The Administration Series (75 page)

If Toreth had closed the door, he couldn't be watching — he really meant this one. Twenty seconds passed, then thirty, and the buckles still resisted. Water splashed in the bathroom. Good, because while it was running Toreth was still in there.

Warrick forced himself to stop, to think past the arousal and Toreth's threat. He didn't have time to do it like this. If he leaned back, though, and braced the bar between the belt and the floor, and then stretched his fingers as far down the side as he could . . . he could just reach the catch that unlocked the first collapsible section.

He pressed as hard as possible, given the circumstances, and for a moment he thought it wouldn't be enough. Then the fastener clicked free and he nearly fell as the bar shortened suddenly under his weight. He caught his balance, and reached down for the second catch. This one gave more easily, leaving him crouching awkwardly, but the water had stopped and that meant he didn't have long.

One more section, and this time he could barely reach the release with the very tips of his fingers. Straining to force his wrists through the cuffs far enough to make the last millimetres he needed, leather creaking —

Then Warrick was on his knees, panting, the bar pressed against the base of his spine, locking him in position. Now he had no choice but to kneel, his ankles still held apart and his wrists pulled down towards the bar. Triumph and arousal flooded through him in equal measure, and he had only a few seconds to recover before the door opened.

"Well . . . " Toreth paused, and Warrick crossed his fingers, heart in his mouth, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. Please. Please —

"I suppose I'll have to give you a chance now, won't I?"

Warrick looked up, blinking at the brightness, seeing nothing except Toreth's shape, haloed by the light. An unlikely angel, to put it mildly, but this was most definitely heaven.

"Go on, then." Dark voice like a molten caress, heating him to his core. "Tell me how sorry you are."

Toreth leaned on the window frame of the hotel room, watching the paved area before the main entrance, and sipping his drink. Good job he hadn't written the card when he got here, because Warrick was late.

It didn't matter that much. The present would keep, and if Warrick didn't show, he could always pick up a fuck in the bar downstairs. It had looked busy enough. Still, after all the effort invested so far, and an afternoon of happy anticipation, that would definitely be second best.

Where was he? Surely he'd have called if he couldn't make it? To his irritation, Toreth found himself wanting to check his comm again — stupid, because it would notify him automatically if Warrick left a message.

Then, finally, the SimTech car drew up, and the dark-haired figure emerged. Hurrying, too, and Toreth smiled.

Time to finish the preparations. He checked his watch, did the calculation based on his own experiments with the cuffs, and added the time to the note. At least five minutes less than Warrick would need, if he had his sums right.

He also checked round the room. It didn't matter if there were some signs of disturbance, since he had to have been here long enough to deliver the box, but he didn't want Warrick becoming suspicious.

Everything seemed in order. Toreth downed the last of his drink. Then he rinsed his glass, dried it, replaced it on the side, and retreated into the bathroom, hiding out of sight behind the open door. There was always the chance that Warrick would come into the bathroom, although Toreth didn't think it was very likely. The note should ensure that Warrick stayed focused on the task in hand.

After a minute or two, the main door to the room opened, and he held his breath. Footsteps entered the room, halting briefly before carrying on to the bed.

Toreth kept still until he heard the clink of metal. Then he eased carefully forwards to a spot where he could see Warrick's reflection in the mirror.

Before he started watching in earnest, he checked the visibility of his own reflection. The space behind the door was usefully shadowed, and he doubted Warrick would notice him. Not when he had so many other things to occupy his attention.

What was he doing now? Examining the gear, apparently, with minute and methodical care, checking each piece in turn, and then setting it aside. Finally he heard a soft "a-ha!" of triumph, and Warrick pulled out his hand screen.

Clever bastard. Of course, Toreth knew that already, and he'd factored it into the calculations.

Now that Warrick had the instructions, he took his penknife from his jacket pocket and started work. Toreth thought the knife was absolutely the most ridiculous thing he'd seen in his life. Who the hell needed a penknife with comms, centimetre-accurate location mapping and a mini foldout screen? Warrick would enjoy the chance to use it, though.

