The Earl Falls in Love - Chapter 10 (+18)

Spicy BL/MM/GAY Omegaverse Historical Romance

Edward

Edward found himself in the peculiar position of mourning the conclusion of what should have been, by all reasonable standards, an inconvenient detour in his meticulously ordered life. His final evening at Cheswick Manor arrived with the particular melancholy that accompanies pleasures discovered too late to be properly savored.

The past two days had proven unexpectedly gratifying. He had explored the estate with Ian as his guide, shocking the servants by rolling up his sleeves to assist with fieldwork (an activity that had left his pampered aristocratic muscles protesting in ways his boxing regimen never had), and even procured a replacement piglet for young Rosie. The neighboring farmer had accepted Edward’s excessive payment with the particular expression of a man who suspects he’s dreaming but is determined not to wake up.

Now, seated at the dining table for his final supper before tomorrow’s departure, Edward found himself remarkably reluctant to return to St. Louis. His secretary was undoubtedly drowning in correspondence, his sisters had likely terrorized half the household staff, and his mother’s increasingly pointed telegrams suggested she was contemplating sending a search party. Yet these obligations—which had dictated his every movement for years—seemed curiously insubstantial when weighed against the prospect of leaving Ian Harrison behind.

Edward’s gaze drifted to Daniel, who was engaged in animated conversation with Dorothy Harrison. His friend’s expression displayed the particular brand of besotted attention that transforms even the most sensible men into utter fools when properly captivated by a woman.

Thoroughly smitten, Edward thought with amusement. Like a schoolboy with his first infatuation, though with considerably better tailoring.

“My lord?”

Ian’s voice drew Edward’s attention with the immediacy of a perfectly executed hook in the boxing ring. The omega was watching him with those remarkable blue eyes, a faint flush coloring his cheeks in a manner that Edward found unreasonably appealing.

“Hmm?” he responded, deliberately casual despite the immediate quickening of his pulse.

“I just wanted to express again how grateful I am for, erm... Pinky,” Ian said, his gaze dropping momentarily to his plate in a gesture of modesty that somehow managed to be both innocent and enticing.

“No problem,” Edward replied, his lips curving into a smile. “I’m happy Rosie is pleased.”

The family had collectively decided to spare Rosie the truth about her beloved pet’s fate. A white lie that Edward, who generally prided himself on straightforward dealings, found he didn’t mind supporting in the slightest.

“It’s unfortunate Pinky ran away,” Dorothy sighed with the particular conviction of someone who has rehearsed a falsehood. “I do hope she’s not lost in the woods somewhere.”

“I’m sure she has found herself a new... haven,” Ian offered, the slight hesitation betraying his discomfort with the fabrication.

“Pinky is not a wild boar, Ian,” Lady Harrison remarked dryly. “But in saying that, perhaps she did find herself a new home. She does seem to like the wild.”

“I think Pinky got married to a prince pig!” Rosie announced with the absolute certainty unique to six-year-old girls. “They’re having a big wedding with cake and ice cream!”

“Pigs don’t get married, silly,” Reuben countered with the particular disdain brothers reserve for their sisters. “They just live together and make baby pigs.”

“They do too get married!” Rosie insisted, her lower lip protruding dangerously. “And they wear fancy clothes and have big parties!”

Edward suppressed a smile as Ian intervened with practiced ease, distracting the twins with the promise of dessert. The omega’s patience with his siblings was yet another quality Edward found himself admiring with increasing frequency.

Dorothy deftly changed the subject, her eyes brightening with enthusiasm. “I can hardly wait. St. Louis sounds like a dream.”

Edward had proposed that the Harrisons relocate to Tyndall Manor in St. Louis rather than remain at Cheswick. His reasoning, as presented to Lady Harrison, had been entirely practical—better educational opportunities for the children, improved living conditions, proximity to medical care. His private motivation—having Ian under the same roof—he had kept to himself with the discipline of a man accustomed to compartmentalizing his thoughts.

