by Bonnie Dee
They were by the bed again, kissing and stroking, sinking down together. This time, when Bennet’s desperate drive hit, Tobin could feel that it held more than desire.
“We’ll take our time,” he whispered. “Remember? I’ll touch you. We have hours. Lie on your stomach.”
Bennet flipped over with a groan that might have been protest. He flexed his buttocks once or twice, and Tobin put his palm on them to stop him.
He didn’t bother with the liniment. Even that thin layer of ointment would come between his skin and Bennet’s magnificent back and arse.
He straddled Bennet’s thighs so the man wouldn’t get away. Bennet shifted restlessly, all power coiled and waiting. Tobin splayed his hands and smoothed them over skin, pushed deep to feel the muscles move against his. That wasn’t enough, so he pressed his face to Bennet’s back, his mouth, his tongue. Under him, Bennet bucked and ground into the mattress.
Tobin paused to ask, “Are you thinking?”
“I’m not,” Bennet croaked. “I’m feeling.”
“What are you feeling?” Tobin ran his tongue down the crevice between those tight cheeks. Harsh soap and man—mostly man.
“I’m feeling very…anxious to turn over and kiss you.” He bucked one more time, and his powerful motion dislodged Tobin, who fell to the side, laughing and clutching the edge of the bed.
Bennet was on him then, no more passive participant, not that the man ever held still for a second.
He kissed Tobin, but slowly, much to Tobin’s surprise, deliberately letting the kiss deepen. It was Tobin who grew hungry first. He ran his hand over Bennet’s hard cock and squeezed.
“Where shall this go?” he whispered.
Bennet pulled back from the kiss, but not far. “Are you suggesting?” His gaze shifted sideways, toward the unguent.
“Oh yes, indeed I am.”
“I ah…” The red suffused his face again. “With Jacob, I let him…”
“He played the part of the man?”
Bennet nodded. “Though he was less, um… He was more.”
Tobin stopped his mouth with a kiss. He understood. Bennet’s lost love had looked the part of a nancy boy. He considered asking Bennet if he missed Jacob, if he wished he were here, but he wasn’t that selfless. He wanted to fuck, and later on, they might talk.
He reached down and stroked the extremely rigid cock. “Where shall you put this?” he repeated.
“In you.”
Tobin nodded solemnly as if he’d just passed an important examination. “Very good.”
And God above, it was.
Now that it had been decided, Bennet moved slowly again, as if forcing himself to be deliberate, though his panting breaths made his chest heave. He sat at the edge of the bed and opened the jar. In the dim light from other room, the liniment glistened on his fingertips. He put the jar on the floor.
Tobin leaned over and scooped some too. Bennet gasped as Tobin wiped his finger over the tip of Bennet’s cock—he flinched but then didn’t move as Tobin smeared the rest over him. His head went back as Tobin enjoyed a few strokes, fisting Bennet.
“Stop,” Bennet said. He pushed Tobin away with his unencumbered hand. Then he rose, and, even in the nearly dark room, Tobin could see the gleam in his eyes, the glint of pure lust about to be fulfilled.
Tobin got on his hands and knees, unsure what he should do or how he should act, but a strong hand pressed at the small of his back, and then fingers slid along the crack of his rear end. He pushed his head down, ready to be used, but Bennet didn’t just lunge forward and bury himself in Tobin. He reached around his body and, with his still-slicked fingers, imitated Tobin’s motions, the slow pull and tug. Tobin gasped in the hot grip and pushed his bum back.
That firm grip was going to take him over the edge before he was ready.
He wiggled again. Bennet let go.
Tobin looked over his shoulder. “Go on. I’m ready, please.”
Bennet nodded, his intense stare focused behind Tobin as his pushed his finger inside—and that was almost too much. Bennet inched closer and lined up. When the huge blunt object probed his arse, Tobin nearly said stop.
A few moments later, he was deliriously glad he’d let the heat and thickness inside him. Bennet’s hand came round again, and there, that was the encompassing sweet touch on his cock, while inside him, an unfamiliar but satisfying ache built.
