Don't... (22 page)

No. I didn’t have a problem. Not anymore. The coffee made itself known that it was ready to pour, and I mumbled, “Would you like a coffee, sir?”

“Fucks
sake
.”

I couldn’t tell whether Jan aimed all that anger toward me or the loud thump that came from upstairs. He just wasn’t there anymore, just the sound of his footfalls on the staircase hinting at what he haunted.

“Remember your limitations,” said Gray as I set to work on the coffees. But whatever else he was about to add was pushed aside as a gentle touch from his hand stopped me adding sugar to Jan’s coffee.

“Also likes it black, too, Jack,” said Gray, and I was about to let a small smile of thanks touch my lips when Gray let his hand trace my arm. I looked at him over my shoulder. He had a different look lowering his eyes, one that put me over the breakfast table, pinned my hands level to my shoulders, and fucked me hard and brutal from behind. And damn my soul, the possession threatening to drown me in the depths of the ocean eyes offered such a familiar fucking comfort, I’d have worn his collar too, and cried out all the
hell, yes
to any sex he had in mind just to keep him here touching me.

Head fuck. Yeah. Again I avoided eye contact. Again I buried everything natural about lying down with him.

“You have them,” said Gray, and every bit of lust in his body was buried in the calmness of his voice. “In six days I’ll have my first training session with you and Jan. I’m leaving it that long to give him time to adjust. This isn’t his world. But when I do train that day, the cage will still be on, and it will be extremely difficult to not let your body be stirred. Take these next few days to think control. You need control, Jack. You’re lousy around Jan.”

“
Jack
.” The shout came from upstairs. “Leave the coffee, bring the dustpan and clean this fucking mess up.”

I stiffened.

“Hmmmm,” mumbled Gray, “seems I need to go and have a word with Mr. Richards in the meantime and remind him about respect, I think.”

Yeah. He’d caught Jan’s chaos too, and I watched him walk away.

Life was peachy. Just real fucking peachy.

Cars, bikes, and London’s goddamn endless rush-hour traffic. I swear, all three should go for a fucking ménage et trois somewhere and leave the rest of the world with only the minor worry of what offspring they could fuck up. For the second time now I’d had the same bike courier cut me up, his wheels squeezing between my Merc and the one in front and missing my side panel by inches. For the second time now I’d nearly sent the back end of his bike into a skid a pro ice skater would have struggled to correct. Luckily enough, the little sod moved quick, not even giving me enough time to form the corresponding one-finger salute. I fixed cars for a living, that didn’t make me a Formula 1 racing driver, or even a polite road user that had learned a little road-rage restraint.

By the time I finally pulled up outside of Jan’s, I was ready for throwing in the towel, not that I carried a towel, or particularly needed one, but throwing it (one wrapped around some bricks—big fucking house bricks) at something sounded damn good to me. It was only supposed to be a twenty-minute drive, but that was the optimistic view. Worst thing was, I’d woken this morning to find some little asswipe had slashed my front tyre. Usually I liked to do garage work at work, not on Jan’s drive, and not when it made me late for work. I’d been dressed for it, which helped. No worries over getting my uniform dirty, and all that.

At least Mike’s obs crew were long gone, five days’ long gone. Five long days of up at five-thirty to get to work for seven, leave at six (and let’s not forget the “without fail” here, which tested Steve’s patience to the limit as it left him picking up my slack) all to get “home” for seven, then cook, clean, then bed. I’d had time off to take my old man for a test-drive in his Range Rover, and Jan honoured my commitments with my dojo training. Only Jan’s bed remained out of bounds, in fact anything touch-related remained fucking out of bounds, making the days one long shift that never seemed to end. All to start again in the morning. Whatever Gray had said seemed to have done the trick. Jan was colder than a six-week-old corpse.

At least the heat had eased off and settled into machine-gun rain that left you wanting to don a Tommy Helmet as you ducked for cover. Shit. I’d need that towel after all.

Jan’s Jag wasn’t in the drive, and I let my head rest against the steering wheel as I closed my eyes.

The journey time was a killer. I hadn’t realised how much of a strain it would be. Arms were heavy as I gripped the wheel, already sagging under the pressure, every muscle crying for bed, and none of it in any ways my body was tempered, which usually meant fuck-all to do with beds.

