James rested his weight on one arm and stroked Cal with his other hand, moving it in time with his mouth and holy fuck, if he kept this up, Cal wouldn’t last long enough to fuck him. Oh well. He’d recover. He’d definitely recover.
And he didn’t want this to stop. God, the way James teased him with his tongue in between nearly swallowing every inch, Cal was in heaven.
In his mind, he ordered James to stop and get him a condom. And still in that fantasy, he put James on his knees, bent him over until his toned arse was in the air and his face was in the pillows, and he could hear him begging, almost sobbing, for Cal to fuck him.
He grasped James’s hair, his spine lifting off the bed as James sucked his cock. Between the physical pleasure and the fantasy of forcing his dick into James, burying himself completely and fucking him hard, Cal was about to go insane.
The only words he could form were the same ones he’d imagined James whimpering helplessly: “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
James didn’t stop. Cal gripped his hair tighter and thrust against James, fucking his mouth, and damn it he wanted to turn James over and really fuck him but this felt so incredible and he couldn’t . . . he couldn’t . . .
“Oh . . . fuck.” His eyes rolled back. His entire body lifted off the bed, and he thrust erratically into James’s mouth as he came so hard he saw white. James backed off a little, not gripping so tight or stroking so hard, and drew out Cal’s orgasm without painfully overstimulating him, and it went on and on until Cal finally pushed him away.
As he sank back down to the bed, fingers relaxing in James’s hair and breath coming in short, uneven gasps, Cal heard himself curse a few times.
James released him, the sudden break in contact taking Cal’s breath away.
“I’m still . . .” Cal was slurring now, and panting. “I’m still going to fuck you tonight.”
James smiled at him, maybe a bit too pleased with himself, but God, that had been bloody amazing. Not something he’d have even expected James to be so good at. “Takes some of the pressure off, doesn’t it?”
“Sure does.” Cal wiped over his face, still trying to catch his breath. He should have had more control. Should have been stronger than that, but damn, he’d deserved getting off, right? For eighteen months of faithful service, though his uncle would most definitely frown on that particular bonus.
He pulled himself up. James was on his haunches, looking down at him, still turned on and smug. Was that how he was with . . . No, don’t think about it. “What . . . do you like? Apart from getting fucked?”
James gazed around, clearly filtering what he’d say. It was transparent as all hell, that gesture. “The usual things.”
Thanks, that’ll work just fine. Cal fought the sarcasm. Of course James wouldn’t disclose everything. So he’d have to find out. Or go with the first thing—the fucking.
He sat up enough to grab James’s neck and pulled him down on the bed again, kissing him deeply, chasing the taste of himself, and pushing hard enough against James that the man’s cock was rubbing his hip with every breath and small movement. He couldn’t help running his free hand over the smooth grooves that defined James’s flawlessly contoured muscles. He marveled at the physique of a man far fitter than someone in his forties had any right to be. James had an amazing body, the vain bastard, and he knew it.
Cal wrapped his hand around James’s cock, just held it, adding a bit more friction, but not nearly enough to let him come. A good size, too, long and thick, and the man was so deliciously eager. “Roll over.”
James obeyed and turned onto his stomach, arms around the pillow, legs open.
Cal gazed at him—broad shoulders, tanned skin, the curve of his spine and the swell of his arse. He was tense, no doubt feeling the pressure of the mattress against his cock, but he didn’t push or thrust or grind.
Cal placed an open hand between James’s shoulders, traced downwards with a mellow, gentle stroke, then, when James opened his legs wider, pressed his fingers into the strong glutes.
He shifted his weight and moved on top again, kneading the muscles and then digging his fingernails in, making James gasp into the pillow. He ran his thumbs into the crack and brushed the hole, causing James to open his legs wider and push up against the touch.
Cal dropped a kiss in the small of James’s back, then stretched to reach for the nightstand. In the drawer, he found plenty of lube and condoms, thank God, and he didn’t let himself think about why they were here and so abundant as he placed them on the bed within reach. He’d need those sooner rather than later.
