The first week in April the south wing was finished. As construction neared its end, Matt started having thoughts about what came next in his life. He couldn’t just sit in Brambleton and vegetate. He needed something to do. And he needed to stop procrastinating in contacting Dashad. What he really needed was Dashad here, fucking him. Not in Archie’s bedroom, with the nightmare it brought back to Matt whenever he entered the room--but in his room at the other end of the hall.
He sent out invitations to all in the hunt club, including the Fitzhughs, for a formal dedication of the south wing. The press would be there as well. He catered it and was pulling out all stops. He had invited Archie’s daughters as well, but was relieved when both answered that they had no interest in coming to Brambleton ever again. He realized when he got that response that he had been holding his breath on what their reaction would be--what their intentions were concerning Brambleton. The will still had not been probated. Matt was sure that Rick was dragging his feet for some reason. So, Matt was euphoric that the daughters seemed to want to have nothing to do with Brambleton.
Brambleton was his. Matt’s. He would fight all takers for it.
But he had underestimated Rick. And Rick did attend the dedication. And he had assumed that he would be staying at the house. Matt didn’t fight him on this. He was anxious to talk to Rick to ascertain how the will probate was coming. He was running out of cash to live on. The cost of the dedication was perhaps more than he should have taken on.
William Henry came up to him during the reception following the dedication ceremony. Matt went on his guard.
“My condolences, Matt,” he said. “You are looking as sexy as ever, though, and I must say you were loyal to Archie to the end.”
Matt winced at this compliment, which he knew was off base.
“Hello, Mr. Fitzhugh,” he said stiffly.
“Mr. Fitzhugh? I expect the servants to call me that after I’ve fucked them, not a sweet young piece like you. How did you manage to remain looking so sleek living with Archie? You must have been getting it on the side.”
“I haven’t seen Perry,” Matt said, both changing the subject and trying to remain looking like the two of them were just having a pleasant, neighborly conversation.
“He’s in Charlottesville, studying hard.”
“And procuring just as hard for you?”
This time it was William Henry who ignored the question. “You are welcome to come back to Ravensworth, Matthew. We miss you there.”
“Oh, are you between university students Perry is pimping for you?”
“As a matter of fact I am. But even if I wasn’t, he’d have to be very sweet for me not to toss him out to take you back.” The master of Ravensworth was showing that he could toss bombs into a conversation while looking benign with the best of them. To this he added, “I believe you’ll be looking for another port soon enough.”
“Brambleton is mine now,” Matt said, ready to explode. “I won’t need anywhere else to go or anyone else to take care of--or advantage of--me.”
“There are those who would say it was you taking advantage of the Athertons, Matthew. And as long as Archie’s lawyer son-in-law breathes I wouldn’t be to settled at Brambleton, if I were you.”
“Why? What have you heard?” Matt sputtered.
But William Henry had already turned and was moving into another small discussion group.
That evening, after the dedication, it was just the two of them, Matt and Rick, sitting in the cherry-paneled library at Brambleton and imbibing snifters of Archie’s best cognac. Matt’s hands were trembling and he had to hold the snifter in both of them. He was thinking of the encounter under the pier at the Annapolis house. He was sure that Rick had done that just to put him in his place. But he was ashamed to be in the same room with a man who knew what Matt was willing to do in tossing loyalty out of the window. He was obsessing that Rick would want to take him upstairs and fuck him--and half hoping he would.
“The restoration work was magnificent,” Rick said. “You really should document it and get it into Southern Living.”
“It is all documented, thank you. And Southern Living has, in fact, shown interest in doing an article.”
“It should be enough to get you back in architecture school,” Rick said.
“Yes, if I decide to do that. I haven’t checked on schools in Washington, D.C., yet.”
“Washington, D.C.? I thought you were going to the University of Virginia.”
“I was, but Charlottesville is a two-hour drive away. It’s just a bit over an hour into D.C.”
“So you were planning on staying at Brambleton?”
“Sort of a pity. And more so because of all of the work you’ve put into the house restoration.”
“I beg your pardon.”
Rick was wearing that sneery smile of his--the one he sported just before dropping a bomb. Matt was already starting to feel sick to his stomach. The statement William Henry had made earlier in the day flipped back into his mind. His hand was trembling more noticeably and he had to set the snifter down on the table next to his club chair to keep from dropping it on the Oriental carpet underfoot.
His eyes focused on the lush Oriental carpet underneath, and just for a few seconds he fantasized himself on all fours here, in front of the fire in the fireplace, and Rick’s hunky, hairy body covering him doggy style and the sneaky lawyer cruelly thrusting again and again inside him.
“Chances are good that the house will be coming down.”
“What do you mean?” Matt’s ears were throbbing with the sound of the sea; his blood pressure was zooming up. He knew that danger was about to land on him.
“Miriam and Rachel are talking to a developer who wants to build luxury houses on this land. The suburbs of Washington are about to extend this far. They aren’t sure he will want to keep the house.”
“Develop this land? Brambleton? Tear down the house? They can’t. Brambleton is mine. There’s a codicil.”
“Not that I’m aware of. And there’s nothing in the will. Archie had a prenup, by the way. I’m sure he told you that.” Rick smiled.
“No codicil? Brambleton not mine? A prenup? What are you trying to pull, Rick?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Rick was looking like the fat cat that got all of the cream.
