Object of His Desire
Genre: M/M Regency-set historical erotic romance
Length: Novella
Author: Ava March  www.AvaMarch.com  
Available March 10, 2009 from Samhain Publishing http://samhainpublishing.com/romance/object-of-his-desire   

He thinks he’s just a wallflower. Little does he know he’s the guest of honor…

It’s the last night of a week-long house party in remote northern England. Every sensual delight imaginable is right at Henry Shaw’s fingertips. Yet all he wants is to be with his host, the deliciously handsome and enigmatic Arsen Grey, Marquis of Somerville. Henry’s certain it’s love, not mere infatuation. He’s also sure it’s hopeless. After all, the party’s purpose is to find Arsen a new mistress.

Arsen longs to leave the glittering, jaded world of the ton behind and find someone who will value him for himself, not his wealth and his title. He suspects that someone could be the strapping country gentleman he’s caught staring at him. Henry is loyal and dependable, nothing like his other acquaintances. Arsen sets a plan into motion, one designed to get Henry into his bed. One that includes a test of devotion.

Arsen never expected that in winning Henry, he risks losing his heart.

Warning: This title contains a m/m romance between an obscenely wealthy marquis and a strong, silent country gentleman.


Henry took a deep breath and the unique scent of Arsen’s skin, the lingering traces of his cologne and the unmistakable hint of male arousal went straight to Henry’s groin. Lust flared, igniting his senses. His cock swelled, the arched length brushing the firm globes of Arsen’s backside.

Hand splayed, he blindly followed the thin line of hair from Arsen’s navel down to his cock. Henry’s fingers encountered silken skin stretched taut over the rigid length. Nipping Arsen’s ear, he drew his other hand up his chest, past the strong cords of his neck, over the bristly jaw and slipped his finger between Arsen’s parted lips. Wet heat surrounded the tip of his finger. Arsen suckled, pulling half the length inside. Henry’s ballocks tightened in envy, recalling the lavish sensation of Arsen’s mouth on that part of his body.

Henry stroked Arsen’s cock as he pressed his arousal into the cleft of his lover’s backside. The need to be inside of Arsen, to make love to him, gripped hold. To make Arsen his in every way. Trepidation threatened to infiltrate his desire, yet he pushed it aside, focused on the hope, the possibility. “Want to fuck you,” he breathed against Arsen’s neck.

Arsen stilled. Suffocating disappointment began its harsh descent. Henry had feared it had been too much to ask, but he couldn’t have held back the request if he tried. Now he knew—

Arsen captured the tip of Henry’s finger between his teeth. “Yes,” he moaned, pushing back against him.

Thank you, God! It was all Henry could do to keep from shouting the words. He was infinitely glad Arsen couldn’t see his face, for he was grinning like a damn fool. Too eager to wait another moment, he pulled his finger from Arsen’s mouth and worked the wet tip into Arsen’s hole. “Damn, you’re tight. When was the last time you were fucked?”

Grunting, Arsen arched his lower back as Henry slid in deeper. “I fuck. I don’t get fucked.”

Henry stopped mid-stroke. He blinked. “Never?”

Arsen looked over his shoulder, held Henry’s shocked gaze. “Never.”

He held his breath as he processed the significance of Arsen’s response. “But you’ve had male lovers?”

Arsen nodded once. “A few. Yes.”

“And you’ve never been penetrated?”


He pulled his finger from Arsen’s virgin arse. The vulnerability in the man’s deep green eyes made Henry’s heart clench. Suddenly feeling like the elder of the two, he smoothed his other hand over Arsen’s lean hip.

“Are you certain you want to do this? We don’t have to.”

Arsen let out a snort of contempt. “Yes, I’m certain. And yes, we have to.”

He nodded, understanding Arsen was trying to prove he looked on him as an equal. “All right.” He glanced about the room. “On the bed.”

Arsen half-turned from the window and arched one eyebrow.

“I can’t take you up against the wall for your first time.” He shrugged uncomfortably and tipped his head toward the bed. “Please.”

“How do you want me?”

The open question made Henry’s prick jump. “On the edge of the bed. On your back.”
He got another arrogant raise of a dark blond eyebrow.

“I want to be able to see your face. Just—” Henry let out an exasperated sigh. “Get on the damn bed.”
A smirk pulled the edges of Arsen’s mouth. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Henry was tempted to smack Arsen on the bum when the man stepped past him. Instead he contented himself with watching Arsen sit on the edge of the bed. Reclining onto his elbows, he leaned back, long legs casually spread. The sunlight picked up the smattering of golden hair on his broad chest and played over the hard contours of his abdomen. His posture was one of easy nonchalance, but the once fully hard cock had lost some rigidity. It no longer jutted eagerly from the thatch of dark blond hair but arched over his ballocks. A clear sign Lord Somerville was a bit nervous at the prospect of getting fucked.

Take it slow, Shaw. Clenching his fists, he took a second to rein in the lust. When he felt he could proceed without pouncing on Arsen, he picked up the bottle of oil on the bedside table. He was about to pour a generous amount onto his palm when a thought occurred to him. Glancing down, he winced. “Would you happen to have a dildo? Something not too large.”

Arsen let out a startled cough. “I thought you were going to fuck me?”

“I am, but this,” he gestured to his rampant erection, “won’t go in easily. At least not the first time and not without some serious preparation.”

Arsen’s gaze settled on Henry’s arousal. The muscles in his thighs flexed and tightened, as if he was resisting the impulse to close his legs, keep Henry out. He dragged a hand over his face. “Bedside table. Bottom drawer. Before you ask, the staff put them there. And no, I didn’t tell them to.”

Resting a hand on Arsen’s thigh, he dropped to his haunches and opened the drawer. Inside were a few black velvet bags similar to the ones he had found in his own room. Gifts for the guests, a servant had explained. Based on the annoyance in Arsen’s tone, his staff had gifted their lord without his consent. Stifling a chuckle, Henry sorted through the bags and selected a white marble phallus complete with realistic ballocks and a convenient round knob at the bottom which served as a handle. The dildo was thicker than two of his fingers yet much thinner than his cock. The width around of a less than average man.

Rising, he set the phallus on the table and stepped between Arsen’s thighs. Instead of lifting Arsen’s legs, he dropped to his knees. At the look of puzzlement on his lover’s face, he rubbed Arsen’s thighs. “You need to relax, Somerville.”

Arsen scowled. “Since you’re intent on fucking me, you might as well call me Arsen. I believe we’ve crossed the line of formality.”

“Well then, let me help you to relax, Arsen,” he said, grinning, loving the way the name flowed from his lips.

He took hold of Arsen’s semi-erect cock, lowered his head and sucked his cock. Fingers tangled in Henry’s hair, urging him to take more. The length hardened in his mouth, the tang of pre-come teased his tongue. Using the saliva dripping onto the large ballocks, he lubricated one finger. Slid it in Arsen’s arse as Henry continued to suck his prick.

When Arsen began to rock his hips in counterpoint, Henry slid in another digit and went back to work—sucking cock and finger-fucking Arsen’s arse. All the while refusing to think of how perfect Arsen would feel wrapped around his cock, for if he did, he’d come all over the floor again.

© Ava March 2009

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