If It Drives (Market Garden, #7)(45)

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 f*ck 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 . . .”