His Royal Favorite (17 page)

His fingers trailed up Ben’s chest, then jammed abruptly between Ben’s lips. The move was rough, calculated to unnerve—and it worked.

“I think I’ll use your mouth,” James whispered. “On your knees.”

He shoved Ben down from the shoulders; Ben gave into the motion, but nonetheless felt the jar of cold, hard stones against his bare knees. The trembling in his body now was only partly the chill. At the moment, the binding metal around his wrists, his temporary blindness, and James’s commanding presence were making the game feel very real.

It turned him on, but it scared him a little.

That’s part of it
, Ben told himself.
The game always starts to feel almost real. That’s what makes it hot.

“You belong to me,” James said. His hand closed around Ben’s chin, fiercely tight, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of Ben’s cheeks and throat. He jerked Ben’s face to the side, at a better angle to slip himself within. “Say it.”

“I belong to you,” Ben whispered.

With a clench of his hand, James forced Ben’s mouth open, and then he thrust inside.

The taste of James was familiar, welcome, intoxicating; Ben could feel how hard James was for him and know that he had some power in this. That would make it better, wouldn’t it?

Yet the cold seeping into him from the stone seemed to meet and match a deeper chill inside.

Ben tried to open wider for James, to work him with his tongue, but his heartbeat quickened for reasons that had nothing to do with arousal. It seemed to him that he was alone in the dark, alone and afraid, and the fact that James was with him, even inside him, did not change that.

Once, years ago in Australia, Ben had signed up for a scuba lesson. He’d been looking forward to it, as he suffered neither claustrophobia nor concerns about sharks. It had seemed like an ideal hobby, and already he’d been making plans for future dives, working toward his certifications, a trip to the Great Barrier Reef. Instead, as soon as he’d gone underwater, he’d known it was a horrible mistake. He followed every instruction, could perform every task, but moment by moment he had been more certain that he didn’t want to be down there, that he had never wanted anything less, and that he had to get out of the dive as fast as possible. After only twenty minutes he’d insisted on surfacing, and had never once attempted to repeat the experience.

The instructor had told him not to overthink his reaction. It was like that for some people. But Ben had always seen it as a failing, and his near-panic then as a total aberration in his life.

Yet here was the panic, rising up again.

James pulled out, just barely, the head of his cock still bumping against Ben’s wet lips. “I can use you all night if I want,” he whispered. “And I’m going to.”

“Yes,” Ben said, though a little voice inside said
no
.

“When I’m done with your mouth, I’m going to fuck you so hard you scream.”

“Yes.” Would that be better? When his mouth at least was his own again?
No. No, it wouldn’t.

Then James rammed into his mouth again, and Ben made a sound that only seemed to turn James on more. His fingers fisted hard in Ben’s hair, so hard it hurt, and now he wasn’t sucking James off. Now James was fucking his mouth.

“You’re mine,” James moaned as he thrust forward, each move rough. “You’re all mine, Ben.”

I’m all his alone in the dark and don’t be so
fucking ridiculous
, this is James, he loves you, it’s not like you haven’t had rough sex before and loved it, it’s only a game but it’s not, he doesn’t realize it’s not, I belong to him and I don’t have anything left, I can’t get away now no matter what—

James rocked forward, hard, forcing Ben to take his whole cock. Ben coughed around him, as desperate for air as though he were being choked. “You like that,” James said. His voice was shaking. “You fucking love it. You’re lucky I love it too.”

Hold on. Hold on. It’s going to be better in a second.

Then James pulled out, sweeping his thumb within Ben’s mouth, perhaps to feel the slickness of pre-come on Ben’s tongue. He made a low sound, dirty and possessive, and for some reason that was the limit.

Ben jerked his head back. “Kenya,” he gasped. “Kenya.”

“Oh!” For a moment James froze, and then he let go of Ben’s face and dropped to his knees beside him. Instantly Ben felt him working at the blindfold’s knot. The black cloth dropped away and he could see James’s face, stricken with concern. “Ben? I didn’t mean to—oh, God. Are you all right?”

