Page 51 of To Defend a Damaged Duke
“I suppose we could always get drunk,” he added.“Tends to be the usual fallback for most of my chums.”
Or we could indulge in mind-blowing, glorious fucking?Perhaps there was an etiquette to staying in a hunting lodge that Tommy was unaware of.No fucking until nightfall.Or perhaps his virgin lover was simply waiting for Tommy to make the first move.“Not the worst suggestion I’ve ever heard,” he said neutrally.
The duke pushed away his plate.“Do you play billiards?”
Really?Those games could go on for hours.“Badly,” Tommy admitted.“Rossingley once tried to teach me but gave up.His house rules are unorthodox, to say the least.”
“I imagine he’s sickeningly good.”
“At everything,” Tommy supplied.“Except being a patient billiards tutor.”And teaching me hunting lodge etiquette.
“Then allow me before the best of the light fades.”
How large must the billiards room be in the bigger hunting lodge?This one could double as a cricket square.Even in here, a fire merrily simmered in the grate.The duke’s absent household had anticipated his every need.
Both men removed their tailcoats, and Tommy took up a winged leather chair with a view of the table.Dusting off two cues, Benedict offered one to Tommy, then leaned across the baize to set up the three balls.With such an excellent view of Benedict’s breeches, moulded to his muscular arse, Tommy suddenly became quite fond of billiards.And as the white linen of Benedict’s shirt pulled tight across his strong shoulder blades, all in all, the game could quite become one of Tommy’s favourite pastimes.
“I tend to play two points for a cannon and three for a hazard,” Benedict explained, “with a one point deducted for a foul.First player to reach twenty-one wins.”He brushed a speck of fluff from the table.“But we can forget points if you are a bit rusty.Or I can start with a handicap.”
How typical, thought Tommy, admiring the beautifully made cue.And how dare Lord Lyndon even consider kicking his brother down.Benedict’s modesty was both his most charming and greatest flaw.
“I’ll be the dot ball,” continued Benedict, scratching his cue tip with a piece of chalk.“Would you like to kick things off?”
“You carry on.”At ease, Tommy crossed his legs at the knee.“I’m perfectly fine here for a moment, absorbing it all.Watching your technique.”Watching your arse.
As in all areas of his achievements, Benedict had downplayed his skill with the cue, effortlessly racking up early points until, in a typically Benedict way, Tommy had the distinct impression he was holding back so as not to humiliate his opponent.Tommy cared not whether he won by a margin, drew, or lost, but he knew that if he pointed out Benedict’s talent, the other would try even harder to hide it.
In fact, Tommy decided, as Benedict apologised for defeating him and set up the balls for another game, the diffident duke was a little like a billiards table himself.When viewed from afar, it seemed a flat, bland expanse yet hiding many deep dark pockets, which one didn’t discover until one was right upon him.
A position Tommy was very much looking forward to.Especially when the man draped himself across the baize right beside him to reach for an extended pot.With his delicious backside within fondling distance and two generous measures of brandy down, on top of the claret, the temptation for mischief proved too great.
“That was an excellent solid stroke,” he observed as Benedict potted yet another ball, racking up two more points.“You have such a smooth cue action.Your wrist, it’s like this.”Naughtily, he demonstrated with a suggestive up and down movement, bordering on obscene.
Evidently not having moved in the same social circles as Tommy during his youth, Benedict took his comment at face value.“A fluid wrist action is key,” he agreed.He blew a little chalk from the end of his cue, his handsome face a picture of innocent concentration.“And regarding my cue, I find I am most effective when I use just the tip.”
Bending forwards again, he lined up for his next shot.Dark eyes narrowed on the ball, he drew his arm back and took careful aim.
“I bet you are,” murmured Tommy.
The shot pinged off two cushions, missing the hole by miles.
“Take it again.”Tommy insisted expansively.“Thinkhardabout that tip action.”
Still bent over the table, Benedict snorted.“Should I pull out my long cue?”
Now it was Tommy’s turn to laugh as he held up his hands.“You’ll have no complaints from this quarter.”
Still chuckling, Benedict lined up another shot.His eyes grazed upwards, once, to meet Tommy’s before dropping back down to the baize.“Of course,” he added as, with a deft flick, he sent the ball cannoning into the heart of the pocket, “you could always come over here and take it out for me.”
Straightening, he abandoned his cue and hefted himself onto the table.He leaned back on his hands, legs swinging invitingly.“What say you, Tommy?”
Tommy’s cue clattered to the floor as he sauntered over.“I say we shouldn’t waste any more time.”
Their first kiss felt soft and new.Small nips, tender presses, as if they were compiling an inventory of each other’s mouths, memorising the shape and texture.Tommy dropped his hands to Benedict’s broad thighs.He sketched the shape of those, too, the span of his hand measuring the meat of them.
Benedict’s palms cupped Tommy’s face, tugging him closer.His thighs fit around Tommy’s narrow hips, holding him there as he took his fill.A small moan slipped from his lips as he deepened the kiss.His hands glided down to Tommy’s arse, and the heat of his cock rubbed up against Tommy’s belly.
“What do you need?”Tommy whispered.“Tell me what you want.”
