Another little thrill ran through him, an electric charge coursing down his spine. More and more, he could definitely see the appeal of this domination business.
He abruptly separated from James, breaking all contact at once, and he grinned when James squirmed over the table, fingers trying to dig into the green felt.
“Drop your trousers, sir.” Cal folded his arms, mirroring Nick. “Then I’ll tell you.”
James started to get up, but Cal stopped him with a gloved hand on the back of his neck.
“Tsk tsk. I didn’t tell you to stand.”
James eyed him over his shoulder. Cal arched an eyebrow the way Nick always did. Then James swore under his breath and, struggling because he was still bent over the table, reached for his belt.
Against the wall, Nick pressed his lips together and didn’t make eye contact with James or Cal. When Cal quietly cleared his throat, Nick finally met his gaze and grinned. Cal returned it.
Sharing a laugh with a sadist at another man’s expense? Oh, yes, I could definitely get used to this.
James’s trousers landed on the floor, the belt buckle clinking emphatically. Then he put his arms on the felt again. His cheeks were a little red; Cal couldn’t decide if it was from humiliation, frustration, or just the struggle of trying to get his trousers off in such a position.
“Boxers too.”
Another curse, this one a little louder. A moment later, his boxers landed on top of his trousers.
“I do like the way you look like that, sir.” Cal still couldn’t get over the way that title sounded—felt—so different in this situation. He ran a gloved hand over James’s arse cheek. “Bare-arsed, bent over, ready for anything.” Without even thinking about it, he lifted his hand, and then slapped James’s cheek hard enough that they all jumped.
Even Nick. His eyes widened a little, and he made no subtle gesture out of adjusting the front of his leather trousers.
A faint red handprint was starting to appear on James’s fair skin. So Cal slapped him again.
James whimpered. His fingers curled into fists, and he screwed his eyes shut. “Fuck . . .”
“I was going to explain something to you, wasn’t I?” Cal ran his hand lightly over skin that probably still stung. “What was that, sir?”
James swallowed. “I . . .”
Cal traced his own handprint with a fingertip. “I asked you a question. Answer it, sir.”
James adjusted his stance a little, the jingle of his belt buckle giving away the movement of his feet. “You, um . . .” He cleared his throat. “You said that—”
Cal slapped his arse again.
James moaned; God, but Cal loved that sound even more than leather slapping flesh. “You said that you and Nick had been . . . had been talking about me.” He paused to catch his breath. “And you were going to—”
Slap.
“—tell me what . . . what you two had . . . what . . .”
Slap. Harder this time.
“Come on, sir.” Cal injected as much impatience as possible into his tone. “You’re more articulate than that.” He ran his gloved fingertips over that reddening skin. “Answer me. Or I’ll stop smacking you.”
“You were going to tell me what you two had talked about.” The words came out quickly. “What you had said about me.” James glanced back, eyebrows up. Was that good?
“Good, sir.” Cal slapped his arse again, and once more for good measure. He usually only did that during sex, as his body reminded him. He was very hard in his trousers and, under normal circumstances, he’d have taken things further towards fucking very quickly.
But this was about frustration and control. They’d fucked last night, mellow and sweet after teasing and stroking in the Jacuzzi. If not for the whole safe sex thing, they’d have fucked there too. But this was different. There was Nick, and this wasn’t so much about sex as using arousal for something that wasn’t quite sex, though it turned them all on.
“What . . . was it?” James asked, just this side of pleading.
“He said you’re not easy to handle. Rebellious streak a mile wide. Fighting what you know you need. That you’re probably the type who needs to be broken damn near every time.”
James closed his eyes tightly. “I’m sorry.”
“Not so difficult now, are you? And why’s that, sir?”
James seemed to struggle with an answer, brow furrowed, eyes still closed. “It’s hard. Hard to give up. Not so hard now.”
Cal’s heart clenched at how raw those words were. He touched James’s back firmly enough to hopefully reassure him. I’m here for you. It doesn’t have to be hard. And the most difficult, most honest of all of them: You can trust me.