Wait, what? Who the hell is paying for this? I’m in charge, not –
“Clock’s ticking, Spencer.” Nick glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “Go on.”
“Sorry.” How many times was he going to apologise tonight?
The zip caught at the bottom, and he tugged it until it separated. Relieved, he drew back his hands, but a sharp jump of Nick’s eyebrow gave him pause.
“I didn’t say to unzip it,” he said. “I said take it off.” He lowered his gaze to his right sleeve, then his left, looked at Spencer again and cocked his head. The Well? wasn’t spoken, but holy fuck, it was there.
Spencer went around behind Nick and pulled the jacket by the shoulders, stepped back and slid it down his arms. Smooth, smooth shoulders, perfectly shaped. Nick’s poise was as controlled and grand as if he were a stage magician. And yet he didn’t seem melodramatic at all. Something about that easy confidence twisted Spencer’s balls, and he wasn’t even sure why. He folded the jacket and placed it on a chair, stealing a glance at Nick’s back even as he did it. Nick was cut, front and back. Smooth, too. Waxed, lasered, or just naturally hairless.
Nick didn’t turn to face him, so Spencer swallowed a moment of hesitation and walked around him. Quite subtly, Nick made him do things that he simply hadn’t imagined himself doing. Small things, but, shit, poignant.
“Like what you see?” Nick asked.
Spencer nodded. “You’re in shape.”
Nick grinned. “Only the very best for my boy Spencer.”
Wait, what? Who was the boy here?
“Take off the cufflinks and tie.”
Spencer’s hands were up to his throat before he could think better of it. He pulled at the fine Italian silk and smoothed it before he dropped it on – well, not the chair with Nick’s jacket. Somehow, those piles of clothes should stay separate. He put it on the bed, fiddled the cufflinks out of the French cuffs. They flared open, making his wrists feel naked and vulnerable.
He dropped the links into his trouser pocket so they wouldn’t get lost.
“Your shirt.”
Spencer unbuttoned it, eyes on Nick’s smooth chest, pulled it free and opened the last few buttons. He was about to take it off, when Nick’s “Stop” stopped him.
Nick looked him up and down. Again. One more time. Some sort of mindfuckery, Spencer had no doubt, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what. Nick gave him a nod, indicating to finish that part of the striptease, and Spencer finished removing his shirt. Under Nick’s scrutiny, he was glad he did work out whenever possible – swimming, running, because otherwise the job stress would simply murder him. And now, it amazed him just how exposed he could feel while he was still dressed to the waist.
Nick motioned him forward with two fingers.
Spencer followed, moved right up to where Nick indicated.
This close up, Nick was shorter, slighter than him, but that thought faded when Nick placed his fingers on Spencer’s sternum. “Fantasies? Anything you’ve always wanted to try? Stuff from the locked part of your hard drive? Tell me.”
Tell me. That may as well have been the password to those files buried deep in the back of Spencer’s mind, because his mouth didn’t hesitate to respond. “I like it rough.”
“Define ‘rough,’ Spencer.” Those two fingers trailed across Spencer’s chest, towards his nipple, and Nick’s nipple ring suddenly had Spencer’s attention. “How rough?”
“I ...”
“There’s all kinds of degrees of rough, Spencer.” He really liked saying his name, didn’t he? His fingers drew closer to Spencer’s nipple, making progressively smaller circles. “There’s the kind that leaves marks.” Green eyes flicked up, down again. “There’s the kind that leaves serious marks.”
Oh God. The man hadn’t been joking about the things he could offer besides topping. And maybe, in the privacy of his own home, with a guy who was discreet and a professional – maybe it was possible to actually act on those fantasies. It would be hard to shock this guy, wouldn’t it?
“N-no visible marks.”
A grin. A filthy, shiver-inducing grin. Nick looked at him through that blond fringe again, tossed his head, looked at him with nothing over his eyes. “Well, they’ll be visible to me, won’t they?”
Spencer swallowed. “You know what I mean. Nothing anyone at the office will see.”
Nick nodded and made a quiet sound, watched his finger continue its spiralling path towards Spencer’s nipple. “And what about on surfaces no one at the office will see?”
“Um, well ...” He sucked in a hiss of breath as Nick’s nail took over for his fingertip, trailing round and round that sensitive flesh, biting in just enough to keep Spencer from forming a coherent thought. “Just ... no blood.”
“No blood through the skin?” Nick teased, pressing in with the edge of his nail. “Or none under the skin either?”
What? What the hell? What the hell are you –
Bruising. Right.
Couldn’t he just say that, then?
As if he could hear Spencer’s thoughts, Nick met his eyes, and that damn grin curled a little higher on one side.
Oh. Of course he couldn’t just say it. That wouldn’t fuck with Spencer’s mind nearly enough, would it?