“The capital must be busy,” Dorothy continued, her expression wistful. “Full of life. I do wonder if we’d fit in?”

Daniel leaned forward, his attention fixed on Dorothy with the particular intensity that Edward recognized as the precursor to romantic foolishness. “You have no need to worry about that, my lady. With the Tyndalls at your side, you’ll no doubt be the talk of the town before the season’s first ball.”

Dorothy’s eyes widened in apparent alarm. “The talk of the town? But I do not want to be the talk of the town, sir. I simply want to make a few friends and live quietly, as we do here.”

Edward suppressed a smile. The Harrison women possessed a refreshing lack of social ambition that contrasted sharply with St. Louis society. Where others would view connection to the Tyndall family as an opportunity for social advancement, Dorothy seemed genuinely concerned about excessive attention.

“Besides,” she added with a soft laugh, “I’m sure I will be far too busy to be attending tea and dinner parties. I can’t wait to begin designing for the fashion boutique Lord Edward has proposed. In fact, I’ve already sketched several designs. Would you care to see them, Mr. Ford?”

“I would be delighted,” Daniel replied with an enthusiasm that suggested Dorothy could have offered to show him her collection of dried leaves and received the same response.

“Will there be dragons in St. Louis?” Reuben asked suddenly, his eyes wide with the particular blend of hope and uncertainty that children reserve for questions about magical creatures.

“Dragons?” Edward echoed, momentarily caught off guard by the non sequitur.

“In my picture book, the castle has dragons,” Reuben explained with the exaggerated patience of a child addressing a particularly slow adult. “You said your house is like a castle.”

“I said it was large, not that it was a castle,” Edward corrected gently. “And I’m afraid we don’t have dragons. We do, however, have an impressive library filled with books about dragons.”

“Real books? With pictures?” Reuben asked, his expression brightening.

“Real books with magnificent illustrations,” Edward confirmed, unable to suppress a smile at the boy’s enthusiasm.

“I don’t like dragons,” Rosie announced firmly. “They’re scary and have big teeth. I like unicorns better.”

“Unicorns are for babies,” Reuben scoffed with brotherly disdain.

“Are not!”

“Are too!”

A light touch at Edward’s elbow drew his attention away from the brewing sibling dispute. Ian had developed a habit of seeking his attention with these small, almost unconscious gestures—a touch at the elbow, a tug at the sleeve—reminiscent of the way the twins would pull at his clothing when seeking his notice. Edward found the similarity endearing, though his reaction to Ian’s touch was decidedly different from his response to the children’s.

“Hmm?” he inquired, turning to face the omega.

Ian’s cheeks colored slightly as he spoke, his voice lowered to avoid being overheard. “I was wondering if... if you’d like a hot bath before bed tonight, my lord? It’s your last night here, and I wanted to ensure you’re properly attended to.”

The suggestion sent a pulse of heat through Edward’s body that had nothing to do with the temperature of the proposed bath. The memory of their last bathing encounter—Ian’s hands on his skin, the omega’s scent intensifying in the steam—had featured prominently in his nightly fantasies.

“That sounds excellent,” he replied, keeping his tone deliberately casual despite the immediate quickening of his pulse. “Most thoughtful of you, Ian.”

Ian nodded, a hint of something that might have been anticipation flashing in his eyes before he lowered his gaze. When dinner concluded with the others retiring to the drawing room for tea, Edward noted the omega’s absence. The boy was likely preparing the bath, a prospect that filled Edward with both anticipation and a certain degree of trepidation.

The evening progressed with Dorothy enthusiastically showing Daniel her fashion sketches, the lawyer displaying a level of interest that suggested either genuine appreciation or the particular blindness that affects men in the early stages of infatuation. Lady Harrison contributed occasional suggestions, her practical observations demonstrating an eye for design that explained Dorothy’s talent.

