Page 35 of To Defend a Damaged Duke (Regency Rossingley #2)

LEADING TOMMY TO his bedchamber, washing them both clean—even taking it in turns to piss—then pulling aside the counterpane and slipping under together felt the most natural thing in the world.

As though all the pieces of himself were finally aligned and working together.

As if his head, his heart, his lungs, hands, and cock—even his feet, tangled with Tommy’s—were thinking, doing, feeling, thumping, reaching towards the same harmonious thing.

Tommy reclined against the pillows while Benedict fiddled around like a maidservant until he was quite comfortable.

Now, he lay on his belly beside him, pillowing his head in his arms whilst Tommy’s hand rested on his nearest arse cheek, petting it.

Benedict had believed the happiest moment of his life had occurred a half hour earlier as he’d lain over Tommy on the billiard table. Already, this one pipped it.

He reached out to finger the commonplace key hanging from a thin silver chain around Tommy’s neck. The metal had a warmth to it from lying next to Tommy’s skin.

“Is this the key to your heart?” He curled it in his palm, and Tommy closed his hand around Benedict’s.

“No.” Tommy sounded amused. “You already have possession of that. And have done for many a long year.” He accepted the brush of Benedict’s mouth against his. “Even though, this evening, you have kissed my lips sore.”

Benedict traced the line of them with his thumb, and then, because he could, and they were his, he kissed them again. “They are superlative. I cannot resist.”

He tapped Tommy’s ribs with the key. “Then it must be the key to a treasure chest.”

Tommy’s deliciously reddened lips curved. “Of a dull sort. It unlocks my desk, containing my accounts ledgers for all my businesses.”

“My lover is a rich man!” declared Benedict, grinning. He imagined Tommy’s accounts were meticulous. And if he was fishing to unearth more about his lover and his extraordinary past, then he wasn’t sorry.

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “All things are relative, Your Grace. Though Rossingley and I enjoy expanding our little empire.”

“Rossingley has fingers in many pies. He continues to make large profits from his cotton mill.” Benedict hesitated. “But he has experienced sadness, too, I think. Like you.”

Tommy’s fingers walked up Benedict’s back, counting the vertebra one by one and then, as carefully, down again. He seemed lost to his thoughts.

“Rossingley saved my life,” he said softly. “And then he became my lover, and after that, he supplied most of the capital for my first investment.” His finger tapped at the base of Benedict’s spine. “And now he has Kit, and I have you.”

Benedict turned the key over before letting it drop. “May I ask how? How he rescued you?”

Tommy’s eyes slid in his direction. “Through pure chance, would you believe. Nothing more. The day of the raid, chance led him down Vere Street. He was making a detour; a carriage had overturned in Margaret Street. His own rode by as I was being dragged in cuffs out of the Hart. Though he had never visited, he knew of the place and what it was. Then, because he’s kind and decent and one of our sort, he arranged my release as soon as he was able.

” Tommy’s fingers recommenced their slow count.

“He bribed someone for a paltry sum.” Staring up at the ceiling, again, he blew out a long exhale.

The cool breath ghosted over Benedict’s spine.

“My life was worth a mere three guineas.”

“I have spent more this year on treats for Nimbus.”

“Last season’s cravat fetched almost as much. It was still around my wrist when I was carted off. I sold it to a tailor.”

Kings, queens, and dukes be damned. Chance was the real monarch, reigning overall. Even the mighty floundered in a sea of it. An ugly thought penetrated Benedict’s mind, and he immediately hated himself for it.

“Did you become his lover out of obligation?”

Tommy gave a soft laugh. “God, no. I didn’t see him for several months after that. His wife died; he was occupied with the estate and his children. Though he kept tabs on me from a distance. His valet, Pritchard, used to appear every now and again to make sure no harm befell me.”

“How did you live? Did you…?” Benedict had a feeling he already knew the answer.

“Yes. When I had to. I stole things too. But then I joined a theatre troupe—an actor I befriended introduced me. They were looking for a pretty boy to play the role of a starving young girl.” He barked a laugh.

“I was half-starved and my hair long and unruly; very little acting was required. My career treading the boards continued from there. I accrued a little blunt, Rossingley watched a performance, we rekindled our acquaintance, and, well, here I am. An idle gadabout in a duke’s second-best hunting lodge. ”

A decade of pain and struggle concertinaed into a handful of sentences. Benedict wouldn’t press for more, not now. One day, perhaps. Instead, he rolled on top of Tommy, pulling him into his arms. “A man as courageous and beautiful such as you deserves all the good things life has to offer.”

Tommy slipped a hand around Benedict’s neck, playing his fingers through Benedict’s hair. “Pretty words, Your Grace.” A sly smile tilted his sublime lips. Cupping his mouth around Benedict’s ear, he whispered. “But they mean nought until you tell me I’m your very special pomegranate.”

Benedict snorted with laughter. He straddled him, pinning him to the bed. “Yes! You are my most special, my most perfect pomegranate.” He laughed again at the joyful folly of it. “Hard on the outside, Tommy Squire, but by God, your seed is succulent!”

“And you are a ridiculous, starry-eyed fool.”

Benedict swooped down for another taste, and even more capricious flights of poetic jabber filled his head.

Ones he’d die clutching to himself rather than share with his lover and risk making even more of a cake of himself.

But there they were, buzzing around his head like bumble bees drunk on nectar—whimsical nonsense itself.

How else could his mind interpret the delicious rush to his cock and the ache in his ballocks?

“Make love to me,” Tommy murmured as their mouths parted. Hunger gleamed in his blue-grey eyes, and Benedict’s swarm of bumble bees scattered as his belly lurched with pleasure. “Spill your seed inside me. For weeks, there has been nothing I have desired more.”