“I just can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

James fumbled with the key of the handcuffs until they popped free of Ben’s wrists. Ben sat down heavily on the floor. The stones were no warmer now; if anything he shivered more violently. Although James cut an odd figure—fly open, still-half-erect cock exposed—his attention was all for Ben as he took Ben’s sweater from the floor and wrapped it around his shoulders like a blanket. “I didn’t mean to—I kept pulling out so you could say something if you needed to—and you did. Oh, God, I feel awful.”

“You did it right. I’m the one who couldn’t—” Ben didn’t have the word for what he hadn’t been able to do, or be.

“I thought you liked that kind of thing. But it was too much?”

“Yeah. It shouldn’t have been, but for some reason it was.”

“I went too far.” James looked so utterly horrified that Ben almost felt guilty, though he knew there was no reason for it. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. Really. You were trying to please me, and any other night, I swear, James, I would’ve loved it. But tonight I can’t.” Ben ran one hand through his hair. Reddish marks were still visible on his wrist. “I don’t know why.”

He knew why.

James began gathering Ben’s other clothes from the floor. “Come on. We’ll get dressed and go up to bed. Just hold each other close for a while.”

Poor James probably had the world’s worst case of blue balls at the moment, but he would still put Ben first. A wave of tenderness swept over Ben, doing more to calm him than anything else could have. “Yeah. Let’s go to bed.”

He felt better once they were upstairs under the covers, the corgis snoring slightly from their cushions on the floor. James held Ben snug in his arms until he dozed off, and even then his hand remained on Ben’s chest, his head on Ben’s shoulder.

Ben lay awake for a very long time.

In his head, James’s voice kept repeating,
You’re mine. You belong to me.
The hell of it was that it was true.

They went back to London a few days later, dungeon fantasy unfulfilled. James seemed oddly distant—not out of petulance, Ben knew, but something worse. He sensed the cold at the corners of the room now; he saw the shadows. Although Ben had hated being alone in the dark, he hated the thought of James glimpsing it even more. Once James had seen it, there would be no pretending that things were perfect between them. Ben felt like he had to keep pretending, or else James would slip away.

On the day after their return, they had a brief meeting with Kimberley Tseng; royal headlines were temporarily being monopolized by “Mellie,” as the papers speculated anew about her drug dependency. This set James off on another round of self-recrimination, which always meant him closing off for a while.

James wanted to go to Kensington Palace to speak with Indigo right away, which meant Ben had a few moments alone with Kimberley at the end. He’d been hoping for just such a chance for a few days. “Kimberley? I’d wanted to ask, well, how things went.”

“What things?” Kimberley was already returning to her near-constant communion with her electronic devices.

As much as Ben hated bringing the name up again, he had to know. “With Warner Clifton. Is he—what is he threatening to do? What did he say?”

“Don’t concern yourself with that.” She smiled, a tight, self-satisfied expression. “Mr. Clifton will not present a problem for you or the Prince Regent, either now or in the future. Rest assured.”

But that news didn’t come as a relief. Warner—manipulative, controlling, confusing figure that he was—had been the single most powerful element in Ben’s life until a few months ago. Once Ben had believed Warner was his “fate.” Now he knew that even Warner could be erased, in a single stroke, without anyone at the palace blinking an eye.

My fate.

***

It felt as though they were tiptoeing around each other, James thought. He knew he needed to be careful with Ben right now. Probably they both just needed a little while to sort themselves out, and his upcoming trip to the Netherlands would surely give them that.

“You won’t be bored, will you?” James asked the night before he left. “It’s only for six days.”

“So you’ve said at least three dozen times.” Ben looked more amused than irritated—but a sliver of irritation was definitely there. They were sitting on the sofa after dinner, procrastinating going to bed. “I’ve got my book to work on, remember?”

“Of course. I only wish I didn’t have to leave you, that’s all.” He brushed his hand against Ben’s. “But if I hadn’t had to reschedule the Netherlands trip in the first place, we’d never have had our weekend in Islington. I wouldn’t trade that for the world.”

“Me either.” When Ben lifted James’s hand and kissed it, his eyes were soft. They were all right again.

