Sexual content warning.
CH 4: Devastation
The day after Ben and Anna's lapse, their indiscretion was the farthest thing from his mind. A new guilt had taken root in Ben's heart, deep and insidious, and it felt as though there were knives in his lungs as he staggered along, one foot in front of the other as he walked in a daze. He was a monster – this was all his fault.
As fate would have it, devastation had taken root that day. A small scouting group of rebel volunteers had headed over into enemy territory, fully prepared to swoop in and destroy (and potentially steal) provisions, yet what they hadn't realized was the enemy was there waiting for them. They'd been tipped off.
Ben was the one to lead them. He had been the one to shout the charge, and was ultimately what drew those rebels out into the line of fire. And yet in spite of his mistakes, it was he who had made it back alive…and no one else.
Stumbling and nearly collapsing over a fallen branch, Ben walked through camp with a lengthy, bloody gash across his forehead. It had long since crusted over, yet still looked worrisome as he limped his way by tents and dwindling campfires. Tears filled his eyes, but they did not fall.
Was he being punished? Was this his comeuppance for sleeping with, and wanting to keep fucking a married woman?
With a soft whimper of agony, Ben swallowed back a scream and kept walking. By this point, he was relying on muscle memory to lead him back toward a safe, familiar place of refuge: Caleb's quarters. Though as soon as he staggered upon the area, he discovered that both his friend and Anna were present. The duo looked up from Caleb's personal campfire, alarmed.
"Ben?" Wall-eyed, Caleb rushed forward and caught hold of the blonde's forearm, keeping him from toppling over. "Shite, what happened?"
"Nothing," Ben choked out, his chin trembling. "I'm fine."
"Like hell you are, you fecking loggerhead!" Looking over his shoulder, the whaler shouted to Anna, "Oi! Go fetch something for his wound!"
Pale and wordless, Anna nodded before gathering up her skirts and rushing off for her cart.
"I tell you, I am fine." Disquieted – he didn't deserve all their concern – Ben tried to pull himself free, but only succeeded in stumbling from the effort.
Caleb caught hold of his arms, and thus kept him from faceplanting into the grass. "Who did this?" he demanded. "Ben, where are the others?"
"Dead." The word caught in his throat like hardtack, and with a soft, shuddering breath, he lowered his gaze and curled in on himself. Tears tracked through the dirt on his cheeks, and as Caleb started guiding him toward his tent, he didn't resist.
"Ambush?" the whaler asked, his gaze hard.
Ben nodded weakly.
"Loyalists or lobster backs?"
"Th-the latter…" Swallowing, Ben finally managed to regain his composure as they entered the tent. Caleb helped him sink down onto a chair, and Ben fell heavily upon the wooden structure, wet-eyed and shaking. "You should've seen it, Caleb…they knew we would be there. Someone told them."
Expression hardening, Caleb turned his head and spat onto the ground. "Another turncoat?"
"That's what I'm thinking, yes." Embittered, Ben snarled, "You would think by now that with all the trouble we've had, I would be far better at seeing the signs."
Caleb's expression softened. "You can't blame yourself, Benny-boy. You may be Washington's eyes and ears, but unless you've magically become omnipotent, I don't think ya can see all there is to see."
Anna entered the tent then and both men looked up.
"Ah, Annie! Good," Caleb cajoled, motioning her forward. "Stay here with Tall-boy, will ya? I'm going to alert Washington and the Life Guard about what's happening. He could be in danger, too."
A sharp swell of panic lanced through Ben's breast. He hadn't even considered that the plan could also lead back to Washington. He attempted to rise, but Caleb was quick to shove him back down.
"Stay here," he snapped, though not unkindly. "You're hurt, Ben – quit bein' so damned hulver-headed!"
"B-but-"
"I can handle this on my own," Caleb assured him. "I may not be the best at followin' orders, but I know my way around a hatchet." Winking, he gestured to the weapon attached to his belt, then turned and headed out through the tent flaps.
Anna lingered awkwardly in the entryway. She gripped a washbowl between her fingers, as well as a small cloth.
Ben swallowed and looked away.
Taking his submission as acceptance, she stepped forward and set the bowl onto the small table alongside him. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" she asked, dipping the cloth into the water.
Numbly, Ben shook his head. Anna took hold of his chin, and his eyes fell to her lips as she scrubbed at his wound with careful, gentle strokes. Her mouth grew pinched as she worked – the soft, focused pucker distracted him, and as her tongue briefly peeked out in concentration, a fire stoked low in his belly. He recalled that tongue wrapping around his cock…those full, sensual lips sliding around him as he cried out and fisted her hair.
