Page 69 of Chasing Benedict
Drawing Alex into his side, Benedict lifted his own port. “As of this moment, I am officially retired—from both matchmaking and boxing.”
Stunned looks greeted him, along with Nick and David's protests—but none of them were as shocked as Alex.
“I thought you said you needed pugilism,” he said. “I would never have tried to force you to stop.”
“I know,” Benedict replied. “By the way, I didn’t say I needed pugilism … I said I needed the pain, to feel something, to have a purpose. What need do I have of boxing when I have you? You give me joy and love, and it has proven enough to cure me of my need for pain. After this final match, I’m finished. You are all I will ever need.”
They shared a quick kiss before everyone else joined in on the toast, glasses raised high. Their voices echoed from the high ceilings as one chorus.
“To Ben!”
EPILOGUE
Benedict leaned back against the supportive weight at his back, still marveling as he had all those years ago that Alex’s chest was as smooth as his was hirsute. A wet hand trailed through the wiry curls, a pair of soft lips grazing the back of his neck.
“Someone seems to be enjoying his bath,” Alex teased, his other hand splashing in the steaming water lapping at Benedict’s belly.
“That’s because I have a pleasant diversion. How we both managed to squeeze into it is beyond me. How the devil are we going to get out?”
Alex nipped at his ear, and Benedict’s cock responded as his mind was taken off the near-crippling fear of being immersed in a bathtub. He had promised Alex he would try it, not knowing that his darling would include himself—naked and wet—as part of the bargain.
“Getting out is half the fun,” Alex murmured, his hand sliding down Benedict’s stomach.
“Hmm,” Benedict mumbled. “I think I like baths now. I’ll like them even better if you move that hand a little lower.”
Alex withdrew his hand and turned Ben’s head to inspect his face. “I think not. Fisher’s orders were strict—you are to rest and avoid overexerting yourself for at least a sennight.”
Benedict winced as water from his wet hair leaked into the split skin over one eyebrow. It was one of a dozen small injuries sustained during his final match—one hard fought and hard won. His opponent—a leviathan named Bruno with more strength than sense—had given Benedict quite a walloping before finally succumbing to a brutal uppercut. Benedict wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the man would have to drink his meals for the next fortnight or so.
After the match, he and Benedict had retreated to Alex’s townhouse, where they closeted themselves away for time alone.
“What if I lie really still?” Benedict pleaded. His blood was always feverish after a fight, and just now it was rushing straight to his cock. “You could stroke me off right here in the tub. Or … if I lift up just enough, I could ride your cock until you—”
“Enough, you brazen slut,” Alex chided. “There will be plenty of time for that. You’re officially retired, and we are free to do as we please. The moment your sennight of rest is over, I will fuck you until you are unable to sit.”
“Not if I get to you first,” Benedict grumbled. “But then … what will we do now? As you said, we have the world before us and nothing but time and each other, and Ella.”
Alex toyed with a lock of Benedict’s hair with a wistful sigh. “You know, I always regretted that we never made it to France. What do you think of a continental tour? Ella would love the shopping in Paris.”
Benedict rolled his eyes. “Ella isn’t old enough to understand the intricacies of shopping with you.”
“She’s her father’s daughter,” Alex said with a sniff. “Her taste is exquisite, and she will love it.”
With a laugh, Benedict reached back and patted Alex’s neck. “If it’s Paris you want, then you shall have it. Let’s take the first packet we can find leaving Dover. We will travel and introduce Ella to the wonders of France, and when we’re done, we’ll take her to Italy, then Greece. She’ll be more cultured than any lady her age in no time.”
Wrapping both arms around him, Alex kissed Benedict’s temple. “Thank you.”
“For what? I wanted to go to France, too.”
“For accepting Ella. You’ve been so wonderful to her, and I think she’s under your spell.”
“The sneaky little lamb has learned that I’m the best at rocking her to sleep, and I know better than you what to do when her gums are sore.”
A brandy-soaked rag had earned him Ella’s favor, and from the moment he’d first held her—trying to soothe her cries as she rubbed her fist against sore gums—Benedict had been her willing slave. The girl was most certainly her father’s daughter—charming, beautiful, and capable of wrapping Benedict around her chubby finger. He’d been doing a fine job of spoiling her rotten, even when Alex insisted she not be held constantly, or that Benedict was too rough when they played. Ella always had a smile for him, and screamed with delight when he tossed her—carefully and mindfully—about.
“There is nothing to thank me for,” Benedict replied. “Ella is a part of you, so how could I not want to make her happy?”
“You have made usbothridiculously happy.”
