by Jane Davitt
“No, Sir.” This was harder to take than a whipping. He felt tied down by invisible threads, a puppet controlled by a man he’d angered and disappointed too often over the last month or so. A man he loved, ached for, adored.
“Before I do, I just want to make sure you don’t forget who you are when we’re in there.”
Jay stared down at Liam’s cupped hand, extended toward him. It was dark outside, but the glow of a security light illuminated the interior of the car sufficiently for him to see what Liam held in the curve of his palm: a pair of nipple clamps, small weights attached. They’d hurt after a minute, be close to unbearable after five, have him squirming, begging for them to come off after fifteen.
He took them from Liam and held them, his gut cramping with a fierce, sweet heat. He loved and feared these clamps in equal measure. He closed his hand around them, the metal cold against his skin. Was he hiding them or keeping them safe? He didn’t know anymore.
“You’ll behave in there,” Liam said, pushing Jay’s jacket back so that he could get to the shirt buttons he’d fastened such a short time before. “Speak when spoken to by me, but don’t even think about talking to anyone else. I own your words.” He thumbed Jay’s nipple, flicking it until it was hard enough to take the clamp, which, in the chilly night air, wasn’t really necessary. “Don’t think I’ll permit wriggling or fidgeting, no matter how much these hurt. And no slouching.” Liam snapped his fingers. “Give me the first clamp, please.”
It was unfair of Liam to treat him like this, but Jay accepted that Liam had a point to make and had chosen this method of making it. On an impulse he couldn’t explain, he took one clamp and raised it to his lips, kissing it respectfully, before passing it to Liam.
Liam didn’t comment, but a flicker of approval crossed his face before he bent to his task. He fixed the clamps to Jay’s nipples without lingering, as if he didn’t want to draw it out for whatever reasons. Which, considering they were in a public parking lot, were probably numerous. Thinking about that was a solid distraction from the burn of Jay’s sensitive flesh caught in the unyielding pinch of metal that rapidly warmed to match the temperature of his body as he got out of the car when told and followed Liam toward the building.
The wave of heat that smacked him in the face as they stepped into the restaurant was a shock after the chill of winter air; he found himself reaching for Liam’s hand, and Liam let him and squeezed his briefly before letting go. Jay concentrated on the feel of the clamps under his shirt, glancing down at himself to see if they were visible to anyone looking. No, he decided, probably not. Not like anyone would be looking at him that closely anyway; people who wanted to look at a guy would be drawn to Liam.
They were shown to their table. Jay kept reminding himself not to talk to anyone but Liam—otherwise he would have thanked the waiter. God, he was hard. He forced himself to sit still, no fidgeting, as he stared blindly at the menu he was holding. Liam would have to order for him if he couldn’t speak, right? Would Liam ask what he wanted to eat or just decide for him? Not knowing what would happen next was as disconcerting as the constant throb of his nipples.
“I’ll have a glass of the sauvignon blanc,” Liam said when the waiter came back to ask what they’d like to drink. “Jay? Would you like a Coke?”
Jay lifted his eyes for the first time in minutes and nodded silently. He was supposed to call Liam Sir, but it seemed like that would be weird in public, and Liam hadn’t told him what to do. As soon as the waiter, who didn’t seem to have noticed anything odd, left, Jay opened his mouth to whisper an explanation, then abruptly pressed his lips together and instead said nothing.
“It’s difficult, isn’t it?” Liam asked. “That’s why I’m doing it. Left to yourself, your mind wanders, even during a session. You forget you’re supposed to be in the moment; you drift away from me. I really don’t like that.”
It was too true for Jay to argue with. He knew it was a habit of his, but he’d gotten better at training his thoughts to remain focused under Liam’s guidance. He wanted to tell Liam that, reassure him, guessing Liam would see Jay’s distraction as a reflection on how effective he was as a Dom, but he didn’t think it would be well received.
“I do want to enjoy some civilized conversation over dinner, though. Just be mindful of the restrictions you’re under. Now, let’s look at the menu.”