“Stop this, Rick. You know there’s a codicil. You wrote it up. Archie signed it. I watched him sign it.”
“There isn’t any evidence of a codicil, Matthew. At least there need not be one . . . unless . . . there is something I want from you. Perhaps we could accommodate each other’s needs here.”
Matt looked up sharply at Rick. The way that Rick was looking at him made it pretty obvious what Rick wanted from him. So, what happened under that pier in Annapolis last year wasn’t just a business ploy, Matt thought, mixed panic and arousing anticipation flooding in.
“How much do you want Brambleton?” Rick asked.
They fucked on Archie’s bed. Rick first took Matt, with Matt bearing his weight on his shoulders at the foot of the bed and Rick wedged into Matt’s butt and holding his legs up and bent close together into his chest. He said he wanted it tight the first time, and Matt, indeed, had found it hard to take a cock the size of Rick’s inside him with his channel constricted as it was.
Once bottomed, though, Rick started to pump him hard and deep and fast, punishing him as Matt writhed under him, pleading for mercy and for him to have time to open to the fat cock, but receiving none.
Rick next made Matt ride the cock while he laid on his back, regaining his strength. Matt did so, riding him hard now, lost in the fuck. He was embarrassed at his wantonness under the circumstances, but it had been so long since he’d been fucked, and Rick was being so deliciously cruel. And Rick had a great, cut, tanned body, covered in black, curly hair, and a cock to be proud of.
After resting, Rick pushed Matt onto his side and then reached under him and pulled him up on all fours. Then he crouched over his hips and fucked him hard doggy style, following him down to the surface of the bed when Matt’s knees gave out and once again, pulling Matt’s thighs close together so that his passage was constricted and the cock could give the maximum in filling sensation. Rick was cocking him so hard and deep, that Matt crawled along the bed toward the edge, but Rick just followed him, taking his throat in both hands and slamming him hard and deep as they moved. Matt blacked out with his head and arms hanging over the edge.
When he came to, he lifted his head to see Rick sitting in a straight chair at the other end of the room. He was stroking his cock. It was hard again, curling cruelly up from his thatch of black pubic bush.
“I once wondered what it was that had Archie enthralled,” Rick said in a low voice when he saw that Matt had returned to the land of the living. “When I took you under the pier, I understood. You are a great lay, and I couldn’t forget you. Do you want it again?”
“Yes,” Matt answered. It was almost a whisper.
“Still quite the little whore, aren’t you?” Rick said with a sneery laugh.
“It’s just that it’s been so long,” Matt whimpered.
“Come here and sit on it,” Rick commanded. And then when Matt had crossed the room and sat on cock, facing Rick, the lawyer commanded in a growly voice, “Fuck yourself.”
He was being so masterfully cruel, and he had a cock to die for. He held Matt’s waist as Matt leaned back and, moaning, used the leverage of the balls of his feet to move up and down on the buried cock.
At length Rick carried him over to the foot of the bed and finished him there, with Matt nearly on his side, his right leg tucked under him and Rick holding up his left leg and, standing on the carpet, fucking Matt sideways. They came nearly simultaneous this time, Matt having first come shortly before he blacked out, and Rick following while he was still fucking an unconscious Matt.
Matt remained there, half on and half off the bed, panting, and exhausted, and totally fucked, while Rick moved back to the straight chair.
“You have two choices,” Rick said. “You can take the prenup money Archie settled on you--it’s $400,000, so nothing to sneeze at, and I’ll drive you to the train station and buy you a ticket back to either Charlottesville or the Podunkville you came from. Or I can have you taken and dumped outside of the gates of Brambleton. Which would you prefer?”
“Brambleton is mine. You said you’d give me the deed if I let you fuck me.”
“You wanted me to fuck you. You want me to fuck you again now, don’t you?”
“Yes.” It was barely a whisper. His weakness disgusted him. He wanted this man’s cock. Rick was sheer evil, ever his adversary, but Matt wanted him to fuck him again. Maybe the man’s evil was part of the reason. Matt’s guilt at the death of Archie. He wanted to be punished. He wanted the devil to punish him.
“I don’t remember saying I’d give you the deed to anything. $400,000 and a trip home. That’s more than fair for a year’s work. It’s all you can hope to get--half of the communal property in the only state that recognizes your so-called marriage.”
“There’s a codicil.”
“Not that anyone will ever know.”
“There wasn’t any prenup.”
“I can produce one. Which is it?”
“Please what?” But he didn’t give Matt an opportunity to answer. He had risen and walked over to the bed. He grabbed Matt by the hair and forced his face to his crotch, pushing his cock between Matt’s lips. “Pump it up good. I’m going to fuck you good this time.”
Matt’s answer was only a moan.
“On your back on the edge of the bed, and open your legs to me. You want this again, don’t you?” He was holding his hard cock in his hand.
“Yes, oh god yes.” Matt was in agony. He had told himself he was being noble--that he was martyring himself to Rick’s desires to hold on to Brambleton. But the man wasn’t going to let him have Brambleton, and yet Matt still wanted his punishing cock inside him again.
Rick grabbed his ankles and jerked his legs wide and high and Matt arched his back as the devil thrust inside him again.
“Yes, yes. Oh fuck yes!”
The next afternoon, Rick drove Matt to Manassas and put him on the train, a cashier’s check in his pocket, on a train stopping in Bristol, on the Virginia–North Carolina border, the closest town to the small town of Whitetop.