His Royal Secret (10 page)

“Look it up.”

With that, James walked out, back into the party. He stepped smoothly back to Kimberley’s side and continued meeting and greeting guests until after 10 p.m. Afterward people said how well it had all gone, despite that horrid Spencer Kennedy having the nerve to show his face. The Prince Regent had been completely calm throughout the night, or had at least seemed to be. They said it just went to show you that the regent possessed considerable self-control.

•   •   •

Ben wanted to think he hadn’t gone to the party for this. He’d gone to apologize, to smooth over the wrinkle in his conscience. His fantasies about taking the prince to bed again had been only that, fantasies. Talking to James tonight had been intended as an . . . act of penance. Only that.

But here he stood outside St. James’s Palace with a bag from Boots in one hand.

His fingers shook slightly as he typed in 387211. Not from fear—James could come across high and mighty all he wanted, but he was just a man like any other, as Ben well knew. The trembling was from excitement, pure and raw.

He’d dreamed about James, for months, fantasized that it was James’s hand around his cock as he jerked himself off, hungered for the opportunity to have him just once more. Well, here was his chance.

The lock clicked, and Ben was able to let himself in. This was the back area of an administrative area, polished and yet anything but grand. He shut the door behind him, sealing himself in darkness, with the only illumination a safety light at the end of the hall. Was he meant to wait here, or near one of the other doorways? Why hadn’t he asked for clearer instructions?

He didn’t have time to settle the question. Within moments he heard footsteps down the hall. Somehow he already knew the sound of James’s step, knew it was him and no other.

James emerged from the shadows and walked to Ben without pausing once. There was no saying whether he kissed Ben or Ben kissed him. Their mouths met, eager and hot. Then there was no thinking, no talking, just the taste of each other, the frantic tugging at each other’s clothes, James backing him against the wall and pressing against him, thigh to thigh.

Ben managed to push the plastic bag into one of James’s hands. Their lips parted, each of them breathing hard, long enough for James to inspect the contents: condoms and lubricant. Pulling James close, Ben whispered into his ear, “Hand jobs are all well and good, but this time I’m not leaving without getting fucked.”

James licked the side of his face. “Take your clothes off.”

No way not to grin. “Yes, Your Royal Highness.”

He’d looked it up on his phone during the taxi ride.

Quickly Ben stripped down. James watched him, lips slightly parted, without removing so much as his shoes. Only his loose necktie and open collar betrayed James . . . that and the obscene tenting of the trousers of his expensive suit. But Ben found he liked standing in front of James naked, cock swollen and aching, open to his inspection.

James’s fingers traced their way down Ben’s chest, along his sides, across his back, as James slowly circled him. It was like being something bought and paid for; the weight of the secrets Ben carried made that intoxicating rather than insulting. He simply stood there, legs wide, allowing James to fondle his chest, his balls, his ass.

When James closed his hand around Ben’s cock, Ben groaned. “I like that sound,” James murmured, tightening and loosening his fist. Ben could feel his pre-come slicking their skin. “Is that good? Is that what you want?”

“Damn you, you know what I want.”

“Tell me.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Beg me.” James squeezed harder, then began to stroke.

Ben swayed on his feet, bracing one arm against the wall so he could remain upright. He knew that James needed to be the one in control, that after the fear he’d suffered because of Ben’s lie, only dominance would satisfy him. The reasons for it hardly mattered, though; Ben liked it, and that was enough. “Please, James. Please fuck me.”

James’s green eyes seemed to be drinking him in.
You’re so hungry, aren’t you, James, so hungry you’re starving.
But still James didn’t budge. “Beg me on your knees.”

Instantly Ben went down on his knees and unzipped James’s fly. He opened his mouth, took James’s cock inside, and begged.

The taste of pre-come made Ben suck harder, clamp his hands around James’s hip bones, groan in anticipation. James inhaled sharply; maybe the vibration worked for him. Ben groaned once more, testing this, and was rewarded with James’s fingers fisting in his hair. For a few moments James took over, guiding Ben’s head as he fucked Ben’s mouth. Ben surrendered completely. His cock ached, but he didn’t touch himself. He wanted James to do that.

