Chapter Five

Distant thunder rolled across the darkened sky and large droplets of rain fell from the angry clouds overhead. Clinging to the stirrup, Marx stumbled into the cave three feet behind Gray.

He watched through a numb haze as Gray lit the lone lantern, set it on the ground and retrieved an armful of large branches and brush strewn about the cavern. Animals of some sort had left behind evidence of their prior occupancy. Knowing Gray, he'd leave nothing to chance; would survey the shelter top to bottom, end to end, once a fire blazed.

He looked at the man on his haunches near the fire, really looked at him. He hadn't noticed his attire before now. A plain white shirt clung to his sinewy build like second skin and topped the worn buckskin breeches and calf-high, black boots. Like before, a déjà vu skittered around his mind, but slipped away before he could pin it down. If he'd seen Gray before, it wasn't in buckskins.

But then he wouldn't be wearing faded gray army trousers right now either if the war hadn't come. For some insane reason, he'd abandoned his life of refinement and got it in his head to become a Cadet. Here he stood now, in a musty, dank cavern studying the most handsome man he'd ever laid eyes on.

Gray looked up with a half-hearted smile. “I'll check out the rest of the cave. Hear that water running? That means there must be a stream or maybe even a waterfall.”

“A stream would be nice.” Marx dragged his eyes from the man's sensual mouth. “So would a bath.”

“My thoughts exactly. They won't find us here. You can rest easy until I return.”

“I'm hoping you come back dripping wet.” And naked and harder than a marble statue and so consumed with lust you're dying to fuck my brains out.

“I hope so too and then I'll show you the stream.”

Marx could only manage a nod before he collapsed near the fire and wallowed in his misery. He had to get away from Gray. What a mess. At times weaker than a newborn calf and consumed with a need to stare at the man for hours, he'd all but forgotten his necessity to get to Richmond. Fine officer he'd turned into. The only man alive with the information the Confederacy desperately needed and all he could think about was Gray running that wicked tongue over every inch of his naked flesh.

His stomach rumbled. Perhaps while he cleaned up, Gray would hunt down dinner. Roasted quail, rabbit or even boiled turtle. Hell, he must be better, hadn't thought about food in days.

Marx stared at the flames licking the blackened logs a long time before he heard the shuffle of feet behind him. “You're in luck, a waterfall and a stream, warmer than the underbelly of a kitten.”

“Good, I can hardly abide by my own stink.”

The infectious laugh rumbled around the stones walls. “Come on, I'll show you where you can get rid of that stink. There's a blanket in my saddle bag you can use to dry off—dark blue and not that scratchy wool.”

Marx walked to Gray's mount and plucked the blanket from his bag, then followed him through the cave.

The waterfall and stream occupied a separate enclosure and looked like a scene straight out of a volume of poems called Old Kalevala. Based on Finnish folklore, his mother often recited all thirty-two verses by heart.

Gray’s voice oozed tension and spoke volumes. “I leave you to your own means.”

He does want me. He does.

“You can find your way back.” It wasn't a question but rather called out over his shoulder as he left the stone sanctuary.

“Yes, I can. I mean, thanks and I'll be along soon.”

Refreshed after his full immersion into the stream, he noticed a sliver of soap sitting on a nearby rock and pushed through the waist-high water to retrieve it. Gray obviously left it behind after his own bath.

Lathering up his hands, he ran them over each arm and moved on to his torso. Christ, he felt every rib and the indentations between them. What man in his right mind would desire such a pathetic skeleton? With his thumb and index finger he rubbed his cheeks and again met prominent bones. His heart sank. Whatever he'd seen in Gray's eyes wasn't passion, but pity. What a dunce he'd been to think a man as beautiful as Grayson Drake would look his way.

With defeat clenching his gut, he finished his bath, stepped from the water and dried off. Tomorrow maybe he'd have time to rinse out his trousers and tattered shirt, but right now he needed food, and rest.

Gray entered the cave as Marx walked into the common area. “Covered our tracks just in case, and the horses will have to share our quarters for the night.”

“Better than fleas and sewer rats.”

Gray's eyes traveled the length of his body, toe to head, and he walked toward him, panther-like, slow and vigilant, his head tilted an inch or so to the left. “I'll wring the blanket out and toss it over a branch outside.”

God, how he envied that blanket.

He advanced, his arm stretched out, his expression unreadable. The air between them sizzled with restrained lust. He didn't want restraint; he wanted abandon, wild, reckless fervor, wanted Gray to assuage this hollow feeling of worthlessness and fuck him senseless.

The space between them disappeared and only the man stood before him. Without thought, Marx allowed the blanket to slither to the ground and wondered if his knees would follow it down of their own volition.

