If It Drives (Market Garden, #7)

“Too comfortable by far,” Cal said with a grin.

Nick handed him a couple of the weights next, and Cal put them on, keeping them suspended for a moment, then let James’s balls take more and more of the weight until they were freely dangling. James was breathing hard and clearly trying not to move, but his leg muscles were twitching with the effort.

Nick gave Cal a nod and lifted his hands in an unspoken That’s fine for the moment.

“That comfortable, sir?” Cal asked.

“N-not really,” James muttered.

Cal slapped his arse, grinning when the weights and their chains jingled unobtrusively. “Yes or no.”

“No.” James grimaced. “It’s not comfortable.”

“Does it hurt?”

James swallowed. Deep crevices formed between his eyebrows, and his eyes were still shut tight.

Cal slapped him again. “Yes. Or no.”

“Yes, it hurts,” James ground out through clenched teeth.

“Obviously doesn’t hurt enough to get rid of his attitude,” Nick said with a smirk. “Add one more.”

James swore softly.

Cal picked up one of the weights, and his hand was halfway to James’s balls when he hesitated. He eyed Nick. “Did you just give me an order?”

Nick’s smirk didn’t fade in the slightest. “I don’t know. Did I?”

“Arse,” Cal muttered, and went back to what he was doing.

The third weight brought a groan out of James. “Holy fuck.”

“Now.” Cal stood straight again and rested his hand on the small of James’s back, just above where his shirttail ended and his nakedness began. “Let’s try this again. Is that comfortable, sir?”

“No.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Cal stroked James’s back, letting his glove drift past the end of his shirttails each time. “And just so you know, if you don’t behave, or if you don’t answer me exactly when I ask a question—and without any attitude, sir—I’m going to make you lean over the other side of the table just like you are now.” He trailed one fingertip over James’s arse cheek towards his confined and weighted cock and balls. “Which means walking around to the other side while you’re in this . . . predicament.”

James whimpered. Cal and Nick both grinned.

“Am I clear, sir?”

“Yes,” James said quickly. He shifted his weight a bit. “Yes. Absolutely clear.”

“Good.”

Nick leaned against the billiards table beside James. “If I recall, he’s the type who stays quite hard while he’s being fucked.” James’s eyes opened, and his forehead creased with alarm. Nick went on, “And with a device like that on his dick, staying hard is not going to be terribly comfortable. Is it, James?”

“No.” James closed his eyes again. “It won’t be.”

Nick met Cal’s eyes. “Shall I grab a condom and some lube for you?”

Cal nodded. “Please do.”

Nick pushed away from the table and went around to where all the necessities were laid out. James squeezed his eyes shut and mouthed a few obscenities. At least, Cal assumed they were obscenities. Probably colourful ones, if he knew him.

“I didn’t hear that, sir.” He started unbuckling his belt, watching James squirm as the buckle rattled and leather hissed across leather. “What did you say?”

“N-nothing.” James winced. “Just . . . muttering to myself.”

“That’s not a very satisfactory answer.” Cal pulled off his belt and dropped it on the table beside James, just inches from his face. “Tell me what you said, sir.”

James jumped. “I just . . . ‘oh, fuck.’ That was all it was.”

“Mm-hmm. Looked like more than two syllables to me.”

Renewed colour appeared in James’s cheeks. “I . . .”

Nick dropped the condom and lube on top of Cal’s belt. “Now, James. You’re not trying to weasel out of admitting that you called one or both of us a sadistic motherfucker or something similar, are you?”

More colour.

Cal clicked his tongue. “James, James, James. We just went through this. What happens if you don’t answer me properly?”

James grimaced. “I have to go to the other side of the table.”

“Mm-hmm.” Cal stroked James’s hair, loving the way the tender gesture contradicted the Nick-like sadism in his tone. “So are you going to answer us? Or are you going to take a walk?”

James hesitated. Then he exhaled. “Yes, I was muttering to myself and said ‘oh, fuck, you twisted sons of bitches.’”

Nick pressed his lips together, obviously biting back a laugh.

Cal chuckled. “That sounded like a bit of an attitude to me. How about you?”

Nick cleared his throat and schooled his expression. “Sounded like a lot of attitude to me.”

“Hmm.” Cal kept stroking James’s hair with his gloved hand. “But he did behave and answer me when he was supposed to, so I can’t really punish him, can I?”

“Well, he answered you.” Nick stroked his chin thoughtfully, grinning down at James’s alarmed expression. “But he still called us both twisted sons of bitches. Which, okay, the shoe fits. But . . .” He arched his eyebrow.

This time, James said loud and clear, “Oh fucking hell.”

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