The Square Peg (22 page)

close, or I’ve been with someone who picked up on a signal I was giving, and things got

a bit out there, but none of them ever made me feel the way you do.”

“How do I make you feel?” Ben asked. “I’m not looking for compliments; I want

to know,” he added.

“Confused,” Shane said with a small smile. “I don’t know, all right? It’s hard to

put it into words. You make me feel…more myself, I suppose. Closer to whoever I

really am than I manage most of the time.”

“Until I piss you off.” Ben reached for Shane’s good hand and turned it over,

running his fingertips over the palm. “Then you go around punching walls.” He

studied Shane’s face, wondering if his father had anticipated there might be something

between them. It was an uncomfortable thought, though, so he set it aside.

“I’ll make an effort not to do that again,” Shane said. “If you’ll try to refrain from

calling me a whore.”

Ben nodded. “Deal. But that wasn’t what I meant.”

“I know. Just trust me when I say I don’t go to bed with anyone unless I want to,

and that includes you, no matter how much money—or how little—you’re putting into

the bar.”

“And what we’re doing works for you? The, um. You know.”

“Think you ought to be able to say it if we’re going to do it,” Shane said. He

seemed amused. “S and M, I suppose, if we need to give it a name. And yes, it works

for me. Did it look like I wasn’t enjoying myself?”

Ben could feel himself blushing. “I can’t believe we did that in the women’s

bathroom. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

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“You were thinking you wanted to get off.” Shane shrugged. “So did I. We did.

End of story as far as I’m concerned, though I’d agree there are better places. I’m not

keen on the idea of someone walking in on us.”

Imagining that made Ben blush even more. He wasn’t a prude, but these were

people he had to work with. The thought of one of them seeing him naked made him

feel faintly ill. Something occurred to him, and he cupped Shane’s face before he said it,

needing that point of contact. It didn’t hurt that Shane went still when he did it, barely

breathing, as if holding himself ready for whatever Ben had in mind. Neither of them

were aroused—at least Ben knew he wasn’t, and he didn’t see how Shane could be

feeling anything but the pain of his hand—but he could still feel the connection they’d

forged.

“I wasn’t pretending to be angry with you when we started, you know. I was mad

as hell about the way you’d let the place slide.”

“I got that,” Shane said wryly. “Nice to know how to get back on your good side.”

Without thinking, Ben moved his hand down to Shane’s chin, using his grip to

shake Shane’s head from side to side in a reprimand. “No. That’s not what happened.”

“Isn’t it?” Shane murmured. “Seem to remember someone telling me to show him

I was sorry.”

“Yes, and it was because you were willing to do it, not what you did, that

counted.”

“Splitting hairs.” Shane tilted his head back, freeing himself from Ben’s grip. “You

could’ve had me kissing your shoes, not your dick. You didn’t.”

“Don’t give me ideas,” Ben said, meaning every word. He couldn’t resist asking,

“Would you have done that? If I’d asked?”

Shane yawned, his eyelids half-closed. “If you’d asked? No. If you’d told me to,

yeah, maybe, though given the state of that floor, I’d have brushed my teeth afterward.

With bleach.”

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“Well, if the floor was filthy, whose fault is that?” Ben asked.

Shane smiled, slow and sleepy, and leaned in to kiss Ben’s lips, the kiss penitent,

respectful. “Mine, Benedict, all mine.” Shane stood and stretched his arms over his

head, providing an unconscious display of his body that Ben appreciated. “Now piss off

and let me take a shower and a nap. There’re plenty of people downstairs to order

about if you’re still in the mood.”

“I’m not,” Ben said, but he patted Shane’s hip and started downstairs.

Sometimes even he could do as he was told.

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Chapter Twelve

The din in the bar was deafening, but Shane continued to remind himself it would

be worth it in the end. The last of the new walls was going up today—or so he’d been

told. Charlie had done right by them. The man was a stickler for keeping to the

schedule, though Shane didn’t envy the man’s employees when he heard Charlie’s

barked orders and insistence that they stay late when necessary.

Shane bent to dip the paint roller into the paint again. His hand was much better

than it had been last night, when he’d worried he might have chipped a bone and what

he’d do if he had to go to hospital. He didn’t have the money for medical bills. He’d

gone to bed with a fresh makeshift ice pack wrapped around his knuckles (and woken

with all the ice melted and soaked into his mattress) and the swelling was far less

significant as a result. Benedict had been right about the bruising being impressive, but

he could live with that for a few days. He could still work, so it was all right.

The walls were starting to look good with a fresh coat of paint. Once that was

done, the floors could be sanded and refinished, the rest of the fine details of the snug

could be sorted, and they’d be ready to open again.

“Careful, that’s still wet,” he heard Patrick say.

“Thanks,” Benedict said. He gave Patrick an apologetic smile. “I know we met the

first time I visited the bar, but I don’t think I got your name.”

Shane turned and set the roller down in the tray. “This is Patrick. He’s the part-

timer.”

“I like to say my day job is as a DJ, but really it’s a night job,” Patrick said

cheerfully. He’d been painting trim, something it had turned out he could do without

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nearly as many mistakes as any of the rest of them. “I’d shake your hand, but you look

as if you came from a photo shoot.”

“I had to go into the office.” Benedict didn’t look happy about that, and why

would he when he’d booked the week off? “Urgent meeting with a client. I’ve got

something to change into so I can help, though.”

“You can change in my place if you want,” Shane offered. “If you do it down here,

chances are you’ll end up with paint on your suit no matter where you leave it.”

“Thanks,” Benedict said. He looked around and nodded slowly, a smile replacing

the stressed frown. “It’s looking good. Really good.”

