All for One (32 page)
Authors: Nicki Bennett,Ariel Tachna
Tags: #gay, #glbt, #Romance, #M/M romance, #historical, #dreamspinner press, #nicki bennett, #ariel tachna
“The fire in my soul, the strength in my arms, the light in my darkness,” Benoît avowed in reply. His entire body tingled with the joy of their joining, the feeling of fullness like nothing he had ever known. Reverently, he stroked Aristide’s hair as his lover began to move inside him, rocking against him with abbreviated thrusts designed to keep his cock buried deep in Benoît’s arse, the tip prodding the smith’s sweet spot repeatedly. Urgency built slowly but inexorably until Benoît undulated continuously beneath his lover.
Leaning on his forearms so their chests brushed with every stroke, Aristide moved with deliberate grace, every touch imbued with all the emotion overflowing from his soul. While Benoît’s growing ardor evidenced the physical pleasure of their union, Aristide felt no urge to drive for completion, the bond that united their spirits in this moment more powerful than any corporeal release. “One,” he murmured against Benoît’s lips, his tongue dipping inside to drink of his lover’s sweetness. “Now and forever, one….”
Benoît squirmed beneath the mounting sensations, nearly sobbing with the force of the emotions that mated their hearts and lives. He twisted and writhed, trying to speed Aristide’s thrusts, to shatter his lover’s control, to end the delicious torment and find his release. Aristide, though, was implacable, caressing him firmly, tenderly, increasing Benoît’s desire without ever reaching the point of pushing him over the edge. Benoît thought he had never flown so high, never needed to come as much as he did at the moment, and yet Aristide showed no sign of letting that happen. “Please,” he begged, voice breaking as Aristide’s cock brushed his prostate again, “make me come.”
Aristide was not ready for their lovemaking to end, but neither was he immune to the desperate need in Benoît’s voice. He slid one of the hands that was supporting Benoît forward to encircle the purpled shaft, the remnants of oil clinging to his fingers allowing it to glide through his loose fist with gentle friction. Stilling his thrusts, he rocked his hips just enough to maintain a constant press against the center of Benoît’s pleasure as his lover pushed forward into his grip. When his thumb swept over the damp head of Benoît’s cock, the blacksmith froze in a paralysis of ecstasy, a wail echoing in the quiet room as he climaxed. Aristide held him through the shuddering aftermath, his own need forgotten in the pride of having brought his love such joy.
The delightful shudders that accompanied his climax rocked Benoît for several long minutes, his body reacting as if starved for touch, as if they had not spent the past ten months making love every night—and many mornings as well. Slowly, though, awareness returned, and with it the realization that Aristide was still hard inside him. “What about you?” he asked softly. “What can I do for you?”
Shifting minutely in the still-quivering channel, Aristide smiled when another tremble shook his lover’s frame. The internal contractions squeezed around him, sending little flickers of pleasure sparking along his senses. “I am content, for the moment,” he murmured, raising his hand to his lips to clean it of the evidence of Benoît’s release. His
first
release. “When you are ready, I would find our joy together this time,” he added, his voice husking when Benoît clenched around him again.
Benoît’s eyes grew wide as the implication of Aristide’s words sank in. At the moment, his body felt completely replete, but if he had learned anything at Aristide’s hands the last year, it was how quickly his lover could rouse his passions, even a second time. “Then you’ll just have to make me ready again,” he drawled.
“You say that as if I would find it a hardship.” Aristide met Benoît’s lips in a slow, worshipful mating, pulling away when the smith tried to deepen the kiss. Instead, he placed light, teasing kisses to any patch of skin he could reach, a random pattern that left Benoît arching to anticipate the next place his lips would fall. One hand still held Benoît steady while the other wandered as well, each caress too fleeting to do more than whet Benoît’s appetite for a firmer touch.
