Brook Street: Thief (2 page)

Not that it mattered one whit to him. The man could spend his days hauling crates from the ships anchored in the Thames for all he cared.

And he was pleased to find his advice proved true, even though his own single chip was snatched up by the dealer. As the next game commenced, Benjamin tried his best to keep his focus at least partially on his cards. But it was damn difficult. He was acutely aware of the man beside him. Of every move he made. A shift of his weight on his stool. The brush of an elbow against Benjamin’s forearm every time he moved his winnings to join his growing pile. The little noise of discontent that rumbled from his throat whenever he lost. Not that Benjamin heard that noise often.

When Benjamin finished his ale, he made good on his word and bought them both another. Once the girl brought their ales, the man reached for his pint, fingers wrapping securely around the pewter tankard. How would those masculine fingers feel wrapped around Benjamin’s prick?

A bolt of lust shot to his prick. He tried to stifle the grunt before it shook his chest, but didn’t quite manage it.

The man’s attention remained on his cards, his forelock grazing his long lashes, yet those full lips quirked. A knee nudged his own.

A fresh bolt of lust spiked his senses. The cheeky bastard knew exactly the effect he was having on Benjamin. The inane urge to laugh welled within. “You aren’t helping matters,” he said, just loud enough to reach the man’s ears.

The man caught his eye, then his gaze quickly dropped to Benjamin’s lap before falling back onto his cards. “Duly noted,” he replied, matching Benjamin’s tone, more than a hint of a smile playing on his mouth.

For that, he received a swift bump from Benjamin’s own knee.

Benjamin lost track of the number of times two new cards came to a rest in front of him. Whether he won or lost held no concern. All that mattered was the undeniable interest in the deep blue eyes of the man beside him that screamed tonight would not end in disappointment. Come dawn, he’d have his answer. If the attraction and anticipation pounding through his veins were any indicator, that answer would mean he would not be in the market for a wife come mid-April.

With a distinct
clank
that marked an empty cup, the man set his tankard on the table. “I’ve had enough of the table. What about you?”

Benjamin hesitated, unwilling to lose his
vingt-et-un
companion. But his instincts told him the man had no intention of walking away from him. He nodded. “Always best to leave while ahead.” And best to leave before he had to concern himself with concealing a full-blown erection. Pushing from the table, Benjamin scooped up his little stack of chips.

“A very good policy. I try to subscribe to it myself.” The man grabbed his own larger stack. He stood, revealing himself to be a hair under Benjamin’s own height. “Shall we head on over to the cashier?” He tipped his head toward a spot midway along the far wall. “If luck is with us, the wait won’t be too long.”

Benjamin followed close on the man’s heels, gazed pinned on compact yet at the same time strong shoulders. The man wound through the crowd, moving with a fluid grace that Benjamin found highly erotic. There wasn’t even a hitch in his loose stride as he deftly avoided a ruddy-faced fellow stumbling away from a roulette table. Did he move that effortlessly when crouched over another?

Benjamin’s breaths stumbled. He clenched his hands at his sides in an effort to rein in the sudden surge of need.

The man came to a stop behind the lone individual at the cashier’s cage.

“Luck is with us tonight,” Benjamin said, stopping to stand at his companion’s shoulder.

“Yes, it is.” The man gave him a wink then stepped up to the cage.

Making it a point to look anywhere but at the man’s arse, Benjamin held back and waited for him to exchange his chips. Pocketing his coins, the man moved aside. Benjamin stepped forward and pushed his chips beneath the brass bars. The short, wiry cashier quickly counted them and then pushed back a small pile of coins. Benjamin made to turn from the cage, but stopped as an elbow nudged his own.

“Wait. Count them,” the man murmured. “That cashier’s mathematical skills aren’t always the best.”

A check proved the cashier’s skills weren’t wanting that evening. Benjamin slipped the coins into a pocket and turned from the cage. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” The man fell into step beside him. “Care to share cab fare with me?”

It appeared he was going to solve Benjamin’s logistical question for him. “Anytime,” he replied, wanting to do far more than share a fare with him.

The guard opened the front door as they approached. Cool night air wrapped around Benjamin, but it did nothing to cool the blood rushing through his veins, heating his skin. With a little motion of his wrist, the man hailed a hackney coming up the street. The carriage slowed to a stop a few paces ahead of them.

