Page 34 of To Defend a Damaged Duke (Regency Rossingley #2)

“At everything,” Tommy supplied. “Except being a patient billiards tutor.” And teaching me hunting lodge etiquette .

“Then allow me before the best of the light fades.”

How large must the billiards room be in the bigger hunting lodge? This one could double as a cricket square. Even in here, a fire merrily simmered in the grate. The duke’s absent household had anticipated his every need.

Both men removed their tailcoats, and Tommy took up a winged leather chair with a view of the table.

Dusting off two cues, Benedict offered one to Tommy, then leaned across the baize to set up the three balls.

With such an excellent view of Benedict’s breeches, moulded to his muscular arse, Tommy suddenly became quite fond of billiards.

And as the white linen of Benedict’s shirt pulled tight across his strong shoulder blades, all in all, the game could quite become one of Tommy’s favourite pastimes.

“I tend to play two points for a cannon and three for a hazard,” Benedict explained, “with a one point deducted for a foul. First player to reach twenty-one wins.” He brushed a speck of fluff from the table. “But we can forget points if you are a bit rusty. Or I can start with a handicap.”

How typical, thought Tommy, admiring the beautifully made cue. And how dare Lord Lyndon even consider kicking his brother down. Benedict’s modesty was both his most charming and greatest flaw.

“I’ll be the dot ball,” continued Benedict, scratching his cue tip with a piece of chalk. “Would you like to kick things off?”

“You carry on.” At ease, Tommy crossed his legs at the knee. “I’m perfectly fine here for a moment, absorbing it all. Watching your technique.” Watching your arse .

As in all areas of his achievements, Benedict had downplayed his skill with the cue, effortlessly racking up early points until, in a typically Benedict way, Tommy had the distinct impression he was holding back so as not to humiliate his opponent.

Tommy cared not whether he won by a margin, drew, or lost, but he knew that if he pointed out Benedict’s talent, the other would try even harder to hide it.

In fact, Tommy decided, as Benedict apologised for defeating him and set up the balls for another game, the diffident duke was a little like a billiards table himself.

When viewed from afar, it seemed a flat, bland expanse yet hiding many deep dark pockets, which one didn’t discover until one was right upon him.

A position Tommy was very much looking forward to.

Especially when the man draped himself across the baize right beside him to reach for an extended pot.

With his delicious backside within fondling distance and two generous measures of brandy down, on top of the claret, the temptation for mischief proved too great.

“That was an excellent solid stroke,” he observed as Benedict potted yet another ball, racking up two more points. “You have such a smooth cue action. Your wrist, it’s like this.” Naughtily, he demonstrated with a suggestive up and down movement, bordering on obscene.

Evidently not having moved in the same social circles as Tommy during his youth, Benedict took his comment at face value.

“A fluid wrist action is key,” he agreed.

He blew a little chalk from the end of his cue, his handsome face a picture of innocent concentration.

“And regarding my cue, I find I am most effective when I use just the tip.”

Bending forwards again, he lined up for his next shot. Dark eyes narrowed on the ball, he drew his arm back and took careful aim.

“I bet you are,” murmured Tommy.

The shot pinged off two cushions, missing the hole by miles.

“Take it again.” Tommy insisted expansively. “Think hard about that tip action.”

Still bent over the table, Benedict snorted. “Should I pull out my long cue?”

Now it was Tommy’s turn to laugh as he held up his hands. “You’ll have no complaints from this quarter.”

Still chuckling, Benedict lined up another shot. His eyes grazed upwards, once, to meet Tommy’s before dropping back down to the baize. “Of course,” he added as, with a deft flick, he sent the ball cannoning into the heart of the pocket, “you could always come over here and take it out for me.”

Straightening, he abandoned his cue and hefted himself onto the table. He leaned back on his hands, legs swinging invitingly. “What say you, Tommy?”

Tommy’s cue clattered to the floor as he sauntered over. “I say we shouldn’t waste any more time.”

Their first kiss felt soft and new. Small nips, tender presses, as if they were compiling an inventory of each other’s mouths, memorising the shape and texture. Tommy dropped his hands to Benedict’s broad thighs. He sketched the shape of those, too, the span of his hand measuring the meat of them.

Benedict’s palms cupped Tommy’s face, tugging him closer. His thighs fit around Tommy’s narrow hips, holding him there as he took his fill. A small moan slipped from his lips as he deepened the kiss. His hands glided down to Tommy’s arse, and the heat of his cock rubbed up against Tommy’s belly.

“What do you need?” Tommy whispered. “Tell me what you want.”

With nimble fingers he pulled at Benedict’s cravat, letting it slide to the floor. Dark pupils flaring, Benedict dipped his gaze to watch.

“I need you.” Benedict’s fingers were at the fold of Tommy’s breeches. “I want…I want a night that lasts for days. Weeks. Years. Here. With you.”

Two sets of boots came off. Later, Tommy wouldn’t be able to recall how.

Nor how he ended up on the billiard table, on his back, naked.

A shirtless Benedict crawled between his legs.