The twins, having been permitted to stay up later than usual due to the special occasion, eventually began to flag. Rosie climbed onto Edward’s lap with the particular confidence of a child who has identified a willing victim, resting her head against his chest as her eyelids grew heavy.

“Tell us a story, Lord Edward,” she requested through a yawn. “A princess story.”

“I don’t want a princess story,” Reuben objected, though he too had migrated to Edward’s vicinity, leaning against the arm of the chair. “I want a story with fighting.”

“How about a story with both?” Edward suggested, finding himself unexpectedly comfortable in this impromptu role of storyteller. “A princess who is also a great warrior.”

Both children regarded him with the particular skepticism children reserve for adults who propose unconventional narratives.

“Princesses don’t fight,” Rosie informed him with the certainty of one who has thoroughly researched the subject. “They wear pretty dresses and marry princes.”

“This princess is different,” Edward replied, warming to his theme. “She wears armor over her pretty dresses and fights dragons to protect her kingdom.”

“Girls can’t fight dragons,” Reuben objected, though his tone suggested he was willing to be convinced otherwise.

“This one can,” Edward assured him. “She’s the bravest knight in the kingdom.”

The story that followed—an impromptu tale of Princess Eleanor the Dragonslayer—held the twins’ attention until their eyelids grew too heavy to remain open. Dorothy eventually carried Rosie to bed while Daniel, displaying unexpected competence with children, managed to guide a half-asleep Reuben upstairs without incident.

It was well after ten o’clock when the party finally dispersed, each retiring to their rooms with the awareness that tomorrow would bring an early departure. Edward climbed the stairs, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension that had accumulated during his days of unaccustomed physical labor. Fieldwork was exhausting in a way that boxing was not—a steady drain rather than a sudden expenditure of energy—and he found himself with newfound respect for Ian’s daily routine.

Edward suppressed a yawn as he opened the door to his temporary bedroom, his gaze directed downward as he stepped inside and closed it behind him. He was about to indulge in the full-throated yawn that had been threatening when he looked up and the air caught in his lungs as effectively as if he’d been struck.

Before him was a vision that made every fantasy he’d indulged in over the past week pale in comparison to reality. Ian was in the bathtub—not preparing it for Edward as expected, but occupying it himself. The omega’s dark hair was wet and slicked back from his face, his blue eyes startlingly bright against flushed cheeks, his lips parted slightly as though in surprise. Above the water’s surface, Edward could see the pale expanse of Ian’s shoulders and chest, including the rosy peaks of his nipples, which were unmistakably erect.

More striking than the visual tableau, however, was the scent that permeated the room. Ian’s usual fragrance of rain and wildflowers had transformed, intensified with notes of honey and something richer, more primal—the unmistakable aroma of an omega entering the early stages of heat. Edward’s alpha instincts recognized the biological signal immediately, even as his conscious mind struggled to process the implications.

“I see you’ve decided to christen my bathtub without me,” Edward remarked, his voice carrying the particular blend of amusement and heat that he reserved exclusively for Ian. “Rather presumptuous of you, though I can’t say I disapprove of the view.”

Ian sank deeper into the water with the speed of someone who’d just spotted a shark, his eyes wide but still managing to convey a flash of his characteristic sharpness. “My lord! I—I thought you’d be trapped in the drawing room until midnight, listening to Dorothy explain the revolutionary nature of her sleeve designs.”

“An accurate assessment of my predicament,” Edward acknowledged with a smile. “I managed a daring escape while Daniel was distracting her with excessive compliments. The man has revealed an unexpected talent for sartorial flattery.”

Ian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a nervous gesture that somehow managed to be both endearing and enticing. “I was going to change the water before you arrived. Clearly, my timing requires adjustment.”

“Clearly,” Edward agreed, approaching the tub with deliberate steps. “Though I find myself disinclined to complain about the current arrangement.”

