Don't... (25 page)

I shifted uncomfortably. If Jan noticed, his face didn’t show it.

“Five.” Jan, Gray, Ben, and two other contracts.

Now he looked up. “Are you street or video porn trade?”

It was a fair enough question, and asked in a non-judgmental way. Although I bet he had a few raised brows by the time the day was done working here.

“Master’s Circle.”

Now his eyes showed a little shock, a real curiosity. “Dom?” he asked.

“Master’s sub.”

“Really?” The smile was actually quite a nice touch. “Unusual to see any MC’ers away from their own independent medical team, even more unusual for a Master’s sub.”

“Personal,” I added quietly and he looked between me and Jan.

“And your tests are rigidly up to date usually.”

“Like I said,” really not liking being here, “it’s personal.”

He nodded. “Date of last test?”

“A month ago.”

“Okay.” He threw his pen on the table. He didn’t say this was a waste of time, but it was written in that last action. “You know what’s next, Jack.”

Huh? Since when did we become first-namers? The consultant pointed to the door off to his left. “There is a supply of specimen tubs in the bathroom. Can I have a urine sample? We’ll do the bloods in a minute.”

I left them there and took care of business. A pen was conveniently placed next to the canisters. After washing my hands, I wrote my details on the sample and headed on back into the consultant’s room. At least I didn’t have that feeling of being talked about as I left the specimen sample on the desk and sat down.

The consultant filled out the appropriate paperwork and set everything in a tray next to his desk.

“Are you okay with needles?”

I don’t know what made me snort a chuckle, but I did, and both Jan and the man behind the desk looked up.

“I’m fine with needles,” I said quickly, burying the irony of asking a BDSM sub if he was okay with a small prick. It was a disappointment at best. The consultant came from behind the desk carrying a strap and tray of wrapped needles and blood sample tubes. “Would you roll your sleeve up for me, please?”

I exposed the crease of my arm as the consultant pulled on some rubber gloves.

“Make a constant fist.”

I’d been doing that anyway. The strap went around my arm and pinched the skin as it was fastened into place. Needle set up, a few prods of the vein saw the consultant push it into my skin.

A brush to my fingers, I looked away from the blood sucker in white to see Jan running the back of his hand over my fingertips. After a moment, he hooked one around mine, then sat there just short of holding my hand. Brashness and sarcasm faded; an echo of a kiss to my nose, a gentle push of loose hair behind my ear, a hold of hand. It conveyed everything he’d struggled to say lately.

“All done.” My arm could breathe again as the strap was released, and the consultant pushed to his feet tucking samples into marked plastic bags. “If you’d like to give me a call in two days at this time, I’ll have your results.”

“Thank you.” That came from Jan as we both stood. I pulled a card from my wallet and asked the consultant if he could post a spare set of results to the address printed on it.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Oh, and, Jack.” He came over as I opened the door. “My business card.” He held it out and I took it out of courtesy. “If you or any of the MC’s need anything else.”

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to pass it on.” And probably risk another one of those disdainful raised brows off Gray. I held the door and waited for Jan to leave, then made my way out. Jan was waiting by his Jag, and I gave him a brief smile before heading for my driver’s side.

“I—” Jan was scratching at the side of his head. “I booked the afternoon off. I know you’re busy, but I was wondering if you’d like to maybe go catch some lunch?”

I looked down at the keys in my hand. “We’re going fishing?”

“Huh?”

I looked at Jan and offered a ghost of a smile. “Catch.”

“Ah,” said Jan, his eyes coming alive a little. “Taking the piss, huh?”

I shrugged. “You just have to with some people.”

At three in the afternoon, Artisan’s was pretty busy by the time I took Jack back to Old Kent Road. We managed to find a space off in a booth in the far corner, and we sat picking our way through the menu as the afternoon chatter carried on without us. The French retro bistro was as tasteful as it was high class, all mirrored and low-lit with candles, French-design tables, and catering to a crowd of suits and bilingual speakers. A surprise considering the location. Watching Jack, you’d have thought he’d feel a little underdressed (and that he’d never be allowed into such a formal setting, but strangely,
was
) what with blue garage coveralls and steel toe-cap boots, but like seeing him at the front door every morning and evening, there was that quiet confidence in how he held himself, sharp intelligence in grey eyes that seemed to fail miserably at hiding his volatile side. Jack had people looking no matter where he went; the majority of them with long gazes that stripped him naked and fucked him senseless. I think he was just that used to it, he no longer noticed, although I could picture him using it to its full advantage when he was younger, when he thought he’d needed to use it. That was one reason I hadn’t walked away. You couldn’t, not from Jack. He sat opposite me now, eyeing me quietly, still looking as if he still didn’t know whether to tear my head off before, during, or after he’d fucked me senseless. Seeing his wilder side, it was probably all three after he’d glued my head back on a couple of times.

