Nikolas flashed a smile at his wife but turned a meaningful look on Ben. “You have made yourself invaluable to me, Benjamin.”
Ben kept his eyes on his plate and gulped some more wine.
§§§
Going shooting apparently required a huge amount of barking and shouting, so it was with some relief that Ben finally heard the door to the gunroom slam, a few final raised voices, one yelp, and then silence. He was in the billiard room, lazily knocking balls round by hand. He heard the door open and turned. That was all it took—the sight of Nikolas walking towards him. All his pent-up need broke free, blindsiding him with desire. It didn’t help to have the edge of the table under his butt. That table evoked a lot of memories. Nikolas came closer, running his hand over the polished edge, seeming lost in thought. Ben closed his eyes with anticipation.
“What do you know about badgers, Benjamin?”
Okay…“I’m sorry?”
Nikolas chuckled at his expression. “They are small, and black and—”
“I fucking know what they are. I mean…sir. Sorry, but I—”
“Why do you always call me sir?”
“Why do you always call me Benjamin?”
“Touché. But,” he ran his fingers through the short hair at the back of Ben’s head, “you can call me Nikolas, you know. Especially when I come inside you. That would be appropriate, do you not think?”
Ben swallowed. “Then call me Ben.”
Nikolas laughed. “You would have to put a gun to my head first, I abhor nicknames. Besides, I like Benjamin. It is very you.”
“No, it’s not. It’s some poncy public school boy my mother wanted me to be.”
“But not the hard tearaway who joined the army at sixteen and passed Selection the first time he tried it?”
“No, not him. He’s Ben.”
“Maybe I like public school boys.” He unbuttoned Ben’s shirt.
“Then you’ve got your pick out there, sir. Why waste the afternoon in here with me, and did you really start this off by asking me what I know about badgers?”
“Hmm. I think I did. I believe you have distracted me though.” Nikolas stroked briefly over the bullet wound, now just a scar on Ben’s ribs. Then he bent his face closer and totally unexpectedly nipped at the warm skin.
“Ow! Jesus!” Ben widened his eyes in disbelief at the visible bite mark around his nipple. “That hurt!”
“Good.” Nikolas did it again to the other one. Ben’s head went back, his knuckles gripping the table until they went white.
He felt his belt being undone and strong hands slid in under his waistband to cup his cheeks. Nikolas pressed against him, need evident, their cocks connecting and rubbing, creating delicious anticipation. “Turn around, Benjamin.”
Ben did, his hardness now pressing into the edge of the solid table. Nikolas eased Ben’s jeans down just enough, and then all Ben felt was dry friction until it wasn’t painful at all, until it was good and then great—and then the long, slow build up to the very best. Nikolas slid a hand up under Ben’s shirt, spreading his fingers over Ben’s back, holding him down. The other hand gripped Ben’s hip determinedly as he rode the hard muscular figure. If Ben thought about Nikolas riding his horse, primal and ferocious, it only added to the great wrongness of the whole scene. They didn’t say much; they never did. When it was like this, this was all they needed. Ben suddenly grunted, “I’m gonna come…”
Nikolas leaned over his back, thrusting harder. “Do not mark my expensive table.”
“What? Fuck!” He put his hand down and caught his release awkwardly, wiping it on his jeans in disgust as Nikolas came inside him, swearing something in his own language, draping boneless and drained over Ben’s back. Then he straightened and slapped Ben hard on the backside as he pulled out. “Good boy. Now…badgers.”
Ben sank to his knees. “Oh, God. You’re insane.”
Nikolas came to his side, tucked away and immaculate as always. “I’ve been called that before.” He offered Ben a hand and uncharacteristically assisted in tucking him in and making him presentable. Then he caught Ben’s gaze and added thoughtfully, “You make me mad this day.”
“Huh?”
Nikolas flushed slightly, high on his cheekbones, an even more uncharacteristic gesture than the helpfulness. “My English has failed me.”
“I’ve made you mad today? How? Why?”
