If It Drives (A Market Garden Tale)

  Shit. What now?

  Cal sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. Maybe he still needed more pointers from Nick. At least he’d got everything else right so far. Well, almost. He didn’t imagine that Nick would have lost control like that. Or maybe Nick would have had the vicious energy left to punish James right after, or, or . . . He simply had no clue. Maybe bottoming was completely out when they played this game. Maybe the roles were strict and there was no leeway. It wasn’t like he could just call Nick and ask him for tips when he was barely holding on to being awake.

  James came back out, and Cal couldn’t bear the thought of getting cleaned up—he felt too much like a fraud, so he got up and hogged the bathroom. In order to have some time to himself, he decided to take advantage of the shower. A bath might have been excessive, though he considered it.

  By the time he did come out, James was in bed. Though he wasn’t asleep; he was checking email on his phone. Ever the workaholic.

  When Cal came closer, James smiled at him. Cal managed to smile back, running his fingers through his wet hair. “Do you want to get home?”

  James shrugged. “It’s not like anybody’s waiting there.”

  “True.” Cal sat down, feeling awkward. He should get dressed. Maybe if this was like a normal relationship or even friends with benefits, cuddling might have been an option. Kissing, touching, eventually a second round. But somehow, he felt shy about it, and James didn’t make a move, either. The subservience was gone. They were back to normal.

  “What’s wrong, Cal?”

  I’m trying to work that out. Cal shrugged. “Just random thoughts.”

  “About?” Straightforward, curious—no, actually interested.

  “You sometimes strike me as a very lonely man.”

  James frowned, then touched Cal’s thigh. “I get the sense that’s something we share.”

  “I’m all right living mostly in my head.” Cal smiled. “I don’t need that many real-life people.”

  “Real-life people?” James smiled. “You make it sound like there are other types.”

  “There are. Characters. Story people. I’m, uh, I’m a writer.”

  “Got anything published?”

  Cal laughed softly. “Have to finish it before anyone will publish it.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  Too much distraction. Too focused on . . . He met James’s eyes again. “It’s just a slow process. I’ll get there.”

  James regarded him silently. His hand didn’t move, but somehow it seemed heavier on Cal’s leg. Cal lowered his gaze and slid his hand over the top of James’s. What the hell were they supposed to say right now? He caught himself wishing they were completely back on professional ground. Not quite level ground—maybe they balanced better with James in the position of power—but professional and familiar. When the only things that needed to be said were “take me there” and “yes, sir” and “thank you, Callum” and “will that be all, sir?” He wasn’t socially awkward by nature, but damn, when James was involved . . .

  James ran his thumb along the top of Cal’s thigh. “I have to be honest. You never struck me as a top.”

  Cal swallowed. “To be fair, the high-powered banker type doesn’t quite mesh with . . . with this side of you.”

  “On the surface, maybe.” James smiled, and this time he was the one watching their hands. “But that’s only at work. That power is . . .” He trailed off and rested his head back against the headboard. Gazing up at the ceiling, he said, “It’s part of the job, but it’s not me.” After a moment, he turned his head slightly towards Cal. “Who we are on the job isn’t necessarily who we are, is it?”

  “Maybe not.” An automatic “sir” almost slipped out of his mouth, but Cal caught himself. “So if who we are at work isn’t necessarily who we are, then how well do you and I really know each other?”

  “How much does anybody in this place know about anybody else?” James gestured tiredly, as if to encompass all of London. “As long as the machine works, who cares?”

  Cal felt his chest tighten. “Is that it?”

  James shook his head. “I guess that’s why therapists and whores make a killing these days. Somehow along the way, we all stopped talking to each other about important things in life.”

  “Wow, that’s deep.”

  James laughed. “Not really. If you’ve ever been at an investor conference . . .” He lifted an eyebrow, then smiled with a big dose of self-deprecation. “Oh, don’t bother.”

  “Was that what you wanted to be? I mean, I can’t imagine anybody getting where you are by accident.”

