The Divorce (Starting Over Book 1), page 18
“If you loved me, you’d sign them!”
Aled seized the papers from her hands and tore them into shreds. Then, for good measure, he turned and hurled the pen at the automatic doors. They didn’t register it and its cheap plastic casing broke apart on the glass.
“I’m not fucking signing anything,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “until a lawyer—my lawyer—goes through it. I have your other copies at home. I will get someone to look at them next week. Until then, back the fuck off.”
“You’ve had time!”
“I need more! I only just got my head around us being over!” he bellowed. “I still love you and you walked out without a fucking word, after—”
“I had plenty of words! I was in bits after they diagnosed you and you didn’t give a shit!”
“Diagnosed me? For fuck’s sake, Melissa, it’s not terminal bloody cancer!”
“That would have hurt less!”
It echoed around the car park and brought Aled up short. His mind reeled. Terminal cancer would have—have hurt less? Was she serious? She’d rather he’d had terminal cancer, than—
“Er.”
Melissa turned on the new voice, apoplectic, and shouted, “What!” in a wide-eyed Gabriel’s face.
“Whoa, relax—”
“Who the fuck are you? Aled! Who the fuck is he? He’s been at your car—oh my God. Have you been harping on at me for moving on, when you’ve been shag—”
“Urgh, Christ, no thanks, missus!”
Aled blinked, Gabriel’s suddenly coarse voice cutting across the fog in his brain. It had deepened into a sharp chirp, twanging strangely over the vowels. It sounded almost Cockney, deeply southern, not blurred with the Yorkshire twang he’d picked up in the north. It wasn’t Leeds. It wasn’t even Gabriel.
“Not exactly my type, mate. I’m just hitching a lift. But you two wanna get your lawyers sorting it out instead of bawling in public? S’just, you know, I reckon Huddersfield might not have caught the last bit.”
Melissa pursed her lips and turned on her heel. She marched back to her car, shouting over her shoulder. “My solicitor will be in touch. And if yours doesn’t reply within the week, Aled, I’ll take you to court and take everything.”
Aled simply stared, until her car door slammed and the engine revved. Then, slowly, he stepped out of the pile of paper shards at his feet and swallowed.
“You okay?” Gabriel said softly.
“She said cancer would have hurt less,” Aled whispered numbly.
Gabriel bit his lip. “Hey. Maybe dinner’s not a good idea—”
Aled shook himself. As Melissa’s car disappeared into the tea-time traffic, Gabriel came closer and rubbed a hand up Aled’s arm, squeezing his elbow briefly.
“What do you need?” he whispered.
Aled shook his head. “To not think about what she just said.”
“Well, think about this, then,” Gabriel said, fumbling with his phone, then showed Aled a selfie of himself, clearly leaning his back against Aled’s windscreen.
“Fucker,” Aled croaked, then swallowed and scrubbed a hand across his eyes. “No, we’re going to dinner. I just need to—re-group a bit.”
“Tell you what,” Gabriel said. “Your place. Bend me over the side of the sofa and beat my arse raw for sitting on your car. Then come in my mouth to put me back in my place. Then we can have a quick shower and go out for massive burgers with your friends to make up for the lost energy. Yeah?”
Aled rallied himself, nodding. “Yeah. And, um. Thanks. For heading her off. Even though that blokey act was faintly disturbing.”
Gabriel smirked. “Just because I’m a flirty, fuckable queer doesn’t mean I don’t know how to be the builder’s apprentice next door, you know.”
“You certainly know how to fuck him,” Aled mumbled, then squared his shoulders. “Right. Car. Let’s go. And you can sit in the back seat, take your jeans off and get your arse ready for me later. Because I won’t be gentle.”
* * * *
Aled pulled his softened, spent cock out and slapped Gabriel’s abused arse. A mix of lube and cum was beginning to escape and Aled opened the bathroom cabinet to find a suitable plug.
“You won’t be putting that arse on my car again,” he said casually, leaning over the bath to present the chosen plug to Gabriel’s mouth. “Suck on it.”
