The Square Peg (23 page)

reflex years ago. A moment later Benedict was finger-fucking him, working his arse

open, his knuckles huge and dry inside Shane.

“Enough.” Benedict pulled his fingers out, ignoring Shane’s whimper. He dragged

Shane backward by his bound hands and toward the bed, then pushed Shane’s jeans,

which had been caught around his knees, to the floor. “Get rid of those.”

“Make me,” Shane growled, and Benedict slapped the side of his head so hard his

ears rang.

“Really? I can do whatever I want to you, and you’re still mouthing off?” Benedict

shoved him down onto the bed on his stomach. Shane hadn’t been expecting it, and it

knocked the wind out of him. By the time he’d recovered his breath, Benedict had

pulled off his jeans and kicked his feet apart.

“Fuck…you,” Shane gasped.

Benedict was pushing inside him, his cock stretching Shane’s hole. Shane wasn’t

relaxed enough for such a rapid entry. His body clenched tight in protest of the

invasion, a strangled cry forced from his lips, but the pain was nothing compared to the

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pleasure of Benedict’s cockhead rubbing his prostate. Shane’s hands were behind him,

his shoulders strained. His cock was pressed against the edge of the mattress, and with

Benedict’s weight behind him, there was nothing he could do but lie there and take it.

It wasn’t a dry fuck, even though the little bit of saliva on Benedict’s fingers had

been next to useless. Benedict must have used lube. It had been years since Shane had

someone inside him without the thin layer of a condom between them, but he still

remembered what it felt like very well, and he was sure Benedict was wearing one

despite what he’d threatened.

“This is what you need,” Benedict said, thrusting so hard Shane thought the bed

might slide across the floor. “Say it.”

Shane whimpered. Benedict’s cock felt huge working its way in and out of him,

his body having no choice but to yield. “Yes.”

“Not good enough,” Benedict growled. “Say it.”

“Need this,” Shane panted. “Need you to fuck me. Come inside me.”

Benedict put his hand on the back of Shane’s neck, the gesture so possessive that

Shane felt the hot sting of grateful tears. He’d have been ashamed of them if it wasn’t

for the knowledge that as much as he needed what Benedict was dishing out, it went

both ways. His face was being held against the sheets, making breathing difficult, but

he didn’t want to lose the weight of Benedict’s palm, the oddly gentle caress of

Benedict’s thumb.

“I’ll come, but you don’t get to,” Benedict warned him. “Mallerton’s

representative screwed me around for hours. You’re going to have to wait the way I

did. Go back down there with your asshole raw and your cock hard and get back to

your painting until I decide you’ve suffered enough and let you beg me nicely to

come.”

Shane shook his head as best he could, given his position, mutely pleading for

mercy. Waiting a few hours when he was away from Benedict and distracted by work

was one thing, but he wasn’t sure he could stave off his climax right now. His balls

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were drawn up tightly, every hammering thrust he took driving him closer to the point

where good intentions and commands counted for nothing.

“Do you need some help obeying me?” Benedict murmured. “Yeah, I think you

do.”

Benedict moved his hand from Shane’s neck to his cock, taking him by surprise

yet again. The anticipated torture of a light caress didn’t come. Instead, Benedict

cupped Shane’s balls in his hand and squeezed them, his fingers clamped tightly, the

twist of his wrist brutally effective in killing Shane’s imminent orgasm.

Shane screamed into the sheets, the sound muffled, his world reduced to the

darkness behind his eyes and the raw, red pain radiating from his balls. He couldn’t

breathe in after the scream had emptied his lungs, dizziness making him lose his

bearings. Then Benedict’s grip slackened, and Shane felt awareness of something other

than pain seep back. He turned his head to the side to take a shuddering breath.

He barely registered the final thrusts as Benedict reached a climax, or the familiar

sensation of a cock pulling free of his swollen, hot hole, his body reluctant to relinquish

the thick hardness. He lay on his stomach, exhausted, still trussed by his shirt, drying

paint making his hand and forearm itch as it flaked off, listening to Benedict’s breathing

slow.

If he’d had to describe how he felt, he’d have gone for
empty
and maybe
peaceful
.

Not getting to come didn’t matter somehow. He was sure if he kicked up a fuss,

Benedict would let him, though. That had been intense, and Benedict would probably

overcompensate in the other direction, fussing over him anxiously and asking if he was

all right until Shane felt like screaming again.

He didn’t plan to ask, but he was happy to beg later, if that was still what Benedict

wanted.

Benedict carefully freed him. It hurt to bring his arms forward again, and when he

moved to get up, Benedict hovered just behind him without touching him. “Okay?”

Benedict asked.

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“Yeah.” Shane’s throat was dry and his legs more than a bit shaky. He needed to

sit down, but he knew it would hurt like hell if he did. “Just going to lie down for a

minute.”

“I’ll be right back,” Benedict said and left the bedroom. He came back quickly

enough with a glass of water and a damp washcloth. “I thought you might be thirsty.

And I thought—” He gestured with the cloth toward Shane’s midsection.

“Thanks.” Shane held his hand out for the cloth. Benedict couldn’t possibly think

he’d be the one doing the cleaning up. “You’re not going to stand there all afternoon,

are you?”

Benedict flushed. “No. Sorry.” He went around to the other side of the bed and sat

on the extreme edge.

Shane wiped himself clean and tossed the linen through the doorway into the hall.

He’d pick it up later. Rolling onto his side so he could see Benedict’s face made him

wince, but he did it and tugged the sheets over them. “Look,” he said, and Christ, he

sounded awful, his voice hoarse. “That was great, and I’m shattered. I don’t have it in

me to sort out whatever’s going on in your head right now. Could we just have a bit of

a nap and talk about it another time?”