The sound of the cap electrified him, as did the pleasant slippery feeling of the lube on his fingers. With one hand braced against James’s lower back, he ran his lubed fingers against that hot little hole, rubbing against the muscle and feeling it give a little, responding to his touch.
When he breached James with a thumb, the man shuddered, so Cal pulled back and amused himself by repeating the movement. In and out against the slippery resistance of the muscle that clearly wanted him deeper inside, wanted something more substantial.
He ran his fingers down the crack, rubbed against the perineum, pushing hard from the outside against the sweet spot, which made James open his legs wider and almost get up on his knees, offering Cal as much play and space as he wanted. Only then did Cal push two fingers inside him, curled them and found James’s prostate.
James moaned, a low, needy sound he likely wasn’t even aware of. Cal slid in and out, moving his body deliberately to mimic fucking, letting James feel his weight, his closeness, while finger-fucking him. James’s moans did well to recharge him, too—he loved how readily and easily James responded to him, to every touch, and he was tempted to dive down between his legs and suck on that beautiful, still very hard cock.
James whimpered again. “Cal . . .”
“Hmm? Something wrong?” He grinned and curled his fingers again, rubbing against James’s prostate, and whatever James was trying to say came out as a moan. “You’re having trouble speaking, aren’t you?” Cal asked, still grinning. “Why is that?”
Another groan, this one just as incomprehensible but with a distinct note of “fuck you.”
“Now, now.” Cal slowly withdrew his fingers. “You have to play nice to get what you want.” A voice in the back of his mind warned him against speaking to his boss this way, but he ignored it. This wasn’t his boss. James, yes, but . . . not.
“I want—” James moaned again as Cal pushed his fingers back in. “Fuck . . .”
Cal chuckled. “James, James, James. You’re usually so much more”—he withdrew a little, added a third finger—“articulate than this.”
James gripped the pillow beside his head, tension rippling down his forearm. “You’re a . . . tease.”
“Mm-hmm.” Cal fucked him slowly with his fingers. “Do you want me to stop?”
James tensed a little, as if sensing a trick question. “N-no. I want you to fuck me.”
“I am.” Cal slid his fingers all the way in just for emphasis.
“Really fuck me.”
“Hmm. You might have to explain that a little—”
“Put on a goddamned condom and fuck me.” The words came out as a growled demand, but as soon as he’d spoken, James tensed again. He turned his head, and added over his shoulder, “Please, Cal. Please.”
Cal swept his tongue across his lips. Oh, wow. He’d never imagined this side of James, and he loved it. Loved the pleading even when he was so frustrated he forgot himself and gave an order.
“Oh, I’ll fuck you. Don’t worry.” He started withdrawing his fingers slowly, and when he sensed the oh God, finally in James, he pressed them in again. “When I’m absolutely sure you’re ready for me.”
The groan—mostly frustration mixed with plenty of pleasure—gave Cal a sadistic thrill. He liked teasing men, always had, but this? This was fun. This was absolutely amazing. He’d never experienced anything quite like turning J
ames into a trembling, inarticulate mess.
“Cal.” James was shaking now, clawing at the pillow and moving his hips, trying to get Cal to fuck him harder and faster with his hand. “Please. I need . . . I need you to fuck me.”
Cal slid his hand free and reached for a condom. When he tore it off the strip, the sound made James shiver, and goose bumps appeared all over the man’s flesh.
“Please,” James begged. “Cal . . .”
Teasing was fine and good, but now Cal couldn’t get the condom on fast enough. He glanced at the lube bottle. He’d used plenty on his fingers. Maybe . . .
“Cal. Fuck me. Please, Cal.”
Just to be on the safe side—and maybe to torment James for a moment longer—he put some lube on the condom. Then he positioned himself on top, and from the way James gripped the sides of the pillow and squirmed underneath him, Cal wondered if the man would last at all once he was finally getting what he wanted.