Gabriel was bent over the side of the bath, bracing himself by his hands on the tiles opposite. The shower was raining down on him, freezing cold and causing him to splutter and cough all the way through what had been a brutal fuck. And yet apparently Gabriel was a glutton for punishment, for he turned his face away from the plug and refused.
“Fine. But if it comes out, I’ll put it back. And fuck you again while it’s still inside.”
Gabriel choked as Aled shoved the plug in, burying it to the base, and twisted it until Gabriel began to thrust back against him.
Because Gabriel hadn’t—yet—come.
“You want me to touch you?”
“Please.” His voice was ragged and breathless.
“You want to touch yourself?”
“Please.”
“Tough,” Aled said and slapped again. He left a handprint behind. Smirking, he fetched another plug from the cabinet. “You’re leaking from both sides. I’ll not be having that mess all over my house and car.”
Gabriel whined when the second plug was inserted, and Aled smacked him.
“Quiet. And stay there. If you move an inch, I’ll chain you to the taps and give you an ice bath. Got it?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
The unexpected honorific made blood pool in Aled’s groin again, but it was too soon. He flicked the base of one plug before leaving the bathroom, rummaging in his bedroom drawers for what he wanted, before returning. Gabriel was built like Melissa. Slim hips, small arse. So—
“You wanted to play a game, right?”
“Y-yes—”
“So, let’s play.”
Lo and behold, the chastity belt fit like a charm and Aled locked it into place. Gabriel seemed to realise what it was halfway through and twisted violently, so Aled seized him by the hair and shook him.
“Fuck me around and I’ll leave it on for a week.”
Gabriel stilled, gasping. Aled knew it would be torture. The plugs were bad enough, but the belt—a full around-the-waist style, that visually resembled little more than a pair of grey knickers— had been modified. Right now, a ring was rubbing up against Gabriel’s cock, and it would tease him with every single step that he took.
And Gabriel, without the keys to the locks, would not be able to remove it.
“If you’re good during dinner,” Aled said, sliding the keys into his pocket and dragging Gabriel up from the bath by the shoulders, “then I’ll take it off after dinner and let you come. If not”—he rubbed his thumb along Gabriel’s bottom lip—“then it stays on.”
“Yellow.”
Aled paused, eyes searching Gabriel’s face. Slowly, Gabriel shook his head.
“It comes off after dinner,” he whispered.
Aled nodded and kissed that bottom lip. “Okay. Colour?”
“Green.”
Aled nuzzled his cheek, then shoved him roughly towards the door. “Get dressed. I need a shower. Be ready by the front door when I’m done.”
Gabriel disappeared and Aled turned up the heat on the still-running shower before stepping into it. He rolled his shoulders and sighed. The tension had leaked out of him with every thrust. And God, Gabriel had been incredible—protesting the whole way, but not fighting, refusing with closed lips and twisting motions, but not arguing. He’d played the barely broken-in submissive to perfection, acted the unwilling victim to Aled’s desires like they’d been playing for years, and Aled intended to thoroughly reward him for it at some point. Either by any game Gabriel wanted, or just by taking him out for dinner and a movie sometime. Or both, if Gabriel was at incredible after the meal as he’d been before it.
Aled tipped his head back under the water, the heat massaging his shoulders and pushing away everything but the post-fuck feeling, and smiled.
Dinner was going to be…interesting.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Gabriel had never hated being driven anywhere so much in his entire life.
The plug was bad. But the chastity belt was worse. Not only was the very existence of such a device an affront to Gabriel’s sex life, but that it was on him felt insulting. And yet its upgrade—namely that damned ring—was both an amazing sensation every time he moved, and a cruel reminder that no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t just get a hand down his jeans and solve the problem.
“Fuck,” he said conversationally, as Aled turned the car neatly into a parking space outside a country pub. “You.”
Aled laughed. “You can safeword any time, you know.”
Yes, he could. But he didn’t want to, not really. Because if he did, it would stop the torture and it would let him be comfortable again. But it would also remove any chance Gabriel had of getting fucked blind in compensation for this later and he wasn’t—quite—willing to give that up. Especially after being bent over the bath earlier and fucked until it hurt. Really hurt. Which Aled hadn’t done thus far and Gabriel didn’t realise until he had how much it had been missing. No, Gabriel wanted his reward for this.