He didn’t think twice as he stepped inside. He heard the rumble of that gorgeous voice as the man told the driver, “Wood and Lad.”

Their destination was only a couple of streets south, if Benjamin’s memory served correctly. Close enough to walk, though tonight he much preferred the privacy of a hackney.

The springs creaked as the man got inside the carriage, sitting on the bench beside him, so close his thigh pressed against Benjamin’s, one long line from his hip to his knee. The stale air of the interior was suddenly filled with the potent scent of man. Musky and heady. He fought against the urge to shift his weight. To move even closer to the strong body beside him. To press full up against the muscles he was certain he’d find beneath the black coat and trousers.

The hackney pulled away from the hell, leaving the golden glow of the streetlamp outside Clements in their wake and cloaking them in shadows. If they both turned their heads, it would take but the slightest of leans for their lips to touch.

Benjamin’s lips tingled, begging for that brush of skin against skin. No, for far more than a mere brush. He wanted those full lips beneath his own. Wanted to sweep his tongue inside that gorgeous mouth. To finally discover what another man tasted like. To discover what—

He racked his brain but came up empty. The man had never told him his name, nor had Benjamin introduced himself.

Where the hell had his manners gone?

Straight to your damn cock.

The beginnings of a chuckle shook his chest. “Benjamin Parker,” he said, breaking the silence and extending a hand.

Long fingers wrapped around his palm, grip firm and secure. “Cavin Fox.” He must have sensed the furrow of Benjamin’s brow at the unusual name, for he added, “Me mum’s Irish.” Every trace of England briefly left his voice, leaving only a thick, lyrical lilt.

“Ah, that explains the accent.”

A shoulder rubbed against his as Cavin shrugged. “I’ve tried to get rid of it, but it insists on lurking about.”

“I quite like it.” He could pick the man out in a crowd of hundreds by his voice alone.

A hand settled on his thigh, a hand that held the weight of a man’s touch. The heat of Cavin’s palm seeped through his trousers, warming his skin. A sensation he was certain he would never forget. His cock hardened even further, pressing against the placket, desperate for that hand to slide up his leg. Desperate for a touch, even if masked by clothing. But Cavin didn’t move his hand. It stayed right there, midway along Benjamin’s thigh, holding the promise that soon there would be so much more.

Silence settled between them as the carriage made its way down Wood Street. Cavin did not offer any information as to where he was taking him, other than the bit Benjamin had overhead. Rather than unnerve him, the silence only served to ratchet the anticipation hanging so heavy in the air he could taste it.

The wicked thoughts that fueled his nights filled his head, the nameless, faceless man now replaced with the man beside him. Cavin’s bare skin beneath his hands. Cavin’s body pressed tight against his. Cavin moving behind him, above him, under him.

The carriage slowed to a stop. Cavin glanced out the window to a rather dismal three-story brick building. “Actually, how about you see to the cab and I’ll see to the room?”

He nodded. “All right.”

“It won’t take but a moment. I’ll wait by the stairs and you follow me up.” With that, Cavin exited the hackney.

After a hard press on his cock to get himself under control, Benjamin stooped to fit through the narrow door and stepped out of the cab. He paid the driver then went up the stone steps and through a door in sore need of a new coat of brown paint. To his left was a shabby parlor with a man sprawled in an armchair, head tipped back and mouth open in sleep. Before him, a wooden counter with what must be the hotelier—if one could term the place a hotel—milling about behind it. And just beyond, Cavin at the foot of the staircase, a bit of brass peeking from the closed hand hanging casually at his side.

Without a hint of familiarity in his expression, Cavin caught his eye then turned and started up the stairs.

Benjamin continued on, passing the hotelier without even a tip of his head to acknowledge the man. The threadbare rug on the stair’s treads did nothing to muffle the sounds of his footsteps, the rhythmic
thump-thump-thump
blending with Cavin’s and filling the stairwell.

Cavin’s black-coated back turned right at the top of the stairs. The click of a lock opening filled the narrow corridor, fairly bouncing off the walls. Cavin pushed the door open and disappeared inside.

Benjamin didn’t pause. He didn’t hesitate. He followed Cavin inside the room.

Chapter Two

The door snapped shut.

