Secret Light by Z. A. Maxfield Page A

gave him.
    Rafe kissed him back and clung, allowing him to touch and taste, to rub their
    scratchy cheeks together. Ben dotted kisses along the fine edge of Rafe’s jaw, stopping
    for a nip or a lick as he traveled toward the skin beneath Rafe’s ear, down his neck,
    brushing away the flannel fabric collar of his PJ top until he found skin he thought
    might never have been kissed by anyone, least of all a man, least of all someone like
    him—someone who was prepared to take his time and give Rafe everything he had to
    give.
    Rafe writhed beneath him, dragging air into his lungs. When Ben’s hand traveled
    lower, he let out a moan that raised gooseflesh on Ben’s arms. Ben lifted his head at
    that, peering down at Rafe’s flushed face. Rafe appeared dazed, his jaw slack, his pupils
    dark with desire.
    “All right?”
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    “Yes.” Barely above a whisper.
    Ben slipped his hand beneath Rafe, then let it slide down Rafe’s ass to his leg to lift
    his knee. He ground against the meat of Rafe’s thigh while Rafe’s cock pulsed, damp
    and insistent, against his hip.
    “Oh… Ben .” Rafe breathed against his skin. Sweat began to trickle between Ben’s
    shoulder blades. He lifted himself and pulled his T-shirt off over his head. When he
    would have lowered himself, Rafe’s hand on his chest stopped him.
    Rafe’s eyes revealed passion, confusion, and not a little fear. Ben gave him time to
    look his fill. Rafe reached out and drew his hand along Ben’s chest, causing all his
    muscles to tingle and tighten. He shuddered beneath Rafe’s fingers, ready to grind hard
    and come, but not willing to push Rafe too far, too fast.
    Ben lowered himself onto Rafe but shifted so he could lay his hand flat on Rafe’s
    abdomen, just above the waistband of his pajama pants. Rafe sucked in a deep breath.
    Ben hesitated. If he didn’t do things exactly right—if he went too fast or did
    anything Rafe might consider odd—he could scare the man away.
    “Rafe? Can you tell me”—Christ, how did he put this?—“if I touch you, would that
    be all right?”
    Rafe nodded, his hand still exploring the hair on Ben chest. “Anything you do will
    be all right.”
    “If I hurt you or embarrass you, you’ll tell me?”
    “Of course. I’d offer you the same reassurances, but I don’t know what to do.”
    “Touch me.” Ben took Rafe’s hand and laid it low on his belly, inches away from his
    pulsing cock. “Do anything you like. Ask me anything you want to know.”
    “Do you”—Rafe licked his lips—“have a lot of experience?”
    Ben blushed. “I’d say a fair amount.”
    Rafe looked up at the ceiling. “You must think I’m an idiot.”
    “Nah.” But Ben liked the way he said the word, with a long o like id-yoht.
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    “Really. I’m old and such a—”
    “You’re a beautiful man who doesn’t let people in. Tell me I’m wrong about you.
    You haven’t been with girls either, have you?”
    “No,” Rafe admitted quietly.
    “You charm everyone and go home alone? That’s…”
    “It’s not my nature to be…intimate.”
    “No?” Ben’s hand crept beneath the drawstring waistband of Rafe’s pajamas and
    inched its way downward. “Intimacy comes from trust. Do you trust me?”
    Rafe’s breath quickened. He allowed Ben to inch his hand down beneath the fabric
    until it hovered over Rafe’s cock. Moist heat radiated from Rafe’s skin. Ben paused
    there, worried that he was moving too fast.
    “Do you trust me, Rafe?”
    Rafe nodded, and Ben lowered his hand to Rafe’s abdomen and closed it over a
    cock that felt long and slim, every bit as elegant as the man himself.
    The caress expressed itself in Rafe’s eyes, first with shock, then undiluted passion.
    Inky black pupils eclipsed his blue irises, and hot, panting breaths escaped him. His
    head tilted back, exposing the white column of his throat. Ben fastened his mouth there,
    not sucking,