Tables obscured his view of a lot of couples—or groups—from about the chest down, but the reactions left little to the imagination. He could tell when someone slid his hand onto someone else’s lap, or when a guy was so hard he couldn’t sit still.
Brandon slid into the booth opposite Cal, startling him. He chuckled. “You all right?”
“Yeah.” Cal took one of the offered glasses. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” Brandon watched Cal as he sipped his own drink.
“Do you, uh, do this often?” Cal asked. “Have drinks with clueless new guys?”
Laughing, Brandon shook his head. “No. But you kind of caught my eye. Looked like you could use a lifeline.”
A lifeline. That about summed it up, didn’t it?
Cal trailed a finger through the condensation forming on the side of his glass.
“You sure you’re all right?” Brandon asked. “Just your first time in a place like this, or . . .?”
“Yes and no.” Cal looked up from his glass. “My situation’s a little weird.”
“This is a brothel, Cal.” Brandon grinned. “I’m pretty sure there isn’t a ‘situation’ that hasn’t walked through that door a time or two.”
“Heh. Maybe.” Cal swallowed. “Okay, so here’s the deal. My boss comes in here all the time. I drive him here, and drive him home with”—he gestured around the club—“whoever he picks up.”
Brandon’s only response was a slight upward flick of a dark eyebrow and a quiet, “Okay.”
Cal reached up to rub the back of his neck. When had he got so damned tense? “Thing is, I think he’s coming here to self-medicate in a way. Like he needs something he’s not getting somewhere else.”
“Sounds like a lot of people who come in here.”
“I figured as much. But part of me is worried this is a self-destructive thing. And part of me . . . I . . .” Cal paused, swallowing hard. And then the words came out before he even realised what he was saying: “I want to learn to be the thing he needs.”
Cal’s heart stopped. Is that really why I’m here? God, what the fuck am I doing?
Brandon looked at him, frowning very slightly—not disapproving, maybe just curious, or focused. Damn, hadn’t he read somewhere that part of the lure of prostitutes was that they listened?
Cal fidgeted uncomfortably. “I can’t afford the really high rollers, but the guys here know how to satisfy him. And I want to learn from them.” This wasn’t something he could have told anybody—not a friend, not family, nobody on the internet. Saying it helped a little bit. He’d tried to ignore the thought, had tried to get away from it, but now it was out there. What he really wanted.
Brandon glanced around. “Listen, I’m more of a security guy, but I might know somebody who can help you find what you’re looking for. Mind if he joins us?”
Cal shook his head. “No. Unless it’s one of . . .” The guys who’d fucked James. He really didn’t want to hear from the competition. “One of my boss’s regulars.”
“Oh. I doubt it.” Brandon laughed. “Just a moment.”
He walked away, and Cal rubbed his face and head with both hands. It wasn’t so bad, not nearly as bad as he’d expected. Nobody had laughed at him or questioned him, and . . . oh.
He looked up at another towering guy, big around the chest and wearing leather and jeans. Forties, maybe? A little older than James? Definitely the salt-and-pepper type leather daddy. Hot, in a semi-scary kind of way.
As they slid into the booth, Brandon gestured at the man beside him. “Cal, this is Frank. He owns the place. Frank, Cal.”
Frank offered a nod and a curious glance at Brandon; it was very clear he was here just for Brandon’s sake. So, relationship guru? Super-top? What?
“I, uh.” Cal breathed out. “I know it’s weird, but I need to know . . . I would appreciate some help dealing with my boss.”
“Who’s your boss?” Deep, rumbly voice. Obviously English. Native Londoner?
“James. He’s . . . here once a month or so. Always wears a red tie and expensive cufflinks.” He absently gestured at his face and hair. “Dark hair, great body. About forty.”
“Red tie?” Frank asked. “He been in here tonight?”
“That’s the one.” Cal felt a little less anxious. If there had been many like James, how would he have explained to them who he was? He could hardly run around telling pimps and whores James’s full name.
“And who are you?”
“I’m his driver.”
