Famished Read online

  When he heard the front door slam, Blaylock stepped out of his hiding pace and roughly pulled Reginald into a standing position. He was about to fall again, so Blaylock shoved him up against the wall and gripped him by the throat.

  “Damn you, Reginald! How could you let him get away like that?”

  “We must… catch him,” Reginald wheezed, wiping some blood from the corner of his mouth. “Go after him, Master, please! He cannot be allowed to spread this tale in the village!”

  Briefly, Blaylock considered following Reginald’s advice. If Eric stuck to the main road, he could easily overtake him in the car. If he ran off into the woods beyond, the outcome was far less certain.

  “No.” Blaylock decided, calming down and releasing Reginald’s throat. “That would only make things worse. He’s drunk, and when it comes down to the facts, he really saw nothing. No one in town will believe a word he says, no matter how fanciful his tale. Quickly, go and close the panel.”

  By then, the voices in the passageway were howling with disappointment, hunger, and murderous rage. Blaylock was sweating even more profusely by the time Reginald got the room sealed off again, blocking out those hideous voices.

  Both of them were trembling as they made their way back to the foyer and opened the front door. As expected, they saw no sign of Eric anywhere near the house or driveway. Blaylock was about to berate Reginald all over again when he heard a noise on the stairs and stopped. He turned to see Clive hurrying down toward them in his bathrobe, a shocked expression on his face. His glasses were askew and his hair was rumpled, as though he’d been roused from a deep sleep.

  “I thought I heard someone screaming,” he said, looking around in bewilderment. “Is everything all right? What happened?”

  Blaylock fumbled for a moment before he found his voice. His befuddlement wasn’t entirely because of Eric’s escape. “Er… nothing to fret about. Reginald surprised an intruder and tried to stop him. He’s gone now. Don’t worry.”

  “An intruder?” Clive looked alarmed. “We’d better call the police, don’t you think?”

  “Reginald will take care of all that. Honestly, there’s nothing to be alarmed about now. Here, let me take you back upstairs,” Blaylock said. Clive didn’t object as Blaylock slid an arm around his waist and guided him back up to his room.

  They paused outside the door, facing one another.

  “When I heard the commotion, I didn’t know what to think,” Clive said, his voice slightly shaky. “I… um… I heard you going out earlier. I thought…”

  “I did go out earlier,” Blaylock admitted. “I realize now that was a mistake, though.” His words tumbled out thickly and carelessly. He knew he shouldn’t say any more. He should leave Clive, go to his own room, and lock the door. But he couldn’t. “The truth is, I wanted to be here the whole time.”

  “Why didn’t you stay, then?” Clive’s palm was resting on the buttons of Blaylock’s shirt. His touch felt warm, welcome—perfect, really.

  “I—I don’t know. I can only say I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  “Are you thinking better now?” Clive’s fingers tightened, drawing the fabric of the shirt tighter against Blaylock’s chest. He moved closer, breathing heavily, his heart thudding so hard he knew Clive could feel it.

  “Oh, yes,” he said just before his mouth came down on Clive’s soft, sweet lips. “Much, much better now.”

  Chapter 4

  Still standing outside Clive’s bedroom door, they clung together as they deepened their kiss. Clive boldly slipped his tongue along Blaylock’s lower lip, startling him.

  “I’m sorry,” Blaylock said, reluctantly pulling away as Clive blinked in surprise. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “No,” said Clive. “I’m glad you did. In fact, I want to do it again.” He tilted his head toward his room. “In there.”

  Blaylock hesitated. What Clive was suggesting would complicate things even more than they already were. It would also enrage Reginald beyond belief, as Blaylock had no doubt he knew exactly what was transpiring even though he was still downstairs.

  “Please,” Clive added. This time he took a step backward and pushed open the door. The room waited, dark and still, for someone to enter and bring it to life. Blaylock let out a heavy sigh, though he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath.

  He couldn’t fight it any more. He didn’t even want to.