  “I read Classics at Oxford. Joined a City firm as an intern, switched to McKinsey, then decided to join people who buy companies rather than fix them. Moved to bigger firms, bigger departments, more power, spun out, founded my own.” James hesitated. “But I guess you read my CV on the website.”

  “I didn’t.” Cal settled on the bed, back against the headboard. “You’ve probably seen mine, though.”

  “Honestly, I haven’t.” James turned towards him. “I hired your uncle’s company, but didn’t know much about the specific driver I was getting.” He was quiet for a moment. “What’s on your CV?”

  Cal smirked. “Not a hell of a lot.”

  “What did you study?”

  “I dropped out of law.”

  “You did?” James chuckled and ran his hand over the thin sheet covering Cal’s leg. “Well done.”

  “It was killing me—like it was breaking down how I thought, the way my brain worked. It became all so terribly banal, life.” Cal rolled his shoulders as the subject brought back an inkling of the tension and stress he’d been so desperate to escape back then. “I started reading the small print of every web service I subscribed to, bought computers with my mind much more focused on my statutory rights than what I was going to do with the bleeding thing. It twisted everything.”

  “And now you’re happier?”

  Cal considered it for a moment. Happiness. Well, he was content most of the time, unless he was drooling over a guy he thought was out of his league, or when the words on the page didn’t even bear a passing resemblance to how glorious they’d sounded in his mind.

  “Happier than I was then, yes.”

  James furrowed his brow. “Does that mean you aren’t happy now? Just less miserable than you were back then?”

  While law hadn’t been the right fit, getting a degree in English and literature also meant he’d studied to be a taxi driver or a barista; all the debt, and nothing to show for it. Cal gnawed on both his lower lip and James’s two-part question. “I guess I am. Still kind of finding my footing, I guess.”

  “I know the feeling,” James said absently.

  “What do you mean? You’ve got that house, the career, the—” That divorce we both know cost you more than just the kids and the huge chunk of cash she took when she left. “I . . .” Fuck.

  James sighed. “Money isn’t everything, believe me.”

  “So what’s missing?” Cal’s heart beat a little faster as he steered the conversation in that uncomfortable direction.

  Looking down at their hands again, James was silent for a moment. Cal almost retracted the question, but then his . . . boss? Lover? Who was James to him anymore?—met his eyes. “The job and the house are pretty much all I have now. So what’s missing?” One shoulder rose in a halfhearted shrug. “I know it sounds melodramatic, because God knows anyone who’s got money has no right to be unhappy, but I’d say almost everything. I’ve got a roof over my head, an income, a job. But I . . .” He paused, then shook his head and gave a soft laugh, another self-deprecating sound. “Yeah, it does sound melodramatic, doesn’t it? But I guess I’ve had to rethink my priorities in life since Irina and the kids left.”

  There it was. The mention of her name. The nod towards that dark period when Cal had wondered a few times if James would unravel completely. That, or spend every last pound at Market Garden as he tried to d
rown himself in anything other than his divorce.

  Cal squeezed his hand. “You’ve, um, been doing better, though. Since things ended. Right?”

  James nodded. He ran his free hand through his dishevelled hair. “Better, yes. Less miserable.”

  “If you want to talk about it . . .”

  James stared off into the middle distance. “There’s a funny phase in a divorce when you’re not sure the fighting was actually worse than the silence. Rationally, you know it was worse, and . . . the collateral damage of it, too.” He glanced at Cal. “The kids, we . . . we both knew we’d be putting them through hell whether we stayed together or split up, and I knew once it was over, I’d see less of them than I did before. I kept wondering if we were making a huge mistake. But there’s this moment, one that can drag on for weeks, when you really think the silence is worse than the shouting.” He played with the edge of the duvet. “I realised eventually that the silence leaves room for lots of echoes, and I’ve never learned to deal with them. There was always someone. The nanny, or the dog walker, or the . . . the kids. And now they’re gone. It’s like an amputation. Phantom pain from a lost limb, I guess.”