Didn’t mean he couldn’t let his displeasure be known, though, and he scowled when Aled pinched his thigh.
“Both of them know I’m into bondage and the like,” he said quietly, “and Suze knows that I’ve started playing with you. But if neither of them guess you’re being played with tonight, then I’ll let you out of the belt and do whatever you want in the car.”
“Fuck me dry.”
Aled blinked. “There was already a bit of blood—”
“After this,” Gabriel said, “it needs to hurt if you’re even going to begin to take the edge off.”
“Front door only.”
“Okay. But dry.”
Aled stared at him, then slowly nodded. “All right. Deal. I’ll fuck you dry if neither of them guess I’m playing with you right now.”
Gabriel grinned and Aled’s expression hardened. Suddenly, he was gripping Gabriel’s jaw in one hand and his face was much closer.
“You going to behave yourself?”
Gabriel’s breath caught at the hot, hostile stare. “Yes, sir,” he whispered, his tongue heavy and unwieldy in his mouth.
“You going to show me up in public?”
“No, sir.”
“Fuck me around,” Aled whispered, “and I’ll strip you of everything, including that belt, tie you down to your own bed, and leave you there for a week. No sex. No contact. Nothing. Got it?”
Gabriel’s heart skipped a beat. “I—got it. Got it.”
“Behave yourself, and I’ll take the belt off and fuck you in the back seat.”
His heart outright staggered then, blood pooling in his groin, and he bit his lip to hide the moan. Aled’s grip tightened on his jaw.
“Understood?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll behave.”
“Good. Get out.”
The minute Aled let go, Gabriel schooled his expression and let himself out. He’d grown up gay in a homophobic, transphobic household. He was a pro at pretending to be something he wasn’t, and right now, a dry fuck in a flash car was at stake. He would be a picture of saintly composure.
The pub was the fancy type with a restaurant, rather than a normal one with bar food, and Aled’s friends were already seated with pints of Stella. A waitress swooped in to catch them before they’d even sat down, and—despite the aggravation in his jeans—Gabriel was suitably distracted by the almost posh atmosphere. Aled called for two soft drinks, to Gabriel’s surprise, before his attention was stolen by the hand thrust out to shake his.
“Sorry,” said the bloke.
“Um—”
“I was a drunk dickhead last time we met,” he continued blandly, “and I was bang out of order. I was curious, but I don’t know you and I was being inappropriate. So, I’m sorry. Start over?”
Gabriel stared. For a split second, he didn’t know what to say. Nobody had ever actually apologised to him for being a dick before. People tended to get defensive and insist it wasn’t rude or inappropriate and say he was being too sensitive. So he wasn’t really sure what to do with an apology.
“Er—that’s all right,” he said slowly and shook the still-outstretched hand.
“It’s not really,” the bloke said, pulling a face. “Always would have said I was supportive of gay folks and everything but coming out with what I did wasn’t. But I am sorry and it won’t happen again.”
“Until the next time you get several pints down your neck,” the woman—Suze, Gabriel remembered—added snidely, then turned a big smile on him. “Sit down and just let me know if this berk here needs another smack. I ripped him a new one for being a jerk already.”
“Tom, wasn’t it?”
He’d guessed right and slowly relaxed as Tom turned the conversation to dating apps and explaining how he’d gotten into trouble for that, too, once Suze had found out he was using a Grindr account. Tom, it transpired, was extremely straight. And Suze, his long-suffering girlfriend, was extremely sceptical.
“It’s just a bit of fun,” Tom insisted as the starters arrived. “Nobody uses Grindr to actually get a date.”
“Aled did!” Suze said hotly.
“That was about sex!”
“No, it wasn’t—that’s how he met Gabriel!”
“And we met for sex,” Gabriel interrupted calmly, trying—and failing—not to think about sex given the state of his…well, everything between his knees and his waist.