  Grasping Clive’s hand, he pulled him inside the room and kicked the door shut behind them.

  Under the bathrobe, Clive was wearing only a pair of blue striped boxer shorts. After stripping them away, Blaylock tossed them on the floor and maneuvered Clive onto the bed. Clive turned on the bedside lamp, removed his glasses, and set them on the nightstand. Without the thick lenses, his eyes looked even rounder and more innocent than before.

  “Have you done this before?” Blaylock asked as he stretched out alongside him.

  “Um… a little,” Clive muttered. Then he blushed. “Well, actually, no. Not really.”

  Blaylock wasn’t sure he entirely believed that—something about Clive’s determined manner of seduction, and his eager responses, suggested he might have had more experience than he was willing to admit. No matter, though. Blaylock decided not to press the matter or argue about definitions. Now wasn’t the time. Moving quickly and efficiently, as he always prided himself on doing, he worked his way down the length of Clive’s smooth, sweet-tasting body. First he tongued his stubby little nipples until Clive squirmed with pleasure. Next, he reached down to tickle the soft flesh between his thighs, making him writhe and whimper even more.

  Keeping that hand in place, Blaylock lifted his tongue and curled it around the underside of Clive’s shaft. Clive groaned and started to move his body instinctively in rhythm as Blaylock sucked, licked, and nuzzled Clive with the kind of gusto he hadn’t mustered in years. Even when his jaws began to ache, Blaylock ignored the burn and kept going. Just for fun, he even bared his teeth so that they scraped hot flesh with every thrust, something he knew Clive would enjoy.

  Blaylock could have gone on longer, but suddenly he heard Clive gasp and felt his sac tighten against his lower lip. Clive clamped his soft thighs around his scalp, and a burst of heat enveloped them both. For a few minutes afterward, Clive went on hunching his hips and massaging Blaylock’s silky throat muscles. His moans gave way to heavy, satisfied panting when he finally slipped free.

  “Ohh,” he groaned, sliding his head back onto his pillows. “That was even better than I expected.”

  “It’s not over yet,” Blaylock said when he managed to get his stretched-out jaw-muscles working again. “This is a give-and-take deal, after all. Dedicated scholar that you are, I assume you will want to practice everything I have to teach you.”

  Clive’s eyes widened again then took on a nervous, but determined, gleam. “I know, and I want you to teach me. I want to do it right.”

  Nodding, Blaylock guided Clive’s fingers to the crotch of his own trousers. “Very well, then. Why don’t we get started right away? We have all night… but time has a way of flowing much more quickly than we’d like it to.”

  “True,” Clive admitted. Blaylock closed his eyes and tried to lose himself in the enjoyable sensations of Clive working his clothes off him.

  It wasn’t easy, though. Every now and then, between the whispers of fabric and the rasp of husky breathing, he heard the distant rumble of those ghastly, disembodied voices.

  Hungry…

  Hungry…

  You are here to serve us, Blaylock! Never forget that!

  “If only I could,” he mumbled at one point, earning an odd look from Clive.

  “Sorry… I couldn’t quite hear you just then.”

  “I said, if only I could be beside you every night,” Blaylock fumbled. He experienced a flash of an odd emotion he thought might be guilt when Clive unleashed a wide, genuine smile and rested his head against Blaylock’s shoulder.

  “Ma
ybe you can,” he murmured. “At least for now, I don’t have any objection.”

  “Well… we’ll see how things go,” Blaylock replied evasively.

  “You always seem so comfortable… so confident. I’m not much like you. I wish I could be.”

  Blaylock shook his head, unable to suppress a worried scowl. “The way I look on the outside doesn’t always reflect what’s going on inside. I have the same doubts and fears as you do. I’ve just learned to cope with them, repress them… even hide them if necessary.”

  “I want to be able to do that, too.”

