Renegades, Rebels, and Rogues Box Set

All Shook UpA special thanks to Ryes, Teresa, Elisa, and Brett, as well as Billy, Drew, and Loukie, for assuaging my fears. Tentative fingers touched Eduard’s knee. He covered them with his hand—they were slim in his palm, and warm, heated like the air that hung between himself and the servant. Tohpati was a young man, just shy of twenty years of age, with skin the deep color of damp sand and dark eyes that stared, frightened, at Eduard. “It’s all right,” he assured the servant, his hand caressing Tohpati’s own. Gently, he took the servant’s thin wrist between his forefinger and thumb and eased the hand a little farther up his thigh. When Tohpati’s eyes widened, Eduard gave him a beguiling smile. “Shh. It’s fine, I promise.” “Sir,” the servant sighed. “Shh,” he said again. His chest brushed the servant’s arm as he leaned in, his face angled toward Tohpati’s neck. The dusky flesh glistened with sweat—beads of perspiration dotted the space between Tohpati’s black hair and the collarless shirt he wore. As Eduard neared, he could see paths the sweat had carved in the servant’s skin, like trails of condensation from a cool glass on a hot spring day. The servant’s scent rose around him, a heady mix of jasmine and coconut and grime, a manly smell Eduard had come to associate with s*x. When he was close enough, he licked out his tongue to taste that damp, dark skin… Tohpati jumped at the wet touch. Eduard’s hand tightened on Tohpati’s, taking the opportunity to move it several inches up his leg toward the dull ache that throbbed in the confines of his breeches. The servant was edgy, and Eduard van De Lier was finding it hard to take his time with the man. In his late thirties, he was at an age where he knew what he wanted, and that was nothing short of the taut, tight flesh of a native son splayed against his own milky skin, and the thick c**k he’d seen straining the front of Tohpati’s pants driving into him, hard and fast. The last servant hadn’t taken nearly as long to seduce—Eduard had simply lain in bed and waited for the man to enter his bedchamber, then a calculated, languid stretch had pulled his bed sheets down the length of his body, exposing pale skin that seemed to glow in the white morning sunlight. A suggestive smile and a heartbeat later, that servant had joined Eduard beneath the sheets. But so far, Tohpati was avoiding Eduard’s advances. It had taken the Dutchman a full two weeks to get the servant to even look him in the eye, and the slightest grin was enough to turn away that bright gaze. He’d managed to get the man into his chambers under the pretense of needing help to secure the canopy above his bed; once Tohpati stepped into his room, Eduard had closed the door behind him, sure of eventual success. Yet twenty minutes later they were both still dressed. If things didn’t pick up speed, and soon, Eduard thought he might explode. Another lick, this one drawing Eduard closer, until his mouth pressed to Tohpati’s neck in a lingering kiss. “Bapak,” the servant sighed, his voice like a scant breeze through the palm trees outside. “Your wife…” Ah, the real root of the problem. Eduard ran his hand up Tohpati’s arm, feeling the hair stand beneath his touch; at the servant’s elbow, Eduard leaned in farther, snaking an arm around Tohpati’s waist. Pulling the servant to him, Eduard breathed against his neck, eyes closed, senses reeling from the nearness of another man, this man, in his arms. “Marien needn’t know.” But Tohpati wouldn’t be so easily placated. “Sir,” he tried again. He turned his face from Eduard’s as the Dutchman kissed his way up the slender neck to the tufts of hair that clung stubbornly to the servant’s chin. “Please, I do not think—” “That’s just it,” Eduard murmured, cutting off Tohpati’s protest. “You aren’t paid to think, mas Tohpati. And I assure you, any additional service you perform for me above your normal household chores will be generously rewarded. You must’ve heard the other servants talk. Let’s cut the games, shall we? You know what I’m after.” Without ceremony, Eduard grabbed the front of Tohpati’s cotton dungarees, his hand fisting around an erection the servant tried to hide. “Good Lord,” he murmured, massaging the unseen length. It seemed impossibly thick through the fabric; Eduard’s hand couldn’t encircle the shaft at its base, and the thought of spreading his ass wide to take that monster in made him whimper with delight. “You’d deny me this?” Eduard asked, incredulous. “Sir,” Tohpati started, but whatever he might have said was lost in a gasp of pleasure as Eduard grasped his c**k. The hand on Eduard’s thigh moved up several inches on its own accord, until those slim fingers strummed the strained crotch of the Dutchman’s trousers. “Oh,” the servant moaned, his eyes slipping shut and his head angling back when Eduard stroked him through his pants. As Eduard worked his erection, Tohpati’s tone changed; what had begun as dissent turned affirmative. His breath quickened and he leaned into Eduard, giving in. “Oh, yes. Inggih, yes.” His face turned toward Eduard’s, his mouth seeking the Dutchman’s. Their lips glanced over each other, the briefest of kisses, then Tohpati’s hand crossed the last remaining inches to bunch at Eduard’s crotch and his mouth covered Eduard’s, demanding. No longer satisfied to be led along, Tohpati took control of the moment, as Eduard had hoped he would. Suddenly Eduard found himself pressed back, the servant’s firm body above his as Tohpati lay on him. Uncompromising fingers fondled his d**k, eagerly seeking the opening in his trousers that would free him from the material. Now Eduard was the one who sighed. “Yes, God. Right there. Yes.” Finally… The squeal of hinges alerted him as the door to his room opened. Tohpati froze, then leaped from the bed to sprint for the door leading to the veranda that encircled the house. Eduard heard the servant’s muttered curses and the rattle of bamboo as he struggled to open the door. