Chapter 7: Ben Takes Control
James sucked in a breath, the air cold against his newly exposed skin.The waistband loosened. Ben’s fingers slipped beneath the denim, brushing the tense line of his hip. Every nerve there fired, a silent alarm.He watched Ben’s face, looking for a sign, a guide. Ben’s expression was utterly focused, his lips slightly parted.He wasn’t observing anymore. He was committed.He hooked his thumbs into the material.“Okay?” Ben asked, the word barely audible.
James could only nod, his throat too tight for speech. He lifted his hips, a clumsy, involuntary assist. Ben drew the jeans down, taking his briefs with them in one slow, deliberate motion.The cool air of the flat washed over him, a shocking contrast to the heat building inside.
He was laid bare.Not just physically, but in every way he’d feared.No plan. No steps.The analytical part of his mind had finally, completely shut down. There was only the feel of the worn leather sofa beneath him, the weight of Ben’s gaze, and the terrifying, exhilarating freedom of having nothing left to hide.Ben looked at him, his eyes dark and unblinking. He didn’t speak. He just looked, and James felt seen in a way that vibrated in his bones.Then Ben leaned down and pressed his mouth to the inside of James’s thigh.
The kiss was soft, almost chaste, against the trembling muscle. Ben’s beard scraped the sensitive skin, a rough contrast to the gentle pressure of his lips. James’s whole body tightened, a wire pulled taut.
Ben hummed, a low, appreciative sound that vibrated into James’s flesh. He didn’t move toward the obvious, the aching center of all this tension.Instead, he dragged his open mouth slowly upward, tracing the path of a prominent vein. His tongue flicked out, tasting salt and heat. James’s hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk off the leather.“Easy,” Ben murmured, his breath hot and damp against his skin. He pressed a firm, stabilizing hand onto James’s abdomen. “I’m just looking at the menu.”
A strangled sound, part laugh, part groan, escaped James. “You’re a fucking bastard.”
“Meticulous,” Ben corrected. He shifted, his lips brushing the crease where thigh met torso.He nuzzled there, inhaling deeply, and James shuddered. “Quality ingredients deserve patience.”
He was drawing it out, wringing every second of anticipation into a tight, sweet cord. James could feel his own heartbeat in his cock, a thick, heavy pulse against his stomach. He was fully hard, flushed and leaking, an obscene contrast to Ben’s calculated, clothed composure.Ben finally glanced up, his eyes glinting in the low light. He took James in, his gaze travelling the length of him with a chef’s assessing stare. “Beautiful,” he said, the word stripped of poetry, pure statement of fact. Then his mouth curved into a wicked smile.“Looks ready to plate.”
He lowered his head. James held his breath, expecting the wet heat of a mouth. Instead, Ben blew a soft, cool stream of air across the tip.James cursed, his back arching. Ben chuckled darkly and did it again, watching the reactive twitch with avid interest.
Only then did he lean in, not to take him in, but to swipe his tongue flat and slow across the slick head. James cried out, a raw, unfiltered sound.The taste was bitter and primal. Ben lapped at him like he was savoring a complex sauce, his tongue circling the frenulum, teasing the slit.
“Jesus, Ben,” James gasped, his fingers clawing at the sofa. “Please.”
“Please what?” Ben pulled back, his chin glistening. His hand wrapped around the base, his grip firm and shockingly good.He gave a slow, twisting stroke.“Use your words, James. The camera likes clarity.”
The reference to work, to their professional banter amidst this, was absurd and intensely arousing. “Suck me,” James gritted out, the obscenity feeling foreign and right in his mouth.“Suck my fucking cock.”
Ben’s smile was all triumph. “Since you asked so nicely.”
He didn’t just take him in.He consumed him. His mouth was a searing, wet heaven, his tongue a relentless pressure along the underside. He worked his head with a rhythm that was both expert and hungry, his lips creating a perfect, tight seal.James saw stars, his vision blotching at the edges. The suction was incredible, the heat unbearable.
Ben deep-throated him smoothly, taking him all the way to the root, his nose pressing into James’s pubic hair. He held there, swallowing around him, and James nearly blacked out from the sensation. He’d never felt anything this brutally intimate, this filthy and complete.He was hurtling toward the edge, a coil springing loose in his gut. “Fuck, slow down,” he pleaded, tugging at Ben’s hair. “I’ll come.”
Ben released him with a wet, obscene pop. He looked up, his lips swollen and glistening. “That’s the general idea,” he said, his voice gravelly. He didn’t stop his hand, which kept up a slow, maddening stroke.James gasped for air, his chest heaving. The coil in his gut had tightened to a burning point of no return. He’d never been this hard, this desperately close so quickly.Ben’s calm, controlled expertise was dismantling him piece by piece.
