If It Drives (A Market Garden Tale)

  Could’ve used that to my advantage, he thought with a chuckle.

  When he stepped into the foyer, the ground floor was empty. He couldn’t see all the other rooms, but he could feel it. No voices, no movement, none of Nick’s presence vibrating off the walls.

  The billiards room, then.

  Cal headed downstairs. The billiards room was silent, but just as he’d known the ground floor was empty, he instantly knew they were down here, and when he stepped around the corner at the bottom of the stairs and into the room, it was only Nick’s voice in the back of his head—never show that you’ve lost even a little bit of control—that kept him from stopping and gasping.

  Nick was standing beside the pool table, cue in hand. His grin looked more devilish—closer to downright evil—than it had ever been when Cal had watched him with Spencer.

  And beside him, bent over the billiards table with his arms stretched out to the sides, looking equal parts puzzled and aroused, was James.

  While neither man was looking at him, Cal granted himself a startled gulp, but nothing more. Then he schooled his expression and his posture, determined to be as calm and controlled as Nick.

  “Allow me to make a slight correction,” Nick said to James. “I’m in charge, but you’ll be taking your orders from him.” He gestured at Cal with the cue.

  James’s eyebrows rose. He slowly looked Cal up and down, his lips parting slightly.

  Cal reached up with a gloved hand and tugged at his sunglasses. James shivered. Oh yes, this was going to be fun. The sunglasses were a clever addition; they’d help mask any insecurity. Same with the gloves. He might sweat inside them, but James wouldn’t be able to tell. Until Cal had gained the same level of badassness as Nick—unlikely as that was—he had to pretend he was already there.

  Nick being in the room was weird: part reassurance that he’d step in if things went wrong, part judge of Cal’s performance. Cal wanted to impress Nick, wanted to do right by James, which made everything even more deliberate than it was already.

  One of you has to be in control.

  “Tell him what we discussed while he was out of the room,” Nick said.

  James closed his eyes. “S-safewords.”

  “Repeat them. Now.”

  “Red to stop.” James glanced at Cal. “Yellow to back off.”

  “Good.” Nick gave Cal a small nod and took half a step back, as if to say, Your sub.

  First things first. He glanced to the side and saw bottles of water, lube, condoms, with Nick’s open bag resting next to them. Nick had walked him through using the equipment in the bag, demonstrating some of it on Spencer.

  Unlimited possibilities.

  Space and perception of space is one of the most powerful tools.

  Cal stepped closer to James, whose shoulder visibly tensed. He’d taken off his jacket, but otherwise he was completely dressed. That fine white shirt, tie done up with its bright red tail serpentining across the green felt, trousers stretched tightly around his fine, strong arse in that position.

  Cal stepped between his legs, close enough to brush him, to feel him through the fabric, an insinuation of a more intimate touch, and Cal’s pulse jumped. The simple act of pushing up against James in this position turned him on, and he knew it did the same to James. Just from the way the man closed his eyes, concentrating completely on that touch, that promise. I’ll bend you over and fuck you like this.

  You can touch him anywhere you like.

  Cal nudged James’s legs apart, pressing harder against James’s arse as he did, and James opened his legs wider, his hands gripping the frame of the billiards table more tightly. Cal swallowed, then ran his gloved right hand up from the small of James’s back towards his shoulders.

  He didn’t feel much through the leather, none of the heat and texture, but the contact of fine cotton and smooth black leather seemed to work quite nicely for James. He trailed higher, purposefully—all of this was his territory and he was just taking measurements, exploring it. He reached James’s neck and tightened his fingers around it, making the man shudder, so he leaned in closer, letting him feel that he was getting hard, and slid his hand around the front of James’s neck to touch his throat. It wasn’t a strong grip, just another promise, enough to allow James to feel the possibility.

  He leaned in a little closer. “Nick and I have talked about you, sir.”

  Emphasizing that last word sent an odd thrill through him. As if he’d yanked away James’s last remaining vestige of power. Turned the title into a subservient epithet.