“You fucked my brother. Or he fucked you. Did—”
“Tom!”
“Aled did mention it,” Gabriel said, smirking a little. He remembered Daz—a larger-than-life Cornishman with a mad grin and his tall-dark-and-handsome type of a boyfriend. They’d been a lot of fun. He still regretted not just having a threesome with them and being done with it. “I remember Daz. Huge—”
“Oh God!” Tom wailed.
“—personality.”
“Right,” Aled drawled. “Because you were interested in his personality.”
“It was a great personality. With a cock like a sledgehammer to match,” Gabriel added, enjoying watching Tom squirm and go purple with discomfort. Revenge, he decided. If Tom called him a girl again, Gabriel would just relive—or reinvent—Daz’s abilities in bed. “I remember I hurt for a week after—”
“Now I know why you’re shagging Aled. You’re as bloody evil as he is,” Tom whined and promptly—and very deliberately—changed the subject to some fantasy football league that he and Aled bought into. Which was beyond Gabriel’s level of caring. Real football was bad enough. Fantasy was just sad.
Then he made the mistake of sitting back from his finished starter and stiffened as the ring slid tantalisingly down his skin.
Fuck.
His breath caught in his chest, sudden and sharp, and he felt Suze’s watchful eye suddenly on him. “Gabriel?” Her voice sounded oddly echoey for a moment and he blinked. “Gabriel? Are you all right?”
“Fine,” he said, seizing his composure. “Just—need a quick smoke. Before they bring the main. You know.”
She narrowed her eyes. Aled didn’t so much as twitch, rolling his eyes and making a snide comment about cancer sticks. Gabriel didn’t care. He didn’t pause, either, rummaging for his lighter and lurching gracelessly up from the table, banging his knee in the process. The burst of pain interrupted the rising fire in his blood and he managed to escape into the cold night air.
And breathe.
Breathe.
“Fuck,” he whispered, leaning back against the wall. He spread his legs, desperate to alleviate the pressure. Fuck, this was going to kill him. Aled was going to kill him. By the time Gabriel got his fuck, he’d be crawling out of his own skin.
His fingers were trembling, and a sudden, vicious urge to have a drink seized him.
Instantly, his blood ran cold and he lit up.
“Stop it,” he whispered to himself, drawing heavily on the cigarette. “Get it together. You don’t need a fucking drink.”
The smoke curled, silvery grey in the frosty air, and he inhaled a sharp, cold lungful of the night before returning the fag end to his lips.
“Light?”
He jumped. Tom, a shadow in the open doorway, smirked and held out a cigarette between his fingers.
“Shit, sorry, sure—”
The lighter flared between them and Tom smiled companionably. “All right?”
“Yeah.”
“You look stressed.”
“Pub,” Gabriel lied shortly. “Don’t go in them much.”
“Drink problem?”
Gabriel gave him a look. Tom shrugged.
“Wouldn’t be the only bloke I know.”
“Dry now.”
“Yeah?”
“Have been for years.”
“Good for you. Problem, was it, or—”
“Full-blown alcoholism.”
“Bit young for that, aren’t you?”
“You’re never too young,” Gabriel said bitterly. He’d been the youngest at the dry house by about ten years, but not in the original rehab centre. There’d been kids in there. Sixteen-, seventeen-year-old girls who’d knife a man for a bottle of cheap paint-stripper vodka.
“True. Look. Away from Suze and Aled—we good?”
Gabriel eyed him in the gloom. Tom was, he decided, a rather typical guy. None too bright about these things and prone to opening his mouth only to insert his foot—but harmless. Meaningless. He didn’t mean things the way they sounded.
“Yeah,” he said. “We’re good.”
They finished smoking in a warm silence, then headed back inside.
* * * *
With desserts down and sitting back in silence to nurse his cold Coke and try to resist the urge to adjust himself—and thus undoubtedly make it worse—Gabriel started to relax. Without him moving, the belt couldn’t aggravate him as much. And the less it rubbed in all the right places, the more he could take in what was in front of him, namely, someone close enough to be Aled’s sister, who was sizing him up more like she was Aled’s mother.
