New Leather (14 page)

Carl jerked awake to the tranquility of his bedroom. The evening sun was close to setting completely and gave his room a rich, golden glow. The smell of his mother's soup, only better, floated on the air and he relaxed— James was still here.

His stomach growled to remind him of his near starvation and he sat up. Eventually. It became a great achievement to transform from a bedridden man to one of questionable mobility. Carl shuffled to the bathroom to take care of business, to his dresser to don a pair of cutoffs and to his tiny kitchen to investigate the wonderful aroma.

Pausing in the doorway, he drank in the sight of James standing at his stove.

“Sit down before you fall down.” Proving James had eyes in the back of his head.

He sat in one of his flea market chairs and toyed with a spoon on the table. “That almost smells like Mom's famous chicken soup.”

“It used to be.” James put a bottle of water and two aspirin in front of him. “Bon appetit.”

James dished out bowls of soup, placed a platter of biscuits between them and sat opposite Carl. They ate in companionable silence until James refilled the bowls.

“This is not my mother's recipe.” Carl gave a lop-sided grin. “It's better.”

“She made me promise to write down what I added. It would seem she is aware that the entire family hates her soup and she plans to surprise them.”

“You talked to her?” Carl's good mood vanished.

James expression was bland. “She left an hour ago.”

She was
here
? What did she say? She didn't see my back, did she?” He was hyperventilating and he didn't care. Mom did not need to know what was going on. She would freak.

“Calm down Carl. No, she did not see anything. She thinks you have the flu, as Tony said. She also thinks I am well versed in first aid and the best person to help you recover.”

Weird. “Why would she think that? What did you tell her?”

James shook his head and laughed. “Tony again. He told her I had first aid and CPR training so I could do the Heimlich maneuver in case any of my diners choked.”

“He's nuts!”

“I thought it was a clever way to explain why I was called. She's smart though. We'll get away with it until you're at full capacity, then the questions will start.”

“I'll have to think of something to tell her.”

“Why not tell her the truth?”

Carl was horrified. “You're kidding, right? She filed for divorce the day after my dad slapped me. This would have her buying a shotgun to hunt down you and Zachary.”

It was James’ turn to look horrified. “Zack? Good lord, Carl. Do you have a death wish? The man is good with a whip, I'll grant you, but he's merciless.”

“Yeah.” Carl stopped James when it looked like he was going to lecture. “Please, can we discuss it later?”

James must have seen how close he was to breaking down because all he said was, “Of course.”

Carl left James to straighten the kitchen and returned to his bed. Everything he owned hurt. Crawling onto the bed, he just lay there, fighting the urge to cry. He hadn't cried since his dad left and he hated it.

He must have dozed because he could feel a hand under his stomach unsnapping the shorts and he hadn't heard James enter the room. Gentle tugs worked the denim down his legs. The air stirred over his back and the fine hairs on his arms stood up. James was blowing on the pink lines left by Zachary's whip.

“The cuts look good. They should heal in no time.” James’ deep voice was as soothing as his touch on the globes of Carl's ass.

“Zachary tried to get me to stay so he could put something on them, but I just wanted to go. I don't even remember the ride home.”

“Tell me you didn't drive.”

“No. I took a cab both ways. I had hoped to do a scene and I knew I wouldn't be in any shape to drive afterward.”

“We are going to talk about all of this tomorrow before I leave.”

Carl was not surprised to learn that James was leaving soon, but hearing it still hurt. “I know.”

A finger teased the crack of his ass. “Did he fuck you?”

“Ah... no.” The finger found his puckered hole. “I was screaming and going crazy in the restraints at the end and he just freed me.”

“Tell me if you don't want this.” The pressure eased before James's finger could penetrate him.

Carl shamelessly spread his legs to give him access. “Please, sir. Please fuck me.” He heard rummaging in his nightstand and the finger returned, slick with lube, to wiggle its way inside. A fire started low in Carl's belly, making his cock fill.