  “You will.” Blaylock winced. To say he had been hiding things had to amount to the understatement of the century. He dreaded the moment when Clive realized the truth—dreaded that last, anguished look he knew the two of them would share before the inevitable happened. In a way, of course, their relationship had been over before it had ever had a chance to begin. No wonder Reginald thought him foolish. If he hadn’t been a servant, he would have been justified in calling Blaylock much worse, but equally accurate, names.

  Still, something about Clive stirred an emotion in him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe he had never felt it. He hesitated to call it love. But whatever it was, he wanted to keep it going.

  For now, that was what he intended to do.

  Blaylock woke when the first rays of dawn came stabbing through the window. He slid out of Clive’s bed and was pulling on his discarded trousers when he heard Clive stir and found him squinting over at him. He wondered at Clive’s pinched expression until he realized his glasses were still on the nightstand.

  “You enjoyed it, then?” Clive asked, a bit nervously. “Last night?”

  Blaylock buttoned his pants, leaned back over the bed, and bent down to kiss Clive full on the mouth. “Of course I did.”

  “Will you… um… come back tonight?”

  “We’ll see. Rest now. It’s early. I must go back to my own room for a bit and then make sure that Reginald is seeing to our breakfast.”

  “Seems strange that you have to check up on a servant. I mean… that isn’t quite the point of having one, is it? Rather defeats the purpose if you’re doing all the work.”

  Blaylock shrugged. “Reginald is… unusual. He’s been with my family a long time, though—since my grandfather was master here, and my father was a young man. Now he’s the only servant left. I do put up with more than I should from him, though—you’re right about that.”

  “See you a bit later, then.” Apparently forgetting about Reginald for the moment, Clive turned over and seemed to drift back to sleep. Blaylock watched him for a moment, fighting the urge to trace his fingers over the soft sandy-blond hair that tumbled over Clive’s smooth forehead. Snapping his hand into a fist instead, he turned and marched out.

  He was only mildly surprised to find Reginald back in the kitchen, dressed in a brown bathrobe, pacing around in an annoyed manner. He didn’t need to ask Blaylock a thing—his glacial stare conveyed his message perfectly.

  Though he was in fact a bit unnerved by Reginald’s compressed fury, Blaylock shrugged as if it were of no concern to him. “Change of plans, Reginald. I decided to exercise my prerogative as master here.”

  “That is more than apparent to me, sir,” Reginald snarled as he poured some coffee and held it out to Blaylock.

  “You need to be more flexible, Reginald. The old ways died out with my father and brother. This is my house now. I’ll thank you to remember that at all times from now on.”

  “It is your house, true—but it is not your place to change the tradition that has been followed here for nearly five hundred years… sir. It might do you well to remember that I am here to make sure you respect, recall, and discharge your ongoing duty to the very foundations of this abbey.”

  “I have not forgotten. But it is not for you to decide what is best for my household.” Blaylock grunted and tossed back a mouthful of hot black coffee as he strolled out to the dining room. He dropped into a chair and stretched out his legs, crossing his bare feet. If Reginald thought him improper in word, deed, and manner of dress, so be it. As the younger son, he was never intended to be master here. Yet the abbey really was his now—the reality of that finally seemed to be sinking into him. All his life, he’d spent so much time worrying what his father and older brother might think of him, he’d never bothered to figure out what he really wanted for himself. Now, all of a sudden, he was beginning to figure it out.

  Presently, Clive drifted down and took a seat directly across him at the table. They hardly noticed Reginald, now fully dressed, puttering around them with an exasperated air, pouring coffee and serving up dishes of eggs and toast with marmalade. They were too busy staring at one another—saying nothing and yet, without a single word, saying everything at the same time. Blaylock found the peaceful interlude entirely outside his experience. He wasn’t entirely sure if he liked it…but he was certainly leaning in that direction.

  “So…” Clive finally said, stirring some sugar into his coffee and staring down at his plate. “… it looks like rain again today.”

  “Yes, quite,” Blaylock replied, wiping his lips with a cloth napkin. “Plenty of grey outside the window, don’t you think?”

