If It Drives (A Market Garden Tale)

  He’ll get it somewhere else.

  Cal stood and went to the bar, stared at the line of bottles—a couple different beers, hard liquor. But he didn’t really drink on the nights before a work day. He should be at his best tomorrow, assuming tomorrow even happened. He should be sharp.

  It had been a terrible idea. It had looked good—learn what he needs, give it to him, and then there’d be some sort of happy ending. What kind of happy ending this type of thing could have, he could barely imagine.

  All of this seemed pretty messed up from the outside. Fucking your employer was all kinds of wrong, from whatever angle. But part of him insisted that he might be exactly what James needed, and that was the greatest lure of all—to be needed, to be wanted, to hold somebody together when they went through the bleak times James was going through.

  But how did that desire to please and care and even serve fit with the Dom thing? No idea. It seemed deep and honest, but even if he dug deeper and tried to get to the why, all he found was that most normal of all human desires. To be loved and cherished.

  And who was he kidding? He wanted James. Plain and simple. The physical attraction had been there since day one. The more Cal had got to know him—well, as much as he had got to know him—the more he’d wanted to help him, but also to have him.

  The intercom beside the door buzzed. Cal nearly jumped out of his skin. He scrambled to his feet and hurried to the door.

  “Yes?”

  “Would you mind coming back up to the house?” James’s voice crackled through the speaker.

  Cal cringed. He was so getting fired. “Sure. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  He wanted to spend a moment psyching himself up, but that would just give him more time to get nervous. So he pulled his shoes back on, bolted out the door, and walked as quickly as he could up the path to the house.

  At the front door, his hand hovered in the air as he debated knocking versus just going inside. Finally, he settled on the latter, and pushed the door open. He’d been through this door a million times before, but half-expected it to creak on its hinges like he was walking into a haunted house or some ridiculous thing like that.

  “James?” The echo reminded him a little of being in a haunted house.

  “In the living room.”

  Cal walked towards the sound of James’s voice. When he came around the corner, James was sitting in the armchair beside the couch where— Oh God, don’t even think about that night.

  “Do you want a cup of coffee or anything?” James asked quietly.

  Cal hesitated. “How long am I staying?”

  James shrugged so subtly that Cal wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been so tuned in to every movement. “How long do you want to stay?”

  “I don’t . . . I don’t know.”

  “I need a coffee.” James rose. “What about you?”

  So I’m staying long enough for a cup of coffee, apparently.

  “Uh. Okay. Sure.” Cal swallowed. “Thanks.”

  “Have a seat.” James motioned towards the couch. “I’ll be right back.”

  Cal nodded. They brushed past each other, and Cal eased himself onto the couch. There were plenty of rooms in this house where they could have this conversation, but no, James had chosen this one. Beside the dark, cool fireplace that had been glowing and crackling the night they’d talked, and then kissed, and then fucked.

  Could we do this in a room that’s not quite so haunted?

  He curled his fingers on the edge of the couch cushion, listening to the sounds coming from the next room. A spoon clinking inside a cup. Cups scraping on the counter. He could smell the coffee now, and had to admit it was enticing; James never skimped, so this was the good stuff. Cal’s stomach growled; he’d forgotten to eat or drink anything since that poor excuse for a lunch he’d inhaled while James had been in a meeting.

  The coffee sounds stopped, and footsteps started. Cal turned his head. As James walked into the room, a pair of plain white mugs in his hands, Cal’s heart pounded harder. His stomach turned a little, but damn, that coffee smelled good.

  “You prefer it black, don’t you?” James asked.

  Cal nodded. “I do. Thank you.”

  James handed him the mug. Holding his own, he sat in the armchair where he’d been a moment ago. At least they weren’t on the same couch. Cal wasn’t sure his nerves could handle that this evening.

  In silence, they sipped their coffee. Cal was right—this was the good stuff. The kind that actually had flavour besides just being bitter. A hint of hazelnut, maybe? He couldn’t put his finger on it, and trying to work it out was a hell of a lot easier than paying attention to the fact that James was sitting so close to him.