  “But you still see the children,” Cal said softly.

  James winced. “Not as often as a father should.”

  Cal wished he hadn’t asked. The pain was clearly so raw that it was clawing at James’s soul. Cal had never considered what it might feel like, being a father. Or a husband. An ex-husband. He’d only thought far enough ahead to see himself with a string of boyfriends who’d be more or less graceful about the time he invested in his real career, and perfectly okay if that didn’t happen.

  “You’re bisexual, right?” Cal asked, hoping this might steer the conversation into safer territory.

  James nodded. “Are you?”

  Cal shook his head. “Just men for me.”

  Smiling almost nostalgically, James said, “I can’t blame you. I love women, but there’s something about men.” He shifted his gaze up to the ceiling, and the smile was definitely nostalgic now. “You know, I once fell madly in love with a fellow student at Oxford. Lovely man.” His expression darkened slightly. “We went our separate ways eventually, though, and I married a colleague at the consultancy.” Obviously he wasn’t talking about falling in love with her, not with the raw edges of that emotional wound so exposed. It would have made him more vulnerable to talk about how he at some point had loved his wife.

  James sighed. Then he shook himself and turned to Cal again. He opened his mouth like he was about to speak, but his breath stopped when his eyes met Cal’s.

  “Something wrong?”

  James swallowed. One hand still on Cal’s leg, he twisted a little and reached for Cal’s face with the other. “I didn’t bring you here so we could talk about this kind of thing. Why are . . .” His fingertips brushed Cal’s cheek, drawing a shiver out of both of them. “Why are we talking about this?”

  Cal absently swept his tongue across his lips. “Because I want to know you.”

  James held his gaze for a moment, then shook his head and, as he leaned closer, whispered, “No you don’t.”

  Before Cal could protest, James pressed his lips to Cal’s, and the kiss was so gentle and tender, Cal couldn’t hold on to a single thought. Not what they’d been talking about, not what they needed to talk about or shouldn’t talk about or a damned thing except how James’s mouth moved with his.

  He sat up, curving a hand around James’s neck and pushing James’s lips apart with his tongue. Moaning softly, James opened to him, welcoming his increasingly forceful kiss. Goose bumps rose along Cal’s spine, and his dick hardened. His breath came faster. He pushed James back against the headboard, pinning him there.

  He broke the kiss. “This is what you want, isn’t it?”

  Panting, James nodded. “Yes.”

  I want to talk. I want to know you.

  No you don’t.

  I just want you.

  Gripping James’s neck tighter, Cal kissed him again. He climbed on top, straddling James.

  Cal broke away again and bent to kiss James’s neck. “Tell me again why you brought me here.”

  James whimpered, squirming beneath Cal and dragging his fingers down Cal’s back. “I . . .”

  “Tell me, or I’ll stop.”

  James pulled in a sharp breath. “Because I want you. Like this.”

  “Like how?”

  “In bed.”

  “Is that all?” Cal dug his teeth in just above James’s collarbone, enough for him to feel it without leaving a mark.

  “N-no. I . . . What you did in the car. I wanted that again. And I didn’t want to wait until we got home, so I—”

  “You wanted me telling you what to do.” Cal closed his eyes, pressing his lips to the side of James’s throat. There was more beneath the surface—more to James’s desire to have him like this, and more to Cal’s eagerness to give that to him—but he didn’t know how to get to it. Or if that was a Pandora’s box he really wanted to open right now.

  He pushed himself up off James. “Get a condom.”

  James lunged for the bedside table and grabbed the strip. He tore one off, then faced Cal, holding the foil square between his fingers.

  Part of Cal wanted to order James to top him again. To give himself another chance to be in control and stay in control.

  But that raw vulnerability still lingered in James’s eyes. The unspoken pleas. He didn’t just want Cal to be in control right now, he needed it.

  Cal plucked the condom from James’s hand. He tore the wrapper with his teeth. “On your back.”

