Authors: Jack L. Pyke
“Hmmm. A strange mix that; accounting and art history.”
I shrugged. “Not when you think about it; art is just mathematical angles and points in full-blown colour and depth.”
He shrugged, seemingly satisfied. Maybe. “Jack comes around to things in his own time; I don’t push.”
“Over your history? He’s had eleven years,” I said, maybe a little sad with how Jack’s way of thinking was ruled by his disorders despite his obvious coping strategies. “It really takes him that long?”
Gray gave another little shrug.
That moving-in comment last night was out of character, then, maybe showing more how he was slipping slightly, supported by how he’d struggled just a few moments later with the come on his stomach. Yeah, I could understand why Gray wouldn’t want to push Jack’s boundaries without considering a full risk assessment first. He’d agreed to overseeing my training as a Dom so quickly just a few days after I’d met Jack, and gone against the other four Masters doing it, but in many ways now, it was probably Gray’s way of monitoring Jack’s reactions in a controlled environment. If Gray had said no, knowing how stressed Jack had been back when I met him, Jack’s conduct disorder could have no doubt kicked back in. Jack would’ve disobeyed Gray more through a need to disobey than choice and sense. And I’d learned the hard way why saying
Don’t
around Jack was always dangerous business.
Ice and whiskey clinked against the sides of my glass as I eased back into the sofa.
“How do you think you’re going to get on with Jack training other Doms, Jan?” said Gray, eventually.
The question made me a little uneasy. “Why?”
Gray gave that
answer the question and don’t mess about
smile.
I shrugged. “Jack’s in his element. It doesn’t take anything away from how he feels for me, or me for him. Well, that’s the theoretical answer. I haven’t seen that tested yet.” And that was as honest as I could get. I didn’t know how I’d react when whip came to... Jack getting laid.
Gray nodded, then drank. “Jack chooses his contracts here, after the Masters have vetted the potential Doms and sent them through to me for final appraisal. He’s usually handed six files, of which he’ll choose up to four, depending on intensity of the scenes. I can’t allow you to observe those scenes for privacy issues, unless of course there’s a reason I deem fit to overrule that and include you, but I can have a word with Jack and see how he’d feel about you sitting in with him when he chooses his contracts.” Gray finished his drink as what he’d said made me sit forward slightly. “I don’t want you feeling isolated,” he added. “No secrets on exactly what goes on and whom Jack will be with.” He tilted the glass at me. “If you’d prefer not to know, nobody will think any less of you.”
“You sure?” I cocked a smile. “No abstract digs on lacking any balls?”
“Maybe one or two.”
Great. Just the ones that matter. “Can I have time to think about it?” I asked quietly. Part of me wanted to know who Jack would be with, what he’d be put through, how things could go wrong, and how they would be handled. Part of me didn’t. But I wasn’t soft over why Gray was offering this. If I disrupted Jack and threw his head out a little with my feeling uneasy, then it ran into potential dangers for Jack during a scene. Would that be the overruling point he mentioned? That he’d allow me into a scene—desensitise me so that I wouldn’t worry and pull Jack out of his game in the process? And where exactly did that leave Gray and Jack now that their relationship had changed slightly? “How are you going to be seeing Jack touched by trainee Doms?”
Gray fell quiet. “I’ve been there for every Dom he’s trained, bar you. Nobody touches him without me around and without my knowing how he will be touched. And then there’s the MC security, and then Jack himself.”
“Yeah, I know security is tight.” I narrowed my eyes. “I’m talking about you personally. How he is with us, I don’t know if I could watch him be like that with someone else. Can you now?”
“It’s work with trainees, to the point Jack never quite moves away from the trainer’s mindset. You can see it in his body, the way he tilts his head, how he listens to make sure he constantly knows the Dom’s position, his intent; there’s a constant between subbing and the instinct to Dom the scene if the trainee steps out of line. To most he’s not a true sub; it’s just another role he slips into.”
“But to you?”
Gray shrugged. “There’s something about him if you can reach past the bastard. Move him away from the training, give him the right stimulation, he’s a stunning collared sub.”
I glanced down at my drink. That was said from a lover talking about his sub. “And yet you hold back on collaring him yourself,” I mumbled.
“Hmmm?”
