Chapter 20
We let Christine off in front of the boarding house in which she resided. Griffin offered to see her to the door and received a pointed glare in return.
Once she was gone and we were alone in the dim interior of the cab, he moved closer and took my hand. We rode in silence until the carriage pulled up in front of Griffin’s house. Saul waited for us on the porch, as usual. It was good to be home after a trying evening.
Except of course this wasn’t my home. Even if it had begun to feel like it.
Griffin locked the door behind us, before turning to me. “Are you truly all right, my dear?” he asked. His hands brushed my forearms lightly, as if he wanted to reassure himself but half-feared to touch me.
“I’m perfectly fine. The wound aches a bit, but nothing more.”
He didn’t look entirely sure he believed me, but took my hand and led me up the stair. I hoped his bedroom was our destination, but instead he stopped in the study. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
“Please.” I walked to the fire and stoked it absently.
“I’ll get the fire. You should rest.”
“I’m fine, Griffin. I’m not even using my injured arm.”
Since there was no sensible answer, Griffin handed me the measure of brandy he had poured in exchange for the poker. I suppressed a sigh and took a large swallow of the alcohol. Since I’d never had the chance to eat dinner from the buffet, its warmth spread quickly through my veins.
Griffin finished with the fire and went to pour himself a drink as well. I stared down at the flames, remembering the first time I had stood here. Remembering, also, the way Blackbyrne had come up behind me, the feel of his nails against my spine and the scent of decay on his breath.
I shivered. “Are you cold?” Griffin asked.
“No. Just thinking about Blackbyrne.”
Griffin slid his arms around my waist. “You’re positive it was him?”
“Yes. It was him in the Draakenwood as well.”
“And he approached you? Spoke to you?”
“I…” Surely he wouldn’t be jealous, would he? There was no reason. “Perhaps I’m mistaken, but it seemed as though he meant to seduce me.”
Griffin’s fingers tightened on my hips, pulling me back against him. “Did he?” There was an odd, low note to his voice I couldn’t identify.
“I know it sounds mad, but yes. Perhaps I should have lingered and tried to learn more.”
“No,” Griffin growled, and nipped at the back of my neck while pressing his erection against my buttocks. At least he was no longer treating me like a fragile vase due to my injury, although his reaction made little sense.
“No?” I echoed. “If I’m not mad to even think it, if he truly was interested, perhaps I could have prolonged our interview and learned more—”
He spun me around and pressed a kiss to my lips: possessive and heated, almost bruising in its intensity. “No,” he repeated in between kisses. “I can’t stand the thought of anyone else’s hands on you.”
His unexpected words sent my blood racing. Did he mean it? We hadn’t discussed our relationship, but it sounded as if he wished it to be something more than a few casual encounters.
God, please let him want that.
I pulled away to look into his eyes. They were dark with lust; his lips parted and swollen from our kisses, his expression one of such intense desire I’d do anything he asked just to keep it focused on me.
“Tell me what you want,” I begged.
Griffin ground his erection against my hip. “Get in the bedroom. Now.”
I was more than happy to comply. We left a trail of shed clothing behind us on the way, eager to find skin. My shirt was already ruined; I didn’t object when Griffin ripped it off in a shower of buttons, his mouth fastening on one nipple, then the other, before trailing down my belly in a series of sharp nips and hard sucks.
I tried to give back the same in kind, but he shoved me onto my back in the bed, climbing on top and pinning my good arm with his hand. I might have been able to struggle free, but I gave only a token resistance. The sight of him above me, wild with desire, the feel of his stiff cock against mine, made my head spin.
He let out a soft growl and bit my neck, right at the base where it joined the shoulder. I yelped and bucked against him, stiff and ready. Instead of rubbing against me as I expected, he pulled back. His eyes were half-hooded, gleaming as they watched me. “Get on your knees.”
I swallowed hard and complied. I’d never seen this possessive side of him before, never imagined it would stiffen me until my cock was hard as a rail spike, aching to be driven.
“Face the other way. Legs spread and hands on the headboard.”
I couldn’t seem to get enough air into my lungs, but my entire body craved his touch as I turned my vulnerable backside to him.
“Don’t move,” he whispered, the mattress flexing as he leaned over to rummage in the dresser. A moment later, he took out a jar of petroleum jelly. Had he kept it there just in case?