Bennet moved deeper and hard. Deeper and harder and faster, and so did his hand.
Tobin couldn’t move, frozen with pleasure. If he moved, he’d break the building tension before it reached the pinnacle.
Bennet’s soft grunts of pleasure came faster and louder and even that sound seemed to add to the growing need. But more than need, a satisfying feeling of deep connection went along with their joining. Emotions beyond pleasure that Tobin didn’t want to examine too closely rushed through him.
Then, oh… Tobin exploded. His body flashed with sensation that sizzled through every fiber. And even as he cried out, he heard Bennet’s curse and felt him push hard, and then still and pulse deep inside.
Tobin shuddered as the last of the pulses died away.
He couldn’t move or think. The weight of Bennet pressed close behind was perfect. His belly and chest touched every inch of Tobin’s back, and his cock remained at least partially hard inside his slightly aching bum. That was wonderful. Even his toes could not have felt any happier. The world could end now, and he’d be content, for he could not ask for anything better than this moment with this man.
But, of course, perfection couldn’t last.
First, Bennet slid out of his body and moved away, leaving his back chilled. Tobin smiled into the mattress when he realized he had some compensation for the loss of that particular pleasure. Now he could roll over and look for kisses and find those brilliant eyes looking into his face.
Except Bennet wasn’t there. He’d padded off to the other room.
Tobin wasn’t ready for this to be over. He resented having the best episode of his life end even before the last of the pleasure had drained from his body.
“Hey,” he called. Why couldn’t the man bloody well remain happy for a few minutes at a time? Why must he be restless and filled with anxiousness? “Hey!” he said again.
And then he felt foolish—and as emotional as Bennet ever had seemed—for there was the man. He’d obviously cleaned himself up and was carrying the flannel back into the room.
“Hmm?” Bennet smiled down at him, as tender a look as Tobin had craved only seconds before. Bennet kissed his shoulder. “Something wrong?”
“No. Not at all.” He leaned back and allowed Bennet to wipe the spending from his belly. Relief joined the post-sexual bliss.
Tobin wanted nothing more than to gather Bennet close and pretend that they could stay in this room together for days and years. He curled into the heat of the man and closed his eyes, willing away the future.
Chapter Fourteen
Tobin slept the deep, profound sleep of a man who’d done more hard labor than he was used to, while Bennet watched the early morning sunlight through the window etch his features. Red-gold eyelashes rested against the ever-blooming blush across his cheekbones, an aspect of his ginger complexion. The sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of Tobin’s nose caused a ridiculous twist in Bennet’s chest. They made the man appear so young and vulnerable, and that vision of him was only increased by the slackly parted lips with the deep bow in the upper. However, two days’ stubble belied the suggestion of youth, and the build of the man’s body was anything but boyish.
Bennet would appreciate seeing that body lying naked in his bed, that face profiled against his pillow every morning, but the new dawn was about to put an end to this adventure. When Tobin awoke, their interlude would be over. So, for a few brief, precious moments, Bennet would watch him like
this.
Ah, but he couldn’t stay. The sheep were children clamoring to have their needs filled. No matter what the circumstance, they couldn’t be put off, and he must check on the new lambs.
Bennet got up and silently dressed. Outside, he slipped on his muddy boots and went to the barn to review the troops. The work was nearly finished for this season. All the lambs born and none of the mothers rejecting them for whatever strange sheepish reason came into their silly woolly heads. Some could stand to be driven out to the flock. The rest must stay penned a few days longer. But all would be fine for the several hours it took Bennet to escort Tobin to town and return. He could easily make it back by dusk if they got going early. A sharp pang of loss filled him at the thought, fool that he was. He’d gotten along fine before Tobin’s arrival. He would be fine again.
“How are the pups?” The lawyer’s voice startled him as the man’s shadow fell over him.
Bennet looked up. “See for yourself. They’re a hungry lot, feeding like leeches.”
