Holy. Fuck.
Nick brought up a hand – long, fine fingers – and arranged his unruly fringe as he casually added, “And it just goes up from there.”
“Based on the number of drinks?”
“Based on the number of licks.”
Spencer blinked. This kid really knew how to catch a man off-guard, didn’t he? Getting his wits about him, he said, “And if I want you to lick it off me?”
Nick sniffed derisively and smirked. “Then you’re talking to the wrong whore.”
Spencer looked around, but his gaze returned to Nick’s nipple piercings, light sparking off them, making them shine like diamonds. Maybe Nick was the right guy, though he’d always assumed prostitutes were more – accommodating. He’d never hired a prostitute. He could have one-night stands; until a few months ago, he’d even had a relationship, of sorts, if falling asleep together over paperwork was a relationship. Normally, these days he expended his last bit of energy on porn.
The thing that tipped him over the edge was – Nick wasn’t selling. He didn’t try to influence the decision one way or the other. Spencer couldn’t possibly put into words how refreshing it was to not be sold to or pressured. In a world of BUY THIS NEW PHONE and YOU’RE NOTHING WITHOUT THIS WATCH, encountering a guy who didn’t bend over backwards to close a deal felt like stepping into a calm spot he hadn’t known existed.
“All right,” he said, eventually.
Nick nodded. “Get me a drink.”
He turned and headed to the bar, then, remembering Percy had gone to get him a drink, glanced around.
Percy had apparently forgotten about Spencer’s drink. He was sitting at a table with two prostitutes around him, one in each arm. From behind their backs, he gave him a double thumbs-up.
Spencer pushed through to the bar and bought two drinks. He tried for beers, but the bartender shook his head and handed him a beer and a cola, “For Nick.”
When he returned to Nick, he said, “Maybe we should sit down.”
Nick nodded and led the way to a somewhat more secluded booth at the far end. “I figure you’ll have less performance anxiety if your friend can’t see you.”
“Uh, yeah. Good idea.”
Nick glanced back in Percy’s direction, and said, “I’m sure he’ll keep them busy for at least ... a couple minutes.” Then he turned away and slid into the booth, and Spencer couldn’t tell if he’d heard that little snicker or if he’d imagined it.
Nick moved far enough into the booth to leave space for Spencer, and in spite of his pounding heart and the “what the ever-loving fuck are you doing?” in the back of his brain, Spencer joined him. He wasn’t sure what the protocol was here. Treat it like a date? Arm around the shoulders leads to hand on the thigh leads to –
Oh, God, apparently we’re going straight to the hand on the crotch.
Spencer tensed, pressing back against the leather upholstery. “Oh. Wow.”
Nick snickered for real this time, and his breath tickled the side of Spencer’s neck. Spencer pulled in a gasp, but a firm-and-not-so-gentle squeeze below the belt knocked that air right back out.
“Fuck.” He put up a hand. “I ... whoa. This is ...”
Nick’s hand retreated to Spencer’s thigh. “You really are new at this, aren’t you?”
“Just ... just a bit. Yeah.” He grabbed his drink and swallowed as much as it took to cool him off. Which was better than half the damned glass. Here we go again. “Sorry, I’m ...”
“Relax.” Nick grinned. “I don’t bite.”
Spencer eyed him, waiting for the inevitable “... hard” or “... unless you want me to.” It didn’t come, though. In fact, Nick took his hand off Spencer’s leg and reached for his own drink.
It was quickly becoming apparent there wasn’t a thing Nick did that he couldn’t make sexy. Not overtly sexual, but sexy. Right down to the way his hand was arranged on the glass, like it was deliberate, even artful, every finger placed just so to make the simple gesture of picking up a drink look ... elegant? Maybe it was just the fine bones of his wrist and hand. The black nail varnish didn’t hurt the effect, like staccato marks at the end of each finger.
With his other hand, he steadied the straw. No suggestive stroking or up-down motion, but he looked right at Spencer while he sucked some of his cola up into his mouth. His eyes – green, stunning pale green – locked on Spencer’s, narrowing just enough to make Spencer wonder what was going on in that mind of his.