Slowly, the pain and panic ebbed away, and Ben was filled with stinging heat and longing. Her touch made him feel good, he realized – she made him feel good. Any time they were alone together, the ugliness of war never once saturated his thoughts, and in that moment, he knew that that was exactly what he needed.
"You're lucky," Anna murmured, oblivious to his turmoil. "It doesn't look like you'll need stitches."
She was close to him – damnably close – and her heady warmth coupled with her scent caused him to finally lose control.
Fisting a handful of her hair, Ben yanked Anna down to his level and harshly joined his mouth with hers, pulling and groping as he fought back a sob. Her hands came to his cheeks, and he angled in more strongly, trembling and desperate as he struggled to feel beyond his pain. She whined and his free hand tightly curled around her throat, his fingers pressing into her flesh while his teeth sank into her bottom lip. He felt her flinch, and then he lapped at the affliction.
Touch me. Please, please, touch me back…
Breath swelling in his lungs, Ben pressed his hand between her legs and rubbed his palm along the dirty, rough outer skirts of her petticoats. He felt Anna breathe out as though winded, and a soft, kittenish mewl caught between their kiss. Her tongue found his, and his cock throbbed with need when her moans caught between their lips.
Shaking and manic, Ben curled one hand over her wrist while the other remained around her neck, tightening as he drew her hand down to palm at the thick, growing bulge beneath his breeches.
That was when Anna's free hand came to his chest. She shoved him and broke away, staggering back with a soft, shallow gasp. Bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, she touched a hand to her swollen lip and scowled at him. "What the hell is the matter with you?" she spat. Her tone was soft and gravelly – afflicted.
Bewildered, Ben sat there reeling while she drew her arms around herself in a makeshift, self-protective embrace. Didn't she want him? The thought of her not wanting to touch him – of her not allowing him to be inside her sent Ben into an immediate tailspin.
"Anna…" Panting, he reached out to her in desperation. "Anna, please."
"Ben, no. I already told you: what's done is done between us. I have no interest in continuing this."
Alarm blitzed through him, and Ben blinked up at her while tasting bile. "B-but I…I need you," he weakly confessed. "Please, Anna, I don't want to feel ugly anymore…I only want to feel good. I only want to feel you."
He caught her arm, but again, she shook him off. "Ben, you need help – help that I cannot give you."
"But you can…you have." Snagging his fingers through her skirts, he leaned forward and nuzzled into her middle, his breath scorching her as he pressed quick, needy kisses along her clothed stomach. He trailed his lips upward until Anna seized hold of his braid and gave him a fierce, ireful yank. His head bent back and they locked eyes.
"Do not touch me!" she snarled at him. His blue eyes were wide, helpless and yearnful, and she fought against the guilt that churned within her stomach. Why was he looking at her like that? Why did he seem so lost, frightened, adrift?
Swallowing past the tightness in her throat, she released him and took an abrupt step back. Ben fell to his hands and knees then, almost as if he were in the throes of worship. He pressed his forehead into the dirt and shuddered, awash with shame. Anna was right. What was the matter with him? Why was it that all he could think of was being inside her? Of fucking into her warmth and drowning himself in her kiss?
"I'm sorry," he choked out. "Anna, please…don't go."
Torn, she gaped down at him as he sniveled into the grass, filthy and bloody and a complete mess. Tears filled her eyes, but she turned her back on him. "Goodnight, Ben," she whispered. "I've cleaned your wound, so I'm going back to Selah. You need your rest."
Ben cringed and curled against the earth. He tried to call out to her again, but nothing but a whine caught in his throat as she rushed out through the tent flaps.
While Anna splashed her face with water, Selah changed into his nightclothes, humming an old folk song under his breath while he dressed. He'd always had a nice singing voice… It was gentle and calming, yet even his sweet intonation failed to drag Anna from her thoughts. Ben had seemed so wretched and lost that evening – manic. Was the stress of war pulling him under? Had he finally lost himself?
Unnerved by the thought, Anna failed to notice Selah appraising her as she moved toward their bed. He immediately stopped her, his face transforming into a look of alarm.
"Anna?" he asked, reaching out and cupping her cheeks. "My God, what's happened to you?"
He studied her bottom lip and winced, brushing his thumb over the tender spot where Ben's teeth pierced into her flesh with an ardent, needy savagery.
"I…I-I bit myself," she stammered.
"And your neck?" Selah demanded, showing a hint of anger. Bemused, Anna jerked in surprise when his fingers brushed over the light bruising on her throat. She hadn't realized Ben had been so rough.
Offering a helpless shrug, she feebly admitted, "I don't know…the laundry was a bit strenuous today. I must've whacked myself with one of the bats."
"On your throat?"