It had been too quiet for Gray to catch. “Jack,” I said quietly, “you’ve never collared him.”
“It’s written into his contract that he’s not to be collared away from a Dom training scene—”
“You wrote that clause yourself.”
“Yes. Those few days with you were the longest he’s worn one.”
“But you’re not me and you’re not just any Dom; you’re his—a Master,” I mumbled quietly.
Gray’s look was a little distant, but like with every other question that touched down too personal with him, he didn’t answer. Putting his glass on the table next to me, he winked and walked back over to the floor. He seemed a little on edge, maybe because of me, maybe because of the personal discussion, or maybe with not being able to take Jack in full Master Dom mode, I couldn’t really tell.
I eased the pull of trouser on my semi-interested hard-on as Gray warmed up. I’d love to see it. For all of my sins, I’d love to see that chemistry in a full scene, all of the whips and chains on Jack, how Gray managed to turn Jack on so much by being behind all of those toys. But also how Jack stirred Gray, kept him so on edge.
Gray warmed up, then calmed his body for a minute before running through a few supple flips, turns, and kicks. We didn’t sleep together without Jack, so there really wasn’t much time to investigate each other without Jack thrown into the equation. But watch? It didn’t hurt to watch. I liked how he kept watching me too, sometimes changing the look in his eyes from distance to something entirely darker. The ramifications of doing it “behind Jack’s back” had cut so deep last time; we wouldn’t risk that again. But look... Jack was right: Gray made life damn dark and sexy—
Vibrations from my pocket threw me a little, then I realised a message had come through and I pulled my mobile free.
Call me, Jan.
Rob.
I choked back a sob, not really realising a shadow now blocked out the message. Gray held his hand out. “Give it.”
“It’s nothing. It’s...” I couldn’t finish, not without letting out a deep groan. “It’s personal.”
“You’re touching my fucking sub, in my fucking home. It doesn’t get more personal than that.” Gray held his hand farther. “You have the decency to show me anything that could disrupt it.”
Hand shaking a little, I slapped it in his palm and he made sure I didn’t drop my gaze before he read it. “When did this start?”
“Last night.”
“In bed?” He flicked a look at me. “You sure?”
“Yeah, of course I’m fucking sure, I—” But Gray was already moving over to his drink’s table and he picked up the phone, dismissing me.
“It’s from Rob’s number,” I called over, and Gray nodded as he glanced back. “Mike, personal favour. Can you run a reverse text search for me?” He read out my phone number, then waited a moment. “The owner is supposed to be deceased, what I need now is a trace on where that phone was last used, as close as you can get.” He paused, then a moment later said his thanks and dialled another number. As the receiver went back in its cradle, I frowned and went over, hearing a ring tone. He’d put it on loud speaker.
Gray leant against the wall and put a finger to his lips as the ringing stopped.
“Hello,” said a voice, and life seemed to stall at hearing the familiar voice.
“Lisa Kershaw,” stated Gray.
“Yes.”
“Deepest sympathy on the death of your husband, Robert, and, of course, your youngest daughter.”
“Hmmm, thank you. Who is this?”
“You’re welcome.” He unfolded his arms. “You have been texting Mr. Jan Richards on behalf of your deceased husband. Please stop, Mrs. Kershaw.”
Quiet. “I have, have no idea what you’re talk—”
“I do,” he said, simply. “Don’t do it again.”
“I... I—”
“Lisa?” I shuffled a little closer to the phone.
“Jan?”
“What the hell are you doing, honey?”
Gentle sobs drifted over the phone and I frowned at Gray.
“You, you stayed away from the funeral, Jan, I was, was so grateful.”
Jack had been with me that day. I hadn’t felt right going to Rob’s funeral.
“But the flower.” She choked back a sob. “That goddamn flower. You left a Blue Moon rose at his graveside.”
Gray was looking at me. That detail didn’t need clarifying, though. I had, but I still nodded at Gray. “Lisa, look—”
“Do you know he started growing them in the garden just after we met?” she said, her voice cracking over the phone. “I thought they were for me. He’d give them so much care, so much bloody attention, Jan. And every time you two split up, he’d take one for you with him. At the grave... Ryan, he thought his dad had left it. He thought Rob was sending my boy a message.” Her voice went calm. “I wanted you to know how he felt, how shit you’d made us both feel.”
