Free Bound Forever by Ava March Page A

sounds of his sighs, and the hot pants of his breaths clinging to Vincent’s cheek command all his attention.
    Rubbing against Vincent’s side, Oliver shifted closer. He let out a little grunt of frustration, then pushed up onto his knees. Vincent felt the man’s hands move between them.
    A shrug of his shoulders and Oliver’s greatcoat slipped from his arms. He dragged his lips along Vincent’s jaw. “Now, Vincent. I need you now.” Desperation soaked his plea.
    Vincent glanced down. The waistband of Oliver’s trousers was bunched just above his knees, exposing the golden skin of his compact yet sleek thighs. The flushed head of his cock poked out from under the hem of his white shirt. No doubt at all what Oliver wanted, and Vincent was more than willing to give it to him. Hell, he needed to give it to him. Needed to have the man beneath him, compliant and desperate, wanting only him. Yet…
    Vincent pulled his gaze from Oliver to scan the surrounding grounds. Nothing but grassy fields and the two horses tied to the tree. The pond’s slight downward sloping bank offered some measure of concealment, but he could still see if someone approached. Not that anyone was apt to. They were on his property, and the servants had no cause to travel so far as the pond, especially on such a cold day.
    Reassured, Vincent nodded. “Get down on your stomach, but don’t remove any more clothes.” The lust and need drumming through his veins provided its own brand of warmth, but doubtful enough to ward off the frigid morning air. The last thing he wanted was for Oliver to catch a chill.
    Oliver quickly moved onto his belly, his discarded greatcoat a rumpled heap beneath him. Upper body braced on a bent elbow, he reached back with his other hand and tugged at Vincent’s wrist. “Now. Please , Vincent.”
    “You want me? Then prepare yourself.”
    Without a trace of hesitation, Oliver bit the end of one fingertip and hastily pulled his hand free of the black leather glove. He stuck his fingers into his mouth, sucking on them. Canting his hips up, he reached back to push two digits between his cheeks. A wince flickered across his brow. Then he let out a sigh of undeniable pleasure.
    Vincent pushed the tails of Oliver’s coat to his waist and tucked the end of his shirt under the hem of his waistcoat, baring the man more fully to his view. He shifted onto his knees, his gaze never leaving the sight of Oliver working another finger beside the other two and thrusting between the round globes of his arse. He flicked the length of his greatcoat behind him, unbuttoned the placket of his trousers, and pulled out his erection. After removing his gloves, he flung them aside and spit on his palm. He slicked his prick, then spit once more onto his palm and took care to liberally coat the head of his cock. Oil would serve them better, but he had none with him. The thought of fucking Oliver had not entered his mind when he left the house, but it sure as hell did fill it at the moment.
    He straddled Oliver’s thighs, tugged his hips up to the necessary angle, and swatted at Oliver’s hand. On the next thrust, Oliver slipped his fingers free to pull back his cheek, exposing that perfect, tight hole, the skin glistening with moisture.
    Vincent positioned the spit-slicked head of his cock at his entrance and pushed inside on one long stroke, settling hilt-deep.
    “Ah, yes .” Oliver arched beneath him, pushing his arse back against Vincent, wanting more.
    Vincent gave it to him. Not even allowing a moment for Oliver’s body to adjust to the invasion, he pulled back and snapped his hips forward, slamming hard and fast into Oliver. Tight muscles gripped his length in the most decadent of caresses, pulling the climax down his spine with surprising speed.
    Head bowed, Oliver clutched at the grass, fingers digging into the soil. Braced over his lover, Vincent pounded into him—rough, hard, and frantic. He could feel the tension building within