Giving a sigh, I grabbed the carrier bag from the passenger seat, then pushed out. This bollocks wasn’t about me, not about how tired I felt.

I went on in, through to Jan’s reception hall and put my coat on the new coat stand I’d bought and set up for Jan. There was little discussion on what had happened to the old one. There’d been this stylish wooden thing there, if I remembered rightly, no doubt another one of Jan’s
expression of self
, but I’d noticed on my second day it had gone missing (so I’m not the most observant pigeon in the pie here). Jan had said nothing when I replaced it with a new one, in fact he’d barely managed conversation at all, instead opting for meal, work in the office with the door locked, and bed.

A long black overcoat waited next to mine, and I let my fingers briefly brush the classy material before catching the edge of the lapel between thumb and finger.

He still felt good, even if it was just an echo. An echo was something, better than nothing.

Shaking ghosts off, I went through into the kitchen and put my bag on the counter. Just something simple for tonight: steak, new potatoes, mushrooms, onions, a nice onion gravy followed by bread and butter pudding with a hint of Tia Maria. Jan had taken a liking to the latter. (Pudding, not Tia Maria. Jan didn’t seem to have any alcohol about the house.) As it was about as adventurous as I got with puddings, I thanked fuck for that. I’d prepped the pudding dish this morning, just leaving the bread to soak up the cream and spices, all it needed was setting in the oven at the same time as the steak and veggies. Maybe I was going for the
food’s a way to a man’s heart
, but at the moment, when it was all a man had...

Still a little unsure with where everything lived around here, I blindly sorted through the cupboards for a baking tray. Fifteen minutes later, and everything was baking happily in the oven, potatoes seasoned and ready on the hob, and I glanced at the kitchen clock to check my timing.

Goddamn clock
. I hated that goddamn clock and its wiry branches that jutted out all over the place. I’d bought some paper with the coat stand too. Didn’t really understand why or when exactly, but I knew the paper sat in the cupboard nesting next to some stepladders and some paint. How long would it be before Jan noticed the clock was missing? Maybe if I bought him a new one of those too? I turned away, gritting my teeth.

I tried to focus on how the clock had
some
use; Jan would be home in forty-five minutes.

I wiped my hands on a towel (hating onions with a vengeance) and made a double-check of the Villa just to make sure everything was as it should be. A satisfied nod, maybe wishing Jan would add a little more colour to his joint, I headed on up to the shower room. I missed my own, to be honest. It hit you from every angle with a force that could mark bones for future pathologists to coo over. Jan’s was still good, but it was Jan’s. Everything here was Jan’s.

Stripping down, I gave a sniff and ignored looking at my groin. Another two days and hopefully this particular bollocks would come off.

The water ran over my skin for a good twenty minutes, standing there, head back, neck and shoulders pelted into oblivion, before I finally managed to soap off the day. A breeze shifted the blinds rowdily over by the window, and its long breath added to the rough play of the water, teasing shivers all the way down into my groin. My cock kicked-back against the play, swelling a little with a curious
whoa-baby
salute, and I scowled down at it. Thought-avoidance was the best cure. I didn’t fancy ending up writhing in agony at Jan’s feet, all cocked and ready to play, but cut off vitally at the pass. Not a turn-on in my book. And no matter how much I needed Jan to fucking touch me, I didn’t need my cock pointing out the obvious just before it was choked into salivating silence.

Finally managing to convince my cock that even Jan wasn’t worth the trouble, I dried myself off, then set about shaving, deodorant, and cologne.

The sound of tyre crunching gravel tilted my head to the window, and I stopped with the cologne to listen. Jag tyres had their own sound, Dunlop SP 41 radials (Jan seemed to like his safety in his choice there), but they were wide, more crunchability on the gravel, and I frowned at my watch that rested there on the sink. Either he was early or I was running late.

Quarter to seven.

Bollocks. I was running late.

After making sure the bathroom was tidy, I made it to the wide reception hall as the lock in the front door clicked open. As it inched daylight and rain into the hall, I took the collar from Jan’s spare long-coat pocket, and that then just left Jan’s latest preference.

Never more aware of my nakedness, I knelt by the coat stand, ass resting back on my calves, head to chest as Jan came into the hall.