“God, yes. But you must show me how.”

“Your body will know how.” Tommy held Benedict’s face in his palms. “For men as in tune as us, it is as natural as breathing.” His eyes flicked to bedside table. “We have hair oil, do we not?”

“Hair…oh. Oh .” Benedict’s voice turned inexplicably hoarse. “We…yes. I would do that gladly. I…” His speech faltered. Already, his prick felt more unyielding than a marble bust. “I…do believe there is not a drop of blood left in my head for thought. Hair oil. Yes, here.”

“Make good use of it.” Tommy’s eyes crinkled.

“You must permit a new rule for the second-best hunting lodge. Just when you think you’ve added enough, add a little more.

” He arched his hips up to meet Benedict’s, eliciting a shiver from deep in Benedict’s core.

“I have not had a man inside me for many a year. And a duke, never.”

Tommy’s fingers, coated in hair oil, disappeared between his legs. With his other hand, he fondled himself. Benedict watched, torn between putting his fingers where Tommy showed him and mesmerised by Tommy doing it to himself.

“I have never seen or done…” Benedict moistened his lips. Tommy’s cock was as hard as his own. “Do you find that to be pleasurable, or is it merely essential?”

In answer, Tommy guided Benedict’s fingers into the shallow slippery divide.

Then, relaxed and loose, he sank back into the pillows as Benedict copied what he’d seen.

Tommy closed his eyes, shamelessly rolling his hips to greet every movement of Benedict’s fingers.

His cock dribbled, darkening his fair curls.

Tiny noises left his lips, pleased humming sounds that made Benedict’s spine tingle and his ballocks ache.

With his other hand, Benedict gave his cock a desperate squeeze.

“Now, my love.” Tommy’s voice sounded husky. He spread his legs impossibly wider. Benedict hesitated.

“I have…have seen dogs and…they turn like so, no?”

Tommy’s laugh was throaty and warm. “Yes. But we are not dogs, though I am panting for you like one. And we will turn. You shall take me every way, in every manner. But for now—” he shoved a pillow beneath him—“like this. So I can see you.”

Tommy’s legs gripped his back as Benedict lined himself against Tommy’s hole.

And then, feeling as if he might burst, Benedict inched forwards.

His body tingled and heated as if not only his cock, but the entirety of him plunged blindfolded into a hot, hidden world, like a wild seed burrowing deep into succulent earth.

“I have never, in my stormiest dreams, imagined you would feel like this,” Benedict gasped.

Tommy’s eyes were half-closed, his mouth pinched. Sweat glistened on his brow, and his fingernails bit into Benedict’s flesh.

Benedict instantly stilled. “I’m hurting you.”

“No…never,” Tommy puffed. “Just…ah.” His heels carved new dimples in Benedict’s back, his hips shifting under him. “You are stretching me wide. We are… Yes, that’s better.”

Around Benedict’s shaft, something softened, slipped, unlocked. Tommy’s lips parted on a low broken moan as, in a rush, Benedict slid deeper. His ballocks tightened; an inhuman gasp escaped him. Every fibre of his being screamed for him to plunder and ransack.

“That,” Tommy breathed shakily. “Just…stay…like that… That is perfect.”

Benedict’s skin, all of it, was taut as a bow string. He moaned again. He cursed. “I beg, Tommy, do not make that sound. Perfect—ah, how inadequate that word is—will be but a fleeting memory if you do.”

Tommy’s huff of laughter squeezed Benedict like a vice. A stream of curses burst from him.

“Also,” Benedict gasped again, “oh lord, there is another hunting lodge rule. One I shall pass immediately. Do not, with me here at the mercy of whatever you are doing to my prick, laugh again. I beg you.”

Predictably, things sped up a little after that.

Amusement and discomfort vanished from Tommy’s eyes, replaced by a restless burning desire.

He pushed up against Benedict, swallowing Benedict deeper still, shattering his last shred of control.

With urgent need, Benedict thrust into his lover as his lover thrust back.

Together, they drove towards release, whirling out beyond the boundaries drawn for them by others, beyond ones Benedict had drawn for himself.

He poured his love into Tommy with every snap of his hips, feeling it returned, hearing it sighing in every harsh breath.

Tommy’s hand pumped between them as his white throat heaved. And then he shuddered his release, his channel clenching and unclenching around Benedict until he, too, was spilling, hot and endless and—

“I…ah…yes…” Benedict managed, collapsing on his lover like a weighted blanket. A very weighted blanket. And he stayed that way.

*

“I MAY HAVE lost a few moments in time,” Benedict observed a while later.

Under him, Tommy huffed a laugh, the movement causing Benedict to slither from inside. Wincing, Tommy brought his legs down.

“You are sore,” Benedict stated, alarmed. He lifted his bulk away from him. “I was too rough.”

“No,” Tommy shook his head in protest. “You were…you have nothing to compare yourself to, but you are…dominant in your lovemaking.” Blowing a cool gust of air through pursed lips, he wiped the back of his hand across his damp forehead, then brought his hand to his nose.

“Your scent is everywhere. Even my sweat contains traces of you.”

“That is a good thing?”

Tommy brought him down for a kiss. “An excellent thing, my love. For me.”

Benedict liked the word ‘dominant’. Perhaps lovemaking would become the only area of his life where he strongly excelled. Perhaps he could become expert in caring for this man; God knows very few ever had.

“I want you to teach me everything you know,” he declared.

“And, for when we ride out here again, some of those kitchen skills you mentioned too. Where plates are located when not on the table. How the tealeaves get to the pot, for example. And how to boil water for a bath. So I can pleasure you even more.”

Tommy laughed sleepily, Benedict’s favourite sound in the entire world. “Tea, a hot bath, and lovemaking. How perfect.”