He guided himself to James’s well-prepped arse, and teased him a little, but didn’t push in. James swore and moaned, lifting his hips and trying to work Cal into him.
Cal leaned down and brushed his lips across the back of James’s neck. “One little thing, James.”
James turned his head to the side, just enough that Cal could see his brow starting to furrow. “Hmm?”
“You don’t get to come until I say so.” Another thrill rushed through him. Giving orders? To James?
“Not until . . .”
“Not until I say so.” Cal pressed the head of his cock into James, giving him just enough to make him shiver. “If you come, you’ll get too sensitive.” He withdrew a little. “And if you get too sensitive, then I can’t”—he thrust nearly all the way in—“fuck you as hard as I want to.”
“Oh God.” James shivered again, and shoved back against Cal, driving him the rest of the way inside. “Fuck me. Hard.”
Cal forced him back down onto the bed, hilting himself inside James and pinning him to the mattress at the same time. “You going to do as I say? Not going to come until I tell you to?”
James nodded, stubble hissing across the pillowcase.
“Sure about that?” Cal moved just a little, withdrawing and pushing back in. “You’ll do as you’re told?”
“Anything.”
That word was a jolt of electricity right down to his toes. There it was, his fantasy—James, surrendered, underneath him, all around him, his gorgeous arse pressed against him, tight but ready, hungry for it, and Cal on top, inside. He wanted to savour it, to go slow, but James really couldn’t deal with slow anymore, so Cal thrust and held him tight by the shoulders, using his weight and every bit of strength to drive himself deeper and harder while keeping that death grip on James so he couldn’t get away. The fucking was nothing short of savage, unbridled lust, and really the only thing he cared about was—
James.
For all the need and the desire to have him, for all the delicious thrill of touching that body, that man, his fucking boss, at his mercy, he was still keenly aware of James’s lust, how he responded, every groan that sounded like he was in the most delicious pain imaginable. He loved vocal guys. This? Porn material. The wordless begging with every movement, pushing back like he needed this more than life itself.
Cal clutched him harder, thought he wouldn’t last long, thought about changing to a position that would give him more control and allow them to take their time, but then it all bled away in an orgasm so powerful his vision tunnelled. When he came, he thrust hard, desperately, and he felt—knew—that James was coming too. The man reached back and clutched his hand, arching, making a sound that was nearly a sob, so primal, so freeing, and it gave Cal goose bumps.
Bloody hell. They’d actually come together. It didn’t even matter that James hadn’t managed to hold on, that he’d broken the promise. That had been in his own best interest anyway.
Cal ground against him a few more times, but personally, he hated a top overstaying his welcome on the rare occasions that he bottomed, so he pulled out. He was dizzy now, and not very coherent, but he managed to get up and head for the en suite. In spite of his unsteady hands, he did away with the condom and cleaned up. Then he looked at himself in the mirror—
Boy, you’re looking well fucked.
—and grabbed a towel, put it under warm water, squeezed out the excess and returned to the bedroom.
James still lay there, limp like he’d been slaughtered. Cal wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been asleep, but when he nudged him, James turned over. Cal cleaned him up and dried him off with the dry part of the towel. He tossed it into the laundry hamper, and as he sat down on the bed, he looked at his hands. They were still shaking. Hell, what part of him wasn’t shaking?
And . . . now what?
As the dust settled and he caught his breath, keenly aware of James starting to drift off beside him, some of the apprehension from earlier slipped back in. What had they done? Was this a good idea? What the hell had he been thinking?
Slowly, he turned towards James. The man was still awake, eyelids heavy but partly open, and he was watching Cal, a serene smile across his lips.
Cal pulled the rumpled duvet up and tenderly laid it across James’s body, covering him up to the shoulder. James slid his arm out from under it and rested it on top. They held each other’s gazes, neither speaking; Cal had no idea what to say just then, and even less clue what to do. In the heat of the moment, he’d been in charge and in control and had known exactly what to do and when, but now . . .