The omega’s scent grew more potent with each step Edward took toward him—sweet, enticing, and carrying notes that Edward’s alpha instincts recognized as biological readiness. Ian pressed his legs together beneath the water’s surface, a futile attempt to conceal his arousal that only drew attention to what he was trying to hide.

“I’ll just... finish quickly and get out of your way,” Ian offered, his usual confidence warring with obvious discomfort. “You deserve a proper bath without someone else’s... essence contaminating the water.”

Edward leaned down to ruffle Ian’s wet hair, a gesture that had become habitual over the past days. “Take your time. You appear to be enjoying yourself rather thoroughly. It would be a shame to cut such pleasure short.”

The implication was deliberate, and the deepening of Ian’s blush confirmed that the omega understood his meaning perfectly. Yet even flustered, Ian’s sharp tongue remained operational.

“Are you planning to stand there and observe the entire process?” he asked, arching an eyebrow despite his obvious embarrassment. “I wasn’t aware that watching people bathe was a fashionable pastime among the aristocracy. How very... continental of you.”

Edward laughed, genuinely delighted by Ian’s persistent wit even in such a compromising position. “The aristocracy has many peculiar pastimes, as you’ll discover in St. Louis. This particular one, however, is exclusively reserved for exceptionally interesting bathers.”

Unable to resist the temptation to prolong this delicious moment, Edward reached for the washcloth. “Since I’m already here, why don’t I fulfill my promise to return the favor? You’ve washed my back; it seems only fair that I should wash yours.”

“No!” Ian’s response was sharp, almost panicked. He immediately moderated his tone, clearly embarrassed by his vehemence. “That is to say—I appreciate the offer, my lord, but I’m perfectly capable of washing the parts of myself that require attention. Though I’m sure your expertise in such matters is unparalleled.”

“You wound me, Ian,” Edward replied, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Are you suggesting that my bathing skills are less than exemplary? I assure you, I’ve received no complaints from previous recipients of my attention.”

“I’m sure your past bathing companions were far too intimidated by your earldom to offer honest criticism,” Ian retorted, though his voice lacked its usual steadiness. “I, however, have no such reservations. Now, would you mind terribly turning around so I might exit this increasingly awkward situation with a shred of dignity intact?”

Edward raised an eyebrow, deliberately playing at obtuseness. “Why would I need to turn around? We’re both men, as you so astutely observed yesterday.”

“Because unlike you, I don’t possess the confident exhibitionism that apparently comes with an aristocratic title,” Ian shot back, though the effect was somewhat undermined by the way he shifted restlessly in the water. “Some of us prefer to maintain an air of mystery about our physical form.”

“A mystery I find increasingly compelling,” Edward admitted, his tone shifting from teasing to something darker, more intent. “Though I suspect the greater mystery is why you’re so flushed and restless. The water can’t possibly be that hot still.”

Ian hesitated, clearly caught in an internal debate, before forcing a nervous laugh. “Fine. You’ve called my bluff. We’re both men, as you said. Nothing you haven’t seen before, I imagine.”

With a speed that would have impressed Edward’s boxing instructor, the omega surged from the tub and wrapped the robe around himself in a single fluid motion, water splashing across the floor as he made a dash for the door.

Edward moved with the reflexes honed through years in the boxing ring, catching Ian’s arm before he could escape. He turned the omega to face him, unable to suppress his amusement at this charming display of modesty despite his growing concern for Ian’s condition.

“Running away, Ian? I thought Harrisons faced their challenges head-on. Isn’t that what you told me about your confrontation with our poaching friend?”

Ian’s face was flushed, his pupils dilated, and at this proximity, his scent was overwhelming—sweet, inviting, and unmistakably that of an omega entering heat. Yet even in this state, a flash of his characteristic defiance surfaced.

“This isn’t a challenge; it’s a strategic retreat,” he countered, though he made no attempt to pull away from Edward’s grip. “And I’m not running away—I’m simply relocating to somewhere less... crowded.”

