Lips closed around the head of Ben’s cock, bringing him to full attention, moved away again.
“I lied.”
Fingers ringing the base of his erection, nesting in the coarse hair.
“I don’t deserve another chance. But if you gave me one, I would earn it, Ben. I would. I swear.”
“Don’t,” Ben managed. “Please. Please don’t.”
“I don’t want you to pretend now,” Jonah whispered, breath tickling Ben’s tight, hot skin. “We both know it’s not then any more. I’m not who you thought. I’m the worthless, illiterate fool who lied to you and used you and ruined you and…I want you to let me suck you, the person I am. Stupid, stupid me.”
Was he asking for forgiveness? Acceptance? Ben didn’t know which, didn’t know if he could grant either, or if he deserved to. He had no idea what to say, but his hands were in Jonah’s tousled hair, pushing his head down, and Jonah gave a moan of pleasure and sucked Ben hard into his mouth.
And Ben did as he had asked. He thought of flawed, lying Jonah, with his assurances of “contract work” and questions about Ben’s investigations, and the burglar in the Tring Museum, and that dreadful last kiss in the carriage, Jonah’s wet eyes as he left Ben behind. He thought of Jonah running from the law, and flat on the bed in a whorehouse, pretending helplessness to let Ben slake his anger. He thought of all those things as Jonah sucked and licked and served him with mouth alone, fingers gripping Ben’s thighs, letting the anger and misery build along with the arousal, a boil to be lanced. He gripped Jonah’s hair tighter, pushing his head down, thrusting up into his mouth, but he couldn’t force Jonah harder than the man was forcing himself, taking Ben’s substantial cock to the root, groaning around it, and when Ben came, it was with a rush of pleasure and pain and love and hate that emptied his soul along with his balls.
He flopped back onto the hard bolster, shaking. Jonah crawled up next to him, and put a tentative hand out, and Ben pulled him into his arms, felt him shudder and held him tight.
Chapter Ten
The next morning, he woke alone.
It was a shock to find the bed empty. That was absurd—it was months since he and Jonah had slept together, he should be used to it, but Jonah’s scent was around him and for a moment he had believed himself back in the cottage on the lane. The reality thudded into him like a stone weight.
He lay there, breathing, until a thought came that made him jerk upright.
Had Jonah gone?
Surely not. Ben was going to leave, he’d decided that, and last night had made it all the more necessary. Too sweet, too dangerous. He was crawling back into Jonah’s web, mindless as any fly, and the fact that the spider intended him no harm didn’t make his embrace any safer. So Ben was going to leave.
Ben, not Jonah. He couldn’t go, couldn’t have left without saying goodbye. Surely to God he wouldn’t have done that.
Ben was pushing back the bedclothes in a sudden panic, just as the door opened and Jonah came in.
“Morning.” He had an earthenware mug in each hand, both steaming. “Tea?”
Ben slumped back against the bolster and the chilly plaster of the wall. “Thanks.”
Jonah handed him a mug and came to sit on the bed. He smiled at Ben, but he looked a little nervous. About last night, what had been said in the dark.
Do it. Spenser, you coward, do it.
“Jonah,” he said, as Jonah said, “Ben—”
They both smiled, awkwardly.
“You first,” Ben said. Coward. You’re just putting it off.
“Well, what it is, the thing is…I talked to Mrs. Linney.” Jonah spoke in a rush. “You know, after last night, with everything she told us—”
“Wait. Who?”
“Mrs. Linney. The landlady? She was telling us about her situation—I knew you weren’t listening.” Jonah gave a theatrical sigh. “She can’t afford help to keep this place up, and we don’t have anywhere we need to be, and I thought—well, what I suggested was, we could do it. For a couple of days. We can fix things and chop wood or what have you. And she can’t pay us, but she can feed us and let us stay here and lend us clothes, she says, and I know it’s not money, which we need, but actually, I need a few days of not running. We can always choose a place to go later, we’re in no hurry, and nobody will find us here. And I don’t know how to do household tasks and mend things, as such, but you do, and you can show me, and I do wish you’d say something. Ben? Was that wrong?” He looked deeply uncertain. “You don’t have to— If you don’t want to stay, that’s all right. But I thought we could work for our keep here—”
“It’s not wrong,” Ben managed. “It’s brilliant. I didn’t realise—were you planning this last night?”
“I had an idea,” Jonah said, somewhat smugly. “I thought I’d see. And it worked.” His face stilled, looking at Ben. “I meant what I said,” he went on. “I’m not assuming anything. We’ll do whatever you want.”