Page 31 of Chasing Benedict
Annoyed at having been summarily dismissed, Benedict gave chase, his warning glare enough to make the other men skitter out of his way. He stalked Alex toward a door to the left of the stage, which he knew led to a corridor giving access to a row of private rooms, as well as an exit to the outside privy. The door slammed against the wall when Alex threw it open, his anger apparent in his brusque stride and the stiff set to his shoulders.
“What the devil is your problem?” Benedict hurled at his back. “Does speaking of your dearly departed wife trouble you so much?”
Whirling on his heel, Alex strode back toward him with clenched fists, nostrils flaring. “It does if you’re going to be an ass! We were having a perfectly nice time, and you ruined it.”
Leaning against one of the rough doors to a private room, Benedict pursed his lips. “I was just making conversation.”
“No,” Alex insisted. “You were trying to get under my skin by speaking on matters you know nothing about, because you won’t let me explain why I had to do what I did.”
“Because it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done.”
“It damn well does matter, and you know it!”
Pushing away from the door, Benedict closed the distance between them. He took hold of Alex’s shoulder and shoved him against the opposite wall, crowding him against it and offering no escape. Alex sucked in a sharp breath when Benedict’s other hand fell against the front of his breeches, his cock twitching and beginning to swell. Tightening his hold on the stiffened shaft, Benedict stroked, watching as Alex’s anger faded in the face of pleasure.
“Thisis the only thing that matters between us now,” he growled. “The sooner you realize that, the easier this will be for us both.”
Alex flexed his hips, grinding his erection against Benedict’s palm with a shudder. “The sooner you realize thatthismeans more between us than you’re willing to admit, the easier this will be foryou.”
Benedict kissed Alex, primarily to shut him up—but also to smother the feelings such sentiments provoked. If Alex was kissing him back, he wasn’t trying to use words against Ben, or reminding him of how good it felt to know someone cared for him so deeply. They didn’t need to talk to fulfill the obligations of their contract. Alex’s assertion that the physical nature of their arrangement had meaning was a load of hogwash. Benedict had spent three years proving that he didn’t have to care about someone to fuck them; hell, he didn’t even have to like them. Skin on skin, lips on lips, tongues pushing and writhing. It was all mechanics leading to a pleasurable end, and fattening Benedict’s purse. The difference between ruination and freedom … that was all this meant to him.
However, it became far too difficult to hold on to such notions with Alex clinging to his lapels and kissing him with desperate fervor. Benedict’s mind went empty of all conflicting thought, and he gave himself over to sensation only—Alex’s mouth on his, the thud of his own heart and the pulse of blood racing to his cock.
He was moving against his own will, propelled across the corridor with each of Alex’s forward steps. Benedict’s back came against the door, and Alex bit at his lower lip while fumbling for the knob, panting as if starved of breath. The door fell open and they stumbled into the empty room, devoid of all light save for a waning fire burned down to simmering coals. They had inhabited every room in this corridor at some time or another, Mother Morton’s proving one of the only places they could safely be alone during their university years. The memories followed him here, but Benedict ruthlessly shoved them aside as he turned Alex to hurl him against the door.
Alex tried to move away from the door when allowed the barest few inches of space, but Benedict disabused him of any such intentions. Taking hold of Alex’s coat, he yanked it down his arms and left it at his elbows, the tight fit acting as the perfect restraint. Alex grunted and tried to pull free, but was left to slump helplessly against the door as Benedict tore at the buttons of his fall with one hand while yanking his shirttails free with the other. The heavy length of Alex’s cock strained toward him from a light thatch of dark curls, shorter than his own but impressive in its girth.
“Do you still want to talk?” he taunted, lightly flicking the swollen head and producing a pained groan from Alex. “Or do you want me to make you come?”
Alex closed his eyes and let his head fall back in silent surrender. Benedict’s own cock pushed against the front of his breeches, begging for freedom and release. There was no time for slow and steady finesse, or even to make their way to the bed. Benedict had a point to make, and his impatient cockstand demanded he make it right here, right now, against this door.
Bracing a hand at Alex’s throat, Benedict opened his own fall, his movements bumbling and clumsy. A button skittered across the floor due to his carelessness, but Benedict ignored it. Gripping his pulsing shaft, he stroked himself, allowing the tip of his cock to brush against Alex’s. Alex gasped, arching his back and trying to get closer, a desperate sound resounding in his throat. Benedict tightened his grip just enough to feel the rapid flutter of Alex’s pulse, commanding him to stillness. Alex opened his eyes, his dark gaze wide and pleading, his chest heaving with panting breaths.
“Please,” he begged in a hoarse whisper. “Please, Ben.”
