomas turned to watch her walk away, then quietly thanked her for her company. 

--- 

Thomas spent the rest of the day keeping himself busy. He rode into town and joined some friends for a drink. They pressed him with questions about his whereabouts over the past few days and how he had come by such fine clothes. He didn’t lie—at least, not entirely. He explained that a childhood friend, now a lord stationed nearby, had crossed his path on the first night. Since then, he had been offered lodging and meals in exchange for running errands and assisting in the stables. 

Thomas wasn’t comfortable with deception, but this wasn’t exactly a lie—it was merely a fabrication of the truth. They all knew he had worked as a stable boy for a noble family and had been close to them, so his story was believable. And, thankfully, they bought it. 

As the sun faded, he made his excuses and led his horse back toward the house, gripping the reins tightly. He feared he had drunk too much to ride safely. Passing the two guards at the gate, he caught their usual judgmental glances before handing the reins to the young stable hand and making his way inside. 

Upon entering the farmhouse, Eduardo greeted him with his usual warm smile and politely asked if he needed anything. 

“Yes, actually,” Thomas said, a sudden thought striking him. “Could you fetch me ink and paper? I need to write a letter. Also, if you could rustle up some food, I’m starving.” 

Eduardo’s smile widened. “Of course, both requests are easily managed. I’ll leave them on the dining room table when they’re ready.” With that, he disappeared through a door beneath the staircase. 

--- 

Thomas finished his simple dinner of soup and bread while staring at the blank sheet of paper resting on the smooth, varnished table. He knew what he wanted to say, but didn’t know how to say it.

With a final mouthful of the delicious vegetable soup, he set his spoon down, picked up the quill, and began to write. 

--- 

My Dear Lord,

Please forgive my childish reaction to last night's events and how the evening ended so abruptly. I sincerely hope this has not affected our arrangement, for I do love Lady Ashcombe. 

Though last night was undeniably pleasurable, it caught me off guard, as you can understand. I was raised to believe that relations between men were wrong, yet I found myself in a state of complete, heavenly bliss at a man's hands. My body, conscience, and heart were at war with each other. 

But in the light of day, I see more clearly. To love Lady Ashcombe fully, I must embrace all that she loves—including you. And, though I can scarcely believe I am writing this, I think I may have already loved you before I ever laid eyes upon you. 

I would love to move forward and finalise our agreement if you can forgive my narrow-minded foolishness. 

Yours lovingly, 

Thomas

Thomas made his way upstairs to his quarters. He passed a maid on the landing and handed her a note, instructing her to leave it in his lordship’s room before turning in for the night.

-----------

The room's darkness was suddenly split by a blade of light as the door to Thomas’s room opened ajar and then closed with a soft click. Quiet but deliberate, Footsteps echoed off the walls as an unidentified stranger crossed the room.

Thomas woke abruptly, sensing the subtle shift of the mattress beneath him. He could hear slow, measured breathing, but didn’t move or make a sound. Instead, he stared at the flickering oil lamp mounted on the wall.

“I read your letter, Thomas,” said a husky voice behind him, revealing Justin's presence. "And I, too, want to move forward with our agreement,” he added, his voice low as he shuffled closer.

The space between them had all but vanished. Thomas could feel the heat radiating from Justin’s body, yet he remained perfectly still, offering no acknowledgement of his presence. He remained still, his body taut with anticipation, as if his muscles feared betraying the moment. He could feel Justin’s warm and close breath, brushing the back of his neck like a whisper.

“You were braver in ink than you are now,” Justin murmured, a smile in his voice. “But I suppose words are safer than actions.”

Thomas’s lips parted slightly, but no words came. His mind was racing—rehearsing a thousand responses, none of which felt right.

“What is it you want from me, Justin?” Thomas finally asked, his voice low and steady, though his chest ached with the strain of holding back so much more.

Justin was quiet for a moment. Then he exhaled softly and said, “Clarity. Honesty. And perhaps… something that’s been long overdue between us.”