“Yeah.” Shane felt proud of what they’d accomplished in a short time and on a

shoestring budget. The paint lifted the whole place, and with the windows open and a

few fans running, the paint smell would have faded by the time they reopened. “Got a

plumber coming in tomorrow to install new toilets and sinks in the washrooms.

Shouldn’t take him long. I went with plain white, nothing fancy, but they’ll be night

and day to what’s in there now.”

“Good job, Shane.” The warm approval in Benedict’s voice flustered Shane. He

liked it, but he hated that he liked it. It was one thing to get off on what Benedict did to

him, but rolling over, paws waving, tail wagging at a word of praise…no.

He hunched his shoulder irritably, then picked up the roller and brought it over to

the wall without getting rid of the excess paint. Paint dripped over his hand and down

his sleeve, pooling on the dust sheet. “Fuck!” He dropped the roller back into the tray

and tried futilely to wipe the paint off with a rag, only succeeding in spreading it

around.

“Looks as if we’ll both be getting changed.” Benedict nodded at Patrick and

walked away, his dark suit and crisp gray shirt out of place in the bar, but perfect on

him, leaving Shane with no option but to follow him.

Watching Benedict’s arse as they made their way up the stairs was some

consolation. Under the smooth, no doubt expensive, fabric of his suit trousers, his

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rounded cheeks were mesmerizing. It was all Shane could do not to reach out and

caress them, but there were half a dozen reasons not to, the first of which was that he’d

no idea how Benedict would react if he did. The man was an enigma, difficult to

predict. That was probably why Shane couldn’t stop thinking about him.

“Change in the bathroom if you like,” Shane said, but Benedict was already

stepping into the bedroom and setting the sports bag he’d brought with him on the

chair near the door. Actually, if he were being accurate, Shane would have to admit the

bag was on the crooked tower of things on the chair. “Or here is fine.”

Benedict shrugged out of his jacket and draped it on the end of the bed. “Is it okay

if I leave this stuff up here until later?”

“Yeah, of course.” Shane reached for the hem of his shirt.

“Don’t.” Benedict was watching him.

Shane let his hand fall at his side, waiting.

“I want to do it.” Stepping closer, Benedict rubbed a thumb against Shane’s lower

lip. Shane felt his dick start to harden and wondered if Benedict could tell he wasn’t

wearing anything under his jeans. Benedict’s hand slid slowly down over Shane’s chest

to his stomach, fingers taking hold of his shirt and toying with it. In fact, Shane had the

distinct impression that he was being teased.

Abruptly, Benedict moved.

Shane found himself spun around, the front edge of his shirt pulled over his head

and down to his elbows before it was twisted, trapping his arms. “What the fuck?” He

struggled. What the hell was Benedict playing at?

And Benedict tightened his grip.

It made Shane’s shoulders ache, but he stopped moving.

“Quiet,” Benedict said. His hand found the front of Shane’s jeans and rubbed his

erection. “I want to fuck you. I’ve wanted to fuck you all day.”

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Shane groaned and let his head tip forward as much as it could, given his position.

He wanted to feel Benedict’s hand on his bare skin, stroking his cock or tugging at his

balls. “You think wanting something means you automatically get it?”

“Yes. Actually, I do. When it comes to you.” Benedict pinched one of Shane’s

nipples hard, while rubbing his cock slowly against Shane’s arse. “What if I decided I

wanted to fuck you without a condom?”

“You wouldn’t.” Shane wasn’t a bit convinced that was true. He lurched forward

without warning, and Benedict shoved him another three steps into the wall so he had

to turn his face to the side. The wall was hard against his cheekbone and jaw.

“I would,” Benedict said. “I think I will.”

There was the smooth sound of leather against fabric. Shane felt his arms tugged

backward even more; then Benedict’s belt was tightened around his wrists. He hadn’t

thought Benedict would take it this far, but it was too late to do anything about it now.

He was well and truly restrained.

“Don’t. Please. God, what’s brought this on, anyway?” Shane couldn’t see

Benedict, but he could smell the faint citrus of Benedict’s cologne, and feel the warmth

of his breath as Benedict crowded in closer, trapping Shane between the wall and his

body.

“I had a truly shitty morning,” Benedict said and bit the curve where Shane’s neck

became shoulder, a savage dig of teeth that left Shane’s skin throbbing. He moaned, a

sound that brought a satisfied grunt from Benedict. “You’re going to make it better. Be

the scapegoat for that stupid fucking client who doesn’t know what he wants but thinks

he knows more than me. I can’t fuck him up against a wall and make him lick my dick

clean after I’m done with him, but I can do that to you.”

Shane concentrated on steadying the rapid thud of his heart as he processed that,

his head a chaotic jumble of images and fragments of words he couldn’t form into

sentences. Benedict’s sudden assault had left him unbearably excited and wound up,

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but the thought that he was in this position, his shirt cutting into his arms, about to be

fucked, used, because another man had pissed off Benedict…

He rubbed his face against the cool wall, reduced to nothing but an outlet for

Benedict’s frustration and soaring on the rush that gave him.

“Yeah,” he said, too aroused to care that his voice was shaking. “Yeah, you can.”

“I know,” Benedict said and bit Shane’s neck again, sucking hard at the captured

flesh so that when he pulled back, he left heat with the pain and wetness.

Two fingers were suddenly pushed into Shane’s mouth. “This is all the lube

you’re getting. Do a good job.”

Shane was trembling and grateful he had the wall and Benedict propping him up.

Benedict was rough, shoving his fingers over Shane’s tongue and teeth as Shane did his

best to work up saliva in a mouth suddenly gone dry. Good thing he’d mastered his gag