“I don't like another man's marks on you. They offend me.” James pulled Carl's hips up to push his knees under Carl's thighs. “I am going to make them mine.” The words were possessive, but Carl was afraid to hope. He had no right to expect anything more than the moment.

James plunged into him, the descent swift and strong. At the same time, cruel fingers traced the first mark on his shoulder blades with enough force to awaken the abused nerves and make Carl cry out.

“No one hits you but me. No one dominates you but me. No one
fucks
you but me.” The words and the cock beat into him repeatedly while James’ hands reclaimed every whip line.

Pain and pleasure blended as they always did with James in control. It took a trip into hell to show him that the missing ingredient was desire. Zachary's skill had nothing to do with romantic domination. He could put the tail of a whip on a man's freckle with the precision of a surgeon, but it would not be what Carl needed. He had the face of a fallen angel and that made no difference either because he wasn't James.

From the first, James captured his imagination and his lust. The confidence of the man was a heady aphrodisiac as was his wry humor and honesty. With James, pain was not something he had to fear. He could trust James to give him what he needed and not take it beyond what he could endure. The shaking hands and rapid heartbeats when James began a scene and bound him to the cross were not signs of fear, but anticipation. With James, bondage was not confinement. It was freedom.

His Dom pounded into him from behind like a madman. A week's worth of frustration and regret called up all of his instincts to own the man underneath him and Carl reveled in it.

“You belong to me. Six week contract bedamned.” He was panting now in exertion. “You are mine!”

Carl's back and ass were burning up. He had one arm wrapped around the pillow under his head and the other braced on the headboard to keep James from knocking him into it. His shaft was so hard it hurt where it lay trapped under him against the sheet. “Yes sir”

“Say it, damn it!”

“Yes sir! I belong to you!” His climax crawled under his skin and out his cock. The press of James’ weight made his dick feel like it was in a vise and the cum oozed out to add its own burn to the mix.

James shuddered above him. Carl's channel was so raw at this point, he could feel every pulse of his lover's cock and even the heat of his semen as it filled him. More burn and all of it good.

They almost fell asleep that way with James draped on top of Carl, but finally James stirred and pulled a protesting Carl to the shower. Clean and sated, they fell into bed— Carl on his stomach and James on his side with a hand on Carl's back.

James got up and padded to the pathetic little kitchen that did not deserve the name and found Carl fully dressed, sitting at the table. He was writing on his laptop. “How long have you been up?”

“Long enough to finish the articles and make coffee.” Carl grinned at him. “You're going to hate it.”

“The articles? I doubt it.” He made a cup of coffee and took a sip. “Oh, the coffee. I'll pass.” He poured it in the sink. “You look dressed to go out. When do we talk?” He'd thought it would be this morning, but apparently not.

“I'm sorry. I have to put in a couple of hours at the Journal.” Carl hit a button and waited a beat before shutting down the computer. “I don't have too much to do to finish the human interest story there, so I should be free by one. Can I call you? You could feed me lunch at that fancy restaurant of yours.”

James loved the familiar grin that graced Carl's face. It was a vast improvement over the depression of the day before. “I suppose so. Sam would like to meet you, but the kitchen is closed today.” He returned the grin. “We'll order out.”

Carl stood and stepped into James’ arms for a lingering kiss. “It's a date.”

They left together, Carl for the newspaper and James for home to change before going to Pauly's Place.

James greeted Susan when he arrived. Her usual Monday workload was light this week without the Sunday barbeque mess or Carl's scrubs and towels to wash. That reminded him— he was going to have to find pants with hearts on them. He didn't often give in to the mushy side of his personality, but he thought Carl would get a kick out of them.

Showered and shaved, he decided to check his email before he left. Junk, spam, bills, and a note from Carl? The date and time said he must have sent it when James joined him in the kitchen this morning. Odd.

He opened it.

James,

I know you want to talk about our fight (my fault) and about The Leatherman (again my fault). We also need to talk about where we go from here and we will. I promise.