Nick swallowed his drink, paused to run the tip of his tongue around the end of the straw. Spencer suddenly wanted to loosen his tie. He gulped, which only made the tie and collar tighter.
Nick’s eyes darted towards Spencer’s throat. “How can you even breathe in that thing?” Before Spencer could choke out a response, Nick’s glass clinked on the table and those slim, staccato-tipped fingers reached for his neck.
One finger hooked the knot of the tie and pulled. With a swift, precise gesture, Nick undid the top button. And for some reason, Spencer still couldn’t fucking breathe.
“There.” Nick drew back, smirking. “Much better.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Spencer managed to grin. “Do I have to pay extra for that?”
Nick moistened his lips and turned his attention to the straw in his drink, which he’d pinched between his thumb and middle finger. “No. The first button’s complimentary.” He covered the end of the straw with his index finger and withdrew it from his glass. The vacuum held the cola inside the straw, and Nick paused, letting the opposite end drip for a second, before he brought that end up to his lips. “Any more than that? We’ll have to discuss prices.” He slid the tip of the straw under his tongue, and lifted his index finger so all the liquid slipped out and into his mouth.
Yeah. The tie and collar weren’t the problem. There wasn’t enough air in this room when Nick was around.
“So.” Nick slid the straw back into his drink. He sucked his index finger into his mouth and, watching Spencer’s eyes, slowly slipped it free. “What the hell is a man like you doing here?”
“Is that your way of asking what’s a nice guy like me doing in a place like this?”
“No.” He covered the end of his straw again and grinned at Spencer. “It’s me asking what exactly you’re looking for so I can decide how much you’ll pay me.”
God, but he was direct. Of course he wasn’t trying to sell anything or close the deal. It seemed that in Nick’s mind, the deal was already closed, and there was nothing left to do but sign on the dotted line, exchange money, and ...
Holy fuck. He could afford it, that wasn’t a concern, but a night alone and naked with a man like this? Spencer would never have to give Percy details because there was no way he’d survive until morning. Or maybe Percy would have the good grace to leave him alone about it? Well, he could dream.
“Uhm.” He blew out a breath. “I’d be looking for a ... a top.”
There, he’d said it. Somehow, his concept of male whores involved them getting it up the arse all night – which sounded like a pretty good deal, though it was likely humiliating.
Maybe he’ll be rough.
Spencer clamped down on that thought quicker than he’d have stomped on a cockroach in his student accommodations – what, ten years ago?
Nick kept looking at him. “And?”
So that part of the deal was on. “I’m in charge.”
“You’re the customer. Of course you’re in charge.” Those lips quirked with the most devilish little grin that made Spencer grateful he could just sit here for a while. That way, nobody had a clear view of his trousers.
“My place?”
“After you’ve done the membership application, yes.” Nick nodded towards one of the guys at the bar. “There’s a background check, but they’re discreet.” The grin was still there, as if the whole thing was an elaborate prank.
“How quickly can they do it?”
“Pretty quickly.” Nick nodded over. “You can do that now.”
Spencer hesitated, then figured Nick would probably wait those five or ten minutes, so he stood and headed over to the bar.
It took twenty-five minutes altogether, and he grew more and more impatient. Nick wouldn’t wait this long, would he?
But he had, chasing melting ice cubes around in his drink with the straw.
Spencer rejoined him in the booth. “All right. Paperwork is taken care of. So how much are we talking?” The implication – obligation? – in his own words rattled him.
Naturally, Nick wasn’t fazed at all. “Want an hour, half a night, whole night?”
“When do I have to decide that?”
Nick tsked. “Well, I need a baseline to give you a quote. Personally, I recommend more than an hour, so we can get to know each other better.” And how did he manage to be so suggestive without waggling his brows or giving him a wink? The inflection in his voice was so subtle the come-on was barely there.
Spencer exhaled. “Why don’t we start with two hours?”
Nick studied him for a little while. “Five hundred.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Two hours. Five hundred quid.”
Spencer grinned. “You’re charging partner rates.” Not quite. At his firm, partners didn’t get out of bed for any less than £650 an hour. Still, nice little student job if you could get it. Of course, Nick might have to pay off the establishment, possibly a pimp.