Benedict edged closer, slowly pumping his own cock, his knuckles brushing along the turgid length of Alex’s. He fed off the desperate plea in Alex’s voice, the need radiating from his eyes. It was nearly enough to finish him then and there, but he wasn’t nearly done with Alex. All the years of wanting and being denied, needing and being starved, drove Benedict to tease and torment, to exact his own form of revenge.
Alex tried to take hold of his cock, but Benedict slapped his hand aside and took it in hand, working them both in a slow, aching rhythm. Alex groaned, pumping his hips to match Benedict’s pace, his fingernails scraping against the door. He grew wet after a few strokes, the drip of his semen slicking Benedict’s hand. Benedict’s cock answered in kind, his head smeared with the evidence of his matching desires.
Benedict rubbed over his slit to collect a drop, then braced a hand at Alex’s jaw before pushing the glistening thumb against his mouth. Alex parted his lips, allowing Benedict’s thumb to caress his tongue. Then, he closed his mouth and sucked, his cock leaping in Benedict’s hold as if in reaction to the taste of him. Benedict delved his thumb deeper, his balls drawing up tight to his body as Alex sucked, cheeks pulling inward.
“Fuck,” he muttered, nearly unmanned at the rasp of Alex’s tongue against him. He edged even closer, pulling his thumb free of the sucking mouth to replace it with his tongue.
Alex responded eagerly, lunging to capture Benedict’s lips, suckling at his tongue as if it were one of his beloved peppermint sticks. The taste of wine and his own seed mingled on Benedict’s palate as he opened his grip to take Alex’s cock against his. They moaned in unison as the tight grip of Benedict’s fist pressed their shafts together. Benedict worked them both in tandem, his other hand tight against Alex’s jaw as he plundered his pliant mouth. Alex trembled and bucked against him, adding more friction to the pulls of Benedict’s hand.
Gritting his teeth and fighting for time, Benedict kept each pump of his hand slow and steady, reveling in the feel of Alex’s thighs against his own, the hairs soft and wispy, the muscles firm. Alex was unraveling fast, arching away from the door and thrusting into his grip, his hands still trapped by his coat and searching for purchase on the door.
Benedict moved his hand to the back of Alex’s neck and held fast, quickening his strokes as he sensed the inevitable end. Alex let his head fall against Benedict’s shoulder, moaning and shaking and nuzzling into Benedict’s neck. His lips and tongue found the sensitive patch of skin beneath his ear, and Benedict pressed against Alex’s neck, urging him on. It was as if they’d never been separated, Alex knowing exactly what he wanted. As Alex stiffened and groaned his release, he sank his teeth into Benedict’s neck, just hard enough to produce a sharp sting. Benedict growled his approval, stroking even faster as Alex’s cock spurted hot streams of semen, slicking Benedict’s pulsing cock. He followed within seconds, his release coming on the heels of Alex’s. He fell into Alex, still holding the other man’s face against his neck and wringing them both dry amid a chorus of deep, visceral groans. Neither of them moved right away, leaning into each other and simply breathing. Benedict closed his eyes, helpless in the face of the warmth coming over him in the aftermath. He didn’twantto cling to Alex, his chest swelling and his throat burning with suppressed emotion. Despite his insistence that only the physical mattered between them, Benedict was struck with the realization that Alex had been right. Somehow, what they’d done felt like so much more, though he was loath to acknowledge that.
Alex slumped against the door as Benedict slowly peeled himself away, his hand and groin sticky with a mixture of their seed. His heart pounded like a drum. His body was sated, slowly climbing down to steady calm—yet his mind was still awash in turmoil. He could hardly hold onto one thought before another one descended on him. With a whispered curse, he stumbled to the rough bedside table, which was thoughtfully stocked with a basin of water and linens. Benedict offered Alex a wet linen without meeting his gaze, before turning away to clean himself. Ignoring the sounds of Alex shuffling about, Benedict took his time. All the while he told himself that they had only done what their agreement stipulated. He was a courtesan and Alex a paying client like any other. What did it matter that he knew how Benedict liked to be touched and kissed or that they’d come together as if they’d never parted?
Alex was nothing but flesh and a bank draft to him—a means to an end so that he could see his plan through to the end. Cynthia Milbank needed to be dealt with, and then his father. Alex was instrumental only within the framework of those plans. Benedict couldn’t let himself forget that.
“You have to admit,” Alex remarked. “We’re still good together. Always have been.”
Benedict turned to find Alex composed, his clothes straightened and his expression placid—though his color was high and his eyes bright.
Benedict raised an eyebrow. “I’m good with all my lovers. It’s my job, after all.”