Especially considering what I’d just done to him.

“Not a bad place,” I said, hiding behind the menu for a minute and trying to look as though I was deciding what to have.

“I have to get going soon, Jan. Let’s just keep it short, yeah?”

He had that flatness to his voice. I’d heard it so much over the past five days, it reached a point where locking myself in my office was the only escape from it. That first day, when he asked if I wanted a coffee, after he’d stripped for me in front of Gray’s men. I nearly groaned out loud. I’d humiliated him just because I hadn’t got a clue what the hell I was doing; then he’d looked up at me, and just for a few seconds, a few brief seconds, I thought he’d say to hell with the contract, just come over, talk. Instead I’d got his flat tone, that offer of coffee, of sir, all contract, all ties. I’d have willingly shaken the life back into him if Gray would have let me get close.

Gray. I snorted and noticed Jack narrow his eyes as he peered over his menu. Even I’d noticed how Gray had looked at Jack as he’d stripped, wearing that collar. Part of the reason I’d walked away was because if I’d seen that heat reflected in Jack’s look back at Gray, it would have finished me. Maybe. I didn’t know. So when Gray had come upstairs afterwards and asked me to keep a level head, I’d laughed a little maniacally and told him to fuck off. I didn’t swear, never had, until recently. Always made me feel like you’d lost the argument once resorting to swearing. Another good reason for the contract. It stopped all anger, heat. But all anger and heat was who Jack was. And looking at him now, I missed that.

“May I take your order?”

The maitre d’ seemed to sneak up and startle us both. Despite Jack’s stubbornness, I knew for a fact he’d barely eaten recently, so I rolled off a host of things, finishing by adding a bottle of Ruinart Brut. The latter, champagne, was over sixty pounds a bottle, and I saw Jack’s face hearing the choice. “Also two beers, whichever you have on chill,” I finished, and hid my smile seeing Jack physically relax. The maitre d’ waddled off to the kitchen and Jack frowned watching him leave.

“I’ve ordered for both of us,” I said, drawing his attention by briefly brushing the back of my hand over his fingers as I reached for his menu, then put it to one side.

He was looking at his hand for the second time today. “You didn’t have to do that, Jan.” His voice had a little more warmth. “Let me pick up the tab for this.” That second one was Jack. All formality dropped. Beer and champagne were brought over; champagne in an ice-bucket, beer in two long pint glasses that looked cold to touch. Jack poured some champagne in the two flutes, then inched one over to me.

“Last night,” I started, and he flicked a look at me. “wasn’t me, Jack.” His fingers were still on the base of my glass, and I reached mine to his, coating them. “I don’t know what the hell it was.”

Jack turned his hand over, fingers playing a distracted wrestling game, his thumb brushing over my knuckles, and his look, lost.

“Just a few days,” he mumbled more to himself. Then he looked up at me and tears simmered in his eyes. That shocked me a little; he was as tough as nails, yet... “Just a few days and you turn everything in my world upside down. Jan, don’t run for cover and hide when I say I luh-like the fucking hell out of you, okay? In front of all the cameras, all the training, remember that. I need you to remember that.”

Space was suddenly very tight in my trousers. Had he just got out of saying the
L
word? Had
Jack
just gotten out of—“Jack—”

The maitre d’ brought over a selection of cheese and breadsticks, and Jack’s hand was gone from mine, now content to wrap onto the champagne flute and down half of it in one.

“And I’m picking up the tab for this,” he said, then finished what was left in his flute. I downed mine and caught Jack licking his lips as I licked mine. He coughed, looked away very quickly. “You’ve, erm, you’ve spent enough on me today, and shit. Fuck.”