In the mean time, I would like it if you read the articles before I send them to The Herald. See if there is anything you think I should change

Love,

Carl

The attachment was titled ‘Whips and Lips’

“Good god!” That had to be the dumbest name for BDSM he'd ever heard of. It would have to be changed. He opened the attachment and read the articles.

They were good. Aside from Carl's skill at putting his ideas on paper in a manner that entertained as well as informed, his observations and conclusions were delightful. James was enthralled with the peek into his boy's mind and proud of his growth as a sub and a man.

Carl found peace with his father's desertion, something James thought he'd dealt with long ago, and fulfillment in BDSM with James. The last sentence of the articles nearly brought James to tears. The word leaped out at him and he knew he had been right all along.

He closed the file and shut off the computer. The desk drawer contained the house key and the gate remote Carl had left behind when he ran. James pocketed them and went to his car.

Carl drove to James’ house for the last weekend of the contract four days later. James said it would bring them back on track to finish what they started. Carl supposed he was right, but it still felt like an ending, not a beginning, and it worried him. He could only hope James wanted to continue their relationship without the formal paperwork.

Maybe it would be okay. James had been optimistic on Monday. They spent hours in the restaurant with Chinese takeout while Carl explained his obsession to prove himself to an absentee father and James told him about Dennis.

He'd been in the lifestyle for a decade and lost a number of lovers who thought submissive meant doormat before he connected with Dennis. It was exciting, at first, to partner someone so experienced and so sure of what he wanted.

Months later, the thrill turned to dismay as James came to realize Dennis wanted to bleed. In love with the man, James was resistant to hurting him to that degree. He found nothing sexy about stitches and Dennis stormed out in disgust, leaving James to wonder if he had it wrong. Maybe romance had no place in BDSM.

Finding fellow Doms who felt as he did saved his sanity.

Listening to James, Carl was grateful the man was giving him a second chance. His Dom was willing to try at the risk of his heart and Carl was not going to let him down again.

He hoped.

As he drove up and parked outside James’ house, he wasn't confident he could be the sub James needed. The scene with Zachary showed him that he was vulnerable to his own ego. Sheer determination was not going to win the day and withholding the safeword would not guarantee the results he wanted. All he accomplished with that stunt was to make himself afraid.

Christ! He was afraid.

Carl waved at Susan as he passed her in the hall on her way out. In the spare room, he barely glanced at the pants on the chair before he entered the bathroom. Still toweling his hair, he walked out fifteen minutes later and took his first look at the pants. Hearts and flowers.

James was in the den waiting for him by the big window. “Carl. Hello, my boy. Come sit so we can talk, please.” There were papers in his hand.

They kissed and Carl sat on the edge of his seat, his nerves jumping under his skin. “It feels good to be here, sir. I missed this.”

“As did I. The contract ends Sunday and I thought we should make a new one. I believe it is important we both commit to this relationship so neither of us feels insecure again.”

Carl couldn't blame James for being cautious, but another six-week trial run was disappointing. “Okay.” He reached a hand out.

“Read it before you sign, Carl.” James gave him a copy.

Carl blinked and barely contained his smile. “It says six months.” He injected a hint of outrage into his voice.

James was taken aback. “I thought that would please you.”

“Even the Army requires two years, James.”

James’ face lit up as he recognized the game. “None of your boyfriends lasted more than eight months, Carl.”

“I wasn't in love with them. Eighteen months.” Flared nostrils were James’ only reaction to the declaration. Carl admired the self-control.

“I have a business to run. Ten months.”

“So? You have Sam there and I'm on assignment several times a year. Fourteen months.”

“That's another thing. I am not going to be a substitute son for your mother to nag when you're away. One year.”

By now, Carl was laughing. “Fine, but you're on your own when it comes to my mother.”

James sighed. “I hate mouthy subs.”

They signed the contracts and, arms around each other in perfect accord, headed for the kitchen.

It was late when they entered the playroom because James said he didn't want to do anything too strenuous so soon after Carl's ordeal at The Leatherman. In spite of the reassurance, Carl almost bolted. He was not ready for this.