“A creative interpretation,” Edward acknowledged with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But I can’t help noticing that you seem rather... uncomfortable. More than mere embarrassment would explain.”

Ian swallowed hard, his attempt at nonchalance crumbling under Edward’s steady gaze. “I feel strange,” he admitted finally, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Like I’m burning from the inside out. Like my skin is too tight and everything is too... much.”

Edward recognized the symptoms immediately, his alpha instincts surging in response even as his rational mind urged caution. “Ian,” he said carefully, his voice deeper than usual as he struggled to maintain control, “I believe you’re experiencing the early stages of your first heat.”

The omega’s eyes widened, comprehension dawning slowly. “Heat? Like in those medical texts Dr. Webb mentioned? The ones he said weren’t ‘appropriate reading for young people’?” He let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “How inconveniently timed of my body. Couldn’t it have waited until after you’d departed?”

Even in crisis, Ian’s sardonic humor remained intact, a quality that Edward found increasingly endearing.

“Biology rarely consults our social calendars,” Edward replied dryly. “Though I must admit, the timing is rather remarkable. Almost as if your omega nature is making a last desperate attempt to keep me from leaving.”

“My omega nature has appalling judgment, then,” Ian muttered, though he unconsciously leaned closer to Edward, drawn to his alpha scent. “Surely there are more dignified ways to extend a visit than... this.”

“Is that what’s happening?” Edward asked, his thumb unconsciously tracing circles on Ian’s wrist where he could feel the omega’s pulse racing. “This strange heat and emptiness you’re feeling—do you know what it means?”

Ian’s flush deepened, but his gaze remained steady. “I’m not completely ignorant, my lord. I’ve observed enough farm animals to understand the basic concept. I just never thought it would feel so...” he trailed off, searching for words.

“Overwhelming?” Edward suggested, his voice gentle despite the storm of desire raging within him. “Consuming? As though your body has suddenly developed a will entirely separate from your mind?”

“Yes,” Ian breathed, relief evident in his expression. “Exactly that. And there’s this... emptiness. Like I’m hollow inside and need to be filled with...” he stopped abruptly, mortification replacing relief. “I apologize. That was unforgivably crude.”

“Not crude,” Edward corrected him. “Natural. Your body is responding to biological imperatives as old as humanity itself. The question is what we intend to do about it.”

“We?” Ian echoed, his voice catching on the word.

“Yes, we,” Edward confirmed, meeting the omega’s gaze directly. “I could help ease your discomfort, if you’d allow it. Though I should warn you that what I’m offering isn’t something to be taken lightly.”

“Help me how, exactly?” Ian asked, wariness and hope warring in his expression. “I’m not sure I’m prepared to—that is, I’ve never—”

“Nothing so dramatic as you’re imagining,” Edward assured him, his lips curving into a smile that was both reassuring and slightly predatory. “There are ways to provide relief without crossing certain boundaries. Think of it as a more... targeted version of the bathing assistance I’ve been offering.”

Ian’s eyebrows shot up, understanding dawning in his expression. “You mean you would... touch me? In places that aren’t strictly medical in nature?”

“Precisely,” Edward confirmed, admiring Ian’s ability to cut to the heart of the matter even while in the grip of pre-heat symptoms. “I would touch you in ways designed to bring pleasure and release. Nothing more than that—nothing that would compromise your virtue or create complications.”

Ian considered this with the particular intensity he brought to all decisions, his blue eyes never leaving Edward’s face. “Would it hurt?” he asked finally, the question disarmingly direct.

“No,” Edward assured him, unable to suppress a small smile. “Quite the opposite, in fact. Though I can’t promise it won’t be intense in other ways.”

“And you’ve done this before? Helped omegas through their... episodes?”

Edward hesitated, weighing honesty against reassurance. “Not in precisely this context,” he admitted. “Though the general principles are familiar to me.”