“You a lawyer?”
Spencer’s grin died. “Uh. Never mind. Five hundred quid is fine.” He’d hardly need dozens of hours – he wasn’t trying to solve a tricky legal problem. Besides, he did believe in paying specialists what they were worth, and Nick was making him hard just with his cocky arrogance. If he was any good at fucking – and he’d likely had the practise – that would be more than worth it. Spencer swallowed. “I’m assuming I can feed the meter if I want to go on longer?”
An incredibly subtle laugh curled Nick’s lips. There was no middle ground with this man: either everything was blatant and in your face, or subtle to the point that Spencer couldn’t always tell if it was really there.
“Feed the meter. Cute.” Nick dipped his straw in his drink and covered it with his finger again. After he’d released the liquid into his mouth, swallowed it – God, he could even make that sexy, the way he raised his chin to expose his entire throat – he put the straw back in his drink and said, “We can always negotiate extensions.”
This was strictly business to him, wasn’t it? He enjoyed it, got a charge out of it, but when it came to transactions, it was all black and white. Cash and sex. Nothing more.
“Two hours, then.” Spencer tried not to shift around, keeping both his nerves and impatience as far up his sleeve as he could. “What does two hours with Nick get me, anyway?”
Nick grinned. Nothing subtle this time, not even a little. “It gets you two hours with Nick.” The grin broadened a little more, pale green eyes narrowing like he could see right through to anything Spencer was trying to keep up his sleeve. “After all, Spencer, what more could you possibly want?”
He gulped. Nick laughed. So much for hiding a damned thing from him.
Nick drained his drink and pushed the glass away, sliding up next to Spencer so they were almost touching. “So. Two hours? Let’s go.”
“Does that two hours start now?” Spencer was already sliding out of the booth because according to Nick this was a done deal, and who was he to argue? “Or when we get to –” I’m really doing this? “– my place?”
Nick slid partway out of the booth, but didn’t get up. He pursed his lips and ran his gaze up and down Spencer’s body, a gesture that registered on his nerve endings like an actual touch. Their eyes met, and Nick pushed himself to his feet. “Assuming you’re local, we’ll start the clock when we get there.”
Spencer’s heart pounded. His wallet had hoped for that answer, but his body wasn’t entirely sure what to do with two solid hours of Nick.
He’d find out soon enough, though. Nick pulled a black leather jacket over his otherwise bare torso. Spencer got up and – oh God – Nick gave a nod to Percy, who gave him a two-fingered salute before he resumed making out with a blue-haired black twink, and they were out the door.
The back door, fortunately, rather than through the lounge where the female strippers did their thing, and then down an alley to a different road from where the cab had deposited Percy and him earlier. They had discretion down to a science in this place.
Chapter 3
The backseat of the cab was less cramped than the booth, but somehow felt ... tighter? More intimate? Perhaps because of the implication what their presence in the vehicle actually meant. That must have been it, because it felt even more confining as Spencer gave the driver his address. Or maybe it was because, as he worked out the details with the driver, he was being slowly and subtly ambushed by the leather-wrapped demon beside him. A hand over his thigh. A thumb dangerously close to his groin.
The cab pulled away from the club, and as Spencer sat back against the seat, Nick slid closer.
“I suppose now,” he murmured, a hint of taunting in his voice, “would be a good time to lay down the ground rules.”
“Ground rules?” Spencer moistened his lips. “Such as ...?”
“Customer’s always right,” Nick said. “You tell me.”
Spencer glanced at the cabbie, who hopefully could hear nothing on the other side of the glass window. “I’m assuming stuff like ... condoms and all that is self-explanatory.”
“You’re assuming.” Nick grinned. “Would you bet your arse on it?”
Spencer wasn’t quite sure how this space, that could easily hold a wheelchair plus people, could be so crammed. “Well, play nice, use lube ... the works. Common courtesy. It’s not ... really that complicated, is it?” His nerves were showing. Again. But as far as negotiations went, arranging an arse-fucking was hardly sorting out a peace treaty in the Middle East.