“But tonight, tonight I just want you!”

With that, Thomas felt Justin’s hand grasp his hip. With a firm tug, he was suddenly pressed tightly against his lordship—feeling the stiff muscles, the hard body, and, most noticeably, the hard cock pressing against his back.

His brain battled with his body. His mind urged him to stay still and let Justin do what he must, but his body wanted more. Instinctively, his hips pushed back into Justin.

“You tease me, boy,” came the coarse voice from the darkness. “You act the innocent, but we both know you crave what I’m offering.”

Lord Ashcombe’s hand slid from Thomas’s hip and slipped into his briefs.

Thomas hadn’t realised until that moment how hard he was—like granite. And when he felt Justin’s firm grip encircle his sensitive shaft, a moan escaped his lips.

Justin tugged hard on Thomas’s twitching member, keeping his hand at the base, then leaned forward, his cheek brushing against Thomas’s ear.

“Listen to my every word,” he whispered, his breath warm and sending shivers down Thomas’s spine. “Tonight, I’m going to take you. You’ll accept it—and you’ll grow to like it. I suspect you already do… after last night. Just like you’ve taken my wife, and I’ve learned to accept it. Do you consent?”

The room went quiet for a moment.

Justin released his grip, then began stroking Thomas again. With each upward motion, he let his thumb glide over the head, smearing precum down the shaft, causing Thomas to twitch involuntarily.

“Yes. Yes, I consent,” Thomas blurted out, his voice thick with hunger.

“Good,” Justin muttered with a slight chuckle. “Tonight, we seal our agreement.”

---------

Thomas’s breath came in shallow bursts, each exhale trembling as Justin’s hand moved with deliberate rhythm. The strokes were firm yet patient, building tension just under the surface of his skin. Every brush of Justin’s thumb over the sensitive ridge at the tip made his head spin, the nerves in his thighs tightening with anticipation.

Justin pressed his body more fully against Thomas, his bare chest warm and solid, a steady pressure that grounded him in the moment. The contrast between the cool air and the heat of their bodies was electric. Every inch of contact sparked like a flint —hip to hip, chest to back, hardness meeting heat. 

“I can feel every inch of you,” Justin murmured low, lips grazing the curve of Thomas’s neck. “Every twitch, every breath.”

Thomas’s hands reached blindly behind him, needing to feel something. His fingertips found Justin’s thighs, muscles flexing under his touch, and he grasped them, grounding himself as waves of sensation rolled through him.

Justin’s other hand explored slowly over Thomas’s back, dragging along his shoulder and around his neck, pausing just beneath his chin. The contrast of slow exploration and focused attention below made Thomas’s head fall back against Justin’s shoulder, his body caught between surrender and craving more.

“Not yet,” Justin whispered, withdrawing his hand briefly—just enough to make Thomas whimper at the loss. Then, with a shift of his hips and a renewed grip, he returned, this time sliding his full length against Thomas's virgin hole in a subtle grind that sent sparks through his spine.

Thomas bit his lip, gasping. “Justin…”

A low chuckle rumbled from the man behind him. “I like the way you say my name like that. Say it again.”

Thomas tried, but all that came was a broken moan as the friction returned, slower, deeper, perfectly cruel in its restraint. His body burned for release, but Justin controlled the tempo, savouring the build, teasing him toward a peak that hovered just out of reach.

 Thomas’s body trembled, barely able to control himself as Justin’s movements grew more precise—each stroke calibrated to push him further into the haze of desire. His skin felt too tight, nerves stretched thin, every brush of Justin’s thumb against his slick engorged tip sending sparks down his spine.

The room was quiet except for their breath—hot, ragged, overlapping—and the subtle sound of skin on skin, rhythmically drawing him closer to the edge. The scent of sweat, lust, and something darker hung between them, heady and inescapable.

Justin’s hand slid back up, fingers tracing the outline of Thomas’s chest, brushing over his nipple with a flick that made him jerk. A low moan tore from Thomas’s throat—raw, helpless.