“Do you…you want me to stay?”

“I expect to get to use you as a pillow after all that,” Shane grumbled, tugging at

Benedict so he’d lie down. “They’ll miss us downstairs if we’re gone too long. I think

we’ve got about half an hour until someone comes looking for us.”

Benedict’s shoulder was surprisingly comfortable under Shane’s head, and he

smelled fantastic, like citrus and sex. Shane slung an arm over Benedict’s waist and

closed his eyes.

* * * *

punch the brick wall. Holding the roller with his knuckles swollen and bruised was

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painful, so he’d tried painting with his left hand for the most part. That had left his

shoulders aching.

Or maybe the time he’d spent with his arms behind his back getting fucked was

responsible for that. Which reminded him of how much his balls ached too. Christ, it

would be quicker to list the parts of him that didn’t hurt. He wrapped his roller and the

paint tray in plastic bags to keep them from drying out. No point in washing them

when the daylight would show a dozen places that needed touching up.

“You’ve worked hard.”

He turned to see Benedict leaning on the bar, still wearing his work clothes, a

sweatshirt and jeans in good enough shape that in Shane’s opinion they didn’t rate

being suitable to paint in.

“Thought you’d gone with Vincent.”

“He’s using one of my bedrooms. We’re not joined at the hip.” Benedict cleared

his throat, running his hand over the bar as if he were checking for splinters. Not likely

now that it had a fancy granite surface that’d cost more than Shane considered

reasonable for a car, let alone a countertop. Benedict had said it was an investment and

a statement piece, whatever the hell that meant. The black surface swirled with flecks of

gold and rust did look spectacular. “Now everyone’s gone home, I wanted to talk to

you.”

“If that’s a fancy way of saying you want another fuck, I’ve got to tell you, I’m not

in the mood.” Shane rolled his shoulders, groaning as tired, taut muscles protested the

movement. “Can barely walk, let alone bend over for you again. Never realized how

much work painting is. I’ll be glad when I’m back to pulling pints, I can tell you.”

Too late, he saw Benedict’s wince, the man’s assurance slipping away, guilt taking

its place.

“Don’t,” Shane told him wearily. “What we did… Well, note the
we?
I wanted it.

All of it.”

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It was said in a mutter, Benedict’s head ducked, but Shane heard it clearly enough.

“Not all of it.”

Well. “Not being fucked without a condom,” Shane admitted. “But that was just a

threat, wasn’t it?”

“I wanted to.” Benedict hesitated, then grabbed the chair Shelly had been using to

paint the top of the wall and dragged it closer. “Sit.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. Even if it had been, Shane was too worn out to argue. He

sat, and Benedict moved behind him and rested a warm hand on his shoulder right

where it ached. A folded piece of paper was put over the other shoulder.

“Read it,” Benedict said and started to massage his shoulders. Christ, that felt

good. It made Shane want to close his eyes and drift off, but instead he unfolded the

paper and looked at it. It was a medical report stating Benedict had tested negative for

HIV the week before.

“What’s western blot?”

“A more accurate test, I guess. It’s what my doctor recommended.”

Shane looked over his shoulder at Benedict. “You went in to see your doctor and

asked which HIV test to take?”

“That’s…what doctors are for?” Benedict said slowly.

“I know that,” Shane said. “Just can’t imagine you going in and having a

conversation like that.”

“How repressed do you think I am?” Benedict sounded irritated and dug his

thumbs into Shane’s taut muscles a little bit harder.

Shane was quite sure Benedict wouldn’t like the answer to that question. “I think

we’re getting off track. You tested negative. Great, but that doesn’t mean I am.” He was

99.9 percent sure he was, but that wasn’t the point.

“That’s why I used a condom.”

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“But you let me think you were going to fuck me bare.” Shane remembered

feeling the press of Benedict’s cock against his hole and realizing it was sheathed in

latex. Remembered the mix of relief and disappointment.

“And you didn’t stop me,” Benedict pointed out. “That worries me.”

“Does it?” Shane gave himself over to the strong fingers massaging the stiffness

from his neck and shoulders. “You worry a lot, mate. Too much.”

“I like that you trusted me,” Benedict said slowly. “I-I got off on knowing you’d

let me, even though I wouldn’t have done it.”

“And we’re back at you feeling guilty for what turns you on,” Shane snapped. “I

could set my watch by you, you’re that regular. I told you I didn’t want you to do it;

remember that? I think as soon as I said it, part of me knew you’d listen.”

“You shouldn’t trust me that much.”

Shane twisted out of Benedict’s grasp and stood, turning to face him. “Well, I do.

And yeah, it’s stupid of me, but this thing we’ve got going on won’t work unless we

trust each other, so if you’ve got any doubts about me, spit them out.”

Benedict’s hands made abortive gestures, then stilled. “No,” he said. “No doubts

about you. None at all.”

“About yourself, then?” That made it both easier to take and more difficult—

easier because he didn’t like the thought of Benedict doubting him, harder because

what the fuck was he supposed to do about something that was going on inside

Benedict’s head?

“About…all of this. I don’t know what the fuck we’re doing.” Benedict sat down

on the chair Shane had just vacated and leaned forward, resting his head in his hands.

His untamed hair was even messier than usual; Shane wondered what it would be like

to run a comb through it and found himself neatening it with his fingers instead.

Benedict sighed and leaned into his touch.

“It’ll be all right,” Shane said. “We’ll make sense of it.”

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“I hope so.”

“Isn’t that what you do? Take horrible messes like this place and organize them?”