  He glanced at Nick, who was leaning against the wall with his arms folded. Nick offered the faintest grin and a subtle nod, which only added to that thrill. Nicely done.

  Cal focused on James again. “Do you want to know what we’ve been talking about, sir?”

  James shivered, and then nodded.

  Cal glanced at Nick, who arched an eyebrow. To James, Cal growled, “I asked you a question. Answer it.”

  James pulled in a sharp breath. “Yes. Yes, I want to know what you’ve been talking about.”

  Another little thrill ran through him, an electric charge coursing down his spine. More and more, he could definitely see the appeal of this domination business.

  He abruptly separated from James, breaking all contact at once, and he grinned when James squirmed over the table, fingers trying to dig into the green felt.

  “Drop your trousers, sir.” Cal folded his arms, mirroring Nick. “Then I’ll tell you.”

  James started to get up, but Cal stopped him with a gloved hand on the back of his neck.

  “Tsk tsk. I didn’t tell you to stand.”

  James eyed him over his shoulder. Cal arched an eyebrow the way Nick always did. Then James swore under his breath and, struggling because he was still bent over the table, reached for his belt.

  Against the wall, Nick pressed his lips together and didn’t make eye contact with James or Cal. When Cal quietly cleared his throat, Nick finally met his gaze and grinned. Cal returned it.

  Sharing a laugh with a sadist at another man’s expense? Oh, yes, I could definitely get used to this.

  James’s trousers landed on the floor, the belt buckle clinking emphatically. Then he put his arms on the felt again. His cheeks were a little red; Cal couldn’t decide if it was from humiliation, frustration, or just the struggle of trying to get his trousers off in such a position.

  “Boxers too.”

  Another curse, this one a little louder. A moment later, his boxers landed on top of his trousers.

  “I do like the way you look like that, sir.” Cal still couldn’t get over the way that title sounded—felt—so different in this situation. He ran a gloved hand over James’s arse cheek. “Bare-arsed, bent over, ready for anything.” Without even thinking about it, he lifted his hand, and then slapped James’s cheek hard enough that they all jumped.

  Even Nick. His eyes widened a little, and he made no subtle gesture out of adjusting the front of his leather trousers.

  A faint red handprint was starting to appear on James’s fair skin. So Cal slapped him again.

  James whimpered. His fingers curled into fists, and he screwed his eyes shut. “Fuck . . .”

  “I was going to explain something to you, wasn’t I?” Cal ran his hand lightly over skin that probably still stung. “What was that, sir?”

  James swallowed. “I . . .”

  Cal traced his own handprint with a fingertip. “I asked you a question. Answer it, sir.”

  James adjusted his stance a little, the jingle of his belt buckle giving away the movement of his feet. “You, um . . .” He cleared his throat. “You said that—”

  Cal slapped his arse again.

  James moaned; God, but Cal loved that sound even more than leather slapping flesh. “You said that you and Nick had been . . . had been talking about me.” He paused to catch his breath. “And you were going to—”

  Slap.

  “—tell me what . . . what y
ou two had . . . what . . .”

  Slap. Harder this time.

  “Come on, sir.” Cal injected as much impatience as possible into his tone. “You’re more articulate than that.” He ran his gloved fingertips over that reddening skin. “Answer me. Or I’ll stop smacking you.”

  “You were going to tell me what you two had talked about.” The words came out quickly. “What you had said about me.” James glanced back, eyebrows up. Was that good?

  “Good, sir.” Cal slapped his arse again, and once more for good measure. He usually only did that during sex, as his body reminded him. He was very hard in his trousers and, under normal circumstances, he’d have taken things further towards fucking very quickly.

  But this was about frustration and control. They’d fucked last night, mellow and sweet after teasing and stroking in the Jacuzzi. If not for the whole safe sex thing, they’d have fucked there too. But this was different. There was Nick, and this wasn’t so much about sex as using arousal for something that wasn’t quite sex, though it turned them all on.

