Just Business

by Anna Zabo

  Somehow they would manage. Work. Play. A relationship.

  He turned the cakes onto a serving plate and repeated the task. The coffee grinder ran and the scent of fresh grounds filtered through the aroma of cooking batter.

  A typical morning, except it was anything but. “How did you end up as a barista?”

  Justin tapped the grounds from the grinder into the French press. “I like coffee and I needed a change of pace. When I got to Pittsburgh, I checked Craigslist for jobs, and Brian was hiring.” He gave a small shrug. “I suppose I made a good impression.”

  “With the goth look?” It certainly was eye-catching, if messy. You’re starting to like messy. Eli slid the last of the cooked pancakes onto the serving plate. There was charisma, nearly as much as Sam had, when Justin wanted to turn it on.

  “Not a fan?” Justin set the electric kettle to heat the water and leaned against the counter, all smirk and black fringe. Still had the chipped nail polish, too, but the eyeliner was gone, washed away with tears, sweat, and a shower.

  “I didn’t say that.” Eli carried the plate over to the breakfast bar. “You’re in my kitchen, after all.”

  Justin laughed, but there was a catch to it. “There is that.”

  He’d hit a nerve. “I don’t imagine you were sporting that look working at ErazaTech, though.” He hobbled to the fridge and pulled out butter and maple syrup.

  The kettle clicked off and Justin poured the water into the press. “No. I got tired of being told how I should look, what I should wear, who I should be. I wanted . . .” He shook his head and pressed the knob on the press down. “The change was a reaction, I know. But this”—he gestured at his face—“is more me than I was in LA. I’m glad Sam hasn’t asked me to change.”

  “I won’t, either.” The thought of a neater, boring version of Justin rankled, and no one should be forced into a role they didn’t want to play. He’d left home to be the man he wanted to be. Cut his hair. Shaved his beard. Loved men.

  Eli placed the butter and syrup by the pancakes.

  Coffee and mug in hand, Justin joined Eli at the breakfast bar. “Good. I . . .” He laughed. “You aren’t keeping count anymore, are you?”

  Unfinished sentences. He actually had kept count. “I’ve noticed, but this is not the time for that game.” As Justin poured the coffee, Eli added, “I’m not sure you want that full-time.”

  A shiver ran through Justin. “I don’t.”

  “Good, because I’m not the Dom for that.”

  Every muscle in Justin loosened as he sat on the bar stool. “Thank God.”

  “Been there, done that?” Was there a story there?

  Justin winced and took the butter. “I don’t like being controlled all the time. Didn’t work in LA, like I said. One of the reasons I like working for Sam.”

  Eli took the syrup. “Sam is rather accepting.” Part of why he’d agreed to work for him when Michael had suggested it. Sam wouldn’t blink at Eli’s predilections. Not when Sam was dating Michael.

  “So I’ve noticed.” Justin pushed the butter over. “You keep syrup in the fridge?”

  Eli shrugged. “Read the label. Besides, I don’t go through it that fast.”

  “I guess pancakes for one is a lot of work.” Justin’s eyes were bright. “You really haven’t done this for anyone else?”

  “No.”

  “Not even the other two?”

  The ones he’d spent the night with. “No. Noah was—well, we were teens and hiding the whole thing from our parents. With Michael, we were undergrads and—”

  “Michael?” Justin’s fork hung in the air. “Wait, Sam’s Michael?”

  Right. He hadn’t said that before. “Yes.”

  “You dated Sam’s Michael?” Justin set down the fork, a horrified look widening his eyes.

  Eli cut his pancakes with his fork and tried not to smile. Probably failed. “As I said, we were undergrads. The relationship didn’t last long, but the friendship did.”

  “But he’s a Dom.”

  “That was the main reasons we split, yes. But I wouldn’t have known I was as well without his help.”

  Justin reached for his coffee. “And now you work for his boyfriend.”

  “Yup.” He ate around the grin that wanted to spread across his face. “And I don’t have to worry about being fired for being gay and a sexual deviant.”

  “You were fired?” Justin took a gulp of coffee. “I guess from the outside, the whole BDSM thing seems a little weird.”