Benjamin blinked against the sudden darkness. His heart slammed so hard and so fast against his ribs he was certain Cavin could hear it in the silence. Closing his eyes, he tried to will his pulse to slow a bit and focused on listening. He could detect the sounds of quickening breaths, the faint click of a lock sliding home, the creak of floorboards.

He was a second from asking Cavin to light a candle when hands pressed against his chest, shoving him back. His shoulder blades connected with a nearby wall. A mouth covered his own.

Desperate for his first taste of Cavin, Benjamin eagerly opened. A tongue pushed into his mouth, tangled with his. A tongue that tasted of ale and sin, an utterly delicious combination and absolutely perfect. As he grabbed hold of Cavin’s hips, a fleeting thought passed through his mind. There would definitely be no wife in his future.

Intent on deepening the kiss, he tugged Cavin closer. A hard bulge that could only be an erection pressed against his cock. He groaned, the sound lost in the hot recesses of Cavin’s mouth. The faint rasp of stubble scratched just beyond his lips. Harsh breaths scorched his cheek. He swore he could feel the heat of Cavin’s body even through the layers of shirts, waistcoats and coats. A body that was just as strong and solid as his own.

As his hands roamed over Cavin’s back, his hips, his firm arse, Benjamin reveled in the blunt honesty of their kiss. The stark unbridled lust, the voracious need. Nothing tempered. Nothing held back.

Why the hell had he waited so long to experience this?

Bloody fool.

Cavin’s hand fisted in Benjamin’s hair to tug his head back, breaking the kiss. Teeth nipped at his bottom lip. A tongue licked up from his chin. As it made to pass his lips, Benjamin captured Cavin’s tongue and sucked on the tip.

“You taste so damn good,” he said, before diving back into the kiss.

A growl rumbled around him, thick and rough and full of the same frantic need that consumed his senses. Every move they made caused Cavin’s cock to rub across his. An erotic drag of fabric backed by iron, cranking the lust even higher. Benjamin was torn between the need to continue devouring Cavin’s mouth and the need to push for more. To take them far beyond a kiss. To have bare skin beneath his hands, his mouth. To experience every forbidden fantasy he’d ever had.

As if sensing Benjamin’s thoughts, Cavin shifted, thighs moving to bracket one of Benjamin’s legs. A hand delved between their bodies to pull at the placket of his trousers. Fabric gave way, linen drawers were pushed down, then that hand slipped inside. Warm, sure fingers wrapped around his prick.

Benjamin’s entire body quaked.

“Ah, hell,” he gasped as Cavin stroked his length. Short and insistent, more pulls than fluid strokes. Full of friction and urgency. His ballocks lurched up, tightening against his body.

Eager to have another man’s cock in his hand—Cavin’s cock—he rushed to reciprocate. His hands shook as he fumbled a bit, reaching around Cavin’s arm to tug on the placket of the man’s trousers. Buttons released. He pushed a shirttail aside and encountered hot, silken skin.

The man wasn’t wearing drawers.

Benjamin closed his fingers around Cavin’s cock, dragged his hand up a length that was a bit thicker but not quite as long as his own. Flicked a thumb over the head, spreading the bead of moisture there, using it to slick his skin.

It wasn’t that he’d never touched a cock before. He had one, for Christ’s sake, and knew his way around it. But stroking another man’s? Hearing those grunts coming from Cavin? Knowing he caused each and every one?

Letting out a moan, he pressed even closer and captured Cavin’s mouth again. They moved together yet against each other, hands working, bodies straining. He didn’t want to come yet. Hell no, not yet. But damnation, Cavin’s hand felt so good. Pulling, tugging. Heavy pants and darkness surrounding them.

Lips dragged across his cheek. “What do you want?” Cavin’s breaths brushed his ear, sending shivers down his spine. “Do you want to bugger me, or do you want me to bugger you?”

Benjamin replied with the raw honesty of a man on the cusp of a climax. “Fuck me.
Please.
”

When he was alone in his bed, stroking his prick, just the thought of being taken—of having another man fuck his arse—had him spilling his seed faster than anything else.

“No need for the please,” Cavin murmured, wry and teasing. He let go of Benjamin’s prick to tug on the buttons of his coat. “Though you can thank me after.”

“Cheeky bastard. You’ll be thanking
me.
” He crushed his mouth over Cavin’s, turning the beginnings of a laugh into a hoarse moan.