Frank tilted his head slightly. “Just his driver?”
“Uh. No.” Cal cleared his throat. “I mean, I was. Still am. I’m . . . We had sex. We were drunk. It didn’t go very well afterwards. I was an idiot. He was, too. It didn’t work out.” He paused just to stop himself from rambling. “I want one of your guys to teach me what it is they do that he needs.”
Frank looked him up and down and leaned forwards a bit. “So what do you need to know?”
What he needs.
“He gets these moods where he’s really down and just seems, I don’t know, lost.” Cal took a quick drink to wet his mouth. “And he comes here. Then afterwards, most of the time, he’s fine. And I’m not here to judge rentboys or the people who use them, I just think he needs . . . I mean, what he’s getting here, he . . .”
“You said you think he’s self-medicating,” Brandon said quietly. “Possibly self-destructing.”
Frank gave a soft grunt. “There’s no shortage of men like that in here.”
Cal drummed his fingers. “To tell you the truth, though, I’m not sure it’s working for him. Not anymore.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure why I came here, or what I hoped to get out of this. But I can’t stop thinking about him. I’m not nearly as over it as I should be, considering it was just a one-night stand. And I guess I thought if I learned what it is he’s getting from your guys, maybe I can be what he needs.”
Brandon and Frank exchanged glances. There was no judgement, no “is this guy for real?” in their expressions. If anything, some unspoken thought passed between them. As if they knew each other well enough to share an easy telepathy.
Frank faced Cal again, absently scratching his jaw. “Do you know what kinds of guys he gets from here? Do any of them look familiar?” He made a sweeping gesture at the club.
Cal looked around. “Well, those two.”
Frank nodded. “Tristan and Jared. I see. Anyone else?”
Brandon turned to Frank. “I think I saw him leaving with Sahin once.”
“And there was one he really liked,” Cal said. “Came looking for him again not long ago, but he was gone. Nick, I think?”
Frank nodded again. “Ah. He wants a Dom.”
“A Dom?” Cal swallowed. Bloody hell. What kind of stuff was James getting into here?
“So if I’m understanding you correctly,” Frank said, “you think your boss needs a Dom. And you’d like to learn to be that Dom.”
A shiver ran down Cal’s spine. A Dom. That changed the rules a bit. Explained a lot too. He remembered the way James had begged, and how he’d eagerly sucked Cal’s cock before Cal had even finished giving him the command.
The command. Oh, he did like the sound of that.
He looked Frank in the eye. “Yes. I’d like to learn to be that Dom.”
Frank chuckled. “And you want one of my guys to teach you so your boss doesn’t need to come in and pay my guys—and me—to do it for him?”
Cal’s face burned. “I . . . yeah. I hadn’t thought of it like that, but . . .”
Frank glanced at Brandon again.
Before either of them could say anything, Cal said, “I’ll pay. I’m not looking to take away your business or anything.” Well, except for one client in particular . . .
Smiling, Frank nodded. “It’s all right. I understand. Sounds like this guy is lucky to have you.” He tapped his big fingers on the table. “I think I know someone who can hel
p. If you leave me your name and number, I can have Nick get in contact with you.”
Cal blinked. Nick? Really? “I thought he wasn’t here anymore.”
“He’s not.” Frank waved a hand. “But a situation like this? I think he might be able to help.”
“Oh. Okay. Uh, thanks.” He hesitated. “Except then I’ll be taking your business away and going to someone who doesn’t work here anymore.”
Frank’s smile was gentle and kind. “It’s not something I plan to make a habit of, but Market Garden won’t cave in if it loses one occasional client. And if you learning to help him is best for him in the long run . . .” He half shrugged.
“Thank you,” was all Cal could say.
He gave Frank his name and mobile number, and left Market Garden feeling . . . strange. A little guilty that he was seriously overstepping his bounds. A little optimistic that he might be able to give James what he needed, whatever it was he was getting here. Perhaps more.
And terrified that this was going to blow up in his face.