  James set his coffee mug on a coaster. “I’ve had a little time to think. And now I think we should talk.”

  Cal took another sip and didn’t even taste it. He set his cup down and sat back. “Okay.”

  James held his gaze. “What has he taught you?”

  Cal blinked; considering how complex it was, trying to sum up the lessons in a few sentences seemed like a tall order. “He spoke about the general Dom/sub relationship. Safety. Consent. The . . . mind-set. Who’s in charge, general etiquette, like not trying to order around a sub who’s not your sub. Things like that.”

  “I see. Did he speak about me?”

  “No!” Not much. “No, he didn’t.”

  James relaxed his shoulders somewhat. Was that what the man was afraid of? It couldn’t possibly be a deep, horrible secret, could it?

  “He only said you were quite a handful. But I knew that already.”

  James’s lips twitched. “I guess I am, though I have no . . . comparison. So I trust Nick’s judgement.”

  “I think that’s fair. He’s pretty good at this.”

  “Yes, he is.” James frowned thoughtfully. “I’m trying to understand where this separation comes from, for want of a better word. Nick performs a service. I pay him for it. He keeps things confidential, and we both get what we want—in his case, the money. And the beauty of it was that I didn’t have to instruct him. He did things exactly right without shattering the illusion until afterwards. At the same time, I know exactly what’s going on during the scene. I know I can stop it.” He leaned back. “Now, with somebody I don’t pay, the power is all different. Confusing, one might add.”

  “Did you never mix those things?”

  “No. Things were always a lot more ordinary when there was no money involved, though considering my settlement, clearly marriage is in part a financial institution. Like an open-ended bond. They call it in and . . .” He shook his head. Cal wanted to touch him, hold him, kiss him, and take his mind off that wound again. “Maybe it would be better if I paid you. It would be a known quantity for me. But I see how that would make you feel like a whore, which is the last thing I want.”

  “So what do you want? You . . .” Cal swallowed. “You can trust me. I won’t tell anybody.”

  James leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees and wringing his hands between them. “Are you asking what I want from Nick and the other rentboys? Or from you?”

  “Is the answer different?”

  James was quiet for a moment. Then he shook his head. “I’m not even sure.”

  “That first night, you wanted Nick.” Cal folded his hands to keep them still. “But when he wasn’t there, you directed your attention to me. Was I just the nearest warm—”

  “No. No, I’ve told you that wasn’t the case.”

  Cal clasped his fingers tightly together. He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer, but he asked anyway. “Were you as satisfied the next morning as you would have been if you’d had Nick instead of me?”

  James met his eyes, brow furrowing slightly. “What?”

  God, don’t make me ask it again. “You heard me.” The words came out sharper than he intended, but before he could apologise, James straightened.

  “Right. Sorry.” He cleared his throat a
nd lowered his gaze. “I don’t know, to be honest.”

  “Was that the first time you’d thought about me that way?” Cal tried not to squirm. “The first time you . . . wanted me?”

  Slowly, James shook his head.

  “So you’d thought about it before?”

  “Yeah.” James rubbed a hand over his face. Then he sat back, but still didn’t look at Cal. “There were a few times. During my divorce, even. I just . . .”

  “What?”

  James eyes darted towards Cal. “I thought you were attractive right from the start, and there were times I was tempted to . . . suggest something. But you’re my employee, and I didn’t feel right about it.”

  “But something changed that night.”

  “That night, I was . . .”

  Cal tried to fill in the blank, but none of the words he came up with would help the situation. Desperate. Needy. Lonely. Lucky to have a single chauffeur nearby with a massive crush and—

  Don’t. Just don’t.

  James tapped his fingers on the armrest. “I don’t know how to explain any of this, Cal.”

  “But you want me to explain why I went to Nick to find out how to give you what you need.” Cal paused, reminding himself not to let any defensiveness seep into his tone. “And why that doesn’t make me a whore.”