Together they walked to the cow barn, where Bets had made a nest for herself in the straw. Squirming bodies in black, white and brown coats struggled for the best teats. One little fellow had got knocked away entirely, and Tobin bent to place him in amongst his more aggressive siblings.
“Greedy little mongrels, aren’t they, with no thought of sharing?”
“They’re animals living true to their nature. Survival of the fittest.”
“Mm.” Tobin made a noncommittal sound and then added a, “So…”
“So…” Bennet responded. He exhaled once, then forged forward. “’Spose it’s time we got on the road. Can have a bite to eat when we reach Faircliffe.”
Tobin didn’t move. “And you… Will you be buying a ticket for the train?”
“I’m tied down here with the sheep. ’Twould be best if you were to inform the board and my relatives I want to sell, if that works for all concerned. Constable Taylor can notarize my signature on a document if you compose something suitable.”
Tobin was silent for some time, watching the pups. Bennet hoped that meant he’d be done with the subject, but no. “Dickon could watch over your beasts while you’re away.”
Bennet considered. In truth, this wasn’t the best time to leave the farm. A few weeks from now would be better, with all the ewes and new lambs back with the flock again and Dickon able to keep an eye on things. But underneath that clear and simple truth ran muddier currents of motivation. He didn’t want to see the city again, couldn’t stand being surrounded by crowds of people or trapped inside stuffy lawyers’ chambers. And he couldn’t be near the actual place where the attack had occurred. The thought of it made him short of breath and panicked.
“My place is here. I haven’t time to take a trip so far away.”
The coppery hair shimmered as Tobin tilted his head. “There is nothing I can say or do that will convince you, is there?” His voice was flat. He wasn’t asking the question; he was facing the reality.
Bennet dropped his gaze, for how could he bear to look into that heart-stopping face he would never see again after today? “If you care for me, you’ll stop asking this of me. I can sign away my shares in my grandfather’s business without being present at the meeting. That’s what I intend to do.”
“Yes. It is possible to sever all connections to your past.” Tobin still sounded flat.
From that point, things seemed to move so quickly, it made Bennet dizzy. While Tobin gathered the ruined suit and shoes he’d worn when he arrived here—only a few days ago?—Bennet finished feeding and watering the livestock and hitched up the horse to the wagon. Poor old Lethe snorted and whinnied in complaint at being put between the traces. A simple journey to the village was too exhausting, she implied, and Bennet knew exactly how she felt. One grew used to silence and open spaces. One grew comfortable and almost content there.
On the road, with Tobin sitting erect beside him, Bennet pondered and discarded one conversational opening after another. Should he apologize again for putting Tobin to all this trouble and then refusing to accompany him to London? Should he thank him for all his help with the lambing? Or the other, more personal, services he’d performed? But if Bennet began to speak of that, to admit to the emotions Tobin had unlocked in him and his bliss in the act they’d performed together—well, that conversation was simply too deep and too soul-shaking to embark on. It might end in tears or in him begging Tobin to return to him, and of course, that was impossible. The man had a life to return to. So did Bennet. Better to ride mile after mile in silence as if they were two strangers.
Even the loquacious Tobin was uncharacteristically quiet, and Bennet wondered what he was thinking. At last, they reached the brow of a hill, and the cluster of thatched buildings and church spire lay in the valley below.
Tobin suddenly grabbed his arm. “Hold up. Stop the horse.”
Lethe was happy to stop walking. She gave a sigh, hung her head as if burdened beyond bearing and began to crop the grass at the edge of the road.
Tobin looked into Bennet’s eyes. “This is it, our last chance to… We cannot part as if nothing has happened between us. Just one more embrace. One more kiss before we reach the town.”
Bennet tore his gaze away to look at the countryside around them. Already there were a few farm houses within full view of the crest of the hill on which they sat. Tobin’s request would have been better coming several miles earlier. Now they didn’t dare. They mustn’t. Who knew what eyes were upon them? The risk was too great.
Bennet clasped Tobin’s hand. “I fear it’s too late for that. Besides, it would only make the parting more difficult. We had an unforgettable night. Two of them. It’s the best we could hope for, isn’t it?”
