Junk (38 page)

It was only a step through to the living room, and there Evan was, sprawled on the sofa and seeming to take up far more space than one man should. He had on a pair of camouflage combat trousers—huge bare feet sticking out of the bottom—and a faded Massive Attack T-shirt with the arms and neck cut off. I remembered Denise’s comment about his lack of style, but hey, it suited him.

Evan gave me a lazy smile and got to his feet. “Ey up, Josh. Hey, you brought snacks.” His blue eyes lit up as he spotted the biscuits and big bag of Kettle Chips. “There’s a man after my own heart. You should be taking notes, pet.”

I watched Rai flip Evan the bird with a sunny smile. “I do the brainy stuff, you do the brawny stuff—that’s the deal, lover. You want me to go shopping and make dinner, you have to learn how to do your own accounts.” Rai turned to me and winked. “I will take these through to the kitchen and get us some drinks, though. What do you fancy, Josh. Tea? Coffee? Beer?”

“Beer sounds good,” I said, my voice only quavering ever so slightly as Rai took my meagre offerings, his fingers brushing mine. “Thanks”

As Rai disappeared through to the kitchen, Evan pulled me into a bear hug. Christ, I really wasn’t used to all this touchy-feely stuff. It’d been way too long since another man had wrapped his arms around me and squeezed me in close to his rock-hard, musky-smelling body.

Uh-oh. I felt like the life was being crushed out of my lungs, and my dick was starting to chub up. How sick was that? And embarrassing too, because there was no way Evan wouldn’t be able to feel it, all squished up close like he was.

“Can’t breathe!” I panted, and Evan loosened his hold.

“Sorry, mate. I get a bit carried away sometimes. Don’t know my own strength.” He cast a rueful glance down at his bulging arms, then gestured at the sofa. “Make yourself comfy.”

The sofa ballooned with excess stuffing and was covered in a hideous seventies-style orange geometrical print. It faced the windows, next to a leather recliner that looked like it must have been an expensive investment back in the eighties, and a tatty beanbag tossed like an afterthought into the corner. As I didn’t much fancy the beanbag or taking what must be the best seat, I gingerly sat at one end of the sofa and took a proper look around.

The retro theme seemed to extend to all the decor, what with the giant Swiss cheese plant climbing up by the windows, the wooden bead curtain covering the bedroom doorway, and the kitsch prints up on the walls. There was even that bizarre one of the woman with green skin that you sometimes see abandoned in charity shops. Someone must have had a thing for owls because they were everywhere, in the form of pictures, mantelpiece ornaments and even an appliqué cushion on the sofa. The evening sun was still warming up the hills across the valley, but the room was lit with the warm glow from a couple of lamps with the bases made out of wine bottles, and a red-and-amber lava lamp.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” I said, which was probably an exaggeration, but it felt kind of homey.

“Huh? Oh, this stuff. Yeah, Rai likes picking things up at car-boot sales. He reckons they’re the antiques of the future, but he’s deluded. Who’s going to want to pay good money for macramé plant holders? Only sentimental fools like him.” Evan flopped down on the other end of the sofa and gestured to the hanging pots of spider plants in the two sash windows.

“I heard that, Evan Truman.” Rai waltzed back into the room with three open bottles of Peroni clutched between his fingers. “Don’t you go bad-mouthing my spider plants, or you’ll find they start multiplying.”

“They already are,” Evan grumbled, but I could hear the affection in his voice. “They’re as bad as the owls. They’ve taken over the bedroom. Can’t get dressed without knocking into one of the things. It’s like summat out of the Day of the bloody Triffids in there. You better watch it, Josh, or he’ll unload some baby spider plants on you, and before you know it, you’ll have hundreds of the bloody things.”

“Don’t listen to him.” Rai grinned, displaying a row of ever-so-slightly crooked teeth that just made him look even more adorable. “They’re an excellent return on investment. They’re the gift that keeps on giving, unlike this big lummox.” Rai stood between us and kicked Evan in the shin. “Shift your fat arse over, Mister. You always take up all the room.”

Evan smiled and stretched his legs and arms out even farther, so Rai gave up and plonked himself down on Evan’s lap.