The clamps were hurting him. He read the menu without taking it in, words dancing, disconnected to each other, sense-free. The pain radiating from his chest wiped his mind clean of a dozen small worries, even eroding his need for Austin to be there.
The waiter returned with their drinks, and Liam ordered for both of them without even a glance at Jay, who handed the menu back with his gaze fixed on Liam. If the waiter was surprised, he didn’t show it in his voice as he thanked them before walking away.
“If the clamps become too painful to bear—and I trust you to know when they’ve reached that point—tell me.”
There was no one in earshot. Their table was set against a wall, the closest occupied table fifteen feet away, muted background music providing some privacy. Jay murmured, “Yes, Sir,” and found that saying it helped ground him. He was Liam’s sub. Liam wouldn’t let him do anything that would make people stare at them, and all Jay had to do was what he was told as well as he could.
He straightened and felt the weights on the clamps shift, tugging at the captured flesh. Liam was watching him, and unseen by anyone as he was, Jay let his pain show on his face, gave it to Liam as a gift, seeing the heat flare in the blue eyes.
Liam was amazing to look at under any circumstances—Jay sometimes caught complete strangers admiring him—but he was especially hot when he was in control, when he was absorbing the power he held over Jay and Austin. In that moment Jay almost wished he was naked so that he could feel Liam’s eyes on him, so Liam could see how turned on he was and how thoroughly he was owned.
“The temperature’s supposed to drop tonight,” Liam said. “They said we might even get a dusting of snow, though it’s meant to be gone by tomorrow.”
Jay nodded. “If it’s going to be cold, I could make waffles for breakfast.” He studied Liam’s face as he spoke, trying to gauge his thoughts, but Liam had told him he wanted conversation over dinner. This was conversation. Casual, but conversation.
“Only if it’s cold?” Liam sounded amused.
“They seem like a cold-weather thing to me. Fall, winter…I don’t know. I tried to make pumpkin pancakes one time, but they wouldn’t cook right. They were too heavy. The middles just stayed raw.”
“I think I’ll pass on the pumpkin in that case.” Liam sipped his wine. “Someone at the office was talking about making pumpkin dinner rolls to have on Christmas day.”
Jay made a face. “If they came out like the pancakes, they’d be awful.”
His nervousness was fading. This was just talking, and Liam wasn’t a stranger. Had he ever been? Even in those early days, the three of them had clicked somehow. Liam had been distant, reserved, but he was like them, and that had been what mattered. They spoke the same language.
The waiter brought over their food, and without thinking, Jay smiled up at him. “Thanks. It looks—” He caught himself, breaking off midsentence, feeling a sickening lurch, as if he’d misjudged his step and was falling forward with the sidewalk waiting.
The man gave him a puzzled smile, clearly confused but not interested enough to comment. “Let me know if there’s anything I can get you,” he said and moved away when Liam shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” Jay said when they were alone. His mango chicken smelled delicious, but he didn’t pick up his fork. Maybe that was as well; it occurred to him that Liam would expect him to ask permission to begin eating.
“Three words,” Liam said as if to himself.
Jay swallowed back another apology. Saying it wouldn’t change anything, and Liam had to know from looking at him that his failure had upset him.
Liam picked up his fork and took a mouthful of green shrimp curry. “This is good.”
“May I eat, Sir?” Jay said, faltering over the words. It just felt so fucking strange to ask to do something as basic as eating. Austin would have gotten a kick out of needing an order to breathe or blink, but for Jay it was less about the rituals, the words, and more that blazingly hot connection between Liam and him during an intense session.
Something told him Liam wanted more than that. Wanted everything: the respect, the deference, and the submission to whatever pain he chose to deal out. Austin gave him that. He couldn’t take the same level of pain Jay could, but he still let Liam take him to that limit without complaint, and he got off on being the perfect sub. Jay wished it was as easy for him, but he couldn’t surrender without a struggle when there was no pain to use as an excuse or a reason.