I bit my lip. Would I enjoy this? Would it hurt? Would it change things between us, somehow?
Griffin settled behind me again. His hands traced my back, then suddenly pulled me tight against his chest, his teeth grazing the nape of my neck. I whimpered incoherently and pressed against him.
“Ival,” he whispered into my ear, low and intimate. He pulled away for a moment; when he returned, it was to slip one hand between my legs. One slick finger pressed against my fundament. “Say you’re mine.”
It was clear what he was really asking. His finger circled the puckered flesh, pressing lightly and sending sparks of pleasure straight into my cock. “I-I’m yours,” I gasped.
“Good,” he murmured, and pushed his finger inside.
The sensation mixed the strange and familiar, and an involuntary gasp escaped me. He worked me slowly, sliding his finger in and out, letting me grow accustomed, and I relaxed. Then he discovered a certain spot and pressed. I moaned, my entire body quivering in response.
His breath caressed my neck, and his free hand tugged hard on my nipple, adding yet another dimension to the sensations devouring me. He paused to add more lubricant, but resumed with two fingers instead of one. I gasped at the additional stretching, but pushed back helplessly, wanting more.
“I’m going to take you,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m going to bugger you until you don’t know anything but my cock up your ass, until that clever tongue of yours can’t shape any word but my name.”
My member was swollen to bursting, and I whimpered, beyond caring about anything except how badly I needed him.
“Ask for it,” he whispered huskily, and, oh God, three fingers now, and I couldn’t possibly take much more and I didn’t care. “Beg me to fuck you.”
My face flamed in reflexive embarrassment, despite the fact he held me in his arms, fingers buried in me. “Griffin, please!”
“Please what?”
“F-fuck me!”
He nipped me again at the base of my neck, then withdrew for a moment. I glanced back; he slicked his cock generously, the velvety skin glistening in the candlelight. Catching me watching, he grinned and stroked his length deliberately. “Want to see what’s going to be splitting you open?”
“Unh,” I said, because there were no words left in my brain.
He kissed the base of my spine, before settling one hand lightly on my hip. The broad head of his member pressed against my hole, and I gulped for breath past the bands threatening to tighten my throat.
“Ival,” he groaned; the ends of his hair brushed the skin of my back. Then he pushed into me.
I moaned and pressed back at the same time. God, he felt twice the size I knew him to be, the thick head of his cock breaching me, stretching me to limit even though he’d prepared me well. Then suddenly the head was inside me, and he made a small sound of such pleasure I almost lost all semblance of control.
“Are you all right?” he asked; his voice was thick with lust. “I’ll stop if—”
“Damn it, Griffin, fuck me,” I growled.
He moaned, a sound of pure ecstasy, and pressed in slow and steady. It burned a little, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything but this: his body in mine, opening me, filling me, pressing against the spot which sent a blinding shock of pleasure straight into my cock.
I rocked back against him; our bodies collided again and again. I wanted this; I craved it; I couldn’t get enough of it. I cried out wordlessly every time he thrust, and his fingers tightened on my hips, hard enough to bruise.
“Say you’re mine,” he gasped; he sounded close to release. “Are you, Ival? Are you mine?”
I bit the pillow in blind lust. “God, Griffin, yes, yours, no one else’s, just yours, please.” I didn’t even know what I begged for, except more. More everything: more of him, more of his cock, more of his hands on me, more of his heart.
“My dear, yes, yes—”
His voice roughened with urgency, and his thrusts took on a different tempo. “Do it,” I groaned. “Take me; take me; make me yours—”
A hoarse cry tore its way out of him; he jerked into me hard, then went still, his cock twitching inside me. I dropped my hand to my own, hyper-sensitized length, and a single tug was enough to make my entire body clench as I spent myself onto the bedding. Griffin let out a startled sound of pleasure, pushing hard against my bottom, my contractions milking a final sigh out of him.
I collapsed facedown into the bedding, my arms limp as cooked noodles. Griffin pressed himself against me for a moment, then gently pulled free. The sound of his footsteps padding to the washbasin barely penetrated the sated haze cocooning me. A few moments later, he returned to the bed. “Spread your legs, my dear,” he said gently.