Ian nodded slowly, his decision apparently made. “Alright then. I trust you, my lord. Though I reserve the right to punch you if this turns out to be some elaborate aristocratic prank.”

The unexpected addendum startled a laugh from Edward. “Your faith in my character is truly touching,” he remarked dryly. “Though I assure you, this is one area where I’m entirely serious.”

“A first time for everything, I suppose,” Ian muttered, though there was no real bite to the words. “So... what happens now?”

“Now,” Edward said gently, guiding Ian toward the bed, “you allow me to help you through this. And perhaps learn something about yourself in the process.”

“Now,” Edward said gently, guiding Ian toward the bed, “you allow me to help you through this. And perhaps learn something about yourself in the process.”

Ian hesitated only briefly before following Edward to the bed. “So... what happens now?” he asked, his voice carrying a blend of nervousness and curiosity that made Edward’s heart clench with unexpected tenderness.

Edward settled himself on the bed, creating a space between his legs. “Come, sit here,” he instructed, patting the spot in front of him.

Ian raised an eyebrow, his natural skepticism temporarily overriding his discomfort. “Quite the intimate teaching position you’ve selected, my lord. Is this how all aristocrats conduct their educational endeavors?”

“Only for our most exceptional students,” Edward replied smoothly, delighting in Ian’s persistent wit despite his obvious distress. “I assure you, this arrangement will prove most... effective.”

After a moment’s consideration that seemed to involve an internal debate Edward would have paid handsomely to overhear, Ian approached the bed. “I suppose I should be flattered to receive such personalized instruction,” he remarked, settling cautiously between Edward’s legs, his back rigid with tension.

“First,” Edward said, his voice dropping to a lower register as he reached for the edges of Ian’s robe, “we need to remove this rather significant barrier to your education.”

Ian clutched at the fabric, his knuckles whitening. “I’m beginning to suspect this lesson might be somewhat more... comprehensive than I anticipated.”

“A proper education leaves no question unanswered,” Edward murmured, gently but firmly removing Ian’s hands from the robe. “Trust me, Ian. I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

With deliberate slowness, giving Ian every opportunity to object, Edward peeled away the robe to reveal the young man’s slender form. The sight stole his breath entirely—Ian was exquisite beyond anything Edward had imagined during his private fantasies. His skin was like porcelain, flushed with heat that gave him an almost luminous quality in the firelight. The lean muscles of his torso spoke of years of physical labor, creating an enticing contrast to his delicate features.

Most captivating of all was a small beauty mark adorning one rosy nipple—a perfect dark speck against pale pink that Edward found himself wanting to taste with an intensity that bordered on madness. His gaze traced the elegant line of Ian’s collarbone, the graceful curve of his throat, the subtle hollows beneath his ribs where shadows played in the flickering light.

“You’re beautiful,” Edward whispered, the words escaping before he could consider their propriety. “Absolutely extraordinary.”

Ian’s flush deepened, the color spreading down his neck to his chest in a wave that Edward found himself following with rapt attention. Even embarrassed, Ian possessed a grace that seemed entirely unconscious—a natural elegance that no amount of aristocratic training could instill.

As his gaze traveled downward, Edward discovered what he’d been anticipating since entering the room—Ian’s arousal, perfectly proportioned to his slender frame. Ian’s scent intensified as Edward looked at him, sweetening with embarrassment and desire in equal measure.

Ian stiffened against him, drawing his legs together in a belated attempt at modesty. “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered, his tone somewhere between accusation and mortification.

“Like what?” Edward asked, genuinely curious.

“Like I’m... something to be devoured,” Ian replied, his voice dropping to a whisper.

Edward smiled, unable to deny the accuracy of the observation. “You can hardly blame me for admiring what’s before me,” he said softly. “But I’ll try to be less obvious about it if it makes you uncomfortable.”