"Stranger things have happened, Selah."
Unconvinced, he lowered his hands to her shoulders and squeezed. "You would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you? If someone was…hurting you?" He drew a breath, appearing physically pained by the thought.
Anna winced at his unabashed concern. She didn't deserve his fervent worry. "Yes, Selah. Of course."
Expression softening, he cupped her face and drew down to kiss her brow. "Come to bed then," he cajoled. "You must be tired."
Numbly, she nodded and followed his lead, her mind traveling back to Ben and the empty, terrified way he'd clawed at her and begged and pleaded…and how she'd done nothing. She'd abandoned him.
Lying down in bed, Anna remained wide-eyed long after Selah blew out their lantern and immersed them in thick, bleak darkness.
Deep into the twilight hours of the morning, Anna laid wide awake. Her fingers absently swept over where Ben had manhandled her – where he'd gripped and squeezed and pawed as though he could somehow scratch his way inside her. Despite the fact she hadn't seen her own bruising, Anna felt oddly desired…claimed. Selah had never once been rough with her, and she felt unhinged for being sorry for it. Ben was never rough with her either. Even when he'd bound her to her bedposts, he'd been decidedly gentle and careful with her – reverent. Now, however, his desperation had led to physical markings with teeth, tongue and fingertips. Would he do it again, she wondered? Would she let him?
Shakily, she matched her fingers to the faint, purplish stripes along her throat. Her skin was tender to the touch – swollen, much like the sudden heat she felt pooling between her thighs. She was depraved…how could this be exciting to her? Was it because someone was finally handling her like she wasn't some gentle, delicate flower?
Rolling over onto her side and away from Selah, Anna bunched up her shift until the fabric gathered around her waist. Again, she thought of Ben with his wild, needy eyes and kiss-swollen mouth, and slid a shaking hand between her thighs, brushing her fingertips over her clit. The contact sent an instant jolt through her and she closed her eyes, biting her lip to suppress a soft gasp. Curling her fingers to press up inside her warmth, she tensed her thighs and slowly slid her fingers in and out of her throbbing sex. She was soaked up to the knuckles, and as she stroked and rubbed at her insides, she imagined how Ben had felt between her walls – stretching her nice and deep while his hair fell into his eyes, and his hips snapped up harshly to meet with hers.
"Ben…" His name came out as a furtive whisper, yet sounded akin to a yell as Anna trembled. She hadn't meant to say that. She hadn't meant to call for him when her husband, sweet and oblivious, laid there at her side.
Chest shivering with breath, Anna reached down with her free hand and rubbed her clit. Fingerfucking herself with needful aggression, she rolled and bucked her hips into the continuous assault, her head tipping back as her walls spasmed around her fingers. Her insides throbbed and flexed, and her toes curled as she rode out her orgasm with soft, subtle thrusts. It wasn't enough – why wasn't it enough?
When she finally finished, overwhelmed and gasping for breath, Anna glanced over her shoulder and discovered Selah still fast asleep. Guilt-stricken, she wiped her soiled hand against the bedding and sat up, running her fingers through her hair. She didn't deserve him – she didn't deserve Ben, either, but for whatever reason, it was her he wanted.
Unbidden, the throbbing between her legs started up again, and Anna drew a breath. She needed to confront him, she realized. She needed to find out what was there – to explore just why the thought of his hands on her made her wet and needy and alive.
With one final look in Selah's direction, Anna steeled herself and went to fetch her cloak and shoes.
A/N: Okay, so while this was originally just supposed to be my typical raunchy go-to, it's taken a turn into sex addiction territory. Ironically, this all started off as a joke. Some friends and I were joking how Ben got all "BIG ANGERY" after sleeping with Sarah, because he was "missin' the hornies," but then we were like hmm...wait. Maybe he WAS upset that he couldn't alleviate his stress through sex, because arguably, sleeping with Sarah had to have been one of the best experiences he'd had during the war. With Sarah, he was given a loving/lustful/gentle touch, and for just a brief while, the horrors of his job melted away and he probably felt the warmest and safest he had in a long, long time. I'd probably be angry/upset/rude too, if that feeling was bestowed and yanked away all within 24 hours. So yeah. I'm experimenting with that here with Ben and Anna, and how he only feels safe/warm/loved when they fool around. They'll FINALLY sleep together again in the next chapter, so I apologize for the clear filler.
P.S. I genuinely hate adultery, but alas, the writers wrote Anna and Selah in such a way that basically had her running around on him being canon. I do NOT, however, intend to hurt him, cuz I really do like Selah, and I'm going to try and end this as painlessly for everyone involved as possible. So if that's a concern for anyone, I hope this eases that somewhat!