He heard Warrick laugh once, and then he bent to the task with silent concentration. Toreth leaned on the wall, checking his watch from time to time. Warrick was doing well, and better than he'd expected, but probably still not well enough. In the end it would depend on how quickly he managed the final part.

Every so often Warrick would pause, a piece held in his hands, stroking the leather of a cuff, or running his thumb over the curve of a metal loop. Possibly he didn't even realise he was doing it. Toreth caught the glint of reflected light as something metallic fell to the ground, and he pulled back further out of sight as Warrick started hunting for whatever it was.

Toreth could still hear him, though, and the low, frustrated swearing sent a spike of excitement through him. Warrick so rarely swore. He'd known Warrick would get off on this, on handling the gear, on the pressure of time and the fear of failure. But so far the effect was exceeding his highest expectations.

When he risked looking back, the lost bit must have been found or abandoned, because Warrick was bent over the belt, fastening bolts. He also kept looking at the bed — at his watch, presumably, which was gone from his wrist. He was hurrying now, making mistakes. No chance that he'd finish with enough time to spare.

At last, the assembly completed, Warrick laid the bars out on the bed and stood looking down at them. Toreth could see his smile, the profile view flattering him as usual.

Next Warrick stripped, his eyes still fixed on the gear. Pale skin and dark hair quickly revealed — wonderful visuals, and Toreth's body began to send messages suggesting that waiting wasn't so much fun any more. His eyes might be enjoying it, but his cock felt sadly neglected.

Go out there now, was the firm suggestion. Go out there, throw him on the bed and fuck him, hard and fast. He'll love it, you'll love it, and we can do the games later.

Sucking in his stomach, he slipped a hand inside his waistband. Just a touch, nothing too firm, and he sighed in silent satisfaction. With that nagging distraction taken in hand, he turned his attention back to Warrick.

Toreth knew the task he'd set was possible, because he'd managed to get into the thing himself a couple of times, while he was investigating the timing. There weren't many ways it did work, and he grinned as Warrick started with a wrong one, taking the tempting route of doing up all the easy buckles first. He picked up the mistake fast enough, though, loosening the belt and turning away to fasten the cuff on his right wrist.

Toreth risked edging forwards a little to get a better view. He stayed there as Warrick turned back, squaring his shoulders and fumbling to get the second cuff around his wrist. Toreth's occupied hand moved a little faster and he bumped his elbow on the door.

Fortunately, at that exact moment Warrick swore out loud again, thereby missing the noise. Slipping buckle, presumably — Toreth had a scratch or two on his own fingertips.

Toreth eased back again.
Fuck
. Too close, when it was nearly done.

Shortly afterwards Warrick's arms stopped moving and he paused for a moment, fingers flexing, breathing quickly. One buckle fastened, by the look of it. Reluctantly Toreth pulled his hand out from his trousers and checked the time. Warrick was well over time already, and two buckles left. Toreth watched, trying keep his breathing under control, as Warrick got back to work.

His gaze was locked to the bed, lips moving silently as he fought with the cuff. Toreth couldn't see his wrists clearly, but from Warrick's brief, tense smile he guessed another strap had cooperated. Then his head came up sharply, and Toreth's stomach flipped — had Warrick seen him? Apparently not, because Warrick craned his neck round towards the door, and his frantic struggle intensified. Some unwittingly helpful passerby in the corridor, probably.

A short, sharp sound of distress and a final effort, then Warrick's shoulders suddenly relaxed.

Time for his big entrance.

Straightening his clothes, he slipped out from behind the door and took up his position, in his best casual pose.

"Not bad," he drawled.

Warrick started to turn, and Toreth almost jumped to catch him, but he managed to keep his balance.

"How long have you been there?" Warrick asked.

"All the time. I was watching in the mirror." He crossed the room and dimmed the lights, turning back to admire Warrick, highlighted in the light from the bathroom. He walked round him slowly, enjoying the view. Warrick's gaze tracked him, his breathing still quick from the exertion.

"Not bad at all," Toreth said. "Very nice, in fact." He paused, and then added, "And just in time, too."

