Death's Ink Black Shadow by John Wiltshire Read Free Book Online

him. He was about to turn in them, try again to find out what was bugging Nikolas, when he was shoved face first to the bed, strong hands ruthlessly snapping his belt and unzipping him. His jeans were ripped down his legs and then he was impaled.
    It hurt. A lot. Ben always greeted this pain, taking it as a tiny residual protest from his body that he wasn’t gay until it woke up and remembered, and thought fuck yeah that’s perfect.
    He wasn’t getting to the good part quite as quickly this time.
    Nikolas knew exactly what Ben was feeling. Of course he did. He always waited, gently moving, until the fuck yeah of relief transmitted to his deeply embedded cock, and they then worked as one.
    Not this time.
    This time, he continued to pound into Ben when it was clearly hurting. One hand snaked around Ben’s throat, squeezing. Ben put his head down to the bed, bending over to try and open up and give Nikolas more access. Nikolas pulled his legs even wider apart, swearing at the constricting jeans, stamping them down so he could part Ben further, sink deeper, thrust harder.
    Ben took it, but it was decidedly unpleasant. The grip around his throat tightened. Any minute, he expected Nikolas’s other hand to seize his cock, jerk him off, bring them off together. But he didn’t.
    He felt Nikolas stiffen, felt himself being filled, and then cum leaked and trickled down his thighs. It was way too soon, he wasn’t nearly there yet, so pushed back into Nikolas to get him to work his cock and maybe carry on, but Nikolas pulled out.
    He slapped Ben on the backside and commented casually, “Finish yourself off. I forgot I have to make a call.” With that, he zipped up and left.
    It was incredibly quiet in the bedroom, except for the sound of the blood pounding in Ben’s ears. He lay prone on the bed, not bothering to pull up his jeans.
    He had the distinct impression he’d been unmanned some more.
    This time, it was far worse than baking scones.
    § § §
    After Ben had showered, he examined himself in the mirror. He had a handprint on his neck. Anyone else seeing it might think it just a regular bruise, but he could see finger marks. He was sore in other places, too, and scrunched his face, feeling sorry for himself.
    He’d wondered if recent events—the time when he’d broken Nikolas—would come back to haunt him. Despite Nikolas’s assertion that consent could never be withdrawn, it had been, but Ben had taken him anyway.
    It had been some weeks now. Easily long enough for Nikolas to restore his equilibrium, recover his sense of himself. Was this payback?
    Ben straightened.
    He knew it wasn’t.
    This was about Steven.
    He had no idea why or how, but one thing he was certain of—this was about Steven.
    He stared into his mirrored eyes, trying to force their reflected green to speak to him, tell him what was happening. He blinked, stopped focusing on this one feature and saw the whole package. He closed his eyes slowly as the truth dawned on him. How dumb could one thirty-something ex-soldier be? Jesus, who gave you the relationship manual when you became an adult? Why did you get left to work all this out for yourself? Ben liked instructions and diagrams and being told the names of parts. He needed that. If he’d been an intuitive thinker, he wouldn’t have joined the bloody infantry!
    But sometimes, even he got there in the end.
    Nikolas was trying to provoke a fight.
    Nikolas wanted him to storm off back to Devon.
    Nikolas wanted him away from Steven.
    Nikolas was still embarrassed about being in a relationship with a man.
    Fucking hell.
    Nikolas didn’t want his son to know he was gay .

CHAPTER SEVEN
    When Ben had recovered a little, had a strong cup of tea and eaten a packet of hobnobs, he was more inclined to cut Nikolas some slack.
    He could hear Nikolas in the study as he made the occasional call.
    Nikolas’s introduction to fatherhood had come about even more abruptly than Ben’s. He’d had a fully formed