If It Drives (Market Garden, #7)(48)

“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?”

Cal nodded. “Please do.”

Nick pushed away from the table and went around to where all the necessities were laid out. James squeezed his eyes shut and mouthed a few obscenities. At least, Cal assumed they were obscenities. Probably colourful ones, if he knew him.

“I didn’t hear that, sir.” He started unbuckling his belt, watching James squirm as the buckle rattled and leather hissed across leather. “What did you say?”

“N-nothing.” James winced. “Just . . . muttering to myself.”

“That’s not a very satisfactory answer.” Cal pulled off his belt and dropped it on the table beside James, just inches from his face. “Tell me what you said, sir.”

James jumped. “I just . . . ‘oh, f*ck.’ That was all it was.”

“Mm-hmm. Looked like more than two syllables to me.”

Renewed colour appeared in James’s cheeks. “I . . .”

Nick dropped the condom and lube on top of Cal’s belt. “Now, James. You’re not trying to weasel out of admitting that you called one or both of us a sadistic motherf*cker or something similar, are you?”

More colour.

Cal clicked his tongue. “James, James, James. We just went through this. What happens if you don’t answer me properly?”

James grimaced. “I have to go to the other side of the table.”

“Mm-hmm.” Cal stroked James’s hair, loving the way the tender gesture contradicted the Nick-like sadism in his tone. “So are you going to answer us? Or are you going to take a walk?”

James hesitated. Then he exhaled. “Yes, I was muttering to myself and said ‘oh, f*ck, you twisted sons of bitches.’”

Nick pressed his lips together, obviously biting back a laugh.

Cal chuckled. “That sounded like a bit of an attitude to me. How about you?”

Nick cleared his throat and schooled his expression. “Sounded like a lot of attitude to me.”

“Hmm.” Cal kept stroking James’s hair with his gloved hand. “But he did behave and answer me when he was supposed to, so I can’t really punish him, can I?”

“Well, he answered you.” Nick stroked his chin thoughtfully, grinning down at James’s alarmed expression. “But he still called us both twisted sons of bitches. Which, okay, the shoe fits. But . . .” He arched his eyebrow.

This time, James said loud and clear, “Oh f*cking hell.”

Cal slapped his arse. “Is that an attitude I hear, sir?”

“N-no. It’s not. I swear.”

“Good.” Cal leaned down and picked up the condom. He dragged it across the felt, letting the foil hiss over the fabric, and James’s eyes followed it as Cal drew lazy figure eights in front of his face. Cal slid his other hand over James’s arse and down between his legs. James winced, closing his eyes as Cal teased his probably very uncomfortable balls.

“What do you think, sir?” He squeezed just enough to hopefully screw with James’s ability to concentrate. “Should I f*ck you like this? Bent over the table with your cock and balls all tied up?”

James whimpered again. His brow furrowed, and a bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

“Someone’s forgetting the rules,” Cal taunted. “Answer me.”

“I . . .” James swept his tongue across his lips. “Fuck, I can’t think.”

“Hmm.” Cal looked at Nick. “Was that the answer to my question?”

Nick shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t think that’s the answer we were looking for.”

James swore under his breath.

Cal squeezed James’s balls hard enough to make him swear a little louder this time. Then he grinned. “Sounds like someone is getting f*cked over the other side of the table.”

“Please.”

Cal hesitated at the plea, but James didn’t seem in any real distress. And they had safewords, after all.

He patted James’s arse and stepped away. “Move.”

James straightened a bit, shoulders up as if he expected to be hit, then a bit more. After his extended time bent over and possibly a bit of disorientation—half arousal and half distraction from his balls—Cal wasn’t going to rush James, though he stayed close enough to remind him of the order.

When James stood, he looked supremely f*ckable in his flustered, dishevelled state. His hair was all over the place, face flushed and sweaty, pupils blown. He looked at Cal with that wide-eyed expression he had during sex, and Cal was tempted to take off the sunglasses, but he didn’t. He needed them for his own protection, his own mask and reassurance.

I’m not going to fail you this time.

“Move.” Cal crossed his arms in front of his chest, hands on his biceps.

James shook his head a little as if dazed, then half turned. With his trousers pooled around his ankles, all he managed was a shuffle. Those small, careful movements shifted the weights dangling from his balls, and the tightness around his eyes and lips betrayed the discomfort, probably pain. Well, Cal couldn’t have handled it, but as Nick had explained, pain became something entirely different when a masochist like James was turned on.