He did go home with a clearer head, so when he arrived back well before midnight, he settled down with a cup of tea and actually got some writing done. He forced himself to write five hundred words on his thesis, but it started to bore him so he opened another work in progress. This one was a space opera, his “unstucking project,” and he always turned to it when his thesis or the other book stalled and he still had words in him.
Funny how the serious book had twenty-six thousand words, and the space opera was closing in on one hundred twenty thousand, though he’d started on that one much later. He did an easy three thousand words of battle scenes and then shut down his computer for the night.
Before he turned in for bed, he looked outside the window to see if there was any light on in the house, despite the fact that none of the guest rooms faced his way.
He checked his phone: nothing but a text from Aaron, asking him if he was all right. He answered it, giving him the migraine story.
Migraine, and you were driving?
He texted back that it had just been starting when he’d left the club, so he’d been fine to ride.
It really didn’t matter. What was much more important than a wasted opportunity to get rat-arsed was the potential the rest of the weekend held. So he turned in earlyish for bed and woke up around eleven. He keyed himself into the big house half an hour later to put on the coffee—it wasn’t really his job, but James always seemed appreciative—and offer the rentboy a lift back into town.
The rentboy appeared in the kitchen doorway. They didn’t say anything to each other. Just as the silence was getting unbearably awkward, a cab pulled up outside, and the rentboy left. Cal watched him go. At least he was off the hook for driving this one back into the city.
He made a mug of cappuccino and took it upstairs. Outside the bedroom, he paused and knocked.
“Uh, yeah?”
James didn’t sound like he’d woken from sleep.
“Callum here, sir. Would you like a coffee?”
A pause. Cal briefly chewed his lower lip. Come on, James. Peace offering. Also means you get coffee in bed.
“Yes. Thanks. Do come in.”
Cal pushed the door open and briefly glanced around. No trace of the rentboy, but he might’ve slept in one of the guest rooms. Or they both had, until James had left and come up here to his own room. He didn’t look like he’d just been fucked, so that was an upside.
Cal walked in and paused next to the bed. “Can we . . . can we talk, sir?”
“Sure, yeah.” James rubbed over his face, then indicated the side of the bed. Cal passed him the coffee and sat down. “Thought it was your day off?”
“It is.”
Looking impossibly appealing with his bedhead and bleary eyes, James held the mug like it held some life-giving elixir and took a first sip, groaning with pleasure. And that went right to Cal’s groin.
Damn, Cal, you’re so far gone and you didn’t even know it.
“How was your night off?” James asked.
“I met some friends, but nothing really exciting.”
“Uh-huh.” James took another mouthful. “Is he gone?”
“Yes, sir. Cab pulled up ten minutes ago. He didn’t take any of the silver.”
James’s hazel eyes flashed with amusement. “Are my, uh, ‘guests’ in the habit of lifting things on their way out?”
Cal laughed, shaking his head. “Not that I’m aware of, sir.”
“Cal.” James turned serious. “You’re not on the clock. You don’t have to call me ‘sir.’”
Informality. Because that made things easier.
He played with the edge of the duvet, and watched his fingers because he couldn’t quite look at James. “I think we need to clear the air about the night . . . about when we . . .”
“Go on.”
Cal exhaled. “When you invited me in for drinks that night, what exactly did you have in mind?”
James didn’t answer right away. He sipped his cappuccino, and the cup clinked quietly on the saucer before he placed both on the bedside table. “I’m not sure, to be honest.” He sat up, stretching a little, and Cal tried not to notice that they were closer together now. “Nothing at Market Garden had piqued my interest. Maybe I wasn’t in the mood. I just didn’t really want to spend the evening alone, I guess.”
Cal lifted his gaze, meeting James’s. “But was I just the nearest warm body?”
James blinked. “What? No. You weren’t. Not even close.” Before Cal could sort his thoughts and come up with a response, James reached up and touched his cheek, his fingertips gentle on Cal’s skin. “You’re good company, Cal. I . . . I like spending time with you.”