They made quick work of divesting each other of their clothes, their lips only separating to pull shirts over their heads that joined the pile of waistcoats, cravats, trousers and coats scattered about their feet.

Mouths fused together, tongues delving deep, Cavin took a step back. Unwilling to give up those lips, Benjamin moved with him, hands greedily roaming over every bit of bare skin he could reach. The line of Cavin’s spine, the sleek sweep of his lower back, the firm round curves of his arse. Strong muscles and solid bone covered by the softest skin.

“Bed,” Cavin muttered, turning and pushing against his chest.

His calves bumped into what felt to be said bed. Benjamin let himself fall back onto a rather thin mattress covered by a coarse woolen blanket. It could be a dirt-covered street for all he cared.

He shifted, moving more fully onto the bed. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he could make out the looming figure of Cavin as he moved to join him. The weak moonlight seeping through a window outlined tousled hair, compact shoulders and bulging biceps.

One knee on the bed, Cavin paused. “Wait, we need—” He stepped away.

Wait?
Benjamin propped up onto his elbows to watch as Cavin went back toward the door and dropped to his haunches. He heard the rustle of fabric then Cavin stood and returned to him. The mattress dipped and shook as Cavin crawled up his body. It was the most natural thing in all the world for Benjamin to let his legs fall open in welcome.

“Oil,” Cavin said. “Wouldn’t be nearly as enjoyable without it.”

No, definitely not. Benjamin’s muscles tightened at the memory of the first time he’d given in to curiosity and pushed a finger inside himself. He’d quickly discovered the benefits of saliva and then oil.

As Cavin leaned back onto his knees to open the bottle, Benjamin chastised himself for not thinking to grab the oil from his bedside table. What if Cavin had not come prepared? And that oil indicated the man had gone to Clements with a distinct purpose in mind. It wasn’t lost on Benjamin that he himself had gone to the hell for the same purpose, yet still… If Cavin had not sat next to him, he would have soon left. Alone. But if Benjamin had not walked through that black door, he had no doubt there would have been another man in his place at that exact moment.

Slick flingers brushed across his entrance. That sense of…discontent? Hesitation? Jealousy?…fled his mind before it could fully grab hold of him.

Cavin dropped down, bracing his weight on one arm. He stole a quick kiss then one oiled finger pushed past the tight ring of muscle.

Benjamin let out a moan, spread his legs wider, giving Cavin better access. He grabbed Cavin’s shoulders, muscles hard and unyielding beneath his hands. One digit quickly became two. This he had done himself. He knew he liked it. But when Cavin did it? Far, far beyond like, to know another man’s fingers were fucking his arse. Each thrust confident and sure, pushing deep, riding that fine line where the strokes approached rough. But a perfect hint of roughness. One filled with lust and desperate need.

Judging by the tension that gripped Cavin’s body, the beads of sweat forming on his skin, and the slight impatient hiss behind his panting breaths, soon, very soon, those two persistent fingers would be replaced by Cavin’s cock.

“I’ve never done this before.” The confession popped out of Benjamin’s mouth.

Cavin stilled, fingers lodged deep in his arse. “Which part of never?”

“Everything. With a man, at least.” Benjamin couldn’t explain it, but it was suddenly very important that Cavin knew he was the first man he’d ever been with.

Silence pressed against his ears. Cavin did not move a muscle. He remained still as a statue. A very erotic statue crouched above him. Benjamin swore the man had even stopped breathing.

He gritted his teeth against the frustration and need riding heavy over every nerve in his body.
Please don’t stop, Cavin. Please don’t stop.
If Cavin left him like this, moments away from being buggered…

He tugged on Cavin’s shoulders. “Would you please not stop?”

“Sorry.” Those two digits eased back then slid home again, pulling a relieved sigh from Benjamin. “Just startled me. Rest assured, I have no intention of stopping. Especially not now. Though it does change things a bit.” Nipping at Benjamin’s lower lip, he pulled free of his body. “Turn over. It will be easier for you,” he added, in what sounded suspiciously like a gentle murmur.

Benjamin complied, twisting and turning, limbs tangling with Cavin’s as he moved to lie on his stomach, or as much as he was able given his erection. Hands grabbed his hips, pulled him up onto his hands and knees. His breaths hitched high in his chest, a bit of nervousness threading in with the overwhelming anticipation. Yet oddly he felt completely comfortable. Completely safe.

