Page 21

Felix

Felix melted into the wall, completely boneless, the heat and weight of Thorne surrounding him. His heart drummed an incessant rhythm in his chest, his body still high from the peak of his orgasm, small shocks still flickering through him. That had been…incredible. Exactly what he’d needed.

Thorne pushed off him and treaded over to the dressing table.

Felix bit his lip, absorbing each flex of those muscular thighs, the dimple that appeared every time the man’s arse clenched.

He took in a measured breath, took stock of his body.

Muscles still relaxed. Mind still blessedly incapable of coherent thoughts.

Just a sleepy hum of sated bliss drifting through him.

Perhaps he would be well. Perhaps this was a sign he’d moved past the panic of what had happened to him all those years ago.

Thorne walked back up to Felix, wet cloth in hand. He gently wiped it over Felix’s stomach, and a small hiss escaped Felix at the press of cool cloth to heated skin. Thorne’s gaze jumped up.

“Apologies,” he whispered. His grey eyes searched Felix’s, his face an unreadable mask.

Thorne tossed the cloth and pulled on his clothes.

But Felix still couldn’t move, just stood there, leaning against the wall.

His lungs squeezed, not the intense constriction he sometimes felt, but still uncomfortable.

He clenched his fists and then shook them loose.

He drew in a slow breath, and his eyes fell shut when he couldn’t get enough air.

The backs of his eyes stung. Fuck. He had thought… He had thought this had helped. He’d thought he’d done it. Pushed away the memories. He swallowed, but it required force, his throat thick, tight.

In. Out. In through your nose, out through your mouth.

He would not fall apart in front of this man.

He refused to show weakness. He set his jaw and opened his eyes, gaze settling on Thorne, who was shrugging into his waistcoat, not bothering to button it.

Thorne’s gaze found Felix’s again as he took a step backward toward the door.

Felix rolled his lips in, not sure what to say.

Express his gratitude? Make him promise not to tell anyone?

Not that he’d be capable of words with his past trying to strangle him.

Thorne’s steps faltered. “Are you well?” And somehow the concern in the man’s voice, the softness, made it all so much worse.

The animosity made it easier to compartmentalize. Separate what they were doing from his past. But the quiet awareness that something was wrong, the hint of caring? It was too much like that liar all those years ago. William had pretended to care, too. Felix opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Relax, Bentley. It was just a shag.” The man’s tempting lips hitched up in a half-smile. “Some really great frigging. Always more fun with a partner.” He winked.

Felix nodded, a very small weight lifting at the man’s flippancy. That’s exactly what he needed. He cleared his throat. “Yes. Really great…sufficient, whichever you want to call it.”

Thorne’s face broke out in a full grin. “Sufficient. Hmmm, sure, my lord.” He backed all the way to the door. “Let’s not pretend I haven’t just ruined you for all other men.”

“Again, you think so highly of yourself.”

“ Honest . There’s a difference. I’ll admit you weren’t too bad yourself.”

Felix shook his head, finally drawing in a full breath. Who would have thought he’d appreciate the man’s cheeky insouciance? They shared a small smile, and then Thorne slipped from the room.

Felix sank to the floor, arse hitting the cool wood floor.

He rolled his head against the stone wall, staring blindly at the ceiling.

He did it. He’d slept with a man other than Benedict.

His skin prickled, and his attention snapped to the door.

The closed door. The silent night. No one was going to come barging in.

They were in Devonford Castle. No one would be storming anything.

Even though he knew the logic was sound, that it was illogical for the Society to raid a Duke’s castle, he couldn’t rid the apprehension, the way his muscles locked, poised to flee.

You are safe.

Tomorrow, you will gather your family and leave with the rest of the house party guests.

No one will be the wiser.

Thorne would be nothing but a pleasant distant memory.