“You feel that?” Justin murmured against his ear, voice thick with control. “That’s your body begging. You’re aching for it, aren’t you?”

Thomas could barely manage a nod, his jaw clenched, body straining against the pleasure being drawn out of him. Every muscle in him begged to let go, but Justin kept him there, hovering, desperate.

“Tell me,” Justin said, dragging his lips along the shell of Thomas’s ear, his hand slowing. “Say what you want.” 

Thomas whimpered as the friction eased, leaving him panting, his body screaming from the sudden lack.

“Please…” he gasped. “Don’t stop. Don’t—please. I want it.”

Justin’s hand resumed its work, now with a firmer grip, the tempo unforgiving. Thomas’s hips thrust in sync, no longer restrained, his moans louder now, fewer words and more sound—raw, primal.

“I’ve got you,” Justin whispered, his voice laced with heat and a strange kind of care. “Let it happen.”

The buildup snapped—white-hot tension flooding through Thomas in waves, his body convulsing with release, pleasure exploding out from his core. He cried out, clutching at Justin’s thigh behind him, shaking, his legs trembling.

Justin held him, both arms wrapped around him now, grounding him as the tremors slowly faded. His mouth brushed Thomas’s temple, his breath warm, grounding.

Thomas could hardly speak, his body limp, glowing with aftershocks. Justin’s voice came again, lower now. Softer.

“That was just the beginning.”

Thomas barely had time to catch his breath before Justin rolled him gently over, his chest now flush against the sticky, wet bedding. The sudden dampness against his oversensitive skin made him gasp, grounding him in the moment. 

Behind him, Justin mounted him. His hands traced slowly down his back, reverent and possessive all at once. One hand lingered at his lower back, the other moving lower, spreading him with firm, deliberate care. Thomas’s heart pounded, both from lingering pleasure and the sudden sharp spike of anticipation.

“This will be new,” Justin murmured, his voice lower now, almost thoughtful. “But not unexpected.”

Thomas swallowed hard. He didn’t speak, but the tension in his body was clear: readiness mingled with nerves, vulnerability with hunger. His breath hitched as he felt a cool liquid being poured between his cheeks, then came slow, measured pressure—a push that made him gasp, his hands grasped the bedding as his body adjusted.

It was overwhelming. The fullness. The stretch. The heat. The pain.

Justin moved with careful force, guiding himself deeper with a slow, relentless pace. Thomas’s whole body arched, his mouth falling open in a silent cry as sensation overwhelmed him—not just physical, but something deeper, more primal. The weight, the friction, the steady rocking—it was almost too much.

Every movement lit a fire inside him, like something unfamiliar had been awakened. His own body responded again, twitching with need, oversensitive and yet craving more. Each thrust struck something inside him that made him push back, his breath hitch, his fingers claw at the mattress.

Justin didn’t speak. He didn’t moan. He was a force, breathing hard, steady, unrelenting.

Thomas felt himself building again, impossibly. His overstimulated body betrayed him, rising toward another peak he hadn’t thought possible. He cried out as the pressure crested—his second climax overtaking him with shuddering intensity, his body jerking, undone. 

Justin followed soon after—silent, tense, his body pressed hard against Thomas’s, sinking every inch of himself deep into Thomas, and then his hips slowed as he reached his own finish deep within him.
Thomas gasped as he felt Justin swell within him and begin to twitch as wave after wave of his hot seed flooded his bowels, sending a heavenly sensation up into Thomas’s stomach.

And then…

Silence.

Justin withdrew, the warmth of his body vanishing almost instantly.

Thomas stayed where he was, his chest heaving, his limbs trembling, his body stretched and aching, and the sweat on his skin starting to cool.

He turned slightly, half-expecting a word, a touch, something.

But the room behind him was already empty.

Justin was gone.

No footsteps. No closing door. Just the sudden, suffocating stillness of the room.

Thomas exhaled slowly, unsure what he was feeling—sated and stripped all at once.