The Square Peg (27 page)

think this one,” he said, scraping his nail across the right nipple and sliding his other

hand down Shane’s belly to his cock. “You really haven’t come for days?”

“What do you think?” Shane’s eyes were half-closed, and his lower lip looked soft,

ready to be bitten hot and swollen.

“I think I’m impressed,” Ben said. “And I think the next time you do, it’s gonna be

so good. And all mine, so don’t even think about doing it without me.”

Shane whimpered as Ben squeezed his cock through his pants. “Fuck. Benedict. I

can’t wait much longer. I’ll fucking come in my sleep.”

“Hey, guys! We need you out here!” It was Patrick’s voice through the locked

door, bright and chirpy as ever.

“Be right there!” Shane called back and pulled Ben in for a desperate, hungry kiss.

“Jesus, you’re going to be the death of me.”

Ben shook his head and moved Shane’s T-shirt back into position. “You can wait. I

have faith in you.”

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“You’re probably the only one who ever has.” Shane smoothed the front of his T-

shirt, following the path Ben’s hand had taken. “You’re not pissed I turned you down?”

There was enough concern behind the question to make Ben want to draw Shane

close again for another kiss, but if he did, he wasn’t sure they’d be able to stop

themselves from taking things to the logical conclusion.

“I’m kind of relieved one of us has some sense,” he said lightly.

Shane gave him a shrewd glance as he unlocked the office door. “You mean you’re

glad to know I’ll tell you to put the brakes on.”

“That too,” Ben admitted. “But I can tell you now, I don’t care how late we close,

or how tired we are—I’m not going home until I’ve seen you come.”

Shane smiled at that, a small, pleased smile. It stayed with Ben through the long

hours that followed, keeping his arousal simmering—and flaring—when Shane

deliberately flirted with a few men, always making sure Ben was watching before

putting his hand on a broad shoulder or laughing up into a good-looking face.

It made Ben even more determined to hang around until closing time.

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Chapter Fourteen

Shane was used to working until the small hours of the morning. He didn’t do it

every night—didn’t think anyone could—but he did it often enough that he wasn’t

exhausted by the time Vincent and Patrick finally left for a party, a few minutes after

Shelly and Dave. He locked the door behind them, then stood there for a moment,

replaying the day in his head. It had been a huge success, and while they’d all worked

hard, they basically had Benedict to thank for it.

He turned and switched off the main lights, leaving on only the ones at the back of

the room. It was plenty of light to see by, but the sudden change created shadows on

the walls and floor, dark tendrils stretching toward him. If he’d been a less practical

man, he might well have frightened himself with them.

Slowly, feeling the ache in his feet that no high-quality trainers he’d yet bought

could stave off, Shane walked across the floor toward the bar. He and Benedict were the

only two left in the building; he assumed Benedict was in the office since he hadn’t seen

him for ten minutes or so. Shane glanced behind the bar to make sure there weren’t any

lingering chores that had been neglected and became aware he was looking for excuses

to put this off.

This, of course, being whatever Benedict had planned.

Shane was worried that in the time since Benedict had told him to strip off so he

could be fucked on his desk, Benedict might have changed his mind. He didn’t want

that, and he’d rather put off finding out it was happening if possible.

“Has everyone gone?” Benedict asked, and Shane turned toward his voice, the

movement made before Benedict had started to speak. He was always aware of

Benedict’s presence. It’d reached the point where he could walk into the bar, and no

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matter how crowded, he knew if Benedict was there. Which was
woo-woo
as hell, but he

didn’t care.

“That’s the last of them,” he agreed. “Are you as tired as I am?” It was an attempt

to give Benedict an excuse for going home if that was what Benedict wanted to do.

“Not so tired I forgot our plans,” Benedict said. He was standing in the shadow

near the pool table, so Shane walked toward him. “I did change my mind about

something.”

Shit
. “What’s that?”

Benedict stepped forward and ran a hand along the edge of the pool table. “I think

I’d rather fuck you here.”

They’d taken the cover off toward the end of the night when the crowd had

thinned. A group of four men had asked to use it for a best-of-three game of doubles,

and from what Shane had overheard as he’d walked by, the winners were going to be

fucking the losers. Since they’d paired off in couples, it was going to be an interesting

evening for the four of them, but Shane wouldn’t have swapped places with them or

anyone else who’d been in the bar that night.

Shane felt arousal strike like a blow. If he was fucked in here, he’d never forget it.

Every time he walked past the pool table, he’d picture himself spread out, bent over,

squirming, begging…

“Do it,” he said, ready to fall to his knees on the spot if Benedict wanted a thank-

you in advance.

“Oh, I will. But it doesn’t seem right to just dive in.” Benedict picked up one of the

cues that’d been left on the table. “Grab a cue, Shane. If you beat me at eight-ball, I’ll let

you choose.”

“Choose what?” God, his hands were shaking already, as if he were an addict

jonesing for a fix. He was confident of his ability to win, even if the rules over here were

different in many ways. He’d been playing pool since he was thirteen, learning the

game at a working man’s club at the end of the road while his mum played bingo.

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181

Geoff, his tutor, had been a tall, stooped man, his mustache drooping sadly, but he’d

been kind. His pension had barely stretched to cover a pint of beer a couple of nights a

week, but he’d always had a few spare coins to feed into the pool table.

Geoff would’ve given him hell for messing up the cloth. Shane sent the long-dead

man a silent apology.

“You didn’t seriously think I’d let you get away with your little game, did you?”