  A little? “I tie men up, whip them, and fuck them.” Eli took another bite and watched Justin squirm in his seat. So very lovely when he moved like that. “Not exactly a normal hobby.”

  There was the understanding. “Certainly not in the same class as macramé.”

  Eli laughed. “No, not at all.”

  Justin smiled into his coffee. “Speaking of rope . . . ?” He raised his head and peered through the ragged locks in front of his eyes.

  A rush of desire and the heat of joy wrapped itself around Eli, burning his blood. “Is that what you’d like for lunch?”

  “Yes.”

  Oh, the turn of Justin’s lips, the spark in his eyes, and flush in his cheeks. Delectable and a welcome change from the start of this conversation. “Finish your breakfast and help me with dishes, and we’ll see whether you get what you want.”

  “Yes, Eli.”

  How he loved the sound of those two words together. Eli inhaled the dark scent of coffee. “Perhaps we can do something about the collar I stripped off you last night?”

  Justin’s shiver was visible. “I’d like that.”

  Eli took a sip of coffee and sent up a silent prayer that Justin was telling the truth. “Good.”

  * * *

  For once, Justin welcomed wealth. The leather Eli wrapped tight around Justin’s neck was soft and supple, like one of his gloves. A shower of sparks trickled over Justin’s skin as Eli buckled the collar into place.

  He hadn’t expected Eli to pull leather and tools out of a drawer in his playroom and make a collar for him right there. So personal, so . . . exacting. God. His balls ached with the need to be naked and kneeling while Eli fitted the band of leather to his neck.

  Bliss followed by terror. Francis had made him kneel like this once, and to receive a collar as well. But nothing else about this day and that one was similar, not the care Eli took with cutting the leather or his gentle questions of comfort and fit. Eli loosened the band, drew back, and picked up a hole punch. “It’ll likely stretch over time. Let me know if it becomes too loose, and we can add some holes later.”

  Justin swallowed. That implied a long length of time, rather than a fling. Something he wanted, and didn’t. He dug his fingers into his thighs to keep from balling them into fists.

  Eli cupped Justin’s chin and lifted it until their eyes met. “You can say no to this. You can always say no, Justin.”

  “I don’t want to say no.” This was Eli and not Francis. This was Pittsburgh and not LA. Eli wasn’t asking him to pull his entire life apart to become a pet.

  He set the collar aside. “You have to be sure of this.”

  That . . . wouldn’t happen. Not yet. But fake it until you make it. “You said you weren’t a full-time Dom.”

  “I’m not,” Eli murmured, fingers skimming Justin’s chin. “I don’t expect you to wear my collar all the time. There’s no lock. You’re free to remove it when you wish.”

  “Then I’m sure.”

  Eli stroked Justin’s skin and raised an eyebrow. “No lies.” Gone were the casual clothes of the morning. Eli had changed back into leather pants and a crisp white shirt.

  Justin let out a huff of air. “Okay. I’m nervous, but I want to try this with you. It helps that I can . . .” Leave. Be free. “Choose.”

  Eli’s forehead furrowed for a moment before smoothing out. “I do expect it on during scenes.”

  Of course. “Not an issue.” It was outside, in life, where th
e problem lay.

  Eli ran his thumb over Justin’s jawbone. “Then let’s see how it fits.” Eli picked up the collar and placed it around Justin’s neck.

  Smooth. Soft. Tight. A touch tighter while Eli buckled it into place, but then it fit perfectly. Constraining enough that there was no mistaking what it was, but not so tight as to block air, not even when Eli slipped a finger under the band. A cascade of pinpricks swept down Justin’s back to the soles of his feet.

  “Better?”

  Justin swallowed, which only tightened the band and sent another tumble of electricity to his toes. “Yeah.” It was, too. Now that the leather was in place, the constriction was just right. Perfect. His body responded as it always did, cock hard, the need for pain and pleasure swirling in his head, blotting out stray thoughts and warning bells.

  “Ready for more?”

  Justin nodded.

  Eli’s smile had the sharp edge Justin associated with the sting of a whip and the crackle of command. “Stand up, please.”

  It was not a request, despite the wording, not with that depth of tone, nor with the tug against his collar. Justin rose and turned as Eli nudged him in the appropriate direction—toward a Saint Andrew’s cross.