He found Ian’s embarrassment utterly endearing. This remarkable young man—whose sharp tongue could flay a man alive and whose fists had proven capable of dropping opponents twice his size—was blushing like a schoolgirl over his own naked form.

“There’s no need for embarrassment,” Edward assured him, placing his hands on Ian’s thighs. “Your body is nothing to be ashamed of. Quite the contrary.”

“I... I know that,” Ian replied, his voice betraying his uncertainty despite the assertion. After a moment, he relaxed his legs slightly, allowing Edward to gently spread them apart.

With Ian’s arousal now fully visible, Edward leaned forward until his lips were near the young man’s ear, deliberately allowing his breath to caress the sensitive skin there. “When you find yourself in this state,” he explained, his voice a silken murmur, “the solution is remarkably straightforward.”

Without further preamble, he wrapped his hand around Ian’s cock, demonstrating with actions what words could not adequately convey.

Ian’s reaction was immediate and breathtaking—a sharp intake of breath followed by a full-body shudder that Edward felt against his chest. His scent spiked dramatically, filling the room with the heady aroma of rain-washed wildflowers and sun-warmed honey, now underscored with the unmistakable notes of arousal.

“My... my lord,” Ian gasped, his voice transformed into something breathy and vulnerable that bore little resemblance to his usual sharp tones. “It feels... strange. Like I’m... melting from the inside out.”

Edward began stroking with deliberate precision, cataloguing each minute reaction—the way Ian’s breathing hitched when he applied pressure at the head, the subtle arch of his back when Edward’s thumb traced the sensitive underside, the almost imperceptible rocking of his hips that suggested his body understood what his mind did not.

“This is entirely normal,” Edward whispered, allowing his lips to brush against the shell of Ian’s ear. “This is part of what gives pleasure during intimacy.”

“But,” Ian objected, his words punctuated by soft gasps that Edward found inordinately gratifying, “I’m not... with a woman.”

“Pleasure isn’t exclusively reserved for procreation,” Edward replied, deliberately avoiding a direct discussion of omega biology for the moment. Ian was overwhelmed enough without adding that particular complication. “Sometimes it’s simply for enjoyment. For release.”

As if to emphasize his point, he adjusted his grip and increased his pace slightly, drawing a strangled moan from Ian that sent a surge of possessive satisfaction through Edward’s body. His own arousal was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore, pressed as it was against the small of Ian’s back, but he ruthlessly suppressed his desires. This moment was for Ian’s education, not Edward’s gratification.

Taking advantage of Ian’s distraction, Edward buried his face against the nape of his neck, inhaling deeply of that intoxicating scent. Here, where the skin was thin and warm, Ian’s natural fragrance was at its most potent—sweet and clean with undertones that spoke directly to Edward’s alpha instincts.

“My... my lord,” Ian panted, his head falling back against Edward’s shoulder as his body trembled. “Something’s happening. It feels... tight. Like I’m going to burst.”

“That’s precisely what should happen,” Edward assured him, his voice a low rumble against Ian’s skin. “You’re approaching release. Don’t fight it—embrace the sensation.”

“Release?” Ian echoed, his voice carrying the particular blend of confusion and anticipation unique to those on the precipice of discovery. “What’s going to—”

His question dissolved into a gasp as his body answered more eloquently than words could have. Edward felt the precise moment when Ian surrendered to pleasure—the sudden tension in his slender frame, the stuttering of his breath, the pulsing of his cock against Edward’s palm.

Ian’s release was as spectacular as Edward had anticipated—powerful and prolonged, as though years of suppressed desire were finding expression in a single moment. His scent reached an almost overwhelming intensity, filling the room with the unmistakable aroma of satisfaction—a fragrance that called to Edward’s alpha nature with irresistible potency.

When the last tremors had subsided, Ian sagged against Edward’s chest, his breathing ragged and his skin flushed with a combination of heat fever and satisfied desire. Edward allowed himself a moment of pure indulgence, cradling the young man against him and savoring the weight of Ian’s body in his arms.