Enthusiasm restored, James said, “Remember, the security team is ready to take you anywhere you’d like to go. Places like movie theaters—the paparazzi don’t follow inside.” But who would Ben have to go with? Hastily, James added, “And if you’d rather stay in—oh, I know. You’ll have some time to confer with Paulson.”

“Your valet?”

“Of course. He’s advised you before; I’m sure he’d be more than happy to do so again. You could order a few new suits, perhaps. Not that the one you have isn’t stunning on you, but at this rate you’ll wear it out within a year.”

Ben gave James a look. “Who would be paying for these suits?”

“Paying?” The thought had never occurred to James. He knew suits weren’t free, of course, but these matters were taken care of by Paulson, working with the household accounts. “Just tell Paulson to handle the billing for yours the same way he does my own.”

“That means you’d be paying for them.”

“What does that matter? It’s not as though I can’t afford a few extra suits, for God’s sake.”

“Well, I can’t,” Ben said. His expression had hardened. “I don’t intend to live on your charity.”

“Charity? Ben, don’t be ridiculous. What’s mine is yours.”

That made Ben laugh; it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Not even you could be that naïve, James. What’s yours isn’t mine. If you’ve forgotten that, trust me, no one else has.”

James tried to let it go. “Is this about those stupid tabloid headlines? The ‘freeloader’ business? Come on, you know there’s nothing to that.”

“If I let you support me, then those headlines are true.”

“You can’t let those idiots get to you.”

For some reason, that was what made Ben’s temper snap. “Have you not been paying attention?” He pushed himself up from the sofa. “They already got my job. They already got what fragment of a social life I had here in London. They got my privacy. They got my dead parents. They even put my fucking dick on the front page. What, exactly, is it you think I have that they can’t ‘get to’? From where I’m standing, they’ve already gotten to me.”

“I realize that, of course.” James didn’t know what to say. “I wasn’t trying to, ah, to make light of what you’ve been though.”

“Why shouldn’t you? Nothing’s changed for you, except for the better.”

“I thought your life was better too! Does it mean nothing to you, the fact that we’re together? That we get to live without shame, out in the open?”

“You were the one who felt shame, not me,” Ben shot back.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“That’s what you said.”

James was being baited, and he knew it. So he rose from the sofa as well, the better to face Ben. “Are you so sure you’re not ashamed? You’re the one who’s spent most of the past month hiding in here instead of facing the world.”

“Hiding?”
Ben’s face darkened.

“What else do you want to call it? I want to have people over to dinner, and you won’t hear of it. I reserve the royal box at concerts and plays, and you act like I’m dragging you out of the house.”

“What the hell does any of that have to do with us?”

“It’s life, Ben! Just—life! Are we supposed to lock ourselves away in these same few rooms forever? Never seeing anyone else, never able to tell each other anything new, ever again? Is that how you want to live?”

“How do you suggest we do it? Parade around like show ponies every day, never doing one genuine thing or saying one sincere word? Then again, I guess you’re used to that.”

Fine.
If Ben wanted a row, he could have one. “How the hell would you know what my public life is like when you won’t have anything to do with it?”

“If you think I’m going to be led around on collar and leash”—for some reason that phrase made Ben choke on his words, but he pushed past it—“like one of the bloody corgis, while you flirt with a whole new set of boys the entire time, well, think again.”

The rest of the argument, largely repetitive, lasted about five minutes. To James it felt more like five hours. He usually worked to avoid conflict, not seek it out. Until this moment, he’d thought nobody but Richard could ever make him this angry. Worse yet was seeing that Ben was even angrier.

But just as James was on the verge of well and truly beginning to scream, Ben beat him to it. “Do you really not see it?” His voice was hoarse, every muscle in his body tense. “Do you not see what they’ve done to me?”

That phrase broke through it all. For the first time, James realized Ben’s anger had relatively little to do with him, save for his obliviousness about Ben’s plight. Ben had done such a good job of pretending to be blithe in the face of public mockery and condemnation that James, stupidly, had believed him. He’d wanted to believe it so badly, to believe in Ben as someone so courageous and worldly that gossip had no effect on him—that he was above it all. But even Ben, his heroic and beautiful Ben, could get caught in the mire.