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Sam

Sam knocked on Lord Bentley’s door at quarter to eleven. He blew out his lips and rolled his eyes at himself. He was being foolish, yet again. He had pushed this off for far too long. After the muffled “Enter” reached his ears, he gathered his tallywags and stepped into the bedchamber.

Lord Bentley was at the small desk against the far-right wall, setting his quill down on some parchment. He stood and clasped his hands behind his back. The candlelight flickered off his freckled cheeks, shadowing his eyes, but Sam thought he saw hesitance reflecting in those amber irises.

And then Sam swept his gaze down the man and nearly groaned.

Bloody hell. The man was in the shirt Sam left out for him, the one Bentley had needed to borrow because he was out of clean clothing, not having anticipated a long stay.

And the only person with a shirt who would fit those broad shoulders?

Sam. So here Sam was, in the man’s bedchamber, the man in question wearing Sam’s clothes.

And he was fucking delectable in them. The breeches were a tad loose.

But that just lent for easier removal. Sam mentally chastised himself. Not what he was here for.

“I wanted to apologize, my lord.”

Bentley’s eyebrows drew together softly, and he shook his head. “There’s nothing to apologize for, Thorne.”

That wasn’t true. Sam had stormed off like a petulant child earlier. “I overreacted in the grand hall. I was vexed over something I had no right to be vexed over. There was nothing to be vexed over,” he clarified. “It was irrational, and I apologize.”

Bentley opened his mouth and hesitated. Then finally said, “Perhaps it was…but it doesn’t mean I don’t understand why.

” He took a step closer, then halted. “There’s a large disparity in power here,” he said quietly, his hand gesturing between them.

“And based on what has…occurred…between us, I understand that my correction earlier, the way I flinched at your touch, came off as demeaning, as…”

Disgusted. Ashamed. Embarrassed. Sam filled in the blanks.

Because Bentley was correct. That was how it had felt.

Sam had already been raw, opening himself up and playing pianoforte in front of the man.

And for some reason, this man had him all turned around.

He felt inside out, offering all the soft, most sensitive parts of himself for abuse.

And the rejection had stung especially sharp when it had come.

“For that, I want to apologize,” Bentley said, brow furrowed beseechingly. Almost like he actually did care how Sam felt.

Sam shook that off. “I understand why you behaved that way.” He truly did.

He knew sensitivity to rejection was just a product of his past. Sam wouldn’t ever take something like that lightly, even if he’d been the one in the wrong in that situation.

“Ash and I may do things differently around here, but we’ve been like this for over two decades, and the staff doesn’t know it any different. ”

That inquisitive amber gaze sharpened. Sam could practically see the man fighting not to ask more questions.

He shook his head and expelled a small huff of laughter.

“I’ve been here two decades, Bentley. Because my family disowned me.

That’s all I’m willing to say on the matter.

The Duke—Ash—is a friend who gave me somewhere safe to stay.

We have an unbreakable bond, and this castle knows it.

I realize familiarity with another lord, with you, however, was unacceptable. ”

“Appearances are very important.” Bentley’s lips tilted up in a weak smile. “Especially for those like us.”

“Exactly.”

“Thank you for…sharing more about your past. It’s not my place to pry. I apologize.”

They stared at each other, and the silence between them grew uncomfortable. Sam rolled his lips in, and Bentley’s gaze skittered away. Awkward .

“I should take my leave, then. I just wanted you to know…” He trailed off, everything that needed to be said already said.

He turned toward the door, and his hand fell to the handle.

“Wait.”

Sam glanced over his shoulder and caught Bentley’s gaze. He couldn’t read the shadowed expression, the dark, honeyed gaze that stared back at him. All he knew was there was something desperate in the command the man had just thrown out.

Sam spun slowly. “Is there something you need, my lord?”

Bentley nodded slowly. “I need assistance…getting out of my attire so I can retire for the evening.”

The silence was deafening. Because that sounded very much like an invitation.

Sam cocked a brow.

Bentley cocked one right back.

Sam tamped down a smile. “You’ve never required my assistance with”—he jerked his chin in the direction of Bentley’s loose lawn shirt and breeches—“with those items in the past.”

Bentley lifted an indifferent shoulder. “I find I’ve forgotten how.”

Anticipation seared Sam’s skin, gooseflesh popping up in its wake. He was moving before his brain could comprehend what he was doing. He stopped a pace before Bentley. Waited for him to call the next move.

“Perhaps…” Bentley said softly. “You should demonstrate for me. On yourself.”

Sam’s coat hit the floor with a soft thump in the next breath. His fingers flew over the buttons of his waistcoat, and that followed suit, quickly followed by his cravat. He yanked his shirt from his breeches, then reached over his back and tore it over his head with one hand.

Bentley blinked dumbly at him. “That was very…expedient.”

“I find I’m highly motivated.” Sam stepped forward. Inches separating them now.

His hands gripped Bentley’s billowing lawn shirt, a few sizes too big, and slowly pulled it from the man’s breeches.

Their gazes caught and held. And now Sam took his time.

Because he didn’t want to hurry when it came to touching Bentley.

He slowly lifted the shirt, sliding his knuckles up a hard, muscled torso.

“Arms up, my lord,” he murmured.

“Bentley.” The man’s whisper puffed over Sam’s skin as he lifted his arms, and Sam divested him of his shirt.

“Bentley,” he said softly.

They watched each other again, the moment stretching out, thick with the weight of what was to come. Though Sam hadn’t ever expected it to be what came next.

“I don’t like the imbalance of power between us,” Bentley whispered.

“I don’t want you to feel as though I am taking advantage of you.

Earlier, I thought perhaps that was what you had felt.

And the guilt that had turned my stomach as you walked away made it clear that I felt it, too. That’s not what this is.”

“I appreciate that,” Sam said slowly. He searched Bentley’s darkening gaze. “What exactly is this to you, Bentley? Because I have to say, I have no bloody clue what’s happening here. One minute, we detest each other. One minute, we’re at each other’s throats…”

“The next we’re down each other’s throats.” Bentley winked, and Sam barked out a laugh.

“A jest, Bentley? Be still, my heart. I think I just fell in love.”

Bentley rolled his eyes, but the smile he sent Sam’s way had an odd fluttery sensation filling Sam’s stomach.

“Let’s not make it complicated, Thorne,” Bentley said. “We’re just two men. Enjoying each other. Behind closed doors. As equals.”

Sam’s heart clenched painfully. He didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t think he could voice anything over the thickening of his throat.

He didn’t even know why there were stupid emotions clogging his bloody chest. The man had simply stated he wanted to have a fun time shagging Sam.

That wasn’t something someone was supposed to get all mixed up over.

But you do know why, though.

Equals .

It was how, with that one word, Sam felt respected. Valued. When it was clear, even Sam’s family didn’t feel that for him.

So, Sam did what he did best when things got too serious, when he started feeling too many emotions. He deflected.

He closed the distance between them and claimed Bentley’s mouth as his.