Could we do this in a room that’s not quite so haunted?
He curled his fingers on the edge of the couch cushion, listening to the sounds coming from the next room. A spoon clinking inside a cup. Cups scraping on the counter. He could smell the coffee now, and had to admit it was enticing; James never skimped, so this was the good stuff. Cal’s stomach growled; he’d forgotten to eat or drink anything since that poor excuse for a lunch he’d inhaled while James had been in a meeting.
The coffee sounds stopped, and footsteps started. Cal turned his head. As James walked into the room, a pair of plain white mugs in his hands, Cal’s heart pounded harder. His stomach turned a little, but damn, that coffee smelled good.
“You prefer it black, don’t you?” James asked.
Cal nodded. “I do. Thank you.”
James handed him the mug. Holding his own, he sat in the armchair where he’d been a moment ago. At least they weren’t on the same couch. Cal wasn’t sure his nerves could handle that this evening.
In silence, they sipped their coffee. Cal was right—this was the good stuff. The kind that actually had flavour besides just being bitter. A hint of hazelnut, maybe? He couldn’t put his finger on it, and trying to work it out was a hell of a lot easier than paying attention to the fact that James was sitting so close to him.
James set his coffee mug on a coaster. “I’ve had a little time to think. And now I think we should talk.”
Cal took another sip and didn’t even taste it. He set his cup down and sat back. “Okay.”
James held his gaze. “What has he taught you?”
Cal blinked; considering how complex it was, trying to sum up the lessons in a few sentences seemed like a tall order. “He spoke about the general Dom/sub relationship. Safety. Consent. The . . . mind-set. Who’s in charge, general etiquette, like not trying to order around a sub who’s not your sub. Things like that.”
“I see. Did he speak about me?”
“No!” Not much. “No, he didn’t.”
James relaxed his shoulders somewhat. Was that what the man was afraid of? It couldn’t possibly be a deep, horrible secret, could it?
“He only said you were quite a handful. But I knew that already.”
James’s lips twitched. “I guess I am, though I have no . . . comparison. So I trust Nick’s judgement.”
“I think that’s fair. He’s pretty good at this.”
“Yes, he is.” James frowned thoughtfully. “I’m trying to understand where this separation comes from, for want of a better word. Nick performs a service. I pay him for it. He keeps things confidential, and we both get what we want—in his case, the money. And the beauty of it was that I didn’t have to instruct him. He did things exactly right without shattering the illusion until afterwards. At the same time, I know exactly what’s going on during the scene. I know I can stop it.” He leaned back. “Now, with somebody I don’t pay, the power is all different. Confusing, one might add.”
“Did you never mix those things?”
“No. Things were always a lot more ordinary when there was no money involved, though considering my settlement, clearly marriage is in part a financial institution. Like an open-ended bond. They call it in and . . .” He shook his head. Cal wanted to touch him, hold him, kiss him, and take his mind off that wound again. “Maybe it would be better if I paid you. It would be a known quantity for me. But I see how that would make you feel like a whore, which is the last thing I want.”
“So what do you want? You . . .” Cal swallowed. “You can trust me. I won’t tell anybody.”
James leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees and wringing his hands between them. “Are you asking what I want from Nick and the other rentboys? Or from you?”
“Is the answer different?”
James was quiet for a moment. Then he shook his head. “I’m not even sure.”
“That first night, you wanted Nick.” Cal folded his hands to keep them still. “But when he wasn’t there, you directed your attention to me. Was I just the nearest warm—”
“No. No, I’ve told you that wasn’t the case.”
Cal clasped his fingers tightly together. He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer, but he asked anyway. “Were you as satisfied the next morning as you would have been if you’d had Nick instead of me?”
James met his eyes, brow furrowing slightly. “What?”
God, don’t make me ask it again. “You heard me.” The words came out sharper than he intended, but before he could apologise, James straightened.
“Right. Sorry.” He cleared his throat and lowered his gaze. “I don’t know, to be honest.”
“Was that the first time you’d thought about me that way?” Cal tried not to squirm. “The first time you . . . wanted me?”
Slowly, James shook his head.
“So you’d thought about it before?”
“Yeah.” James rubbed a hand over his face. Then he sat back, but still didn’t look at Cal. “There were a few times. During my divorce, even. I just . . .”