“I wish I could have you on your knees asking that,” Liam said and took another bite. “If you were down there, I might prefer to hand-feed you. This isn’t the ideal food for that, though. Too messy. It wouldn’t matter if you were naked, of course. Perhaps we can explore that at breakfast.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He wasn’t going to ask again. He wasn’t. His stomach rumbled, the fragrant steam rising to tease his mouth into watering. Liam took a third bite, then a fourth, chewing slowly, before reaching over and swapping his plate for Jay’s. “Eat.”
Jay stared at Liam’s leftovers, incredulity rising. He and Austin ate off each other’s plates often, but this felt different. This wasn’t giving him a taste of Liam’s dish, but a calculated humiliation, a slap in the face. And yeah, okay, he liked those when the moment was right, but this was making his face burn with embarrassment.
He picked up his fork—at least Liam had left him that—and stabbed at a shrimp in an untouched part of the dish.
“Don’t sulk,” Liam said. His voice was low and calm, but somehow that made it scarier. “It’s very unattractive, and you know better. I don’t want to have to correct your behavior again this evening. Are we clear?”
Jay swallowed shrimp and nodded. “Yes, Sir,” he whispered.
He was hungry, so he decided the best thing to do was focus on the food in front of him and how it tasted. Liam was right about one thing—sulking wouldn’t do him any good. If he needed something else to think about it, he could think about the hot, relentless pain of his clamped nipples and the milder but still determined burn in his mouth from the Thai spices. What would it feel like to get a blowjob from someone whose lips and tongue were covered in the remnants of chilies?
The idea amused him, and he found his mood improved. Liam had finished his wine and half the food on his second plate by the time Jay had eaten, if not enough to be full, enough so that he wasn’t starving anymore. Liam liked it when they didn’t eat heavily before a session, so Jay set down his fork when Liam did and smiled at his Dom.
Liam returned the smile, but there was something about the knowing twist of his lips that made Jay wonder what thoughts or plans were going through his head. Transfixed by that steady gaze, the utter confidence in Liam’s eyes, Jay ignored the insistent throb of his nipples and the imminent agony of having the clamps removed and sat still, waiting for Liam to refuse dessert, pay the bill, and finally, finally gesture Jay to his feet.
Walking without hunching over wasn’t easy, but Liam made Jay walk before him, and with the sure and certain knowledge that Liam was watching every step, Jay tried to move with the smooth grace Liam had trained into him.
When they reached the car, he put his hands on the hood and leaned over, moaning, releasing some of the pain but soon wishing he’d stayed silent. That first whimper led to another, then another, until he was shuddering, that action causing the weighted clamps to sway and tug sharply at him, bringing fresh sounds of agony to his lips.
Liam turned him so that he could hide his face in Liam’s shoulder. “Hurts. Oh God, Sir, they’ve been on so long. Take them off? Please?”
The parking lot was empty of people, Liam’s car between a minivan and a truck. They were private enough for the clamps to be removed, and if Liam shoved a handkerchief in his mouth, Jay could keep the noise down until the fresh wave of pain had faded. Or scream up at the night sky and the hell with anyone who heard, because he couldn’t take another second.
“Of course I’ll take them off,” Liam said and unbuttoned Jay’s shirt with commendable speed.
Then he paused. Jay’s breath was coming in sharp gasps, his hands clenched. What the hell was Liam waiting for?
“Three words spoken out of place,” Liam said reflectively. “Let’s deal with that now, shall we? I think you can pay for them by waiting for three more—”
If Liam said “minutes,” Jay would pass out. Or hit him. Or—
“Seconds,” Liam finished.
Oh. Okay. He could do that. Jay grabbed Liam’s shoulders because he needed to touch him, and nodded.
“Count for me,” Liam said. “Slowly.”
Liam was diabolical. Sweat beaded Jay’s brow, even in the chilly air, but he nodded again and gabbled out, “One, two, three.”
“Slowly,” Liam repeated and touched his finger to one of the weights, tapping it reprovingly.
Jay wanted to slide to his knees, weep, lick Liam’s shoes, beg. He shook his head, blind with the immensity of the pain, and said, “One.”
“Mm,” Liam said encouragingly, flicking at the other weight. The bruises were going to be there for days. He’d have to sleep on his back—but that probably wouldn’t be an option either by the end of the night. His chest was on fire, his nipples excruciatingly tender.