Gray's left hand went to the back of Marx’ head, the left to his groin. Marx felt his own cock harden. He looked up and his mouth went dry. The lust in Gray's smoky eyes could not be discarded. The man's chest rose and fell in perfect sync with the strokes to his shaft. A strong hand nudged Marx's shoulder, pushing him back against the rock wall. This couldn't be happening, yet he'd never been more aware of the overpowering sensations, every ragged breath they shared.

Gray's broad shoulders shielded everything from view, but he heard the slow cadence of water trickling over stones, the hiss of flames lapping at the brush the man had tossed in the fire earlier.

Again, the scent of leather and horse washed over him, and the pleasing aroma of soap and pure man. The whisper of Gray's primal arousal clung to them. God, for the first time in months he felt safe, sheltered from outside forces—the box, Darkmore and every other nightmare that had haunted his sleep.

With one hand on his cock, Gray moved his other hand to his bare chest and tweaked his nipple. A gasp fell from his throat and a rush of heat penetrated his skin and coursed through his veins. Pedaling down his spine, the uncontrollable shiver settled in his gut and spread downward to his rock-hard pole.

Marx bit back a moan. His balls ached and his cock leaked. He hadn't felt such desire since before the war, not since his days at the brothel in Charleston. A fleeting image of a man clouded his brain. Gray in a different locale and time? Or was he only imagining the man of his every fantasy in the brothel, staring at him from across the room? The low hum of voices from long ago enveloped him. With goblet in hand, he was leaning against a wall, scanning the crowd. One man stood heads above the others—all hard lines and sculpted muscle—God's perfect creation.

That man’s eyes were green, he remembered now. Greener than spring grass and marked by perfectly etched eyebrows. Like the eyes that held his right now. Gray's wide, sensual mouth rose at the corners, a silent acknowledgment he could read his thoughts, knew an awakening had transpired.

Marx wanted to speak, longed to ask him how it could be, but by Christ, the man was stunning, so utterly enchanting, he couldn't force the words from his tongue. Marx shifted. He had to get away to think. Who was Gray and could he be trusted?

“No,” he said pinning him to the wall with his hands at the sides of his head. “Take off your trousers.” His nostrils flared. “Do it now.”

Marx's breath came out in a rush. “Who are—?”

“You know who I am, Grayson Drake from Charleston.” The predatory intensity in his eyes sent a thrill through Marx. “From the same brothel you frequented. I wanted you then, as I do now. And you want me. Now undress.”

How could he lie? He did want Gray, had wanted him for so long he could taste the man on his lips, feel the man driving into him until nothing in the world existed but them. Christ, had he ever wanted any man in his life like this? The man must be able to hear the blood pounding through his ears, sense the depth of his need.

Gray's head lowered, his mouth so close to his, his knees went weak. “I'm not a patient man. I've waited for years, and I will have you. You will do what I say and love every depraved moment. Do I make myself clear?”

Torn between fear and a hunger so raw, he couldn't speak, Marx nodded. With shaky fingers, he fumbled with the waist of his trousers until Gray took over. As cool as a summer night, he dropped a hand, loosened the belt and rolled the pants down his hips. “Step out of them.”

Marx obliged without taking his eyes off the man's face. God, what would he do next? The anticipation nearly crumbled him. Gray's mouth came down on his, firm and possessive, pitching him into an abyss of ecstasy. Without hesitation, Marx's lips parted and allowed Gray's tongue entrance. He sought out every crevice, and then ran that wicked tongue over his bottom lip, pausing only to nip at the corners before he took his mouth again, harder, deeper than before.

Christ, the man was a master at seduction. His insides melted like candle wax and animal-like sounds came from the back of his throat. He wanted him to fuck him. Now. Yet something told him Gray would never succumb to wanton lust, would take him in the same methodical way he approached everything in life. Calmly, assuredly.

As if to read his thoughts, Gray said, “I could take you now without preamble. I want you that badly, but will not.” He stepped back, his gaze running the length of his naked body. “I knew you'd be exquisite.” Gray urged him toward the blankets he'd laid out by the fire, and standing over him, eased him down to his knees. “Suck me; show me how much you want me to fuck you.”

Eye level with Gray's groin, Marx freed the man's belt, shoved his trousers down and stared at his large cock. Saliva filled his mouth. Long and thick, blue bulging veins lined the underside. He reached out a hand and stroked. Soft, like velvet. The round mushroom-shaped cap oozed liquid, and Marx wanted to lap it up, longed to run his tongue over every inch of that glorious cock.