I bit back my smile seeing him mentally kick himself. “Yeah, because your usual contracts usually do the dinner, watch, maybe throw the odd Mercedes in your direction to keep your ass close. But I beat them all hands down with an STD test.”

He dropped his mouth open, and I thought I’d have to reach over and remind him the basics of closing it the way he was going.

“I,” he stuttered, even looked a little flushed. Colour suited him so damn well. “I bought my Merc.”

“Suuure, y’did,” I said, then winked as I took a sip of champagne.

“Taking the piss, huh?”

I nodded. “It’s a vocation with you.”

“Uh-huh.” I distractedly licked champagne from my lips again, and he reached to loosen a tie he didn’t have, then settled for his coverall collar instead, then gave up completely and stood. “I, erm, I’ve got to go to the restroom.”

The maitre d’ came over and cast a glance at Jack’s retreating back before clearing away the entrees. “Is your friend not feeling well?”

“Hm.” I put a hand to my mouth to hide the polite choke. “I don’t think so, no. Can you hold the main?”
Keep hiding that smile
. “I think I’ll go and see if he is okay. Please reserve our table.”

“
Oui
.” I didn’t laugh at how the maitre d’ had spoken perfectly good Essex English up until that point.

The bistro was up-market enough to support the type of restroom that had an attendant on hand to offer cologne, hand wipes etc, and I slipped a fifty in his top pocket and whispered if he’d leave. My friend was conscious of throwing up, apparently. From how Jack stood with his head against the far wall, shoulders heaving, breath coming out in controlled bursts, he certainly looked the sick
friend in need
at the moment. I waited for the attendant to leave, locked the door, and safe in the knowledge we were alone, I went and pulled Jack from the wall, spun him around, then pushed his back hard into it.

“Jan—”

It was all I’d allow him before I crushed my lips on his, bruising, forcing my tongue in for a fight, and loving the soft whimpers he gave.

A growl that rumbled deep in my chest from Jack, I had the wind knocked out of my back as Jack swapped positions, pushing me back against the wall, all in one swift move that almost had me wondering how in hell’s name he’d done it. Almost, because he’s slid down my body and growled all sorts of frustration as he tugged open my trousers.

“Jesus!” My head stretched back and the ceiling blurred as he swallowed my head and shaft. I didn’t even know how or when he’d put a condom on me. Hands grabbed my ass, arching me at an angle off the wall, the back of my head and shoulders the only contact trying to ground me. He sucked hard; deep, growling, and hungry sounds that had me so close to the edge I begged him to stop.

He did, but only because of his own cry of hurt. He reared up against my body, hands gripping my waist, head to the side against my stomach.

Key. Heart pounding close to my throat, I came back down enough to realise I hadn’t got the key on me.

“God, Jack.” I creased down and kissed at his face, his head, his neck, hands at either side to stop him pulling away in pain. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sor—”

Lifted up, carried to the wash stands, I was dumped down with a growl.

“Wait,” I said, but like hell was Jack going to. Shirt pushed up, trousers pulled down, he exposed everything I had and took my cock whole in his mouth. “
Jack
.” My mind lost contact with everything but the hot mouth joining me to Jack.

“Mine,” Jack snarled, now biting my hips, his hand working me hard. “Fucking mine.” He arched his body over me, his hips humping into the cold of the basin as if to try and temper the hurt going on between his thighs.

“Jack.” A gentle push at his shoulder, I made sure his gaze stayed on mine, and he stilled his working of my cock. “Control it, baby. Just for me, yeah.”

There was a switch in Jack’s eyes, that same calm I’d felt in the office. Pupils dilated, taking everything in, a slow smile curled his lips, then, eyes on mine, he leaned in and gave one long lick along my cock. Fuck. I didn’t swear, I wouldn’t swear but fuck. Tonguing at my tip, five long deep strokes, and I was his. Come shooting somewhere, the condom, I think. I couldn’t see at that point, I didn’t care. Eventually soft murmurs and gentle kisses over my lower abdomen brought me back down to Earth, and pretty much left me like water running down a drain, I barely managed to lift my head and look down at Jack.

“The Merc’s my own,” he said, then grinned before licking at my abdomen. “Me, on the other hand—I’m all yours.”