God. I’m like Dr. Jekyll and Master Hyde.
The thought made him chuckle, which released a little tension.
Twin crevices appeared between James’s eyebrows. What’s so funny?
Cal shook his head. He lifted his hand, started to reach for James’s arm, but then drew it back. Physical contact seemed weird now. Unprofessional.
Unprofessional? He could still feel the aftershocks of an orgasm, one he’d had while fucking the hell out of this man’s arse. Unprofessional had become a moot point two orgasms and a bottle of wine ago.
He could think of a hundred reasons he ought to get dressed and get the hell out of here, but looking into James’s eyes, he had one pretty damned compelling reason to stay: he wanted to.
And besides, James was still his employer. Neither of them could make a fast but awkward escape—morning after or not—if they couldn’t actually get away from each other. Why not just stay the rest of the night?
Because the longer I stay, the harder it’ll be to look him in the eye tomorrow.
He chewed his lip. “I should go.”
“I know.” The admission was quiet, but matter of fact. The resigned tone that meant James agreed this had been a mistake. An incredibly hot and long overdue mistake, but a mistake nonetheless.
Cal shivered, this time because the room’s cool air was settling in on his bare, sweaty skin. He wanted nothing more than to crawl under the duvet with James and let the covers and body heat warm him back up.
Calling on every reserve of professionalism he had left, he patted James’s hand and stood. Neither of them spoke as Cal gathered the clothes he’d left in a rumpled heap on the floor.
As he dressed, slipping back into the trousers and shirt he wore on duty, the clothes that meant he was James’s hired driver, certainly not his lover—hired or otherwise—James didn’t look at him. By the time Cal was halfway through buttoning his shirt, he couldn’t look at James either. His nerve endings still tingled from pleasure that had now cooled, and his muscles ached a little from exertion, and every physical reminder that this fantasy-come-to-life had really happened . . . God, what had he been thinking?
Shoes in hand, he finally made himself turn to James. “I’ll, um, see myself out. Am I needed tomorrow morning?”
James met his eyes, and Cal thought he saw, or at least wanted to see, You’re needed tonight. But James shook his head. “I’m not planning to go out until the evening. Six o
’clock?”
Cal nodded. “Six o’clock.” He started towards the door.
“Good night, Cal.”
“Good night, sir.”
Cal rebuked himself all the way out of the house and as he parked the car in the garage like he should have done hours ago. That would have been the normal thing to do, put the car away like he was supposed to. A much more normal thing, than, say, fucking one’s boss.
It also served as another reminder of who he was and what he was here for. It reminded him of his place.
He made sure the car was locked and then walked down the meticulously kept gravel path to one of the outbuildings. His cottage used to be servants’ accommodation when the house had been built. He loved the tiny place, it was much nicer than anything he could have afforded elsewhere in London. Old trees surrounded it, and sometimes he sat on the porch and listened to the wind rushing through the leaves. He thought that sounded like ocean surf. The privacy was another boon. He could do pretty much whatever he wanted—with anyone he wanted—in the little cottage and nobody would disturb him. Good luck finding something like that in London on a budget.
He slipped through the door, glanced at the intercom. James could easily have called him back, but the grey box stayed quiet. Cal shed his clothes on the way to the bathroom for a much-needed shower. He was sweaty, still tingling, certain he still felt the heat and tightness around his cock, remembered those sounds.
Fuck me all night.
Well, once would have to do. He wouldn’t survive another night like that. Certainly his resolve wouldn’t. What little he had left, anyway.
He glanced at the computer desk up against the white wall, the folders of copies, the stack of books, and while he’d hoped to get some work done, that was it, he was exhausted. His stomach was roiling from what he’d done.
And how much he wanted to do it again.
His uncle would be absolutely livid, but then, he didn’t really have to know. Unless, of course, James told him and why.
Damn, I’m in league with a finance guy trying to keep a secret.
If It Drives (A Market Garden Tale) Page 3