Page 17 of Candy Hearts
William kissed him, shutting him up. William wasn’t usually big into kissing, at least not with strangers. He did it, because sometimes it was easier to kiss than to talk, but he could have listened to Benji talk for ages. No, he kissed Benji because Benji deserved to be showered in kisses. To have them rained on him. Because he was fucking gorgeous and looked ridiculous in his weird poncho, and it was cold, and Benji was so hot. And William just wanted their mouths to be pressed together, and for it to not be about sex but about connection. Even if it was ephemeral. Even if it didn’t last. He didn’t want this kiss—the wet slide of their lips, the ginger-beer taste of Benji’s tongue, the humid puffs of their breaths—to be about anything except how fucking romantic it was to kiss this beautiful man by a crackling fire in a house with no fucking lights on.
Benji gasped and went limp and soppy against him. William held him up. Held Benji’s face in his palms, his fingers curling around his jaw, his neck, the silky strands of his hair.
“God,” Benji breathed. He touched the back of William’s hand—the hand that was holding Benji’s neck fast, his thumb resting on the most gorgeous Adam’s apple in the country. Which was when William realized that his hold was maybe a little too commanding. He might as well have been collaring him, but Benji said, “God,” again, and kissed him softly. Delicately, like William might break. Or maybe like Benji was already breaking.
Benji’s fingers gripped William’s Cornhuskers sweatshirt as if it were a lifeline. William walked him backwards toward the big sofa, not releasing his mouth for a second, making everything sloppy and clumsy. Benji’s knees hit the couch and he tumbled backwards onto it, bringing William down with him.
They kissed for long minutes until Benji pulled back and said, “Instagram.”
William lifted his head up, dazed. “Huh?”
“I’ll browse Instagram, and you can read your boring book.”
“Then we’ll kiss again.”
“Sure. I guess,” Benji said, his wide mouth curving into a puckish smile.
William smiled back and pulled a chunky afghan off the back of the couch over them. The fire sparked and hissed, casting shadows through the room, and William reached behind the couch to slide the curtains open wider, giving him enough light to read by. He pulled a book of poems off the side table.
He was too distracted by Benji to focus on the words. By his candy mixed with dirty sex scent. By the blond hair tickling his nose. By his heat. It felt so good being pressed together on a couch, toes to chests. Benji tucked his head under William’s chin and sighed.
Within five minutes, Benji’s phone slipped from his palm, landing on William’s stomach, and Benji’s body went heavier against him. William’s breath caught. Benji had fallen asleep on him, which was strange and nice and slightly alarming.
William carefully put Benji’s phone into airplane mode to save the battery and placed it on the side table. Benji didn’t stir.
William tried to close his eyes, tried to follow Benji into slumber, but he couldn’t. His blood was still pumping pure adrenaline, making his skin feel jumpy and his heart pound. It was as if his body knew that something dramatic had happened, and it couldn’t decide if it wanted to lean into it or run.
William’s heart wanted to lean. To wallow. To enjoy. But his mind knew better.
Benji was young. Maybe he was impulsive. Maybe he often jumped into bed—or onto a rug by a fireplace—with men he’d just met. Maybe he often agreed to bizarre Valentine’s Day agreements with strangers. It probably wasn’t a huge deal to him.
It was a huge deal to William. It wasn’t that he hadn’t had one-night stands before. He had, but not in years. That was the type of thing he’d left behind in his twenties.
He’d kind of left hislifebehind in his twenties, if he were honest, but he used to be young and impulsive too. It had been nice to revisit it. Even if this went no further than a hot-shit blowjob and some rimming, it had been nice to experience it.
To experience it with Benji.
Yep. He was fine.
William closed his eyes. A log split and sizzled in the fire. The wind howled against the window.
He opened his eyes. Benji snuffled against his chest, and William melted. He should have putsnuffles in their sleepon his dating criteria.
He wasn’t fine. If this was his only taste of Benji, that would not be fine at all.
* * *
Benji rubbed his face against the best pillow ever. It smelled good too, this pillow. Like pricy aftershave and jizz.
His head shot up, and he met the dark eyes of William O’Dare. William had taken his glasses off, and his eyes looked sleepy and large and unguarded without the specs.
Not a pillow, then, but William’s firm, perfect chest.
“How long have I been holding you cuddle hostage?” Benji whispered.
“Not long.”
William rubbed a hand over the back of Benji’s neck, sending a wash of tingly heat through him.