“Well, one thing I hear often is ‘not in the face,’ or ‘no permanent marks’ ...” Nick shrugged, then idly rubbed the area just to the side of a nipple piercing.
“Uh.” Now the tension had even drained the oxygen from his lungs. “Err, no. That’s too much.”
Nick licked his teeth. “Well, we can set a safeword regardless. I can push until I get the sense we’re taking things too far. If I do take it too far, you can safeword.”
“Ehhh.” Spencer regarded him again, top to bottom (awful pun, his inner voice informed him). “Let’s just stay ... the other side of that.”
Nick grinned. “You’re calling the shots.”
That sounded quite ironic, too, like Nick was just humouring him. Well. He’d found the one whore in London who specialised in people with a fetish for smartarses. Spencer would never have assumed Nick was his type – it had been his body much more than his personality that had attracted him, but even that cheekiness intrigued him now. Besides, if the guy was going to top him, Nick was allowed to be a bit of a smartarse. That should definitely be more fun and interesting than dating a doormat. How long since he’d had a sufficiently aggressive top? Way too long. Throwing a surreptitious glance at the devil in black leather, Spencer had a feeling he’d be making up for that in spades tonight.
When they finally arrived in Holland Park, Spencer opened the gate, and then the door to his three-bedroom house. He’d had it gutted and completely rebuilt over the last two years rather than move to somewhere bigger, largely because he liked the area. Apart from knocking down a few walls, he’d had the eighties interieur ripped out, too, as well as some of the awful seventies floors. It was now all clean lines, expensive materials, and ... well, Spencer thought of it as cosy. It was also all his. Tailored-to-measure.
While he shed his coat and jacket, he let Nick take in his surroundings, but Nick didn’t stand and stare, just kept his attention on Spencer.
“I’ll, uh, add some money for the cab drive home.” He was about to kick himself – as if a pro
stitute couldn’t cover his own travel expenses – but Nick smiled a bit at him.
“Thanks. What about that safeword?”
“Don’t think I’ll need it.”
Nick lifted an eyebrow. “Humour me.” Delivered so deadpan and no-nonsense that Spencer was taken aback. “Just for when shit goes wrong.”
“Fine.” He glanced at his bookshelf. “Bonaparte.” He’d been reading a biography.
Nick nodded. “Now, to your fantasies. What do you like? Anything in particular you want to try?”
“Err.” Spencer pulled at his tie. “Just normal sex will be fine. I’m not that interesting. I’ll probably be one of your less weird clients.”
“I’m assuming you don’t want to do this in your kitchen.”
Spencer glanced around. They were still standing in the kitchen, weren’t they? “Right. Of course. This way.”
Down the hall, to the left, and when the hell did he start bringing prostitutes into his bloody bedroom? Tonight, apparently. Oh God.
Once the door clicked shut, Nick straightened like the sound was the boxing ring bell and it was game on. He faced Spencer and gave him the same appraising look, his lips quirking and one eyebrow arching thoughtfully. Then, “Take off my jacket.”
Spencer instinctively reached for the button on his own coat, but it wasn’t there. Nick’s words replayed in his head: Take off my jacket.
His hands froze in mid-air. “Pardon me?”
“Take off. My jacket.” Nick’s chin dipped and he looked at Spencer through his blond fringe with don’t make me repeat myself written all over his eyes.
Taking a deep breath, Spencer stepped towards Nick. Funny how Nick was intimidating when he approached in all his cocky here I fucking am glory, but approaching him was even worse. What the hell? Spencer could make juniors stammer and bend clients to his will. But this blond kid who’d wrapped himself in leather and arrogance turned him into a stuttering, stumbling idiot. It didn’t –
Nick cleared his throat.
“Right. Sorry.” Spencer reached for the half-zipped jacket. The metal was cool, but as he drew down the zip, he could feel the heat radiating off the bare flesh underneath. Earlier tonight, he’d imagined himself groping and pawing at a prostitute just like Percy was likely doing right now, but he carefully kept himself from even grazing Nick’s chest or his smooth, flat abs. Not until Nick told him to.
If It Flies Page 2