The sound of black polished shoes on white marble floor as they came closer seemed to bring its own chill with it, and I let out a steady breath to calm everything inside me.

Not for me, not for me, not for fucking me.

Jan took hold of a few strands of my hair and rubbed them between his fingers. “Running late?” He kept that flatness to his voice that put me where I belonged: knelt at his feet. Since he’d first collared me, I hadn’t seen that look of sympathy in his eyes. I didn’t quite like to classify what I did see in there, it wasn’t all nice, cosy, and fuzzy, the sort of feelings you should get from your Dom seeing his collared lover by the door.

“Reason?”

“Long day... sir.” It still felt so fucking childish. “I thought you’d prefer that it didn’t show. I took a longer shower.”

“Hmmm?” I heard nothing else and frowned before offering up the collar that made my palms sweat. Leather always had that affect, that and what this whole mess stood for.

Jan took it, and I got a tug under my chin that lifted my gaze to the ceiling. Forty-cracks I’d counted in the last five days; that ceiling needed a real damn decent paint job. Wasn’t quite in the mood for painting yet, though. I hadn’t reached
that
low yet.

I felt the need to itch underneath the collar as Jan bent low and slipped it around my throat, but resisted the temptation, instead lowering my head to allow him to fasten it.

“Stay,” said Jan, and he headed past.
Usual
rounds, apparently: lounge, kitchen, upstairs in the bedrooms, footsteps muffled against thick carpet. All the time the cold and wet from the open door played havoc around my legs. I would be visible to anyone who pulled onto the drive, and by the time Jan came back into the hall, I was biting back shivers and the need to crawl into the wall and hide.

“Dinner smells good.”

I took that as my cue to stand and, ignoring the ache in my knees, I waited for Jan to turn his back on me so I could shut the door, then take his coat. I was close to his shoulders as he slipped the coat off. He smelled good. Even a hard day at work couldn’t shake his cologne that hung around every inch of the Villa, and I resisted breathing him in.
Sad, really fucking sad.
But being this close, I couldn’t help
but
watch the shift of shirt over his toned back, how the pull of tailored trouser shaped his slim ass so well. They worked with him to get the best look out of his body, making me feel so fucking envious (of bloody material for fuck’s sake). The need was there to pin him face first against the wall and run my nose over the back of his neck, just feel his skin brush against mine. Like the clothes, just be close. Keeping a hold on that, the need to taste his scent, was hard to deny, yet the need to spread his hands wide, his legs wider, hear him cry my name, was even harder.

I quickly found his coat a home next to mine, needing the cold from the door to stop my dick measuring the distance between us as he headed into the kitchen.

Next to the plates I’d laid on the table sat today’s financial times, and Jan sat reading it as I made him a coffee. I’d put the potatoes on a timer and they let me know they were ready.

“You said traffic.” There was a ruffle of paper, and the hairs that prickled on the back of my neck said he was watching me. I risked a glance back, met his eyes for the first time in days, and wished I hadn’t. Soft brown hair was damp from the rain, and the tie was loosened slightly at his neck showing dampness to his tanned throat. Fuck. I wanted to tilt that throat back, kiss the skin, taste the rain dampening the suppleness. If he’d given me one of those easy smiles of his, the sort that lowered the tone in his eyes just enough to offer a playful chance to tame his lust, all control and command of my body would fail within a mere second, and I’d be dragging him toward the bedroom, edging him back onto the bed, and—

I coughed. Gray’s trainee Dom session was tomorrow. I wouldn’t be able to get through it, not with this cage on. Just seeing Jan naked. “Yeah,” That sounded strangled, a little high. “Erm, yes, sir.” Mug in hand, I took him over his coffee. “Worth it, though,” I added quietly, too low for audio to pick it up, unable to lose my way from that wind-swept look going on with him.

“Maybe you should think of leaving work a little earlier next time, then, yeah?”

Jan was back reading his paper, his flick of the pages his dismissal, and I hoped to God he was kidding. I couldn’t put any further strain on my business. “I’ll...” I moved away and started dishing up dinner. “I’ll cut my shower time,” I said. Jesus H. Christ, how I served dinner so fucking calmly was beyond me.