  “Back against the cross.”

  He settled against the cool leather, flinching at the friction against the welts on his back. When Eli approached, he lifted his arms. “I think we’ll save rope for later.” With the same care he’d taken with the collar, Eli buckled Justin’s wrists into the cuffs at either end of the cross and adjusted the straps to keep Justin’s arms firmly in place.

  Eli placed his hand against Justin’s chest, the contact of flesh on flesh sending little shocks of up Justin’s arms.

  “How does that feel?” Eli’s breath caressed Justin’s skin and lips. So close. Too far.

  “Like heaven.” The stretch, the restraint had him not into subspace, but in that narrow band between anticipation and utter frustration.

  Then Eli kissed him, taking his mouth not with force but with a demand of submission that had Justin moaning around Eli’s tongue. The last vestiges of nervousness fled and he filled with the need to give whatever was desired. Eli trailed his hands down Justin’s arms, brushing over the hair and tender flesh of the pits. Ice and fire up danced up Justin and he twitched and whimpered. Eli broke the kiss, but didn’t move away. “Ticklish?” He stroked those same spots again.

  Very ticklish. Justin danced in the restraints, nearly kicking out. “Please, no. I can’t.”

  Eli flicked fingers over the sensitive skin once more. Justin fought against the cuffs, thrusting hard against Eli’s body. It took all his control to suck in a breath of air. He wanted to get away, but he didn’t want Eli to stop. This torment didn’t have the bite of a whip, but a dazzling pain all of its own.

  Eli moved his hands to Justin’s hips, ground his cock against Justin’s, and stole what little breath Justin had left with another quick kiss. “That will be fun later, but first let’s deal with those twitchy legs of yours.”

  The heat of Eli’s body vanished when Eli stepped back. The pull of his brow was one Justin recognized from the office—hard determination.

  Eli knelt. First down on his good leg, then onto the bad one. If Justin hadn’t been strapped to the cross, he would have joined Eli on the floor. The sight of Eli kneeling, even to fetter Justin, was stunning.

  Eli peered up and Justin shivered. The devil resided in that turn of the lips. So hot.

  “Hope you’re flexible. I want you spread wide.” Eli grasped Justin’s leg and pulled it over to the cuff and buckled it around his ankle.

  Holy shit. Justin hadn’t considered just how far apart the arms of the cross were. “What if I can’t . . .” That thought disappeared when Eli grasped his other ankle and dragged it over. Justin flattened his head against the cross. The pull in his thighs wasn’t unbearable, and he’d been spread-eagle before, but Eli forcing his legs apart and buckling leather around his ankles flatlined his brain and made his balls draw up. Didn’t help that Eli’s breath warmed his calf. A caress of hands up his legs only poured more heat into every vein.

  “Perfect,” Eli murmured. He nipped at Justin’s thigh.

  This was far worse than the tickling. He shook against the cross as Eli worked up Justin’s thigh. He sucked on his balls, one after the other. Justin’s curses mixed with moans and poured out in a stream he couldn’t stem.

  Francis had never knelt, never touched him like this. Subs knelt, not Doms—that’s what he’d said.

  Eli might have been on his knees, but there was nothing submissive about the way he licked Justin’s taint and balls.

  Fuck, he wasn’t going to—

  The neighborhood probably heard his shout when Eli’s mouth closed over the tip of Justin’s cock. He banged his head against the back of the cross and stretched his bonds to the limit.

  Eli took him deeper. Fucking Eli, who wasn’t playing by the rules, who shouldn’t have been on his knees. This was torment. Absolute, wonderful torment. Eli hit every sensitive spot with a tongue that should have been illegal.

  When Justin tried to find purchase to thrust deeper, Eli pushed Justin’s thighs back against the cross—and teased his cock head until Justin couldn’t see straight.

  “God, please . . .” A whisper because Justin could not catch enough breath.

  Eli relented, pulling off Justin. “Not just yet, I think.”

  So close . . . He’d been so very close. “You learn cocksucking from Michael?”

  Eli’s laugh was deep. He pulled himself up and only a flicker of discomfort marred his features. “Yes, actually. And so much more, too.” No smile, but the crinkle around his eyes hinted at amusement and power.

