‘Early breakfast, tea and my newspaper?’
Ben shook his head sorrowfully. ‘Not on my list. Sorry.’
‘Oh, you have a list? This might be interesting.’
‘Hmm. I began it in Kittiwake—all the punishments you deserved but missed out on there.’
‘Harsh.’
‘But also true. So…’ Aleksey gasped in genuine pain when Ben’s finger dug straight beneath his ribs, and he tried to curl up, but the weight pinning him down was far too heavy. Obviously, Ben knew this and wasn’t worried his victim was going to escape anytime soon. He reached a hand behind him. Aleksey went very still. Ben wouldn’t permanently damage him, but he would hurt him if he felt in the mood. Sometimes, recovering from Ben’s rare but effective punishments could put him out of action for anything else fun for at least a day.
Trying to avert such a consequence of Ben’s playful mood, Aleksey muttered, ‘Do you know the word for someone who likes inflicting pain?’
‘Yes. You.’
‘I don’tlikeit. I do it for your bene—ugh.’ He held his breath, eyes closed, as Ben’s incredibly powerful grip began to crush his testicles. He could only hope his confidence that Ben liked these almost as much as he did wasn’t misplaced. He swallowed deeply and finished his illustrative point. ‘A sadist.’
Ben stopped the squeeze, chuckling at his own power. ‘Turn over.’
Aleksey heard something in this he didn’t much like. Turn-the-fuck-over Benjamin was one thing, but that command had something of cold calculation in it that was ominous.
‘No.’
Ben bent down again, pursing his lips, considering this refusal. ‘Don’t force me to make you—you know I can.’
Aleksey wobbled his hand provocatively.
It provoked Ben, anyway. With a surge of power, he grabbed the offending hand and brought it over to the other side of his body, pinning it there with one hand, and with the twist he’d created, flipped him over as easily as a drowning man might be put into the recovery position, except he was face down in the pillow and being held there. Again, he assumed Ben wouldn’t actually suffocate him, so he held still, waiting his moment.
It didn’t come.
Ben took the hand he was pinning, and before Aleksey knew what had happened it was fastened to the top legs of the bed, and at this exact moment when he saw his error, the other hand was seized and tied as well. It wouldn’t have been that much of a problem, except Ben, having had this planned and the ties already in place, grabbed one ankle and got that trapped before he could rise to his hands and knees and fight back. One leg was still free however, so he swung that as best as he could and got a bit of a kick in. Ben didn’t take it in the spirit it was intended, however, and only snorted in scorn.
When he was entirely bound, spread like a prone Vitruvian Man, Ben announced, clearly very pleased with himself, ‘Right. Breakfast. Good idea,’ and left him to it. When he returned, he had indeed brought a tray of food—for himself. He sat munching his toast and marmalade with genuine relish, cross-legged next to him. He pointed out quite reasonably, and kindly, that he’d offer him some, only he wouldn’t be able to eat it.
Torn between rage and extreme amusement at Ben’s audacity, Aleksey was effectively silenced in response. Ben had done this to him before, once not in jest, and could be entirely unpredictable about releasing him. Sometimes threats worked, sometimes contrition, but once or twice he’d just had to put up with the indignity until Ben had had his fun.
Finally, Ben put his tray down on the floor and then got comfortable alongside him, head propped up on one elbow. ‘You don’t remember what day this is, do you?’
Fuck. Aleksey suspected he wasn’t the only man in the world who sensed an immediate and extremely unpleasant hint of danger lurking just around the corner at being asked such a question. It created a lose-lose scenario: admitting hedidknow but that he’d just ignored its significance, or that he didn’t know because it wasn’t significant tohimwere probably equally bad responses. But then he remembered that Ben was also a man so muttered something along these lines, which made Ben smile. ‘It’s a year ago today you came home from the hospital—broken.’
Aleksey frowned. ‘Really? You’ve remembered that?’
‘I have.’ Ben began a slow, almost unconscious stroking of one of the stretched arms. ‘I’ve been thinking.’Oh, Godcrossed Aleksey’s mind, but given his current situation, he felt it best not to vocalise this. ‘I saw you at Christmas—when Jennifer gave Mol Mol the pictures of Kate. I know what you were thinking.’I sincerely hope notflicked rapidly across his mind at that, but once more he only grunted in response. ‘So, here’s the thing, I guess. When I woke up this morning and realised what the day was, I got to thinking back to you leaving me—that’s not why you’re tethered now, by the way. No, I realised that you still don’t get it. I told Squeezy in Harry’s garden in Topsham, but I guess I should have said it directly to you: I don’t care what you’ve done, and I don’t care what you do in the future.Whateveryou’ve done, Nik. Idon’t careanymore. Tell me, don’t tell me, but nothing you’ve done will ever change the way I feel about you.’
‘So not telling youisan option then?’
Ben snorted softly. ‘Yeah, that might be the best one.’ He lowered his eyes to watch the repetitive stroking, apparently not even realising the effect his long eyelashes spread on his cheeks had on the already intimate moment.
‘Sometimes I know exactly what you’re thinking—most of the time if I put my mind to it, but then there are those moments—like with the album—when I look up and there’s that stranger I met in London staring back at me with that unfathomable gaze—you’ve gone, and he’s sitting there wearing your skin.’ He lifted his eyes once more. ‘I don’t want the day to come when you can’t fight him off. When you just up and try to run away from him again.’
‘I was leaving, not—’
‘Yeah, I know. Whatever.’
‘I’ve told you, Ben: I willneverleave you.’
‘Yes, I know. But you have a way of justifying things to yourself that seem to make total sense to you at the time. See, I don’t think what you rationalised is true at all. You weren’t leavingme—not the me who loved you or the me who you thought didn’t anymore. In your weird mind, you were leavinghim—the stranger you used to be.’