Ben’s calm, controlled expertise was dismantling him piece by piece.
James kept his eyes half-lidded, his jaw slack, attempting the posture of a man who had been here a hundred times before. He let his head fall back against the sofa cushion, a practiced gesture of detached pleasure. Inside, every nerve was screaming.
Ben’s hand continued its slow, devastating rhythm. The grip was perfect—firm but not crushing, twisting just so on the upstroke. James’s hips betrayed him, tilting into the touch before he could stop them.
“That’s it,” Ben murmured, his voice a low vibration against James’s inner thigh. “Just feel it.”
James bit the inside of his cheek. He wouldn’t beg. He wouldn’t unravel. He’d been with women, plenty of them, and he knew how to let pleasure wash over him without losing his composure.
This was different.
Ben’s mouth returned to him, and James realized his mistake immediately. The wet heat enveloped him again, but slower this time, more deliberate. Ben took him inch by inch, his tongue flattening and curling along the shaft, savoring the taste and weight of him like he was evaluating a rare vintage.
James’s hand found Ben’s hair. He didn’t pull. He just held on, grounding himself in the soft strands as a wave of sensation threatened to capsize him.
Ben’s eyes flicked upward, catching his. There was a wicked glint there, a knowing amusement that made James’s stomach clench. He knew. Ben knew exactly what James was doing, and he was finding it entertaining.
“Doing alright up there?” Ben asked, pulling off just enough to speak. His lips were slick, his breath hot against James’s straining flesh.
“Fine,” James managed, the word coming out rougher than intended. “Just… taking my time.”
“Mmm.” Ben’s laugh was a dark, throaty thing. “How very generous of you.”
He didn’t speed up. If anything, he slowed down further.
James was going to lose his mind. He clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening in Ben’s hair despite his resolve. The flat was silent except for the wet, obscene sounds of Ben’s mouth working him, the soft creak of the leather sofa, James’s own ragged breathing.
He tried to think of something else. Anything else.
The garden outside. The pasta dish they’d eaten. The way the ragu had reduced perfectly, the balance of acid and fat—
Ben swallowed around him, his throat contracting in a perfect, pulsing grip, and every rational thought scattered like startled birds.
“Fuck,” James hissed, the word escaping before he could cage it.
Ben hummed in approval, the vibration traveling straight up James’s spine. He pulled off again, replacing his mouth with his hand, stroking James through the slickness he’d left behind. His thumb circled the head, spreading the moisture there.
“You know,” Ben said conversationally, “I’ve had a lot of practice at this.”
James’s eyes snapped open. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”
“Just stating facts.” Ben leaned down, pressing a kiss to James’s hip bone. “I know what I’m doing.”
That much was painfully evident. James had never felt so thoroughly seen, so completely undone by someone who was still fully clothed. Ben represented everything he’d been running from: a man who knew exactly how to touch him, who whispered filthy praise against his skin, who made him feel like the most desirable thing in the room without even trying.
The coil in James’s gut was a live wire. He was close. Embarrassingly close, given how little time had passed. But the way Ben worked him—patient and relentless, alternating between maddeningly slow strokes and filthy, deep suction—was dismantling every defense he had.
“I’m not going to last,” James admitted, the words torn from him against his will.
Ben pulled back, his hand still stroking, his eyes dark and fixed on James’s face. “So stop holding back.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.” Ben’s thumb pressed against the sensitive spot just below the head, and James jerked. “You’re trying to be in control. You don’t have to be with me.”
The words hit harder than any touch. James stared at him, breathing hard, his chest heaving. There was no judgment in Ben’s expression. No challenge. Just an open, honest invitation to let go.
James allowed it. He wouldn’t know how to stop it even if he wanted to. He just allowed Ben’s mouth to work his cock, feeling every wet, hot stroke of it. Feeling everything. But he kept his expression schooled, his features loose and unbothered, like this was routine. Like he wasn’t trembling on the edge of coming apart.
Ben took him deep again, and James’s faltering composure cracked. A sound escaped him, low and wrecked, a shameless noise he couldn’t have prevented with a gun to his head.
He came with a choked groan, his body bowing off the sofa. Ben stayed with him, swallowing him down as James pulsed in his mouth, wave after wave of sensation crashing through him.
The world went white, then gray, then slowly refocused. James collapsed back against the cushions, limbs heavy, chest heaving. Ben pulled off gently, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a satisfied smile playing at his lips.
“And that,” Ben said softly, “was worth the menu.”
James’s laugh was raw and shaky. He reached down, catching Ben’s wrist and pulling him up. Ben followed willingly, straddling James’s hips, his own arousal pressing insistently against James’s thigh.
“Your turn,” James murmured, his voice rough with spent pleasure.
Ben’s smile turned hungry. “I was hoping you’d say that.”