  James moved into a more comfortable position, his head on the pillow instead of leaning against the headboard, and reached for the lube. He held the bottle out on his palm like an offering, just like when he’d arrived with the bag earlier.

  Once the condom was in place, Cal took the lube and smeared some on it. Nerves and excitement vied for dominance; he wanted this, and he wanted James, but there was pressure now. A need he’d not been able to fulfil entirely before. He was in a better position—so to speak—to fulfil that now, but he was afraid of failing again, especially with James in this raw state.

  “Please,” James whispered, and Cal realised he’d hesitated for a long moment. “Cal . . .”

  Pushing back his nerves, Cal locked eyes with James. “I like it when you beg.”

  James shuddered and opened his legs, lifting his knees, offering himself, gaze fixed on Cal’s. No doubt or worry there, not even much of the rawness. He seemed vulnerable, but he always was in this position. Safe ground. He trusted Cal to fulfil the promise, and maybe not doing it the first time had been dumb or selfish, but thankfully, James seemed to easily flip back into that headspace, without reservation or grudges.

  Cal pushed between James’s legs, positioned himself. Recalling how much James had liked it when it hurt, he thrust in.

  James’s eyes rolled back and he arched against the invasion, fingers digging into the mattress, the very picture of abandon. Exactly what he’d wanted, just a dash of force, maybe even a selfish kind of top, but that was too easy. Cal pushed in deep, angled himself so he was hitting him just right, then pulled out again; James groaned when he breached him again for another, deeper thrust and then again pulled out all the way. It allowed him to focus on lasting longer, and he loved the moment when he slid in, loved the way James moaned and trembled when he was being entered. It was fucking, yet also power and control.

  “Cal, please. Please.”

  There, the Bat Signal. Cal grinned and leaned over James, sliding into him slower, rolling his hips, teasing. James’s eyes were on him again, though he was clearly fighting for words, or control, or anything else, but Cal’s slow, intense rhythm had them both almost incoherent. It was perfect—James didn’t try to fight him, just slowly drowned in sensation and his own need. Cal loved watching him, loved how they moved together, breathed together, loved the slapping of flesh together
, because this was them together at their best. Perfect fit. If only everything else fit so well.

  Cal bore down on him, moving on to harsh fucking, and James squirmed underneath him, until he tightened and arched, covering Cal’s belly and the space between them with liquid heat. Cal fucked him right through his orgasm, and managed to pull out before he lost it. He moved further up, pulled off the condom and, two, three quick jerks with his hand later, came all over James’s face.

  James looked just a bit surprised, then licked a drop of his cum off his lips and stared up at Cal, eyes gleaming.

  Breathing hard, Cal grinned down at him. He climbed off, trying not to show that his legs were shaking, though any man’s would be after all that exertion and that orgasm. He nodded sharply towards the bathroom. “Go grab yourself a towel. One for me too.”

  James didn’t hesitate. He got up quickly, pausing to get his legs under him. He returned a few seconds later, mopping at his face with a hand towel as he held out another for Cal. For the second time this afternoon, they cleaned themselves up, and lounged in the massive bed.

  “How long do we have the room?” Cal asked, forcing himself to enunciate as postorgasmic lethargy set in.

  James grinned, his eyes heavy-lidded. “As long as we want it.”

  “Good.” Cal wrapped his arm around James’s shoulders, and closed his eyes as James rested his head on his chest. Just as well they didn’t need to check out anytime soon. He doubted he had enough for a third go-round—though with this man in bed with him, anything was possible—but for now, he just didn’t want to move.

  So he didn’t.

  “Before we get started, I have a question.”

  Cupping his steaming mug in both hands on the other side of the couch, Nick raised his eyebrows. “Ask away.”

  Cal tapped a fingertip on his own mug. “Is it possible to be . . . a top, but on the bottom?”

  Nick tilted his head slightly. “You mean, is it possible for a Dom to be fucked and still be in control?”