“You’re allowed to look at me, too,” Joe pointed out. “That was what you wanted permission to do, wasn’t it?”
Scott nibbled at his bottom lip. “Are you m-mad at me?”
Joe didn’t think he was inclined to be easily taken aback, but he found himself blinking at Scott as ifhewere the naive little novice. “This isn’t me mad,” he finally said.
“Okay.” That was it. Scott fell silent, once again completely fascinated by the table.
“If I was mad, I’d tell you straight out that I was pissed off. And I’d tell you exactly what you’d done that wound me up.” Joe studied Scott’s reaction very carefully.
Scott smiled slightly, as if being told that was something he needed to be grateful for. Then, he looked away, back to the oh-so-interesting table top.
Screw being patient—patience had never been Joe’s strong point. Tucking a knuckle under Scott’s chin, Joe made him face him properly. “I told you to ask for something. Why would I be mad at you for doing what you were told?”
Scott shrugged. He reached for his glass and took up a white knuckled grip around it. “Maybe you h-hoped I’d ask for s-s-something else?”
“I don’t do mind games,” Joe corrected. “If I think there’s a chance you’ll make a choice I don’t like, I won’t offer you the chance to make any decisions at all.”
At least that coaxed a smile out of Scott. “I b-believe you.”
“Good.” Joe took a swig of his Coke and slouched a little more comfortably in his seat. His erection tilted back toward his stomach, a bead of pre-cum gathering on the tip. Joe ignored it. It was bloody hard to lose himself in the joy of being surrounded by naked, horny men when Scott stubbornly refused to act like the kind of sub he was so used to playing with.
Scott was an anomaly. He couldn’t just be whipped, screwed and tossed aside; he had to be investigated. Joementally ran through everything he knew about Scott. Damn near nothing.
“What do you do when you’re not writing letters inviting me to do kinky things with you?” Joe asked.
Scott looked up for a moment before quickly turning his attention back to his glass. Apparently, the dark bubbly liquid rivalled the sticky table top in terms of interest. “D-do?”
“Have you got a job?” Joe prompted.
Still looking ill at ease, Scott seemed to consider the question very carefully. “Just a b-boring office j-job,” he finally said. “I do the computer admin at a b-builder’s merchants. Fill in the paperwork, make out the invoices, s-stuff like that. Why?”
Joe was pretty sure he could have told Scott that he intended to tie him up in the middle of the room, blindfold him, and whip every bit of skin off his back, and Scott would have been more at ease with it.
You’re for sex, not for conversations.
It wasn’t the first time Joe had sensed that thought in someone’s head when he was playing with them. It was, however, the first time the idea pissed him off rather than suited him right down to his well-polished black boots. Joe tossed back another mouthful of Coke in an effort to wash away the bitterness on the back of his tongue.
“It doesn’t pay g-g-great, but I p-p-pick up other work when I can,” Scott went on. “Cut grass. W-walk dogs. D-deliver j-j-junk mail.” His words were coming out faster now, and his stutter was getting more pronounced.
Joe took hold of Scott’s wrist, the one attached to the hand holding his Coke, and guided it up toward his lips.
Words stopped. Scott drank steadily until Joe allowed him to lower his glass.
Relaxing back once more, Joe mentally corrected his impression of Scott’s thoughts.
Sex makes me less nervous than talking to you.
It wasn’t a thought he’d ever suspected any of his previous playmates of having, but it suited Scott far better than Joe’s first reading of him. For some reason, the idea suited Joe, too.
“You know, answering my questions is no different to sucking my cock,” he said, very casually.
Even though he’d already swallowed all the Coke he’d taken into his mouth, Scott managed to choke on it.
Joe casually rubbed Scott’s back as Scott leaned over the table and spluttered.
His skin was warm and smooth. Joe’s attention quickly wandered away from making sure Scott kept breathing, to enjoying the texture of Scott’s flesh beneath his palm. Scott wasn’t a muscle man, but Joe had played with guys with huge muscles before—they inevitably turned out to be less fun than Joe had expected them to be.
Scott glanced over his shoulder at him. Their eyes barely had a chance to meet before he dropped his gaze.