Benoît twisted and arched, trying to meet each caress, but Aristide’s hand on his hip, Aristide’s cock inside him, kept him from moving more than a little in any direction, limiting his ability to do anything but react to each touch as it came. Little by little, the enforced helplessness and soft strokes had their desired effect, passion sparking along his nerves again, thickening his cock as his blood pooled again in his groin, leaving him prey to the most wonderful sensations. His head tossed restlessly on the pillow, tumbling his curls even more wildly as he reached for Aristide’s tawny head. Bringing their lips together with a grip that brooked no refusal, he kissed his lover with all his renewed desire. “I’m ready.”
Aristide’s own passion, which he had subsumed while reigniting Benoît’s, flared at the insistence in Benoît’s voice, the firmness of the lips moving against his. He had never desired a passive lover, and the gradual growth of Benoît’s self-confidence over the time they had been together had only deepened his own love and desire. Returning Benoît’s kiss with equal ardor, he pushed up until he was leaning back on his heels, bringing his lover with him so that they knelt on the bed, still intimately joined. “Show me,” he asked huskily, the words no longer an instruction but a plea. “Ride me.”
Planting his feet, Benoît toppled Aristide backward onto the bed, his hands braced against his lover’s shoulders as he began to move, taking the shaft deeper and deeper into his body, reveling not only in the feel of being complete but in the power the musketeer had given him to control their passion and Aristide’s release. Aristide thrust up beneath him as he pressed down, their bodies slapping together with slowly increasing force as desire won out over control. “
Je t’aime
,” he husked, his hands roaming over Aristide’s chest, tweaking his nipples, tracing his muscles, doing everything he could to augment their desire.
“
Je t’aime
,” Aristide answered, hoarse with the effort to stave off his own loss of control. Benoît pumped above him as forcefully as any lover he had known, the last desire of his heart met fully in this as in all other things. Freed from the responsibility to drive their release, he focused instead on the touches and tastes that would bring Benoît as close as his own imminent climax threatened.
Reaching behind him, Benoît found Aristide’s balls, fondling them eagerly as he tipped back even more, the angle driving Aristide’s cock directly against his sensitive nub. His fingers slid lower, caressing the smooth skin behind the heavy sac, then even lower to the puckered opening. Aristide bucked wildly beneath him, the sudden motion enough to tear a groan from Benoît’s throat and a spurt of fluid from his cock.
Aristide had never dreamed he would find such pleasure in being claimed, but the touch of Benoît’s fingers over his entrance, a reminder of every night they had loved until now, proved his undoing even more than the sudden clutch of Benoît’s channel around his shaft. With a rough cry he climaxed fiercely, his release pulsing out in what felt like never-ending waves, heart and body giving all they had into his lover’s keeping. With his own shout of ecstasy Benoît sagged against him, their limbs tangling against the rumpled bedding. Aristide’s arms wrapped around his lover, his love, his life, so sated and intoxicated with love he never wanted to move again.
Benoît nuzzled Aristide’s neck sleepily. “If that’s what it’s always like when you make love to me, I may have a new favorite position.”
Settling Benoît’s head onto his shoulder, Aristide pressed a kiss into the dark curls. “My favorite position is any one that keeps you in my arms.” His eyelids growing heavy, he added with a yawn, “And now we can take turns doing the work.”
Benoît smiled softly as he drifted off to sleep. He rather thought he could live with that.
About the Authors
Growing up in Chicago, NICKI BENNETT spent every Saturday at the central library, losing herself in the world of books. A voracious reader, she eventually found it difficult to find enough of the kind of stories she liked to read and decided to start writing them herself.
ARIEL TACHNA lives in southwestern Ohio with her husband, her daughter and son, and their cat. A native of the region, she has nonetheless lived all over the world, having fallen in love with both France, where she found her career and her husband, and India, where she dreams of retiring some day. She started writing when she was twelve and hasn’t looked back since. A connoisseur of wine and horses, she’s as comfortable on a farm as she is in the big cities of the world.
Visit Ariel’s web site at http://www.arieltachna.com/ and her blog at http://arieltachna.livejournal.com/.