James made a small sound in the back of his throat and froze—on the brink, Ben realized, one stroke of the tongue away from climax. Should he bring James off here and now, prove he was the master even when he was on his knees?

Instead Ben remained utterly still as James slowly withdrew. That was the only way he was going to get fucked, and by now he wanted James inside him worse than he’d ever wanted anyone else.

Then James towed Ben to his feet, kissed him once (lips hardly meeting but tongues hot against each other) and turned him around. Ben splayed his legs wide, welcoming the sound of a plastic tube snapping open, the tearing of a foil packet, and then the slide of James’ slicked fingers against his—

Ben gasped as the first fingers pushed inside.

“I don’t hear you begging any longer,” James said, knuckles within Ben now, twisting and turning
oh God just right
—“Don’t you want it anymore?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Do you?”

How dare he sound so cool, so calm? “God damn you, yes. Fuck me to my knees. Fuck me blind. Do it.”

James clutched Ben close, so Ben had to brace them both, bear all the weight. He felt the hardness of James’s cock against his ass, pushing against him, pushing in—

Ben cried out. James thrust deeper, relentless, just the way Ben wanted it, filthy and brutal and perfect.

Soon James was slamming against him, both of them cursing and moaning things they only half heard, hardly understood. Ben’s sweaty hands slipped slightly against the wall, and his muscles shook from the effort of holding himself open at this angle, upright against James’s pounding. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was the raw burning that filled him up.

“Please,” Ben panted. “Please.”

James’s hand closed around Ben’s cock, strong and warm. He’d hardly done more than squeeze before Ben came, an electric jolt that seized him balls to brain so hard he couldn’t see. Even as he gasped, breathless and dizzy, James began pumping into him faster and, only moments later, sank his teeth into Ben’s shoulder as he stiffened and went still. The pain of the bite felt as good as all the rest.

For a few seconds they remained in place, fused together, gasping for breath. When James finally pulled out, Ben slumped against the wall in exhausted pleasure.

Although he felt utterly spent, when he looked at James standing there disheveled and panting, Ben could only ask himself whether he could stall his departure long enough to bounce back and go for one more round.

It was a good thing James was a man he could never have. Otherwise this could get dangerous.

•   •   •

Did that just happen?

James couldn’t believe he was the man who’d done all this—who’d summoned Ben to St. James’s, given him orders during sex, taken him right in the office hallway. Thank God it was a Friday; the smell of sweat and come would air out over the weekend. Indecent to have done such a thing, and yet he knew if he could get hard again fast enough, he’d just take Ben one more time.

Ben smiled at him, arrogant once more. “Apology accepted?”

“And then some.” James had to laugh. “I hope that was worth the flight.”

“Flight?”

“Rather a haul, South Africa to Great Britain. But I suppose you didn’t make the trip just for me.”

“No.” Ben stooped to collect his abandoned clothing; he shrugged on his undershirt before his shorts, unembarrassed by the exposed length of his spent cock. “I live here now. Transferred from the Cape Town office two months ago.”

Ben had moved to London. James cursed himself for the stupid pride that had forced him to quit reading Ben’s articles a couple of weeks after their strange, terrible parting; if he’d kept looking for his byline, he would have known about the move—which seemed to change everything.

Did it? Only one way to know.

James tucked and zipped, straightened himself just enough, while Ben dressed to the point of fastening his trousers. Only then did James say, “I’d like to see you again.”

He received neither the enthusiastic yes he’d hoped for nor the ridicule he’d feared. Instead Ben studied him, once again unreadable. “You mean, you’d like to fuck me again. So skip the euphemisms.”

Although James wanted to object, in honesty he couldn’t. He couldn’t offer a relationship to anyone, not really. Nor was he sure he could become truly close to someone so combative, so sealed off.

But sex—that, at least, they could have. Ben had proved himself trustworthy; he offered the first opportunity for an ongoing sexual relationship James had had in far too long. The fact that it was unbelievably fantastic sex just made it better. Hopefully Ben had thought it was good too. James nodded. “Yes. I’d like that. Next time we might even make it as far as a bed.”

Ben laughed. “Where are we, by the way?”