  “Another day fit only for staying indoors, it would seem.” Clive’s cheeks flushed pink as he slowly lifted his head and caught Blaylock’s amused gaze. “I was wondering if…”

  His next words were interrupted by a telephone ringing somewhere in the house. Reginald hurried by a moment later, on his way to answer it. They waited in uneasy silence until he returned again.

  “A call for you, sir,” he said to Blaylock, pointedly ignoring Clive. “Form the village. The constable. He would like to meet with you in town as soon as you are able to get there. He wishes to speak to you about the… ah… attempted burglary that took place here last night.”

  “Oh?” Blaylock scowled. He had almost forgotten about that whole unfortunate incident. Did this mean Eric had made it to the nearest police station after all? What sort of wild tale had he spewed once he got there? Perhaps Reginald had been right, and they should not have let him escape. Blaylock cursed himself for being too distracted to consider all the possibilities the night before.

  “Good,” Clive said with a nod of approval. “I’m glad someone is looking into that. Who knows what that creep might have run off with if you and Reginald hadn’t intervened?”

  “Who knows, indeed,” Reginald said with a sniff. “Shall I tell the constable you will be with him directly, sir?”

  “Very well.” Blaylock tossed down his napkin and stood. “I’ll just need time to shower and dress. Excuse me, won’t you, Clive?”

  “Of course,” said Clive. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  Though he appeared to make the offer in all sincerity, Blaylock detected a slight catch in his voice. That was interesting—was Clive afraid of the police? Many people were—didn’t necessarily mean anything. On the other hand, it would give him something to ponder on his way into town.

  “Not necessary,” he said with a wave of his hand, causing a look of relief to dart across Clive’s face. “It’s probably just a matter of filing some tedious report. Go back to your work, or stay in your room a bit—entirely up to you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “All right,” Clive agreed.

  Blaylock was about to leave the room when he stopped, turned back, and delivered a full-on passionate kiss to Clive’s half-open mouth. He followed that up with a tight little smirk of victory directed toward Reginald.

  “Back as soon as I can,” he said as he headed for a shower. “No need to show me out, Reginald. You can attend to Master Clive instead.”

  “As you wish, sir,” Reginald virtually snarled.

  Blaylock laughed on his way up the staircase. Not even the prospect of the constable’s potentially uncomfortable questions worried him. His bare feet seemed to be skipping on air.

  Though he had finished his br
eakfast, and Reginald made no move to bring him seconds, Clive remained at the table for a long time after Blaylock left the house. His lips were still throbbing from the amazing kiss he’d just received, and in truth he wouldn’t have minded a refill for his coffee. None seemed to be forthcoming, however.

  “I suppose you’ll be returning to the library after you’ve bathed and dressed, sir?” Reginald inquired pointedly, clearly wishing him to leave the room.

  “That was Master Blaylock’s suggestion, and I suppose it’s as good as any.”

  “I take it you do not require my assistance any longer?”

  Clive cast a longing glance into his empty coffee cup, but Reginald failed to acknowledge the hint. “I suppose not. Thank you for everything you’ve done so far.”

  “It is not necessary to thank one’s servant. I do my duty and expect nothing in the way of additional gratitude. Some in my position would take such a comment as an outright insult.”

  Clive felt his face heat up. How could Elwyn bear this man’s presence? “I’m sorry. I certainly meant nothing of the kind.”

  “I understand you were not born to the life, as Master Blaylock was. He is the last of a long and illustrious line, all of whom understood the importance and dignity of tradition. Outsiders can have no conception of the importance of such things.”

  “I suppose not.” Clive hastily got up from his chair, forgetting all about the coffee. It occurred to him that Reginald might be insane—either just senile, or suffering from some psychopathology. That might be why Elwyn, and the other Blaylocks before him, felt obligated to look after and protect him. Clive wasn’t especially happy about being left alone with him for several hours, though. “I’ll just go and get myself ready, then. Cheerio,” he added before worrying that Reginald might find that simple salutation offensive as well. He hurried away before Reginald had a chance to express his distaste.