James got up and disappeared into the bathroom.
Cal’s heart jumped. Was he supposed to be doing something right now? Nick had immediately taken care of Spencer after that lesson, speaking in soothing tones and tenderly applying lotion to the welts on his back, but what was Cal supposed to do? He hadn’t put James into that space. Hadn’t inflicted pain or done any damage.
Shit. What now?
Cal sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. Maybe he still needed more pointers from Nick. At least he’d got everything else right so far. Well, almost. He didn’t imagine that Nick would have lost control like that. Or maybe Nick would have had the vicious energy left to punish James right after, or, or . . . He simply had no clue. Maybe bottoming was completely out when they played this game. Maybe the roles were strict and there was no leeway. It wasn’t like he could just call Nick and ask him for tips when he was barely holding on to being awake.
James came back out, and Cal couldn’t bear the thought of getting cleaned up—he felt too much like a fraud, so he got up and hogged the bathroom. In order to have some time to himself, he decided to take advantage of the shower. A bath might have been excessive, though he considered it.
By the time he did come out, James was in bed. Though he wasn’t asleep; he was checking email on his phone. Ever the workaholic.
When Cal came closer, James smiled at him. Cal managed to smile back, running his fingers through his wet hair. “Do you want to get home?”
James shrugged. “It’s not like anybody’s waiting there.”
“True.” Cal sat down, feeling awkward. He should get dressed. Maybe if this was like a normal relationship or even friends with benefits, cuddling might have been an option. Kissing, touching, eventually a second round. But somehow, he felt shy about it, and James didn’t make a move, either. The subservience was gone. They were back to normal.
“What’s wrong, Cal?”
I’m trying to work that out. Cal shrugged. “Just random thoughts.”
“About?” Straightforward, curious—no, actually interested.
“You sometimes strike me as a very lonely man.”
James frowned, then touched Cal’s thigh. “I get the sense that’s something we share.”
“I’m all right living mostly in my head.” Cal smiled. “I don’t need that many real-life people.”
“Real-life people?” James smiled. “You make it sound like there are other types.”
“There are. Characters. Story people. I’m, uh, I’m a writer.”
“Got anything published?”
Cal laughed softly. “Have to finish it before anyone will publish it.”
“What’s stopping you?”
Too much distraction. Too focused on . . . He met James’s eyes again. “It’s just a slow process. I’ll get there.”
James regarded him silently. His hand didn’t move, but somehow it seemed heavier on Cal’s leg. Cal lowered his gaze and slid his hand over the top of James’s. What the hell were they supposed to say right now? He caught himself wishing they were completely back on professional ground. Not quite level ground—maybe they balanced better with James in the position of power—but professional and familiar. When the only things that needed to be said were “take me there” and “yes, sir” and “thank you, Callum” and “will that be all, sir?” He wasn’t socially awkward by nature, but damn, when James was involved . . .
James ran his thumb along the top of Cal’s thigh. “I have to be honest. You never struck me as a top.”
Cal swallowed. “To be fair, the high-powered banker type doesn’t quite mesh with . . . with this side of you.”
“On the surface, maybe.” James smiled, and this time he was the one watching their hands. “But that’s only at work. That power is . . .” He trailed off and rested his head back against the headboard. Gazing up at the ceiling, he said, “It’s part of the job, but it’s not me.” After a moment, he turned his head slightly towards Cal. “Who we are on the job isn’t necessarily who we are, is it?”
“Maybe not.” An automatic “sir” almost slipped out of his mouth, but Cal caught himself. “So if who we are at work isn’t necessarily who we are, then how well do you and I really know each other?”
“How much does anybody in this place know about anybody else?” James gestured tiredly, as if to encompass all of London. “As long as the machine works, who cares?”
Cal felt his chest tighten. “Is that it?”
James shook his head. “I guess that’s why therapists and whores make a killing these days. Somehow along the way, we all stopped talking to each other about important things in life.”
“Wow, that’s deep.”
James laughed. “Not really. If you’ve ever been at an investor conference . . .” He lifted an eyebrow, then smiled with a big dose of self-deprecation. “Oh, don’t bother.”