“Ow,” Evan complained. “You’re getting heavy for a little fella. I won’t be able to lift you up anymore if you keep putting on weight.”

Rai pouted and looked down at his skinny body, temptingly showcased in a skinny-fit brown-and-orange swirly shirt and chinos. “Maybe you’re the one who needs to get more exercise, old man.”

I longed for that kind of gentle teasing. The kind that comes from someone who knows all your quirks and faults and loves you anyway. I took a long swig of my beer to wash the yearning away. It didn’t work.

“How was the conference?” I asked, figuring that would be a dull enough topic to numb the loneliness welling up inside me.

Evan snorted. “Same as ever. A bunch of know-it-all lefty liberals trying to set the world to rights.”

That earned him a swift elbow in the ribs from Rai. “Watch it, or I’ll out you as a closet
Guardian
reader.” Rai turned to me, his eyes sparkling with intelligence. “It was fascinating. We were debating likely barriers to the worldwide implementation of the Tobin tax, and how best to put pressure on tax havens to ensure fair wealth distribution throughout the world.”

“Wow.” I really didn’t know what else to say. “I didn’t know that’s what you were studying.”

“Economics isn’t all about grabbing money from the poor to line the rich guys’ pockets,” Rai announced grandly. “Some of us are trying to change the world for the bet— Stop it!” That was to Evan, who was apparently trying to tickle Rai’s ribs. “Right. I’m going to go sit on Josh’s lap if that’s the way you’re going to behave.”

Rai leapt up and gave me a cheeky smile. I promptly flushed, choked on the last of my beer and ended up trying to cough my lungs up.

“Hey, it’s okay, chuck. Slow down, just breathe.” A warm, heavy hand landed on my back and rubbed in firm but gentle circles. I eventually caught my breath and looked up to find Rai and Evan staring down at me, concern in their eyes. I stared for way too long, admiring the view. They were as different as glass and sand, yet you could see they were the same deep down.

“How do you do it?” I blurted out.

Rai frowned. “What, the Tobin tax?”

“No, the two of you. You’re don’t seem to have anything in common, but you fit together just right. I don’t get it.” I really didn’t. The bottle of beer and the earlier conversation with Stella had loosened my tongue, and I kept going, even though I knew I’d be kicking myself in the morning.

He’s nobody’s bitch. Until he gets a ride on the bitch seat.

Screwing the System

© 2013 Josephine Myles

Forced to apply for a job he doesn’t want, Cosmo Rawlins has only one aim in mind: fail the interview and get back to making music. Except his attempt to shock the older, sharp-suited Alasdair Grant doesn’t have the desired effect.

Instead of getting thrown out of the office by flaunting an interest in BDSM, Cosmo finds himself on his knees, apologizing to the sexy, good-looking Top.

Alasdair has more important things on his mind than training a novice sub, especially a rebellious bad boy like Cosmo. But there’s something beneath the younger man’s defiant attitude that’s too intriguing to ignore.

As Alasdair takes Cosmo in hand—and for a wild ride on his Harley—he becomes obsessed with bending the young rocker to his will, both in and out of bed. Until he goes one demand too far, and Cosmo is gone in a cloud of dust. Forcing Alasdair to admit that earning Cosmo’s loyalty—and love—will involve the toughest challenge he’s ever faced.

Warning: This title contains an overbearing Top with a less-than-glamorous job, a rebellious brat who refuses to call him sir, and a total lack of high-end BDSM clubs or playrooms. Expect floggings over the kitchen table instead.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Screwing the System:

Cosmo stood there for a minute, dumbfounded. But he remembered what Cerys had said about playing and that this was all part of the game. Okay, then, so Boss-man wanted him naked and obedient. He could certainly do the first part—gladly. They’d just have to see about the second. Obedience didn’t exactly come naturally to him.

It only took a moment to shuck off his clothes and boots. It felt a bit weird stripping off in the entrance hallway, but the only windows in the room were the stained glass ones around the door, so he didn’t reckon any unexpected callers would be able to see in. He rolled his socks up and stuck them inside the boots, which he put under the table. He folded his jeans and T-shirt quickly, and scurried back to the rug by the front door. That tiled floor was chilly on his bare feet.