“T-two.”
“Yes?”
Bastard. Sadistic English bastard. God, he loved Liam so fucking much. No one had ever been this cruel, this inflexible before. “Three. Three. Please—”
Liam kissed him hard and somehow managed at the same time to unclamp both nipples. Jay cried out into Liam’s mouth as white-hot agony like needles shot through him, and the only thing that kept him from hitting the pavement when his knees buckled was Liam’s strong, solid arm wrapped around his waist. He clung to Liam, shaking, tears spilling down his cheeks.
He’d never been so turned on in his life. Underneath the clothes Liam had dressed him in, he was ridiculously hard, the tip of his cock wet enough that it had probably left a visible damp spot through the layers of fabric. “Please, Sir,” he gasped, licking at Liam’s mouth.
He could feel Liam’s erection against him, the solid length of it frustratingly hidden behind clothing when he wanted it bared for his mouth to worship. Given the order, he would’ve gone to his knees even with an audience.
He got kissed, Liam’s tongue, warm and forceful, delving deeply into his mouth; got Liam’s hand on the back of his neck, squeezing it in a way that made his skin prickle with goose bumps, but that was all he got.
Voice and movements controlled to such an extent that it gave away how shaken Liam was, Liam stepped back and took out his car keys. “Get in. Fasten your seat belt; then put your hands on your knees. I want them there until we get home. Leave your shirt unbuttoned.”
“I can’t wait—” Jay stopped himself. Liam never changed his mind, and really, this wasn’t the ideal place for what they both wanted. “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”
Liam arched his eyebrows. “For what?” He sounded genuinely curious, not amused.
“For feeding me.”
Liam brushed the backs of his fingers over Jay’s chest, grazing one swollen, throbbing nipple. “I hope you’re still hungry.” He paused, then added, “I’m starving.”
Yeah, he knew Liam would get that he wasn’t talking about the food.
Chapter Eighteen
Liam’s hands were clenched on the steering wheel at the prescribed ten and two o’clock positions, but it wasn’t where they wanted to be. They wanted to be on Jay, who sat silently beside him in the passenger’s seat. He wanted to pinch Jay’s hot, swollen nipples, bit
e on them until Jay screamed. But he couldn’t because he was driving, so instead he clutched the wheel tighter and breathed slowly through his nose, in and out, and kept his eyes fixed on the road.
Christ, he was hard. There was no way he’d be able to put off coming if he wanted to fuck Jay when they got home. He’d have to come first if he was to have any stamina at all. That wouldn’t be a problem; maybe he’d have Jay suck him. Just thinking about it made his dick harder inside his trousers. Jay had been lovely in the restaurant, all wide eyes and mute horror when he hadn’t been allowed to eat immediately.
Chancing a glance at him now, Liam was reminded that his shirt was still unbuttoned. It would be so easy to reach out and slide a hand along bare skin…but no. Not until they were properly home.
It was a simple promise to make to himself, but one Liam found rather more difficult to keep once they’d pulled into the garage. The garage door was closed—no one could see them—so he turned to Jay and unclipped Jay’s seat belt, ran a hand roughly across Jay’s slender chest and stomach, making no attempt to avoiding his painful nipples, until Jay was trembling and gasping.
Then Liam let go of him and pushed open the driver’s-side door. “Take off your clothes, and leave them here on the seat,” he ordered gruffly. “You won’t need them again this evening.”
Without a word of protest, Jay shed his clothes, shivering in the cold air of the garage. Watching him, Liam felt a dark satisfaction in Jay’s obedience. Yes. This was what he wanted.
Save your strength for dealing with what I’m going to put you through. Don’t waste it arguing with me, questioning me.
It had taken Jay too long to learn that piece of common sense, and Liam was sure he’d need reminders administered from time to time, but right now it seemed to have sunk in.
Jay only had to please him. And Liam, well, he had to make sure none of this went too far, and loving Jay as he did, intensely aware of every shift in mood or reaction, that wouldn’t be too difficult.