“Again?” I asked, and got a soft chuckle. The washcloth was damnably cold, but there was something fine about being attended to.
When he crawled back into bed, I had just enough energy to roll onto my back. Griffin tucked his head against my shoulder, and we held each other in sleepy contentment.
“Are you all right?” he murmured, ever the gentleman.
I smiled. “Better than all right, I think.”
“And your arm?”
“A bit achy, but I assure you I didn’t notice it at the time.”
He was silent a long moment; then his arm tightened across my chest. “When I saw you injured…”
The words trailed off into nothing.
I hesitated, but it was night, and words spoken in the dark can always be forgotten come the dawn. “You came into the underground tunnels after me. Thank you.”
“If something had happened to you, I would never have forgiven myself,” he admitted softly, as if afraid someone might overhear.
“But it didn’t.” I pressed my lips against his forehead.
“Not this time.”
“Shh.” I wrapped my good arm around him, wanting closer contact, and he obliged. “Don’t dwell on such things. We’re here, now, together. That’s what matters.”
“Yes.” His lips brushed my skin, then settled again. Curled together, we lay a long time in contented silence, before sleep claimed us at last.
~ * ~
The sound of a fist pounding on the front door woke me. I blinked, bleary-eyed and rolled over. Only the faintest gray light showed through from outside the window.
Griffin sat up, his body stiff with alarm. Even if whoever was outside meant us no ill, we were in a rather compromising position. My heartbeat sped, and I sat up as well, casting about for my discarded clothing.
The cadence of the knock changed to a succession of smart raps. “It’s Christine,” I said, relieved and appalled in equal measure.
Griffin’s green eyes widened. “Christine?”
“Er, yes. I’ll see to her.”
I fumbled on my clothing hastily. I had nothing to wear except the ruined suit from the night before, as my original intent had been to return to my apartment after the gala to preserve appearances, before joining Griffin later. Not only was the sleeve torn and bloody, but the shirt was missing most of its buttons thanks to Griffin’s enthusiasm. I swore silently and buttoned up my coat to conceal as much of the damage as possible.
Christine waited on the stoop, dressed in her usual sensible boots, skirt, and shirtwaist. “Dear God, man, don’t tell me you were still lazing about in bed!” she exclaimed at the sight of me.
Blood rushed to my face, but I pointed at the sky. “It’s isn’t even dawn yet. What on earth are you doing here?”
“I had an idea,” she said, brushing past me and into the house, without waiting for an invitation. “There might still be a way of reading the scroll those bastards stole.”
“You’re making no sense,” I said, rather shortly. Blast it, if she was going to spout nonsense, she could at least have waited until a decent hour. My head ached, and my arm ached, and other parts of my anatomy ached, although at least the latter pains I had obtained in a pleasant undertaking. “Shouldn’t you be on your way to Egypt?”
“Don’t worry, old man, I intend to spend the day finalizing arrangements. With any luck, I’ll be steaming away from Widdershins on Wednesday. Now fetch Griffin; I don’t want to repeat myself.”
It really was far too early for this. “Wait here,” I said. Leaving her in the parlor, I hastened back upstairs. Griffin was knotting his tie when I reappeared; he cast me a questioning look with more than a little worry in it.
“Christine claims to have come up with some idea as to how we can know what the scroll said, even though it is no longer in our possession,” I said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Honestly, I think she couldn’t sleep and decided we shouldn’t, either. I’m sorry.”
“It isn’t your fault.”
“No, but she is my friend, and I feel I ought to apologize for her behavior.”
“She knows about us.” It wasn’t a question.
I clasped my hands between my knees and looked down. “She knows about me,” I clarified. “We have been friends for a long time, and she…well, she notices things. It’s one of the reasons she’s good at her job.”
“She would have made a fine detective.”
“Don’t be daft. She’d be a terrible detective. No subtlety whatsoever.” I watched as he put his coat on, straightening it in the mirror, his every movement stiff. He’d been run out of his small Kansas town after being caught with another man; of course he would fear discovery. “Don’t worry. Christine is my friend, and yours too, I think. She won’t tell anyone. That isn’t her way.”
The set of his shoulders relaxed slightly, and he let out a rueful chuckle. “Christine seems more the type to shoot you in the chest than stab you in the back.”