  James winced. “You’re not, Cal. You’re not. I’ve never thought of you that way.” He locked eyes with Cal. “I don’t know what this is”—he gestured at himself, and then Cal—“but you’re not my whore.”

  “Do you want me to stop going to Nick, then?”

  James shifted, leaning over his elbow on the armrest in what may have been a failed attempt to look relaxed. “I . . .”

  “Yes or no.” Cal kept his voice gentle, though he wanted to demand the answer. “If what you want from me is different from what you want from them, then there’s no reason for me to keep going.”

  James chewed his thumbnail, eyes losing focus for a long moment. “Has he taught you much?”

  The question—the fact that James was even a little bit intrigued—relaxed a few taut muscles in Cal’s neck and shoulders. “He’s certainly opened my eyes to a few things.”

  James’s eyebrow arched. “Such as?”

  “How to hurt someone without actually hurting him.”

  A shiver ran through James. “Oh. I see.”

  “But if you don’t want this . . .”

  “Well, I . . .” James fidgeted again. “Hypothetically, how would this arrangement with Nick work? If, say, we had him . . . join us.” He gulped. “What exactly would that entail?”

  Cal couldn’t help grinning. “I think we both know exactly what it would entail.”

  James’s eyebrows rose. “Humour me.”

  “Think about it.”

  “I have no—” James halted abruptly. Then he closed his eyes as a shudder went through him, one that might have been equal parts arousal and oh, fuck . . . “Whatever the fuck Nick wants.”

  “Exactly.” Cal’s humour waned. “So, are you saying you want to?”

  James tensed again. “I’m curious, I’ll admit that.”

  “It’s one night. We don’t have to do it again, and it can stop anytime.”

  James’s eyes unfocused, and he was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded. “All right. Okay. One night.”

  Cool relief rushed through Cal’s veins. “Okay. I’ll set it up.”

  “Good. Good.” James scratched the back of his neck, and then turned to Cal again. “So what about tonight?”

  Emotional ping-pong. From fear, tension, to humour, anticipation, and now gut-wrenching desire in less than half an hour. “I could stay. You want me to?”

  James nodded. “Take my mind off the paperwork. It was a rough week.”

  I know, Cal thought with compassion. “I want to”—God, did he ever—“but I think I’m maybe too exhausted to do much tonight.”

  James nodded. “I could set up the Jacuzzi and get a nice bottle of wine and we can relax. Nothing too strenuous, just . . .” He waved his hand.

  That sounded perfect. Cal didn’t have the energy left to attempt to top him or order him. Considering how part of the day had gone and how he’d expected to lose his job, relaxing with James, a Jacuzzi, and some wine sounded great.

  And he hoped to God that tomorrow would allow them to move forwards.

  There was no coffee the next evening, but Cal didn’t need it. He didn’t imagine James did either, but he suspected the man might be itching for a glass of wine, or maybe a hit of that finely aged Scotch he loved so much.

  None of that, though. Nick had issued some explicit rules for the evening, and one of them was no alcohol. Not a single drop.

  Cal wasn’t sure if that was a standard thing, or if Nick was just fucking with James. He let Spencer have a little wine sometimes before they played. He’d usually met his clientele in a bar, after all.

  But he was clear about tonight: no alcohol.

  And without a drop in his system and Nick on the way, James was restless. Waiting in the living room, dressed precisely as instructed—he will wear the red tie, Nick had ordered—he couldn’t sit still. Cal watched him from the couch, and though he didn’t say anything, he was surprised James hadn’t pulled out his phone or even his laptop to catch up on emails or work. He always did that when he was wound up.

  Not this time, though.

  James glanced at his watch.

  Three minutes later, he did it again.

  Not two minutes after that, again.

  “Take it off.”

  James turned to Cal. “What?”

  “The watch.” Cal gestured at it. “Take it off.”

  The question was etched across James’s forehead, but he did as he was told, and when Cal motioned for it, he placed the watch in Cal’s outstretched palm.