“There,” he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from Ian’s forehead. “Feel better?”

Ian turned to look at him, and Edward felt his breath catch at the sight. Ian’s eyes were extraordinary—blue as a summer sky but now darkened with pleasure, the pupils dilated until only a thin ring of color remained. His lips were parted and slightly swollen from where he’d bitten them during his release, and a light sheen of sweat made his skin glow in the firelight. Edward had seen countless beautiful people in his years moving through aristocratic circles, but none had ever affected him as profoundly as Ian Harrison in this moment of vulnerable beauty.

“Yes, my lord,” Ian whispered, his voice carrying a new note of wonder that sent a surge of possessive pleasure through Edward’s body.

Their eyes locked, and Edward felt something shift between them—something profound and potentially dangerous. Ian’s gaze dropped to Edward’s lips, then back to his eyes in a question as old as time itself. The invitation was unmistakable, despite Ian’s inexperience.

In that moment, with Ian looking at him with such open trust and nascent desire, Edward’s carefully maintained control slipped. Before he could reconsider, he leaned forward and captured Ian’s lips with his own.

The first touch was gentle—a question rather than a demand—but when Ian made a small sound of surprise and pleasure against his mouth, Edward deepened the kiss with deliberate intent. He cupped Ian’s face between his hands, angling his head to better claim those perfect lips, reveling in their softness and the slight tremble that betrayed Ian’s nervousness.

Ian tasted of sweetness and heat, with an underlying freshness that reminded Edward of mountain streams. He traced the seam of Ian’s lips with his tongue, requesting entry rather than demanding it, and was rewarded when Ian hesitantly opened to him.

The first slide of his tongue against Ian’s drew a startled gasp from the young man, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, after a moment’s uncertainty, Ian began to respond, mimicking Edward’s movements with an eagerness that sent heat spiraling through Edward’s body. He explored Ian’s mouth with thorough attention, teaching without words what would bring pleasure to them both.

Ian turned in Edward’s arms, seeking a better angle, his hands coming up to clutch at Edward’s shoulders. The new position pressed their chests together, and Edward could feel the rapid beating of Ian’s heart against his own. He tangled one hand in Ian’s damp hair, using the gentle grip to control the kiss, while his other arm wrapped around the young man’s waist, drawing him closer still.

The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent as Ian’s initial hesitation gave way to enthusiastic participation. Edward nipped gently at his lower lip, drawing a surprised moan from Ian before soothing the spot with his tongue. When Ian tentatively returned the gesture, Edward couldn’t suppress a groan of approval.

He tasted Ian with deliberate thoroughness, memorizing every nuance of his response—the way he shivered when Edward’s tongue stroked against his, the soft sounds he made when Edward sucked gently on his lower lip, the increasing boldness of his own explorations as his confidence grew.

When they finally parted, both breathless and flushed, Edward rested his forehead against Ian’s, unwilling to separate completely. Ian’s eyes remained closed for a moment, his lashes casting delicate shadows on his cheeks, before they fluttered open to meet Edward’s gaze with dazed wonder.

“Was that... part of the lesson?” Ian asked, his voice husky in a way that made Edward want to claim those lips again immediately.

“That,” Edward replied with a small smile, “was a momentary lapse in my self-control. For which I find myself entirely unable to apologize.”

Ian’s lips curved in an answering smile, shy but unmistakably pleased. “I don’t believe I requested an apology, my lord.”

The response, so quintessentially Ian in its blend of deference and defiance, made Edward chuckle. Even flushed with pleasure and half-naked in his arms, Ian Harrison maintained his unique spark.

Edward knew he should stop here—should acknowledge that they had already crossed boundaries that his position as guardian should have rendered inviolable. Yet Ian’s heat was clearly not fully addressed by this initial release, and leaving him to suffer through it alone would be both cruel and potentially dangerous.