Like a blind man picking his way, his fingers led and his lips followed, hugging the slope of Tommy’s calf, the shallow bend of his knee, the curve of his thigh.

Worshipping indifferent, functional, inglorious pieces of him and bringing them alive.

He greeted Tommy’s cock with a gust of hot air and a thirsty sigh. “Missed you, old friend,” he whispered. Benedict softened his spit-glossed mouth against it in the gentlest of kisses. Tommy shifted his hips as it leaked a reply.

“But still, you remember what I like,” he breathed as Benedict sealed his lips around the tip.

Tommy’s fingers tangled in his raven’s hair, twisting the strands.

Benedict’s cock-sucking was a torment—a lengthening, a withdrawal, a provocative hint of more.

With every push and pull, the satin heat of Benedict’s throat closed tighter around him, dissolving his mind and his bones, edging him heavenward.

A pressure built in his ballocks, and heat spilled down his spine.

He pushed Benedict away, squeezing himself.

“Not yet,” he panted. “I do not wish that yet.”

Smugly—and the tilt of Benedict’s swollen lips could not be mistaken for any other expression—he snuggled his hips in between Tommy’s thighs, making himself a home.

“You taste of sugar there too,” he whispered.

Tommy rolled his eyes. “I fear your romanticism is incurable.”

Benedict’s hot tongue nibbled behind Tommy’s ear. “Dirty, delicious sugar.”

Tommy would remember forever the feel of Benedict there, like that, the hard warmth of his chest against Tommy’s smooth, hairless one.

The tickle of the coarse black curls covering it, the scrape of his whiskers along the hinge of Tommy’s jaw.

The burning hunger in his velvety, jet-black stare.

And the tenderness of the unkillable smile climbing Benedict’s cheeks as he rested on an elbow, how familiar it was becoming and how much he’d never tire of it.

“Of all the amorous seductions I played in my mind during our ride here, this wasn’t one of them,” Benedict confessed.

He pressed his lips to Tommy’s forehead.

“The soft bed in my chamber featured in all.” His gaze slanted across to the abandoned cues, the ocean of deep blue baize.

“But here we are, adrift in the middle of a billiard table.”

A laugh at the absurdity of where they’d ended up erupted from Tommy’s throat. “Even Rossingley’s heretical billiards rulebook states one should always maintain a foot on the floor.”

Throwing his head back, Benedict joined him in laughter. “My house, my billiard table, my rules.” And then, “My dearest lost love.”

They fell into each other. Desperate, open-mouthed kisses littered Tommy’s throat.

Somehow, as they both caught their breaths, Benedict’s breeches also made their way to the floor.

His hard cock milked the groove of Tommy’s thigh, his teeth latched onto Tommy’s neck.

Digging his heels in, Tommy clawed at his lover’s back, his own needy cock forging a damp path along Benedict’s belly.

A molten knot formed in the pit of his own as Benedict drew back.

“I fear I may spend,” he gasped, “too soon.”

Tommy ran his fingers lightly down the curve of Benedict’s spine. He had not travelled far from spilling himself. “Who knew billiards could be such fun?”

Benedict’s answering boyish grin stole the bones from Tommy’s knees.

Tommy tasted himself as their mouths briefly joined.

Sinfully, Benedict rolled his hips over Tommy.

“We’re touching balls. A new billiard rule for the second-best hunting lodge.

” With another smug tilt to his lips, he added, “I’m a duke, don’t you know.

Apparently, I can make up new rules just like that. ”

Winding his arm around Benedict’s neck, Tommy pressed a hard, punishing kiss to his mouth. “My duke,” he whispered.

Benedict’s hand found a passage between their damp bodies; he wrapped them both up in his palm. Three swift strokes, four if they were generous, and Tommy whimpered before pulsing hot and harsh between them. His lover, on a low groan, was but a second behind.

It took them a long while to part. In the warm dip between Tommy’s neck and shoulder, Benedict discovered a cosy spot for his head, burrowing in and collapsing there.

Every now and again, little contented sounds broke the velvety silence.

If Tommy hadn’t been so squashed between the hard leaded board underneath him and the equally hard but more magnificent one atop, he fancied he could have stayed there until morning.

When Benedict finally clambered off, daylight had all but gone, taking the heat of the room with it. Tommy shivered.

“Come.” Benedict held out a hand, hauling him up. “You’re cold.”

He appraised Tommy’s slight, naked form with a naughty gleam. “You never did have much meat on your bones.” Unbothered by his own nakedness, Benedict swamped Tommy in his linen shirt, a gesture as sweet as any lovemaking.

“Your staff are in for a treat in the morning.” Tommy eyed the damp patch in the middle of the baize. “We may have damaged it.”

Lazily, his arm resting across Tommy’s shoulders, Benedict peeked over. “Billiards table be damned.” He cupped Tommy’s jaw, delivering a savage kiss. “It’s mine to do with what I want.”

“What happened to ‘I’m simply a custodian passing through’?”

“I’ve changed my mind.” With a final kiss, he pulled away, giving Tommy’s hand a determined tug.

“Bedtime, I believe. At the second-best hunting lodge, we keep country hours.”