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, taking a deep breath to slow his heart, which pounded equally in his chest and his c**k. By the time he’d gathered himself together enough to sit, the servant was gone. His wife Marien stood in the doorway to his bedchamber, arms crossed, lips pursed in thought. “You could knock,” Eduard told her in lieu of greeting. “You know how skittish he is.” She was an attractive woman whose once delicate features had hardened into a sardonic smirk in the year and a half since they’d moved to the island colony of Java. Marien knew of Eduard’s penchant for male company—that was part of the reason she had agreed to marry him, and more than once she’d made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him physically. “Your name and your money,” she had said, ticking off the items on her petite fingers. “You may sleep with whatever boy catches your fancy but those two things belong to me.” Eduard could hardly disagree. A scandal with an underage stable hand back in Holland had left him scrambling for marriage, as if a wife could possibly stave off untoward rumors. In Eduard’s defense, the boy had looked older than he was, and hadn’t bothered to share his true age. The whole affair seemed an elaborate attempt to cash in on whatever lingered of Eduard’s family fortune, and when marriage to a respectable woman hadn’t stemmed the stable hand’s tongue, a trip to Java seemed in order. Ever the dutiful wife, a fact she would not let Eduard forget, Marien had followed him halfway around the world to the tropical paradise and the spice plantation they currently maintained. She allowed him his excesses and he gave her free rein with the household funds. Let her have the latest fashions from Paris, even if they were a season out of date; as long as he could have his way with the male servants and dark-skinned tradesmen in Batavia, in whom Eduard had an almost obsessive passion, they were both happy. But he wouldn’t get to satisfy that passion if his damn wife kept interrupting his trysts. Smoothing down the front of his trousers, Eduard closed his eyes against the sensations his own touch sent spiraling through his body. “Did you want something in particular, my dear? Or are you simply content in chasing him away?” “You have a visitor,” Marien told him. As if he hadn’t heard her, Eduard let his fingers drift over his crotch, pressing here and there, unwilling to let his erection fade away so soon. Perhaps he could give chase, find Tohpati, and slowly build back up to the level of lust they had finally managed to achieve between them. Or, hell, find some other willing soul— the port was full of hungry sailors looking for a hot, tight hole, and Eduard’s handsome appearance always ensured him a quick catch. Perhaps… “Eduard?” Marien’s waspish voice rose an octave or two, interrupting his thoughts. “Surely you can stop fiddling with yourself long enough to see to your guest?” With a weary sigh, Eduard cupped his crotch, giving himself an almost painful squeeze. Later, he promised silently. “Who bothers me now?” he asked, pushing up from the bed to stretch before his wife. Marien turned, dismissive. “One of your Nancy boys, I’ll warrant,” she snapped. Eduard perked up at the thought of a former s****l partner returning for more. “Just don’t pleasure each other in the drawing room. That’s why you have a door on your bedchamber.” “Which you’d do well to remember,” he grumbled. From the hallway, Marien called out, “What was that, dear?” Eduard didn’t bother to reply. From the smug tone of his wife’s voice, he knew she’d heard him. Straightening his shirt, he smoothed a hand over his thick blond hair to ensure it was still pulled back, the unruly waves tamed with a small piece of ribbon tied at his nape. With a steadying breath to curb his pounding libido, he headed for the door and the promise of a visitor beyond. * * * * Before reaching the drawing room, Eduard paused in front of a gilded mirror to check his appearance—his coloring had returned to normal, and his eyes were no longer hooded with lust. Even his heart seemed to have returned to the steady stutter befitting a gentleman in his late thirties and not some amorous teenager in heat. He took a moment to refasten the ribbon that held his hair from his face. He wished he’d thought to stop in Marien’s bedchamber for a little rice powder beneath his eyes, something to chase away the shadows that seemed to settle there, but no matter. If his visitor were a returning paramour looking for a second taste of van De Lier, then Eduard doubted he’d balk at the Dutchman’s less than perfect appearance. He had been interrupted, and Tohpati hadn’t mentioned him freshening up before going any further. Double doors led to the drawing room, which was the brightest, airiest room in the house. The wall that faced the cobbled street outside was simply panes of glass that ran, uninterrupted, from floor to ceiling. The lush vegetation in the garden immediately beyond the windows and the overhanging canopy that shaded the veranda helped keep the room cool, even in the most sweltering summer sun. There was a fireplace on one side of the drawing room, a bulky edifice mostly for show, and a handful of plump chairs and overstuffed loveseats dotted the room. Shelves lined the walls, displaying shells Marien had gathered from the beach and books Eduard hadn’t bothered to read. This was where the van De Liers met with guests, where Marien held her social teas on Sunday afternoons, where Eduard had entertained the governor-general one raucous evening that had led to him bedding a swarthy Indian administrator. Ah yes. He threw the doors wide, a smile already in place. Good times. At the moment, only one visitor waited in the drawing room. A few years older than Tohpati, perhaps, with skin the color of polished teak, the visitor perched on one of the chairs with his back to the door, so he missed Eduard’s entrance. His black hair hung in thin braids, decorated here and there with small shells or beads that rattled when he turned. Noticing Eduard, he stood—his slender frame enhanced his height, and with the sunny windows behind him, his lithe muscles became evident beneath the flowing, light-colored clothing he wore. Eduard could see through the shirt and pants, which swirled around the man like a ghost, hinting at firm flesh hidden beneath the cloth. With something akin to regret, he stared at the stranger’s face, the skin pulled taut over proud cheekbones, the blazing eyes that seemed lit from within, the full lips that made Eduard lick his own, anticipating their touch. He did not know this man, unfortunately.