Her Grace's Stable: A Jane Austen Space Opera, Book 2 Read Online Free Page A

his eyes. He hurt all over, but the worst was the constant throb in his groin that kept him on the knife’s edge of rage every single waking moment. “No.”
    The man smelled faintly of straw and leather, a lingering testimony to his work in the stable, both as a man and pony. Maybe that’s why he feels so familiar and safe. I can’t see another pony ever harming me.
    The mattress dipped beside him, making him tense. He fisted his hands, fighting to ignore the fire spreading through his body. I’m a man, not an animal. I can control myself. I can!
    Cole’s palm touched his forehead and cheeks as if he was searching for a fever. Even such an innocent, nurturing touch made Arthur’s blood simmer. It’d been too long. After days—weeks?—of torture with sexual need, he couldn’t ignore the desire pulsing through his body. Sweat poured off him to soak the sheets. At least it was dark, so the man couldn’t see his erection. “You do feel warm.”
    Arthur bit back an unpleasant laugh. I’m burning up with need, slowly slipping into madness like a rabid dog. No one’s safe with me. God help me, I’ve killed people with this rage.
    That dangerous hand slipped down to touch his chest. “You’re sweaty.” Fire spread with each touch as Cole touched fingers to his throat. “And your pulse is rapid. Let me give Dr. Miles a ring—”
    Cole started to get up. Without thinking, Arthur seized his arm and hauled him back down. His bare arm. Muscle moved beneath his palm, warm and alive. He couldn’t help but remember the damnable pleasure of the man’s gentle care that first night. Those strong, soothing hands.
    He trembled, fighting to keep the tide of lust contained. Cole might be a man, not a slim slip of a woman like the Duchess, but he was still smaller. In a fair fight, he wouldn’t have a chance against Arthur. The memory of pounding with his fists, tearing at his tormenters, the screams, the vicious need searing his mind, driving him insane…
    I can’t risk it. Never again. I’m too rough, too big, too—
    Cole made a low, delicious sound, somewhere between a husky laugh and a pleased sigh, and it was too much to deny. Arthur rolled the man beneath him, pinning him facedown on the mattress. Skin and flesh beneath him, hot and hard and surprisingly naked. What kind of man slept naked in another man’s room? Let alone a crazed man who’d been tortured with desire until he’d lost his mind.
    Even worse, the man was slicked with oil, enough that Arthur imagined it would be very easy to sheathe himself in that lean, wiry body.
    He dropped his head against Cole’s shoulders and fought to control himself. Imagining ropes and chains looped about him, holding him back, didn’t help. It only made his lust worse. He loved the fight, the pain, the rage that filled him when someone tried to stop him. Let that bloody Duchess find me ravaging her man and see if she can stop me.
    Cole didn’t fight or even protest. In fact, he arched his back, rubbing himself against Arthur on a low moan that broke his last restraint. He tried to thrust deep, but even slippery with oil, the man’s body was too tight, the angle too strange and new. Fumbling only made him more frantic. Awkwardly, he rose up enough to guide himself, forcing his way inside. Every gasp and cry made him more desperate, more brutal. Cole’s voice rose to a scream, but he couldn’t stop. He sank his teeth deep into the man’s neck, gripping him close while he savaged him.
    The climax blew off the top of his head but he still thrust as hard and fast as he could. Pleasure roared through him, cresting into another, higher wave that pushed him down to the darkest, deepest pit of hell.
    Exactly where I belong.
     
     
    Pulling her wrap tight, Violet paced back and forth inside her bedchamber. Nights were the hardest time for her to be alone. In the wee hours before dawn it was easy to let fear close in. The growing tightness in her chest fueled that nagging