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Book 1

The Aristocrat and His Servant 

Gavin, Baron Stephenson is an aristocrat accustomed to taking his pleasures where he will, but he always comes home to his oldest friend, his dearest lover, his servant Marcus.

The Aristocrat & His Servant is a 5,500-word erotic story of lovers indulging in light-hearted banter and little afternoon frolic. This is Book One in a Series recounting the sensual adventures of Baron Stephenson and his lover, Marcus Jennings.

Contains explicit, consensual sex. Not for those under 18 years of age.

EXCERPT

The heavy velvet bed curtains muffled the noises in his chamber, but Gavin found himself dragged into wakefulness just the same, although he'd had all too few hours of sleep. He kept his eyes closed, attempting to keep hold of the tempting visions that had anointed his sleeping hours. He'd stumbled home as the sun rose in the sky, ebullient and more than a little tipsy after a night of cards in the gambling hells of London with his friends. Lady Luck had smiled upon him the night before in more ways than one. He'd come home with pockets full of coin, and a handful of scraps of paper that proved that luck at the card tables didn't of necessity mean no luck in the boudoir.

Yawning, Gavin reluctantly left behind sensual dreams of guinea gold curls and liquid blue eyes, of plump rosy lips wrapped around his aching length. Dreaming of the young man who'd lost hand after hand of cards to him the night before was hardly satisfying, not when he had the means to achieve a much more solid sort of repayment of the debt at hand. Stretching, Gavin kicked aside the thin bed covers. His fine lawn nightshirt rode up, baring his thighs and throbbing erection to the air. He didn't recall undressing the night before, and rather hoped he'd managed to do more than drop his clothing in a pile on the floor. Marcus never liked it when he was careless, and he'd be in for a few difficult moments if he'd destroyed any of his clothing in his drunken state. It wasn't the location of his garments that brought him awake though. It was the whereabouts of those all-important bits of paper.

The burgundy velvet drapes rattled as they were pulled aside. "Good afternoon, My Lord." Jennings's ruthlessly cheery voice pried his eyelids open and Gavin let go of the remnants of his dream seduction. Bright searing light from opened windows declared the accuracy of Marcus's assertion. It was indeed past noon. Squinting into the appalling light, Gavin spied his clothes neatly draped upon a brocade chair by the fireplace. His winnings appeared to be heaped upon the side table next to the chair, near a stub of a candle in a silver holder, an empty port decanter and a half-filled glass. Relieved, he turned his head from the sunlight streaming through the windows. Marcus had a bit of a cruel streak that surfaced at inopportune moments. No, not cruel, perhaps he'd be better to say his lover's sense of humor was just a bit off. Ordinarily he'd have chided the man for his mirth, but this day... He was inclined to allow his oldest friend his prank, especially as last night's drinking left him muzzy headed. He'd had just enough it seemed to make him malleable without causing the devilish headache of overindulgence. The young man from the gambling hell with his sweet limbs and complete innocence of the wicked ways of the ton would be his soon enough. Meanwhile, there were more urgent matters to take care of.

"Jennings," he paused, letting his desire show, revising the formality of his approach. The man might be his valet and trusted personal servant, but more than that, he was Marcus, Gavin's first lover, best friend and most cherished companion. "Marcus. Attend me." His voice was a combination of hoarse lust and alcohol induced huskiness that grated on his own ears, but Marcus didn't seem to mind. Twisting sinuously on the silky sheets, Gavin dragged a finger up the thick vein on the underside of his cock, smiled at his valet's sharp intake of breath, and stretched again, arching his back until his vertebrae cracked.

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