“Quite.” I stood up and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. “Dear heavens, I’d best stop by my apartment. I look like I’ve been mugged and beaten.”
Griffin’s expression sobered. “How are you feeling?”
“A bit sore, but nothing too troublesome. Or were you asking about my arm?”
He laughed and closed with me, cupping my unshaven jaw with one hand and kissing me softly. “I have indeed corrupted you. The Whyborne I met would have never made such a jest.”
“I might have, but only in my thoughts.”
“No complaints concerning last night’s activities, then?”
His need for reassurance made me smile. “None at all.”
“Perhaps we shall try it the other way about next time.”
It took a measure of will not to press my stiffening member into his hip. “You will have me in a state, and Christine is downstairs.”
“You started it,” he reminded.
There was no arguing, so I kissed him instead: hard and deep, a promise for later. His arms wrapped around me, holding me against his broad chest for just a moment.
“Come down when you’re ready, my dear,” he murmured, before hurrying out and down the stair, as if unsure he could resist the temptation to do more, should he linger.
Another look in the mirror made me question what he might find irresistible, however. My hair stood up as usual, but this morning the spikes clumped together from both the application of oil and a night pressed against a pillow. Purple shadows encircled my eyes, and the bandage on my arm showed through the gaping, blood-stained holes in my sleeves. I’d have to call a cab; if anyone saw me on the street like this, they’d summon the police.
A comb and a quick wash and shave restored some of the damage, at least. I went downstairs to find Christine and Griffin on either side of the desk in his parlor. Saul had jumped up between them and was accepting Christine’s attentions with a complete lack of feline dignity, his purr loud enough to hear from the hall.
Christine and Griffin fell silent at my approach; Saul kept on, obliviously happy. Had they been talking about me?
“How’s the arm?” Christine inquired gruffly. Perhaps she’d been asking Griffin about my health. Or threatening to dismember parts of his anatomy, should he break my heart. Either seemed likely.
“Stiff, but I’ll survive,” I said. “Would you care to enlighten us as to your revelation of this morning?”
Christine looked uncomfortable. “Whyborne, I…well. If I’ve been too blasted hard on you, I apologize. I rushed over here without thinking about your wound, or, er, anything.”
What on earth had Griffin said to her? “We’re friends because of who you are, not you who aren’t. Think no more of it.”
Griffin kindly fetched another chair for me, and Saul abandoned Christine to jump into my lap. “Well?” I asked, stroking his fur, “are you going to explain or not?”
Christine leaned back in her chair. “The scroll is gone, and unless you gentlemen come upon a clue soon, it seems likely it will remain lost. However, while we were setting up for the gala, the director had all of the exhibits photographed for posterity.”
I sat up sharply, dislodging Saul from my lap. “Are you saying there’s a photographic record of the scroll?”
“I’m saying there might be,” she cautioned. “Even if there is, I don’t know if they would have captured the entire thing, or only parts of it. Thanks to the disaster last night, the director will no doubt be in his office today, even if it is Sunday. I’ll ask him to deliver the photograph to you for translation immediately, assuming it exists. If he wants to know why, I’ll tell him it’s a way of putting a small bandage onto the wound the museum’s reputation has suffered.”
I could not keep myself from shaking her hand. “Brilliant, Christine. Truly brilliant.”
“Dear lord, don’t go all maudlin on me,” she said, pulling her hand away. “It may come to nothing, if the photographer didn’t do his job properly.”
“Of course.” I hastily composed myself. “Still, it’s worth a try.”
“Precisely. Well, I expect by the time you arrive at the museum, I’ll be at the docks, discussing the finer points of loading my equipment onto a steamer. Never fear, though, I’ll be by the Ladysmith again before I leave, and you can inform me of your progress then.”
Griffin and I escorted her to the door. “I’ll accompany you, if Whyborne has no objection,” he said to her. “If Dr. Hart balks, I’ll invoke Mr. Rice’s name and hint at the connection with my case.”
She regarded him for a moment, then nodded. “A sensible suggestion. Come along, then.”
We parted at the sidewalk, and I watched them walk briskly away. Hoping Christine didn’t say anything too terribly embarrassing about me, I turned in the other direction and headed for the nearest corner to hail a cab.