Even as he spoke the sensible words, every particle of him yearned toward Tobin. Of course, he wanted to be held in those arms once more and to feel the burn of the man’s mouth on his. But even if he threw caution to the wind and did those things, it would never be enough. If he once got started, he might cling to Tobin, refusing to let go.
As it was, it was all Bennet could do to give that soft, elegant hand one final squeeze before releasing it.
“All right, then.” Tobin’s lips were thin, his voice tight.
Bennet wondered if Tobin had thought to convince him to change his mind about the journey with a passionate embrace.
He managed to get Lethe moving again, and the wagon clattered down the hill and onto the cobbled road heading into town. Villagers stopped and stared as they passed. By now, everyone had heard the story that the reclusive Jacob Bennet was actually some sort of aristocrat in disguise. The way tales were embroidered around here, they’d probably painted him as a member of the royal family in hiding.
Jacob pulled his hat brim low as he drove the wagon toward the constable’s domicile near the inn.
It took little time for Tobin to set down the terms on a piece of paper and have Constable Taylor witness their signatures. How strange it felt to write his own name again—Daniel Pierce in the precise cursive drilled into him by his tutor and later at school. All those years came back to him now. His boyhood had been regimented and too constricting, but it hadn’t been all bad.
“That’s sufficient?” the constable asked as he countersigned.
The corner of Tobin’s mouth quirked. “I do hope so.”
Taylor lifted the page, frowning. “Just a couple of signatures and this…Daniel Pierce”—he read off the paper—“leaves his past responsibilities behind? If you don’t mind me asking, what are you escaping from, sir?”
“Nothing illegal,” Bennet assured him. “I request my privacy be respected. That is all.”
“And so it shall,” Tobin said crisply without looking at him. “The inn is close. I shall walk over there, and you may carry on with your marketing, Mr. Bennet. I’ll find my own way to the railroad station.”
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“Is he Pierce or Bennet?” the constable demanded.
Tobin tugged down his ill-fitting borrowed waistcoat. “He is whomever he wishes to be. Legally, he is still Mr. Pierce, but he can change that if he wishes to draw up a deed poll with a solicitor. He should do so should he wish to sign legal documents using the name Bennet.”
Tobin made this pronouncement to the constable. He wasn’t even going to speak to Bennet directly?
No. He wasn’t. “Well. That concludes my business here. Good-bye.” Tobin held out his hand to the constable. They shook.
And then that hand, freckled and familiar, stretched toward Bennet. He longed to grab Tobin and hold tight, pull him into a hug, but of course that could not be. Bennet allowed himself to look into the face, once beaming and open, and now impossibly closed. No, Tobin appeared angry. Had the man truly thought Bennet would, at the last second, board the train with him?
Or perhaps he was returning to his London face, which was stern. Tobin pulled away quickly, the perfunctory handshake of a busy man.
Tobin thought once he boarded the train he might be able to breathe again. Fury roiled though him, inexplicable and so large he was afraid he might burst with it. It went from his core to his hot skin. Nonsensical rage. Bennet was the one whose anger ran deep. Tobin was light as air, able to move from situation to situation without harming himself or anyone else. He left no tracks and rarely felt more than amusement.
Perhaps his pride had been pricked? He knew he was a persuasive bloke—that formed the largest reason for his success at his work. Bennet constituted a failure despite the success of tracking him. Yet, surely the fact that he hadn’t managed to work this one case to his best advantage wasn’t a smudge on his career?
No.
The case be damned. That wasn’t the source of his rage. When he thought of Jacob Bennet, he didn’t think of the goddamned case. He thought of heat and kisses and laughter. The memory of Bennet made his chest ache fiercely.
The man owed him nothing. And Tobin would, again, get nothing. Abandoned for work, again. Sheep instead of an office this time. Which was absurd. Bennet wasn’t his father. Tobin managed to draw a long breath at last. It wasn’t Bennet’s fault that when Tobin begged for love, the man couldn’t accommodate him.
