A Nobleman's Guide to Seducing a Scoundrel (The Doomsday Books, #2)

by K.J. Charles

Why, why, why had he done that? It had been horseplay, he reminded himself, just foolery, not done for the feel of Doomsday’s hand in his, the skin warm against his lips. He had at least resisted the temptation to describe Doomsday’s eyes as they deserved, although in fairness their deep brown was more than anything the shade of a cup of long-brewed tea, which probably wouldn’t sound any better than ‘bread’. The colour didn’t matter: it was their expression, the laughter and intelligence and occasional wariness, the life and light and just sometimes a flicker of something that Rufus could very easily persuade himself was desire.

“‘Several people looking for her’,” Fulk mimicked unpleasantly, putting on a Kentish accent Doomsday didn’t have. “Ridiculous. She’s your mother. How can one lose one’s mother?” “Careful, Fulk,” Rufus said. “You sound like you’re asking for tips.”

“This is beyond the call of duty, Doomsday. I believe I offered you half my fortune to stay the other day. I think I should make it the whole thing.” “No need.” Luke said it as lightly as he could. It didn’t sound nearly light enough, and nor did the Earl when he said, “I would.”

He had discovered tupping in due course, but he also discovered he only cared for it when he liked his partner, when you could share a laugh and you both enjoyed yourselves. He couldn’t see the point of putting his prick in someone for whom he had no affection, as a merely physical act.

Rufus didn’t lust where he didn’t like. But he liked Luke Doomsday so very much, and now lust was flooding him in a way he’d never experienced in his life.

He wasn’t sure how you went about worshipping a man in bed but he wanted to find out and do it.

“I don’t accept your authority in this. I told you the truth; if you don’t like it, dismiss me. But the only say you get in who or how or when I fuck, my lord, is—” He still sounded calm, but his chin went up a fraction. “If it’s you fucking me.” Rufus made an entirely involuntary choking noise.

Rufus couldn’t think of a thing to say. There were things, he knew, important ones; there was common sense to be exerted, and an entire array of second thoughts and warning signs to be taken into account. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see any of them because his vision had shrunk to Doomsday’s guinea-gold hair, the dark eyes on his, the reddened lips, just slightly parted, waiting.

“I’ll tell you what next.” Rufus’s eyes were on his. “You take your pleasure now, exactly as you like best, as long as you like, and then I will turn you over and take mine, as long and slow and hard as I like. Think about that, you blasted apocalypse, and be aware that when it’s my turn, I’m going to make you know my rights.”

🥵

“Consequences? I haven’t seen any—” Rufus didn’t even release his hands. He simply moved with unexpected speed and strength, heaving Luke up, over, and down, so he thumped onto his back on the bed, hands still trapped. Rufus knelt over him, smiling into his eyes. “You will, my End of Days. You will.”

Rufus smiled at him, warm and affectionate. It felt like a kiss.