Page 40 of It Takes Two to Tumble
And Ben felt beautiful, which had to be a silly thing to think about oneself especially with another man’s hand halfway inside him, but with Phillip’s gaze on him like that, how could he doubt it? “Now,” he pleaded, lifting his hips in an effort to accept more of Phillip’s fingers. The sensation was intense; it was too much and yet he wanted more of it. He wanted everything Phillip had to give.
Phillip made a noise that was awfully close to a growl and slicked himself up with the salve. When he brushed the thick head of his erection against Ben’s body, Ben had another moment of near panic.
Then Phillip pulled away. “Roll over,” he ordered in that commanding but gentle tone of voice Ben loved so much.
“Yes, Captain,” he said as he turned over, and was rewarded with another growl. Phillip pulled Ben’s hips up and used his knees to spread Ben’s legs a bit further, and that slight show of command made Ben feel that he was safe, in good, experienced hands. Phillip’s hands stroked down Ben’s back, his lips skimming kisses along Ben’s neck and shoulder. This time, when Phillip started to press in, Ben didn’t flinch.
“You have to let me in,” Phillip murmured, his voice rough. “Let me be in you.”
At the sound of his voice, Ben would have done anything. He tried to relax his body enough to accept this new, strange, and not entirely pleasant sensation. One of Phillip’s hands was on his hip, holding him steady, but the other came to caress the back of Ben’s neck. And that felt lovely, too lovely, and when he felt soft lips brush against his shoulder, he thought maybe this odd experience might not be all bad. Even if it was uncomfortable, it was worth it, and it would be over soon enough and then maybe—
“Oh damn,” he groaned. Phillip had hit that place inside him that felt like it was made of liquid pleasure. Ben could feel the sensation spiraling through his body, up his spine and down to his toes. It happened again, and all Ben wanted was more. The presence of Phillip’s length inside his body was still foreign and strange but somehow the intrusiveness of it melded with the pleasure, and Ben found he craved both equally.
“Hush,” Phillip murmured, his voice rough. “We have to be quiet.”
They were being quiet, as quiet as two people could be, but Ben pressed his face into the mattress to muffle his sounds of pleasure, twisting his hands into his sheets. Phillip’s body was strong and hard behind him, his fingers digging into Ben’s hip as he thrust slowly in and out. Ben realized he was holding back.
“More,” Ben whispered. “Please.Phillip.”
Phillip groaned and shifted his stance, dropping a kiss onto Ben’s shoulder before moving again. Ben gripped himself with a shaking, sweaty hand, stroking himself almost frantically. When Phillip’s rhythm faltered and the fingers on Ben’s hips were so tight it felt like Phillip was holding on to Ben for dear life, Ben let himself fall into a perfect wave of pleasure.
Mine, Phillip thought, looking at Ben sprawled on the bed, his skin lit by the pale early light falling weakly through the window.Mine.
Even as his mind formed the word, he knew it to be a fantasy. Ben wasn’t anyone’s, least of all Phillip’s. If he could properly be said to belong to anyone, it was that girl he intended to marry.
“What are you thinking of?” Ben asked. “You have that line between your eyebrows.” He traced a finger down Phillip’s forehead.
“Nothing,” Phillip said, automatically deflecting any attempt at sincerity. Ben looked at him steadily, and Phillip knew he wasn’t going to be allowed to wriggle out of honesty. Ben never let him. When he had been inside Ben—a flush spread up his body, as if he hadn’t just spent harder than he had in years, as if he weren’t fast approaching forty years of age—he hadn’t been able to pretend this was just a search for pleasure. At every moment he had been reminded that this was Ben, his Ben, beneath him. Those sounds were coming from Ben’s mouth; the hand gripping his own was Ben’s; the strong body that went pliant beneath him was Ben’s.
“Well, I’m thinking about what we just did.” Ben’s mouth was still half-pressed into the pillow, so his words came out slightly muffled.
“Oh, are you now?” Phillip asked, pushing the hair off Ben’s face.
“Fucking,” he said, as if testing out the word. “Or, you know, the union of souls. Whichever way you want to put it.”
“Is that what we did? Join our souls?” Phillip was slightly startled.
Ben propped himself up on his elbow so he was looking down at Phillip. “I think we’ve been doing that for weeks.”
For a moment Phillip could hardly breathe. “Benedict. God. I don’t want to let you down. You deserve so much better—”
Ben silenced him with a lazy kiss. “Don’t you dare tell me I don’t deserve this. Don’t you dare.”
Chapter Nineteen
After last night’s meditation on grief and this morning’s time with Phillip, any doubts Ben had about his marriage had crystallized. He could no more utter the marriage vows to Alice than he could renounce his faith. Alice might hate him, the world might think him the worst kind of cad, he might be consigning himself to a lifetime of solitude and loneliness, but he didn’t see that he had any ethical alternative.
He had expected to find Alice alone or with her mother, but instead he found Mr. Walsh and his sister sitting in the Crawfords’ snug parlor. He had entirely forgotten that they had all dined together last night in his absence. Indeed, they were all so engaged in lively conversation that they didn’t at first notice Ben standing on the threshold. He supposed they all had a jolly time and made fast friends while he had been sitting at a deathbed. He didn’t like that thought, and he didn’t like that he was petty enough to entertain it.
It was Alice who finally saw him. His expression must have communicated some of his gloom, because the smile immediately dropped off her face. “Oh, poor Mrs. Farleigh,” she said immediately. Mr. Walsh and Mrs. Howard made murmuring sounds that could have been condolences or could have been their excuse to leave, but in either event they rose and headed to the door.
“I’ll run that errand for you in Keswick, Miss Crawford,” Mr. Walsh said, looking over his shoulder on his way out the door.
“Oh!” Alice’s face brightened, and Ben feared it would be the last time he would see that kind of joy on her features, certainly for a long while, possibly forever. “Thank you!”
“What’s the matter, Ben?” she asked when they were alone. “It can’t be Mrs. Farleigh, because, well, you’ve had people die before and you didn’t look like that.”
“It isn’t.” He sat on a chair across from the sofa where she lay—she was back to reclining, he saw. Perhaps her attempt to walk last night had been too much. He couldn’t very well ask, couldn’t express concern about her condition and then confess that he could not support her. He filled his lungs with air and let it out. “I need to cry off on our betrothal.”