“You’ve just been had in an administrative office of the Royal Philatelic Society—the royal stamp collection, of all things. It’s not on the same security grid, so I thought it would work. But don’t worry. We can meet more comfortably than this. More discreetly too.”

Although Ben laughed again, there was an edge to it. “You know, I’ve been someone’s dirty little secret before. I didn’t much care for it.”

“Oh.” Disappointment fell over James like a black curtain. “I see.”

“Don’t give up so damned fast. I didn’t say no.” The ferocity of Ben’s grin sharpened. “The truth is, I have my own reasons for wanting a situation with certain . . . limits, let’s say. It’s perfect, really.”

“What reasons are those?”

“Do you care?”

He didn’t care much, honestly, but James pressed the point. “As long as you know my reasons, I’d like to know yours. Besides, sordid as this is, I have my own limits.” When Ben gave him a look, James clarified, “I’m not interested in being a party to infidelity.”

“The exact opposite. I don’t do . . . call it domesticity. This current fad for gay men to behave like adolescent girls, dreaming of elaborate weddings and white picket fences? It holds no appeal for me. I’ve always been very clear about that, but some men fail to get the message. It leads to hurt feelings. Messiness. Complications.” Ben knotted the purple silk tie around his neck again as he continued, “I don’t do well on collar and leash. You won’t try to leash me. You just need someone to fuck. Sounds ideal, don’t you think?”

That sounded harsh, but wasn’t it the truth? Besides, it was refreshing to have no considerations beyond the most primal. “So that’s a yes?”

Ben shrugged his jacket on, becoming once again the polished man James had spotted across a crowded room. “Yes.”

James felt almost giddy, but he managed to remain focused. “Then we should discuss the procedure.”

“Procedure?”

“For you to see me.”

“I hadn’t thought. We can’t abuse the stamp collection’s hospitality every time.” Ben paused, shrugged. “You can give me your phone number, and—”

“You can never call me on a mobile. Not ever. Nor do we text.” They had to get this straight from the beginning. If Ben couldn’t handle the necessary precautions, this was over almost before it had begun. “I change mobiles every couple of months, and I never use them for personal conversations. Any contact between us falls into that category.”

Ben frowned. “Never?”

James leaned back against the wall. “You act as though being a reporter makes you a moral authority. That must mean you’ve never heard of phone hacking.”

That scored a point. Ben stopped short before saying, “All right. I see. Do we e-mail?”

“E-mail can also be hacked. What would work best is a landline. Do you have access to one?”

“At work, yes.”

“Then give me the number. I’ll call you there, catch you if I can. Obviously I’ll never leave a message. We can work out days and times then.”

“All right.”

“We also need to come up with an excuse for you to visit the palaces.” James’s mind was working fast now. He’d never had to arrange this before; Niall’s access to Clarence House had made things easy for them in that regard. But he knew the security situation inside out and could strategize quickly. “St. James’s Palace is part of the same palace complex as Clarence House. You could enter here; someone can meet you and escort you to my suite.”

Ben retorted, “Someone who can report on us?”

“My butler would never do that. He’d consider it the gravest breach of his professional standards to so much as admit he’d speculated as to why I was entertaining a guest in the evening.” Glover could be relied upon. James’s excitement grew as the possibilities became more real to him. “But if anyone else ever sees you coming in or out, you have to have a reason to have come here.”

“I don’t think anybody would believe I’m an avid stamp collector.”

“Hardly. But we have other archives in the palace. Are you working on a story, some project that would require historical research, maybe?”

“I just signed a contract for my first book.” Ben sounded oddly shy for a moment; James realized that he was proud of this fact, but unwilling to show it. “It’s about the history of corporations.”

That sounded dull as dirt to James, but he kept his opinions to himself. “Good. Say you wrote for permission to work with the archives after hours.”

“Who’s going to ask me this?”

“Hopefully, no one, but we need an answer just in case.” James ran one hand through his hair; it was still damp with sweat. It was hard to think straight while his entire body still ached from taking Ben against the wall. “Take different routes to get here. Different modes of transportation. Don’t answer your mobile while you’re in Clarence House; they could trace your location later. And obviously, if you see anyone skulking about just as you’re coming in, go round the block and try again later.”