It made him forget it all though. Made him forget the thoughts that tried to fight their way back in. He didn’t live the clean life that had always been portrayed. Not the one his dad wanted people to see or the one Ben tried to show afterward. He was dirty and scarred and this reminded him of that.
Ben squeezed his eyes shut, his head tilted toward the sky. If he looked down, Dante would know and he would stop. It took everything in him not to thread his fingers through Dante’s hair but if he did that, Dante would stop as well. Not if Dante didn’t tell Ben to do it.
Dante pulled off and Ben squeezed his eyes shut tighter, fighting with himself not to grab him and force Dante back on Ben’s hungry erection.
“If I’m going to be down here, you need to do me right. Fuck me, Ben. This is the only chance you’ll get.”
That was the only prompting Ben needed. Dante was giving him permission, telling Ben to do what he wanted. Ben fisted his hand in Dante’s hair. Without looking down, he thrust his hips forward. Dante’s mouth was there waiting for him. He swallowed Ben down each time he pumped.
It was still a struggle not to look down. That was Dante’s hard limit, he noticed. Dante didn’t want to look into Ben’s eyes. Somehow he knew that didn’t change with the permission to take Dante how he wanted right now.
Dante tugged on Ben’s sack. Rolled his balls in his hand but that was the only thing he did. Other than that, he just let Ben use him. Use his mouth how he wanted...though it didn’t feel like that was all that was happening. Dante was giving him something, and Ben was taking.
When he felt his orgasm creeping up on him, Ben held both sides of Dante’s head. Held him there as he fucked, and when he spilled, he shot his seed down the back of Dante’s throat.
Then Dante’s mouth was gone and the man shoved to his feet. He pushed his tongue into Ben’s mouth and Ben tasted himself on him. This, Dante led like he always did, his tongue fucking Ben’s mouth the way Ben’s cock had just done with Dante’s.
When he stopped kissing, he didn’t pull away completely. Dante dropped his forehead against Ben’s and they stood there, breathing each other’s air.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Dante spoke. “I can see it in you now...when you’re going to lose yourself. When you’re going wherever the fuck it is you go in your head.”
Dante didn’t have to say he didn’t want to know Ben that well or for Ben to know it. Neither of them did. Just like he was pretty sure that he didn’t have to say it for Dante to know that Ben hated that Dante could reel him back in.
“I don’t deserve that kind of power. I’ll fuck it up.”
At that Ben shook his head. “I’m sure I’ll fuck it up first.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Ben sloshed the bourbon around in his glass. It was late, a couple days after Dante sucked him off in a dirty alley. They’d spoken over the phone, but hadn’t seen each other. He needed space and he assumed Dante did as well. It was a strange experience having someone feel as though they knew him when he hadn’t fully let anyone in before. And he hadn’t let Dante in, either. Not really. Somehow he’d found his way inside Ben’s head though, and Ben wasn’t sure how he really felt about that.
He swallowed the remaining liquid in his glass, sat down at the table and ate a salad.
It was what he had to do to be able to call Dante. He wanted to call him, yet when Ben picked up his cell phone, it wasn’t Dante he called.
“Ben.”
“Tristan,” Ben returned.
“How are you?” Tristan asked, rustling on the other line. He must be climbing out of bed, Ben assumed.
“It’s odd, Tristan. It’s like he knows me, even though I haven’t given myself to him. He gets me. I’ve never had someone who understood me before. Not even you.”
“Who understands you? The man from the club?”
Ben ignored that question and asked one himself. It’s why he called, he realized. Maybe Tristan could help him make sense of this. “Is that how it was with them? I know the situations are different. We’re not falling in love.” How could they when Ben didn’t really know Dante? He felt the connection between them, the mutual understanding, but Ben didn’t know him.
“Is that how it was with them?” Ben asked again, needing an answer.
“He means something to you,” was Tristan’s reply.
“He fucks me. There’s a difference.” Ben had let one person mean something to him and that made him feel nothing but weak. He wouldn’t do that again.