Page 67 of To Defend a Damaged Duke
As Benedict’s chin dropped in wonder, Tommy added, “But, don’t fret.That won’t be necessary.I have reserved us a sumptuous bedchamber for the night.”
*
FUNNY THING, TIREDNESS.There one minute, dashed off the next.Benedict had every confidence the bedchamber was magnificent—Rossingley didn’t stint on luxury.But for all he cared, it could have been a tiny garret at the top of a molly house, accommodating nothing but a narrow cot with a single mean pillow.The simple reason?His beautiful Tommy was in it, and he was removing Benedict’s evening coat, his waistcoat, his cuff buttons, his shirt.He crouched at Benedict’s aching feet, detaching first one dance slipper and then the other.Stockings unfurled and breeches followed.Throwing aside the coverlet, he laid thick towels in its place.
“I have a bowl of hot water, soap, and many more towels.Lie back, close your eyes.”
Tommy washed him first—his face, dabbing and drying in turn, sprinkling kisses across Benedict’s clean cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, his forehead.Kissing his mouth, Tommy lingered awhile to taste him, to love him.
He took his hands, one by one.Tommy cherished the palms and each finger, cleansing where so many had grasped them that day, so they were new and Tommy’s alone.Leaving a trail of lather and soap, his strong fingers glided under Benedict’s arms.He bathed the nape of his neck until it no longer itched with dried sweat.Benedict’s body thrummed back to life; he smelled the citrussy, almondy fragrance of the soap; and he began to smell himself, his own heady arousal.
And then the washcloth and the soap travelled lower, to the dark pelt of his chest, so different to his lover’s and yet so loved by him.They moved across the planes of his belly, soft and tender, and its thick arrow of coarse hair.Tommy lingered there, too, until Benedict’s hips shifted.His prick rudely vied for attention.It was rewarded with a tiny peck on the tip.
“Patience, my love.”
Water droplets tickled the hairs on Benedict’s shins as Tommy’s lips caressed the inside edge of one knee and then the other.He nudged apart Benedict’s thighs.He flexed his knees, bent his hips, exposing Benedict’s shadowy, most intimate groove.The warm cloth slipped in there too.
And then the pad of a soapy finger pressed against his hole.Benedict tensed.
“You must stop wriggling.”Tommy’s lips curved into a grin against Benedict’s thigh.“You are a veritable worm.”
“I cannot.”His face burned, and he squirmed some more.“Even my bones are mortified.”
Tommy cut his objection short by crowding the damp fingers of his free hand against Benedict’s lips.“Hush, Your Grace.Let me worship you.Every part of you.”His grey eyes crinkled.Benedict could barely meet them.“Shall I have to distract you with more misdirection?”
“What?Yes, no!But surely, there are some parts that—”
Sharp teeth bit down on Benedict’s thigh.
“Ow!”
Tommy’s fingertip slid inside.
“Oh.Oh, I…”
“Shh.”Tommy’s other hand muffled Benedict’s protesting words.His obscene mouth closed around one of Benedict’s ballocks, suckling on it like a tit.Benedict did not think he had ever felt so utterlyhamstrung.
And then, Tommy’s mouth left his ballocks to fit over his jutting prick.Burying him to the hilt.He drew his teeth back along Benedict’s shaft, circling—nay, teasing—the head and swallowed again.Swallow, bury, repeat, swallow, bury, repeat as though measuring the length and checking for accuracy.Or, as though hell-bent on his lips forming an unholy union with that criminal, inquisitive finger.He swept back and forth, back and forth, imprinting over and over upon a singular sensitive nubbin, a diabolical nubbin that had Benedict cursing, writhing, and begging for more.In fact, if not for the fingers of Tommy’s other hand, lewdly jammed in Benedict’s mouth, it was exceedingly possible the entire household would be privy to his pleasure.
Was that…was it two fingers?Oh Lord, it was.It was two fingers.And one mouth, one bleeding, scorching tunnel of a mouth.Benedict felt skewered, like a fish dangling on a hook, except with no desire for escape.Quite the opposite in fact.Leaning into it, he clutched the short strands of Tommy’s hair, shoving his hips up and Tommy’s head down, burying his lips into the tight curls at his groin.
The pressure of his release swelled.“I’m…I’m…”
Truth be told, he didn’t know what he was; words and conscious thought dissolved in a miasma of need and want and Tommy’s mouth.And in his fingers; those damned undignified, magnificent fingers.With whitened vision, a spine-tingling shudder, and an even more undignified roaring noise, Benedict’s embarrassment dissolved in a tidal wave of release.Demanding, unstoppable, it pulsed from him in the blink of an eye to last, infinitesimally, for years.
“Benedict,” said Tommy softly from his spot between Benedict’s quivering thighs.Benedict had a suspicion he’d already called his name a few times.Silvery threads of spend speckled his lover’s reddened upper lip as though he’d looted a spider’s web.Benedict’s prick jumped alarmingly when Tommy swiped it with the tip of his tongue.
Tommy’s eyes flicked down to it.“Again?So soon?”
“If so, then it is a miracle, and the only organ of my body left alive,” Benedict croaked.
Very deliberately, Tommy crawled up Benedict and straddled his hips.With long, slow strokes, grinning down, he fisted himself.His other hand reached behind.
“I have not…I did not know.”Benedict gesticulated vaguely.If the pretty man on his lap wasn’t doingthat, he would have screwed his eyes shut.“That…one could…that a finger…”
“Two fingers,” Tommy pointed out.
Two fingers.“That it felt…that I could…like that.”Hysteria edged his breathy chuckle.“I fear that, for all these years, theselonelyyears, I have been eating eggs without salt.”