“But you’d never spent time with me before.” Cal struggled to hold his gaze and form coherent thoughts with James’s hand still warming his cheek. “I’ve driven you around, but I’ve . . .”
James wasn’t looking in his eyes. He was watching Cal’s lips. His fingers twitched a little on Cal’s cheek, just the subtlest cue to come closer.
Cal hesitated. “James, you barely know me.”
“And after eighteen months”—oh God, James was pulling him in—“that seems like a real shame, doesn’t it?”
But he didn’t give Cal a chance to answer. James pressed his lips to Cal’s, and Cal couldn’t move. Think. Breathe. James’s chin was stubbled and scratchy, contrasting sharply with the softness of his lips and the gentle warmth of his hand.
Cal broke the kiss, but pulled back only a little, the faint taste of cappuccino lingering on his lips. “I don’t understand what you want.”
“Neither do I.” James ran his fingers down Cal’s cheek. “I know we shouldn’t. And you’ve probably got better prospects than me. But I can’t help it. You’re . . . you’re just . . .” He trailed off and kissed Cal again.
As Cal took over and gently urged James’s lips apart, he had his answer. It hadn’t just been a one-time impulsive thing. The nearest warm body and hard cock.
Yeah, he had an answer to that question. But why the hell did it feel like things had just gotten more complicated?
“As far as other prospects go, none,” Cal said softly. “I don’t have much time for relationships . . . of any kind.”
“Do you need more time off?”
“I’m good. You’re probably . . . sore.”
James took his hand and pulled him back again. “If you want me, I’d . . . no I’m not.”
Tough decision. It depended on what James needed, or maybe they shouldn’t rush headlong into sex again, pretending everything was fine now. There was so much he didn’t understand, but on the other hand, he did want James. Touching him, kissing him—he felt more at ease than he’d been all that time since that first crazy night.
“About the money.”
“I was a fool. I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m just . . .” James shrugged. “I wanted to give you something in return.”
“Like a three hun
dred quid tip?”
“Yeah, I guess. Sounds stupid now, doesn’t it?”
Finance mogul admitting to doing something stupid? Not that they never did stupid things, of course. His uncle had told him about some of the crazy spending some other high-flying clients did—the rich Chinese and Russians who took a limo to blow fifty grand on an afternoon’s shopping—but so far it hadn’t happened to Cal. “It’s the thought that counts, I guess.”
James nodded. “Anything else I can do for you?” A slight smirk around his lips hinted at what he had in mind. This wasn’t the time to ask him for details of his sex life. Or maybe it was. He wanted a Dom, right? Just how weird would that get? And, did Cal really want to find out?
Cal trailed a fingertip along James’s unshaven jaw. “I suppose we both made some mistakes before. I walked out kind of abruptly that night.”
“Probably just as well,” James said, softly and maybe a little sadly. “Maybe we moved too quickly.”
“So what do we do now?”
James’s eyes flicked up to meet Cal’s. “You tell me.”
But you’re the boss.
Except you said I’m off the clock.
And you seem to want . . .
Cal slid his hand around the back of James’s neck and pulled him in for another kiss. He wasn’t so gentle this time, pushing James’s lips apart and deepening the kiss, and he swore the man’s body melted against his. James wrapped his arms around him, and his mouth surrendered completely to Cal’s.
Cal’s head spun. He tasted coffee, and he tasted James, and he hadn’t anticipated any of this when he’d come up here, but now that it was happening, he wanted it. His cock was already painfully hard inside his snug jeans. He grabbed James’s wrist and guided his hand down. When James’s palm pressed against Cal’s erection, both of them groaned. Cal kissed him even harder, gripping his wrist and demanding James’s hand stay right where it was.
Panting, Cal broke the kiss. “You’re sure you’re not too sore?”
James shuddered. “No. Definitely not.” He pressed the heel of his hand against Cal’s cock, the pressure making Cal gasp. “I want you to fuck me. Just like you did last time.”
If It Drives (A Market Garden Tale) Page 6