Speaking of chilly, the air wasn’t all that warm in the hallway either. Cosmo was still sort of aroused, although not as hard as he had been on the bike, all squished up against Alasdair’s broad slab of a back. He wanted to cup his bits just to keep them warm—oh, okay, and maybe have a bit of a tug too—but remembered Alasdair’s instructions. He clasped his hands behind his back instead and stood there waiting, shifting his weight from leg to leg.

It was dead posh, that hallway, but pretty simply decorated with its chequered tiled floor, dark wooden furniture and white walls. Five doors led off on this floor, with a staircase leading up to yet more on the upper storey. The place was clean and uncluttered, so his eyes were drawn to the few furnishings: a large wooden coat stand, a small table, a grandfather clock, an ornately framed mirror and a stag’s head above it. Had Alasdair shot the unfortunate creature? Cosmo hadn’t had him down as a proper posh git, what with the bike and the leathers and all, but maybe he was. The house was certainly way more classy than any Cosmo had ever been invited into before.

The sound of a door opening had him alert again, and he smiled to see Alasdair return. The man had stripped off his T-shirt to reveal a mosaic of brightly coloured tattoos over his torso and upper arms. Retro fifties flash jostled with Japanese-inspired designs, but they were all inked by artists who’d taken the time to master their craft. Cosmo tore his gaze away from the gorgeous carp on his left pec to catch a self-satisfied smirk on Alasdair’s face. Unfortunately, it vanished as the man approached.

“Those clothes aren’t folded neatly enough, and you’re slouching, boy. I thought I told you to stand up straight.”

“I am.”

“Are you contradicting me?” Alasdair got up close, all big and butch and in his face. The stern voice and the steel in that gaze did all manner of funny things to his insides. His body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to run away or explode in a fountain of spunk. In the end, he didn’t do either and made a funny little noise in his throat as he tried to pull his spine straighter.

“What was that? I asked you a question, boy.”

He had? Cosmo rewound his mental recording. “No, I’m not contradicting you.”

“That’s ‘no sir’, I think you’ll find.”

“I don’t want to call you sir.”

“You don’t? Why not?”

“Had a really nasty teacher who used to insist on it. Don’t wanna think about him while I’m getting my rocks off, if it’s all the same to you.” And when it came down to it, no matter how hot the idea of being dominated was, he was buggered if he was about to start talking like some brainwashed slave.

Alasdair was staring at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Well, what would you prefer? I’m not all that keen on master.”

“Can’t I just call you Alasdair?”

“I’d like you to use a term of respect. Helps me get in role. What about Mr. Grant? Or Daddy?”

Cosmo wrinkled his nose. What a choice Boss-man was giving him. Hang on a minute. “Boss. Can I call you boss?”

“My employees call me that.”

“Right, and you can pretend I’m a particularly naughty one who’s somehow lost all his clothing while on the job. Maybe I was messing about with the cleaning chemicals and they all dissolved. Ever so sorry about that, boss.”

Alasdair huffed a bit, but Cosmo was relieved to see the smile lurking behind the frown. He hadn’t thought it was possible to do both at once, but there Alasdair was, proving him wrong. “Good. Boss it is. Thank you, boy. You still need to be punished for, er, dissolving your uniform, but I’ll be lenient, seeing as it’s your first time. You’ll also get two safe words. Amber to slow things down, and red to stop everything, no questions asked. Do you understand?”

Cosmo nodded automatically, his mind reeling, and repeated them when Alasdair asked him to.

“Good. Now follow me for your punishment.”

Punishment? Alasdair was all the way over to the door before Cosmo had gathered his thoughts together enough to pad after him across the cold floor.

Fortunately, the room they entered was much warmer, with a shaggy rug on polished floorboards, tightly drawn curtains, and a real fire burning in the grand-looking hearth. “Wow,” Cosmo breathed, forgetting all about his impending punishment as he took his fill of the stuffed bookshelves lining the room and the two old but comfy-looking leather armchairs. “This is like one of them rooms you see on the telly. You know, like in one of them period dramas. Not that I watch them or anything, but my nan does.” Because he didn’t want Mr. Hard-arse thinking he was a soft git.