  Cal reached back and set the watch on the table behind the couch. The metal clicked quietly on the wood, but the sound seemed to echo through the huge living room. Now that it was sitting behind him, just a few inches away, Cal could hear it ticking. All too aware of the seconds slowly scraping past, he could barely keep himself from glancing at it like James had been doing.

  “Nick said we should make sure there was some water handy.” He turned to James. “We should put a few bottles in the bedroom.” He paused. Though he was in charge, this was James’s turf, and Cal had noticed the rentboys rarely if ever went near James’s bedroom. Maybe that was sacred ground. “On second thought, downstairs. The billiards room.”

  James closed his eyes and shuddered. Cal grinned. He imagined Nick could come up with some creative things to do in there.

  “Put some water down there.”

  James nodded and got up, probably thankful for an excuse to move.

  Cal was unaware of the huge billiards room being used for anything much, but since it was a cellar room, dug out from under the ancient house a few years ago, it was insulated from all angles. Maybe they could convert it into a proper dungeon, like the ones Cal had seen on the internet. Not like he’d recently spent way too much time surfing those websites while he should have been writing.

  While Nick made do with the sturdy bedframe in his own house, Cal quite liked the idea of a St. Andrew’s Cross or a spanking bench. James was a lot more twitchy than Spencer, so maybe getting tied down would help him let go. On the other hand, Nick had told him he preferred it when Spencer didn’t move because he had told him not to. And Spencer obeyed beautifully.

  But James? So many possibilities. They were only at the beginning, with wide open territory before them. Domination was nebulous, a mind-set. How to form it, shape it, and how to do it right? Thank God he had some guidance.

  Speaking of which. The doorbell rang. Cal was tempted to let James get it, but he didn’t want James to face Nick alone. So he opened the door.

  Nick. Tight leather trousers, shining boots, a black canvas bag slung over his shoulder, blond fringe falling into his brow. He was weari
ng a tight black T-shirt with EAT THE RICH across his chest, and Cal hoped he’d lose that before they got into playing.

  “Hi, good seeing you. Come on in.”

  Nick grinned. “And you. Nice outfit.”

  “Thanks.” Cal followed Nick into the house. In the living room, Nick and James locked eyes, and were silent for a moment. Cal had no idea what had gone on between the two of them the last time Nick was here, but he had a feeling they were both mentally reliving it. James fidgeted. Nick’s expression was blank, revealing nothing about how he felt standing in front of James again. If he’d enjoyed the last time, if he was happy for the rematch, or if he was just a predator sizing up his prey.

  After a moment, Nick gestured at Cal. “Do you like the way he looks, James?”

  James nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  As Nick had suggested, Cal was wearing what he usually wore at work. Black trousers—these were tailored. White shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, but buttoned up almost completely. Polished leather shoes. All he needed was a uniform jacket and . . .

  Nick glanced at him. “Something’s missing, though.” He snapped his fingers. “Gloves. You need gloves. Driver kink is nothing without gloves. Hell, maybe even sunglasses. Pilot shades, if you’ve got them.”

  At the edge of Cal’s vision, James shuddered and ran a hand through his hair.

  Cal swallowed. Apparently he had a lot to learn about this particular kink. “They’re, um, in the car.” He gestured at the foyer. “I’ll be right back.”

  Nick nodded sharply. “We’ll be downstairs when you get back.”

  Cal turned to go. He was halfway to the front door when he paused, wondering if this was a ploy to get him out of the room. Well, Nick was in charge, so Cal continued outside. He jogged around to the garage. The rarely worn gloves were in the car’s glove compartment, and his sunglasses—also not needed in this cloud-covered city—were in the console.

  On the way back to the house, he put on the glasses and gloves. Now that he thought about it, he did recall James glancing at his gloved hands while he’d held open the car door one bitterly cold day. Or maybe he was imagining it. Fabricating a memory now that Nick had emphasised the connection between the gloves and the “driver kink,” which Cal wished he’d known about a long time ago.