The thought of his hard prick inside him sent a series of tremors rushing through him. He wanted to feel his ass stuffed to the hilt, imagined his walls clenching around that enormous pole, gripping him so hard Gray would be calling out his name while he fucked him. Marx moved in and took the crown into his mouth.

A muffled groan spilled from Gray's lips. “Swallow it, all of it. Suck me hard.”

Marx set upon him like a starved beast, drowning in the texture and taste of the man. Relaxing his throat, he took in the full length, only to retreat and run his teeth over the sensitive head and slit. Gray's hips thrust forward and both hands went to the back of Marx's head. He set the rhythm, canted back and thrust forward, the low, deep moans from his throat sending jolts of pure pleasure through Marx. More than anything he wanted to please Gray; needed the man to hunger for his touch, his mouth, until he never thought about fucking another man again.

He knew now the man he'd spied across the crowded room had been Gray. Why he was here now no longer mattered. He'd pull the answers from him later. He thought only of Gray possessing him, taking him hard, deep and fast.

“Enough,” he rasped. “Get on your knees.”

The low tenor of his voice clenched every muscle in his groin. Marx swallowed the lump in his throat and gathered the strength to turn from him and drop to his hands and knees. Would his legs hold his weight? Weak from the malaria and the pneumonia, not to mention the anticipation riding the crest of his brain, he prayed he wouldn't collapse.

He recognized the sound of Gray easing down behind him. He reached his hand around and stroked Marx's engorged cock, taking particular time to gather the creamy liquid that had leaked from the slit. “No oil here, so this will have to do.”

Gray's slick fingers found his hole and he slipped two inside. Marx thrust backward and sucked in a breath. “Oh, God.”

“Open for me, pretty boy. Let me in.”

The mesmerizing voice lulled him into obedience. The ring of muscle at his entrance relaxed as Gray pushed in deep. Marx moaned like a sick calf. Christ, the sensation left him delirious, wallowing in bliss. Gray worked his insides like a seasoned lover, finding the sweet spot that pitched him into oblivion in a heartbeat. In the back of his mind, he felt him pull out and uttered a strangled protest.

“I have what you want, Marx. You want my cock inside you?”

He nodded feebly.

Gray reached around again and collected more liquid from his weeping cock and Marx assumed he applied it to his own. He felt Gray's erection nudge his entrance and he drew a deep breath. “Yes, oh, yes.”

Gray buried only the head and paused. Leaning into him, his warm breath fanned his ear. “Is that what you want? Tell me when, and I'll possess you like no one has before.”

He sucked in a series of short, deep breaths, savoring the blissful feeling. He could wait no longer. He felt so big, knew the act would leave him boneless. The need to feel Gray take him completely drove him to the brink. He bit his lip, waiting, praying he'd push in deep. Christ, did the man want him to beg?

His fingers ran up Marx's spine before he clasped his hips, first one hand and then two. Goose flesh prickled every pore of his skin. God, he wanted this, only this. Marx’s fingers clutched the blankets beneath him and he shivered again.

“Eagerness or anxiety?” Gray whispered from behind him.

“Both,” he managed to eke out, his entire body trembling. He felt the muscles of Gray's thighs flex against his ass and then he drove in, deep and hard. The flames of the fire roared as did his hunger. “Ah, yes. Don't stop. I'll shoot you if you stop.”

“This is what you really want.” He deep-hilted his cock into his ass and pulled back, his enormous shaft repeating the act until Marx buckled under him.

“I have more for you.” Gray bit into his neck and fucked and fucked, and then fucked him some more.

When had he started calling out his name? He didn't know, didn't care. Gray's chiseled features swam before him, the deep green of his eyes and the mocking smile. Christ, had he fallen in love with the man? Had he always loved him, not knowing who him really was? Serpents of desire coiled around them, above them, and under them. Never had it been like this, not through all the nameless, faceless strangers who'd shared his bed.

In one soul-splitting thrust, and pinning his hips against his thighs, Gray drove in deep and emptied his seed into his ass. With a strangled cry, a torrential load of cum spewed forth from his own cock. Marx wilted beneath him and this time, Gray eased down with him. The blood pounded through Marx's ears and his heart raced out of control. Over and again residual jolts of pleasure whipped through him and he could not move, could barely breathe. Christ, had he died?

Long minutes later, Gray pulled out, rolled onto his side and pulled Marx against his sweat-soaked body. In the ensuing silence, Marx recalled every touch, every savage thrust and wondered how in the hell he could want him again already. But he did, and realized he always would now. He couldn't name what had passed between them, but knew he would never find it with another.

In a fog, Gray's voice came to him. “One hour and then we must move on. Darkmore is closing in.”