  “What . . . was it?” James asked, just this side of pleading.

  “He said you’re not easy to handle. Rebellious streak a mile wide. Fighting what you know you need. That you’re probably the type who needs to be broken damn near every time.”

  James closed his eyes tightly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Not so difficult now, are you? And why’s that, sir?”

  James seemed to struggle with an answer, brow furrowed, eyes still closed. “It’s hard. Hard to give up. Not so hard now.”

  Cal’s heart clenched at how raw those words were. He touched James’s back firmly enough to hopefully reassure him. I’m here for you. It doesn’t have to be hard. And the most difficult, most honest of all of them: You can trust me.

  In his peripheral vision, Nick adjusted his stance, which did wonders for refocusing Cal’s attention on the greater picture. It was like he was falling into James, had got so wrapped up in the man’s responses that he’d forgotten about the scene, about what he’d set out to accomplish. After James’s words, Cal wanted to reassure and gentle him, when what he needed might be totally different. Or much more complex than that simple human response.

  “Why aren’t you fighting now, sir?” He kept one hand between James’s shoulder blades, but dug the fingers of his free one into James’s arse, squeezing the muscle hard. “I could do anything to you, and you’d just let me?” You’d let your driver keep you down like this and fuck you and thank me after?

  James nodded, his cheek rubbing against the felt of the table. “Yes. Please.”

  Cal stroked James’s hair, which felt strange through his glove. Made him feel physically detached, but somehow . . . not. James kept evading the question, maybe not out of rebelliousness but genuine struggle. Maybe he needed a little help. “Is this what you want, sir?”

  “Yes. It is.”

  Leather creaked softly, and when Cal looked up, Nick said, “You don’t fight him like you fought me, James.”

  James tilted his head slightly, as if he’d forgotten Nick was there at all. “I . . .”

  “Why do you fight him, sir?” Cal asked. “And why don’t you fight me the same way?”

  Colour filled James’s cheeks, matching the handprints on his arse. “I hired Nick.” He was barely whispering.

  Nick stepped forwards. He put his hands on the opposite side of the table and leaned over them, probably to hear James better. “You hired both of us, James.”

  James licked his lips. “Not for . . . not for this.”

  Cal continued stroking James’s hair. “So you paid Nick to do this, to do exactly what you wanted him to do, but you fought him. Why aren’t you fighting me?”

  Something in James relaxed. Tension palpably breaking, as though he could only physically relax so much in that position. He closed his eyes, and when he spoke, Cal didn’t understand him.

  He turned to Nick, eyebrows up. Nick shook his head.

  They both leaned in closer.

  “Speak clearly, sir,” Cal ordered.

  James shivered under him. “I said . . . I trust you.”

  Those three simple words almost knocked Cal’s knees out from under him. He half expected Nick to take offence—he hadn’t trusted him?—but when their eyes met, Nick grinned and gave a slight nod.

  “Excellent,” he mouthed.

  Careful not to let it show—to Nick or James—that his heart was pounding, Cal slid his hand from James’s hair down the back of his neck, drawing a slow path down his spine.

  “You trust me, sir,” he whispered. “So you know I won’t hurt you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Not more than you want me to hurt you.”

  Another shiver. “Yes.”

  Cal’s hand drifted over James’s shirttail and onto his bare skin, then down over his arse. “You do want me to hurt you, don’t you?”

  “I—” James gasped as Cal slid his hand between his legs, letting his fingertips drift over James’s balls.

  “I asked you a question,” Cal growled.

  James bit his lip, then managed, “Yes. Please. Hurt me.”

  This time it was Nick who shivered. He met Cal’s eyes, and that devilish—downright demonic—grin on his lips was probably identical to the one on Cal’s.

  “I brought plenty of toys,” Nick said. “Question is, where do you want to start?”