  Justin pulled against his bonds instinctively. He couldn’t imagine Eli submitting to anyone, even after watching him kneel. “Like what?”

  “Like how to torment a man without touching him.” Eli smiled. “How to cause agony with only a gentle touch. How to make a man beg for everything I want to do to him.”

  Holy fuck. Just those words made his skin tighten from his fingers to toes, and his heart tick faster.

  Eli’s gloves lay on a table nearby, as did one of his canes, this one with a simple brass knob top. He stepped back, picked up one glove, and slid his long fingers into the leather.

  Justin squirmed. Would Eli touch him? With what? One of the toys hanging from hooks behind him?

  Eli picked up the other glove and donned it, all the while studying Justin. He might as well have been sucking Justin’s dick, the way his balls ached. He rocked his hips forward, thrusting his cock against nothing at all.

  A click of the tongue. “You know better, Justin.”

  He did, but watching Eli watch him, want him—it was torture. Just as Eli had said it would be.

  Eli chuckled and turned away, providing a respite from that intense inspection. Justin’s relief was short-lived. Eli’s leather-clad fingers closed around the shaft of his cane and his gray eyes focused on Justin again. That smile—

  Shit. The grin only widened. As if Justin’s heart wasn’t beating fast enough. What the hell would Eli do?

  “I think it’s time I got to know you a bit better, don’t you?” Eli stepped closer, not using the cane for support but holding it by the shaft.

  “I . . . don’t know, Eli.” Dry mouth. Sticky throat. This was not a game he knew or understood. He’d expected pain. Nipple clamps, a flogger. That cane wasn’t the type used for punishment.

  “All I want you to do is answer my questions. They’ll be simple ones. Small things. No right or wrong answers. You can even refuse to answer, but you will respond. Is that understood?”

  Easy enough. But with Eli so close Justin couldn’t help tense against the cross. “Understood.”

  “Good.” Eli stroked Justin’s collarbone with his fingers and ran the palm of his gloved hand over Justin’s pec.

  The sensation of body-warmed leather sliding over
Justin’s skin and against his nipple curled Justin’s toes. Goose bumps rose everywhere and he groaned.

  “. . . color?” He barely caught the end of Eli’s question.

  “What?”

  “Five,” Eli said. “Pay attention, please. I have a wicked little carbon fiber cane I’d love to use on you.”

  Shit. He’d seen subs caned with those. Yet the prospect of experiencing that much pain tightened Justin’s balls. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

  This time, Eli touched his thigh and drew his fingers up the front. “I’m sure you will. Let’s try again.” This time Eli smoothed his hand over Justin’s abdomen, drifting perilously close to his cock.

  He caught Eli’s smirk. “What’s your favorite color?”

  A simple question. If only Eli weren’t caressing his balls, maybe he could have remembered the answer.

  “Don’t make me say six so soon, Justin.”

  Right. He turned his focus away from the touch of warm, smooth leather cupping his ass. “Yellow.” A gasp of breath.

  “Such a bright color for someone who wears black so often.” Eli ran a finger between Justin’s ass cheeks before stepping back. “Why?”

  Thank God. Justin relaxed—as much as the fetters and the cross allowed. “It’s . . . sunshine. Lemons. Happi—” The last word dissolved into a gasp. The brass handle of Eli’s cane—the cold brass handle—touched the inside of Justin’s left thigh.

  “You were saying?”

  Justin screwed his eyes shut as Eli drew the handle up until it hovered close to his balls. “Happiness. Summer. Yellow is”—he opened his eyes—“the color of joy.”

  Eli nodded. “Very good.” The cane didn’t move. “Favorite vacation spot?”

  Pretty sure he knew where the brass knob was heading next. He sucked in a breath when the cold metal lifted his balls. “Fuck!” He squirmed against the cross and cuffs—and Eli’s cane.

  “Six.” Eli rubbed the knob back and forth, sounding far too pleased. “You’re disappointing me, Justin. Focus.”

  How could he when his brain wanted to crawl out of his ears? Justin tried not to thrust in time to the slow motion of cool brass between his legs. “Beach. I like . . . the beach.”