I hadn’t known. “The roses... I didn’t know, Lisa. He never told me.” I thought he’d bought them, just a peace-making gesture every time he wanted to break the relationship off, that he’d... Ryan. Rob’s seven-year old. He shouldn’t have been put through that. “I’m so sorry, honey.”
There was gentle crying. “Just wanted to let you know how it felt, being reminded. I’m... I’m—”
“It’s all right,” I said quietly. “I know what grief does to you.” More than. “Just, no more. Enough now.”
“Mrs. Kershaw,” said Gray, not giving her time to answer. “That’s Mr. Richards being polite over the issue. But understand, if this continues and he receives any more texts that disrupt, I don’t share Mr. Richards’ politeness. Are we clear?”
“Who—who the hell are you?”
“Good evening to you too.” Gray cut the connection, then handed me the phone.
As I tucked it back in my pocket, I glanced at him. “You can’t control who talks to me, Gray.”
“You hide shit like this again whilst you’re around Jack, you won’t be talking to
him
, forget who’s talking to you.”
I looked away, trying hard not to bite back at everything that comment suggested. “All due respect here, Gray,” I kept my voice flat, “you’re not the only one here who cares about him. Your house, your sub, but my boyfriend, okay?”
“It’s nothing to do with who cares for what, Jan.” Gray’s voice was just as controlled as I turned away and went and sat down. “It’s to do with not repeating past screw-ups on your part.”
“Who cares for
whom,
not
what
.” Now I looked at him as he came over. “He’s not a piece of equipment to be stored away until you want to use him.”
“
Jack’s
tough enough to deal with whatever ‘boyfriend’ issues you have. When you find yourself struggling to tell him what’s hurting, which you are, you tell me.”
“You saw his reaction to having come on his abs. I was worried about him.”
“When it comes to Jack, your one worry is me. He’s been hurt enough over you and this Rob. That doesn’t happen again.”
“I—” My screw-ups had never been mentioned until now and that bite back at him stopped there. Jack had been whipped for what had happened when both Rob and Mark Shaw had come on the scene. Then when Rob and his toddler had died? What followed? I never wanted it repeated again.
“Good,” said Gray, satisfied. “You make sure you—”
“Oh for Godssake, take your bloody boots off,” shouted Ed, and Gray moved back over to the hall floor as noise came from behind, the hall door now opening. There were a few curses, and I managed a smile. “Hi, Jack,” I said, not even having to look.
“Right,” said Jack, not sounding happy as boots hit the floor. “A guy works his bollocks off all day and comes home to find that neither one of his blokes could get him some decent grub on the table.” With oily coveralls and steel toe cap boots, Jack came and crashed on the settee next to me. His black hair was damp and a slight flush touched his cheeks now that he was in the warm air. Mid-November, no doubt the weather outside was sticking to its usual manic depressive state and throwing a good bout of cold-shoulder into the mix too. Jack was shivering slightly, but he still managed a gorgeous smile.
“Looks cold out,” I said.
“Freezing.” Jack eyed me up. “Not that you office guys would know cold if it bit your bollocks off and ran down the street doing hamster cheeks with them.”
I gave him the finger as Gray glanced over, first at me, then barely seeming to bite back the need to add to Ed’s disgust and tell Jack to take his boots off. Jack kept his body clean to his OCD extremes, but that didn’t mean he didn’t leave his butt prints about with his coveralls.
Jack stretched, then giving a wink, he lay down, his legs coming up on mine. “All right, things?”
I chuckled. “Peachy.” He gave my leg a kick that said
stop pinching my words
. “Rough day?” I asked, passing him my drink.
He palmed at his eyes. “Expensive,” he said, sounding tired, then took the drink and downed it in one, which surprised me; he did alcohol about as often as he did social. No amount of pleading from me had managed to pull Jack into a nightclub over the past few months.
“My fault for terrorising Steve. He threw in a few moans, added how he needed a new compressor, two pit jacks, and fuel retriever. I’m gonna have to think about selling my ass to keep him in garage equipment, not to mention the cost of office supplies.”
“That would mean you actually getting your ass back into BDSM gear to sell it,” said Gray to us as he continued with his kicks.
“Awww.” Jack grinned at me. “Lock him out of his dungeon for a few weeks—”