Hands smoothed over his back, down to his arse. Fingertips followed the crease, slid over slicked skin then two digits pushed inside again. Stroking, twisting, working Benjamin into a state of pure desperation. He bumped back, bearing down on Cavin’s fingers. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. Needed it.

A ragged groan rumbled his throat as he pushed back harder, grinding against Cavin’s hand, shameless and needy and not caring in the slightest.

“Ready for me?” Cavin asked.

“Yes, Cavin.
God,
yes.”

Those fingers left him. A hand braced on his lower back. Pressure pushed against his hole. Cavin’s cock felt considerably thicker than two of his fingers. A definite shock to feel it push inside him.

The sensation stole the breath from his chest.

With the head of his prick stretching Benjamin beyond wide, Cavin stilled. “Easy now,” Cavin said in a hoarse whisper. “It will get better. Promise.” A hand caressed Benjamin’s hip, reached around to pull on his flagging prick. Warm lips pressed a kiss to his nape. “Take a deep breath and push out. Trust me.”

Cavin’s instructions didn’t seem all that conducive to the proceedings at hand, but Benjamin nodded once. Obviously the man knew what he was about. The moment the breath whooshed from his lungs, Cavin pushed forward. One long, slow thrust. Filling Benjamin completely.

A thin whimper slipped from Benjamin’s lips.

Dear God in heaven. Benjamin struggled to catch his breath. It was too much.
Damnation.
Significantly more than too much.

“It will get better,” Cavin repeated, yet this time his voice sounded strained, broken. He took hold of Benjamin’s hips. “Hurts like hell at first but…” he eased back a short distance and slid home again, “…soon. Promise.”

Slow and easy, Cavin thrust into him. The tension began to leave Benjamin’s body, replaced with sensation far too potent to even be described as intense. He recognized it, though. Had tasted the possibility of this when he had been alone in his bed, fingers working furiously. The wicked tease of sensation tempting him, taunting him, shoving him toward a climax. But experiencing it full strength? He still felt unbelievably stretched, unbelievably full, but rather than alarm, it now felt goddamn amazing.

Those easy thrusts lengthened, turned fluid and long. Benjamin hung his head, gasped for breath. He was actually on his hands and knees, bent over for another man, and he had never been more aroused. He felt absolutely wicked, Cavin’s cock sliding in and out of his well-oiled arse. His own cock ached, begged for a touch. Yet he kept his hands planted on the bed, wanting to draw out the sensations. To revel in them, savor them.

He grunted, groaned, met Cavin thrust for thrust. “You were right,” he somehow managed to get out.

“Very good to hear.” Cavin moaned. “Damn, you’re so tight, Ben.” On a low growl, he rotated his hips.

Pleasure poured through Benjamin’s body. His arms gave out from under him. Forehead pressed to the mattress, fingers clutching the coverlet, he could do nothing but feel. Cavin’s deep thrusts possessed him completely, holding him right there on the very cusp of a climax.

Then that thick cock pulled free, leaving him aching and empty and desperate.

“Don’t stop!”

“Hell, no. Turn over.”

Hands tugged on his hips, pushed him onto his side. It took some doing to will his limbs to cooperate enough to roll onto his back. Cavin settled between his thighs. A sigh of gratitude slipped past Benjamin’s lips as the man slid back inside him.

Then Cavin’s mouth was on his, tongue tangling with his, hips thrusting, grinding, chest pressed against chest. With each stroke, his cock rubbed against Cavin’s hard belly. Benjamin wrapped his arms around Cavin’s sweat-slicked back, held on tight as the pleasure ramped higher and higher.

He tried to fight back the orgasm, to prolong this…this perfection. But it was no use.

The intense knot of sensation in his gut wound unbelievably tight, breaths hitching short and sharp, muscles straining under the force of it, and then it exploded across his senses.

Twisting his head, he tore his mouth from Cavin’s. A howl ripped from his soul as seed shot from his cock, slicking Cavin’s belly. Cavin’s thrusts turned ragged. Pounding, slamming, ballocks slapping against him.

And suddenly it was too much. The pleasure that had seconds ago taken him to ecstasy grated sharply across his over-sensitive nerves. Planting his feet on the mattress, he shoved at Cavin’s chest, scrambling back, needing to get the man off him.
Now.