  “His balls. He’s looking entirely too comfortable to me.” For emphasis, Cal closed his hand around James’s sac, and squeezed. James jumped a little, but then opened his legs wider and pushed back.

  Cal held him like that, aware that Nick was moving around the table to the bag. He was unspeakably relieved that he didn’t have to break the contact, could stay in James’s space, not spoil the odd chemistry they had right now even for a moment.

  Nick rummaged through his implements, and Cal could have sworn that he was clinking the metal more than was strictly necessary, like he was turning over every single piece he’d brought.

  Right. Frustration. That went both ways.

  Finally, Nick stood again, holding a leather-and-chrome contraption. He moved close, and for a moment, Cal expected Nick to put it on James, but Nick handed it over to him. Cal took it and opened the leather straps, then grabbed James’s cock—completely hard—and fed it through the chrome rings, which got quite tight towards the front. He was half-worried they’d be too tight, but Nick didn’t indicate any kind of alarm.

  He closed the leather straps, one behind James’s balls, the other in front. That in itself was restraining, and added a nice sense of confinement. Personally, he loved how James looked—from the waist up, he was still the businessman, tie and cufflinks included, but below that line, he wasn’t in control anymore.

  Nick went back to the bag and pulled out a chain and a number of dark, drop-shaped weights. Cal winced in sympathy, but he wanted to see how James responded. Nick handed him the chain, and he clipped it on the ring just behind James’s balls. James shuddered when Cal—very gently—pulled on it.

  “Too comfortable by far,” Cal said with a grin.

  Nick handed him a couple of the weights next, and Cal put them on, keeping them suspended for a moment, then let James’s balls take more and more of the weight until they were freely dangling. James was breathing hard and clearly trying not to move, but his leg muscles were twitching with the effort.

  Nick gave Cal a nod and lifted his hands in an unspoken That’s fine for the moment.

  “That comfortable, sir?” Cal asked.

  “N-not really,” James muttered.

  Cal slapped his arse, grinning when the weights and their chains jingled unobtrusively. “Yes or no.”

  “No.” James grimaced. “It’s not comfortable.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  James swallowed. Deep crevices formed between his eyebrows, and his eyes were still shut tight.

  Cal slapped him again. “Yes. Or no.”

  “Yes
, it hurts,” James ground out through clenched teeth.

  “Obviously doesn’t hurt enough to get rid of his attitude,” Nick said with a smirk. “Add one more.”

  James swore softly.

  Cal picked up one of the weights, and his hand was halfway to James’s balls when he hesitated. He eyed Nick. “Did you just give me an order?”

  Nick’s smirk didn’t fade in the slightest. “I don’t know. Did I?”

  “Arse,” Cal muttered, and went back to what he was doing.

  The third weight brought a groan out of James. “Holy fuck.”

  “Now.” Cal stood straight again and rested his hand on the small of James’s back, just above where his shirttail ended and his nakedness began. “Let’s try this again. Is that comfortable, sir?”

  “No.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Cal stroked James’s back, letting his glove drift past the end of his shirttails each time. “And just so you know, if you don’t behave, or if you don’t answer me exactly when I ask a question—and without any attitude, sir—I’m going to make you lean over the other side of the table just like you are now.” He trailed one fingertip over James’s arse cheek towards his confined and weighted cock and balls. “Which means walking around to the other side while you’re in this . . . predicament.”

  James whimpered. Cal and Nick both grinned.

  “Am I clear, sir?”

  “Yes,” James said quickly. He shifted his weight a bit. “Yes. Absolutely clear.”

  “Good.”

  Nick leaned against the billiards table beside James. “If I recall, he’s the type who stays quite hard while he’s being fucked.” James’s eyes opened, and his forehead creased with alarm. Nick went on, “And with a device like that on his dick, staying hard is not going to be terribly comfortable. Is it, James?”

  “No.” James closed his eyes again. “It won’t be.”

  Nick met Cal’s eyes. “Shall I grab a condom and some lube for you?”