"Yes." The way Warrick kept his gaze firmly averted from the watch on the bed told Toreth that he knew exactly what the time was.

He paused in his circling to check the cuffs. As he tightened the straps, the blood caught his eye. Red drop, welling on Warrick's fingertip. Saliva filled his mouth, and he swallowed.

"You've hurt yourself," he said, managing to keep his voice cool.

Warrick nodded. Toreth knelt behind him, not meaning to touch him. But Warrick's skin was like a magnet, attracting his hands and mouth. He tasted his arm, his hand and then, finally, sucked the fingertip into his mouth.

His already hard cock tightened even more at the sweet, salty taste of blood. Warrick's blood. Something he'd never had the slightest urge to do with anyone else. Like other things, it was only with Warrick, one more facet of the occasionally unnerving urge to possess him utterly, own every part of him.

Giving up any idea of restraint, he let his hands roam at will, stroking Warrick's thighs, imagining them spreading for him later. Much later. Warrick kneeling for him, by then wound to a fever pitch of desperation, begging for him,
needing
him . . .

Mine. Oh, God, yes. By the end of the evening, Warrick would have no doubts about who he belonged to.

It took an effort to release Warrick's finger, to stand up, to pull away the few inches he needed to keep control. He mustn't waste the careful set-up.

"Better?" Toreth asked.

Warrick nodded again, breathing quick and shallow, and it was suddenly too much. Stop playing around, and just get on to the next part of the plan.

Toreth tugged down the zip to free his straining cock, and pressed forwards.

"Don't just fucking stand there. You've got hands — use them."

He couldn't help a gasp as Warrick's hands enclosed him, but Warrick's own, much louder, moan covered the noise. Toreth smiled, holding himself still, making Warrick do the work. It took him a little while, but soon he had it.

Now — hurt him.

He took a firm hold of Warrick's upper arms, pulling his shoulders back and down, positioning Warrick's hands and at the same time making sure he wouldn't be able to ease away to escape the pain. Warrick arched towards him, his neck an irresistible temptation. The hard bite drew out a whimper.

Warrick's fingers had a skilful touch, even under the current circumstances, and he didn't need to remind himself to tighten his grip on Warrick's arms. The rhythm faltered for a moment.

"Keep going. Keep it going or I'll break your fucking arms."

Or possibly scream.

Digging his fingers in, aiming for nerves, pulling Warrick closer, he squeezed until his own fingers ached. He'd meant to drag it out until Warrick's harsh breathing slipped closer to sobs. In the end, he couldn't. Briefly abandoning the game, he started to thrust, obeying the driving need, feeling the pressure building inside.

Don't say anything. A distant thought. Stick to the game. Don't say —

"Ah, fuck —
Warrick
."

Passion filling in his voice, uncontrollable and out of character, as if he cared through the heady rush of pleasure.

When it was over, he unclenched his fingers, and Warrick groaned. Toreth stepped back, still panting, admiring the vivid red finger marks he'd left behind. They'd bruise up nicely, and last for a while. Stamping his property.

He took his time fastening his zip, taking deep breaths, until he knew his voice would be steady, and then said, "So . . . what shall I do next?"

"Whatever you want." Warrick's voice was hoarse, and the submission instant and unquestioning.

"We've got all evening. Plenty of time." This was what he'd looked forwards to the most, the reason he'd gone through the elaborate preparations.

He ran his hands over Warrick again, over his shoulders and down his chest, enjoying the rub of hair against his palms. "Plenty of time and such a lot of things we could try. But — " He pinched Warrick's nipple, hard, making him gasp. "Did you really think I didn't see that watch?"

A single, small exclamation of dismay, and then Warrick went absolutely still.

He moved round in front of Warrick, savouring his stricken expression. Oh, yes. This was even more fun than the orgasm.

Toreth smiled, keeping his voice unyielding. "You were four minutes over the time I gave you to get ready. You know what that means."

"Don't go." He blurted out the desperate plea, and the genuine fear in his voice delighted Toreth.

He laughed. "No? Why not? I've had
my
fun."