Oh. That
. Shane grinned, unrepentant and ready to pay for his fun. “Thought you

might like a reason to show me who’s boss.”

“Not really.” Benedict held the cue in the middle and tapped the chalk-tipped end

against his palm. “And you’re going to choose between my hand or this on your ass

before I fuck it. If I win, I’ll just give you both.”

“You want to—” Shane shook his head, the lurch in his stomach down to

excitement, not apprehension. “I’ve never done that.”

“Neither have I. Better hope you enjoy it, because one way or another, your ass is

going to find out how much I appreciate you deliberately disobeying me.”

Benedict picked up the cube of chalk and fitted it to the tip of his cue, the
squeak
as

he ground it down loud in the silence between them. “Set them up,” Benedict said.

Biting his lip, Shane obeyed. He didn’t play often these days, but the routine of

fitting the balls into the rack was second nature, something he’d never forget. He

probably could have done it in his sleep. It was easy to rack the balls and pay attention

to Benedict at the same time; Benedict’s gaze on him was warm and made his skin

tingle with anticipation. He set the front ball on the foot, pushed the balls forward into

contact with one another, and lifted the rack away.

He looked at Benedict, waiting for further instruction. Benedict waved at the table.

“Break.”

“Don’t you want to flip for it?” Shane asked, and Benedict’s face went cold.

“If I did, I would have.”

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Shane turned and chose a cue. He didn’t like seeing Benedict’s disapproval, but at

the same time it made him hot, and he wasn’t sure it mattered why. He was hard as a

rock again after having been half-hard all night. At least his hands were steady as he

lined up his cue and hit the apex ball with a solid, satisfying sound. The balls scattered

across the table like buzzing bees, bouncing off the felt sides of the table and each other,

and the nine ball hovered on the edge of a pocket for a second before tipping over and

falling neatly in.

“Nice,” Benedict said, as if he didn’t care one way or the other but knew a

response was expected. Shane wondered what Benedict would say, how his voice

would sound, if he wasn’t focused on what he thought was expected of him.

He hoped he’d get to find out.

The stripes were placed so Shane only had one shot open, the twelve sitting next

to the top left pocket, needing just a tap to sink it. He made the shot, and the next, then

ran into trouble trying to double the fourteen across the table.

The trouble wasn’t with the shot, but the way Benedict was staring at his arse

when Shane bent over. He was tempted to wiggle it, but he wouldn’t put it past

Benedict to dish out a slap or two ahead of the main event. This was foreplay, not pool.

They played in silence, the
snick
of the balls as they were struck an oddly calming

sound. Shane relaxed and had fun, slamming the cue into the white in a shot that sent

the thirteen careening around the table and juddering in the pocket before coming to a

halt on the rim. It wasn’t a complete disaster; Benedict had been left snookered, the

white tucked between the only other stripe left on the table and the cushion.

“That was a reckless shot,” Benedict said, still using that cool, reproving voice. A

headmaster’s voice. Shane’s headmaster had been old-school and was wont to bemoan

the fact that legislation made it impossible for him to use a cane on his pupils. Mr. Sayle

would have approved of Benedict’s plans. Well, some of them. Not the fucking part.

Sayle had hated women, foreigners, the Labour Party, and queers equally and vocally.

“You could easily have torn the cloth.”

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183

Pride, not defiance, made Shane object. “I’ve played drunk out of my skull a

hundred times and never done that.”

Benedict propped his cue against the table and held out his hand. “Give me your

cue.”

Why?
trembled on Shane’s tongue, but he left it unvoiced, proving Mr. Sayle had

been wrong when he’d called Shane stupid.

“Put your hands in your pockets and keep them there.”

Curious, Shane obeyed, though he rolled his eyes first, just to get a flash of

annoyance directed at him. It felt like a kiss. He wasn’t sure where Benedict was going

with this, but he was already falling into that warm fog of trust.

“Over to that table,” Benedict said, pointing at a small table with four chairs

around it. They hadn’t been pushed under the table, and there was room between two

of them to allow Shane to stand with the edge of the table pressed against his thighs.

Benedict came up behind him and threaded the cue through the space between

Shane’s arms, then gripped it at either end.

“Down,” Benedict ordered, and when Shane froze, he pushed on the cue, using it

to propel Shane forward and pin him against the table.

Shane could’ve freed himself by simply sliding his hands out of his pockets, but

that would’ve been cheating. Given how much the cue hurt where it dug into his spine,

cheating was looking better with every passing second.

“Do you have any idea how you look, bending over like that?” Benedict let go of

the cue with his right hand and slid his palm up the outside of Shane’s thigh instead.

“No, don’t move.”

He was going to be bruised—he knew it. He didn’t care. His cock was so hard he

suspected he would come if Benedict asked him to, just where he was, leaning over the

table with an unfinished game of pool behind him.

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Benedict’s hand moved to Shane’s arse and cupped it, squeezed. “I want to peel

off all your clothes one piece at a time,” Benedict said, voice low and hypnotic. “I want

to taste every inch of your skin. I want to leave marks on it that last for days.”

Shane groaned and closed his eyes, listening to Benedict.

“Next time I think I’ll have you play naked. So I can watch you.” Coming closer,

Benedict pressed up against Shane’s arse. Shane could feel Benedict’s erection through

their clothes. “Do you think you could play like that? Knowing I was looking at your

ass?” Benedict rubbed his cock between Shane’s arse cheeks slowly, and Shane found

himself pressing back. He had to arch his back to do it, which hurt like hell, but it was

worth it.

“What if I touched you?” Benedict reached around and cupped Shane’s erection.