“I need to be able to sit at my desk and work,” Spencer said, and, funny, but this very simple, very reasonable statement already felt a little bit like he was defying Nick. What, fifteen minutes in? Something like that. And why on earth not defy Nick? He was a rentboy, so it was Spencer who was actually in control. He assumed he’d at least get to come in the next two hours. Nick had to know what he was doing, so, uhm, maybe try and relax.
“I’ll improvise. Don’t have my bag of tricks with me.”
Toys. Whips? What ... oh God. Spencer glanced at the bed and Nick slapped him sharply on the chest, making him jump. What was that for?
“Look at me.”
Oh. Spencer wondered briefly if Nick would try to make him call him “sir” or something, because that was probably where the spell would break. Just a tiny bit too far towards ridiculous.
Nick dug his fingernails – did he file them to be so sharp? – into Spencer’s chest and dragged them down. One went across his nipple, and Spencer jumped, but his balls jumped harder.
“Whatever I’ll do to your arse will be fine by Monday,” Nick stated matter-of-factly. “At worst, sit on a pillow.”
“I can’t ... I can’t take a pillow to work.”
Nick’s shoulder rose in a half-shrug. “Then don’t make me do more to your arse than you can handle on Monday.”
Sweet. Mother. Of God.
“Okay.” Sir. Wait, no, that’s –
“You’re very easily distracted.”
“Not really.” Spencer swallowed. “Just a lot to ... process. Take in.”
Nick responded with a toothy grin. “Not yet there isn’t.”
What the fuck does – Good Lord, is everything this man says loaded?
“Anyway.” Nick cleared his throat and was right back to business, still teasing the fuck out of Spencer’s nipple. “You have condoms, yes? And lube?”
“Plenty.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” He abruptly withdrew his hand, and then gestured at Spencer. “All of that. Off.”
“All –”
“Yes. Two hours, Spencer. The more time you spend dressed, the more time I spend dressed.”
Well, shit. Spencer got his clothes off so fast they may as well have evaporated. When he was completely naked, he stood there, in the middle of the room, wondering what would happen next. All part of the diabolical plot, he was sure.
Smirking, Nick cupped his elbow in one hand and thoughtfully stroked his chin with the other. He walked slowly towards Spencer. Then around him. Even when he was outside of Spencer’s peripheral vision, Spencer could feel him looking him up and down. Goose bumps rose everywhere goose bumps could, and his spine felt like a crackling bundle of liv
e wires just barely contained beneath his skin.
Nick appeared again and stopped, still stroking his chin. “Where do you keep all your necessities?”
Spencer gestured at the bedside table. “It’s all in there.”
“Get it out. Leave it on the table where I can find it easily.”
At some point, it dawned on Spencer that Nick wasn’t asking him to do anything. There was no “will you” or “please.” Strange thing was, that fact didn’t dawn on Spencer until the lube and condoms were already sitting next to the reading lamp and he was halfway back to where Nick was waiting. Motherfucker.
“I think I’m a bit too dressed.” Nick’s thumb and forefinger left his jaw and rotated downwards, pointing at the floor. “Boots.”
You’re kidding, right? You want me to kneel, bare-arse naked, on my own bedroom carpet, and take off your fucking boots when I’m the one coughing up two hundred and fifty quid an hour?
Nick may or may not have been kidding – likely not – but Spencer was on his knees, bare-arsed naked, on his own bedroom carpet, taking off Nick’s fucking boots. And paying for the privilege.
Nick’s feet were bare, and his toenails were coated in black polish, just like his fingernails. Spencer wiped his hands on his thighs, then made to get up –
And Nick touched his shoulders, pushing him down. Holding him in place.
It was so bizarre, Spencer didn’t even know what to say or do. Normally, he’d have freaked out if anybody had given him that order, inside or outside the bedroom, but following Nick’s orders didn’t feel so bad. It didn’t feel weird, and he suspected it would stay that way as long as Nick didn’t push too far. There was something to be said for hiring a pro, and he was starting to appreciate that Nick was one. At least, he was hired help rather than somebody who actually mattered to him in some way in his real life. Office, job, family, all the other things.
He stayed down, found himself breathing a little faster than before.
“Look up.”
He looked up, not sure if he’d see concern or something else, maybe checking in with him to make sure he was still good, but Nick’s dash of arrogance hadn’t changed at all. “You like leather, right?”
Spencer nodded. “More than PVC.”
“I didn’t ask that.”
Ouch. Like Nick had told him to focus again, told him they weren’t having tea in the kitchen together. Nick had drawn a line in the sand there, and Spencer had stepped over it, unaware it existed at all. Slowly, carefully, Nick seemed to be penning him in, and Spencer wondered for a moment if and when he’d freak out. Maybe when the guy shoved his feet into his face. Or ... something. He should probably call a halt to the whole thing. Bonaparte?
“Show it.”
Spencer glanced up again. “What?”
“You like leather?” Nick’s lips pulled back in an evil, evil grin. “Show it.”
“How?”
Nick pushed his hips forward. “Lick the seam.”
Uh. Spencer stared at the guy’s groin right in front of his eyes, the flap of leather covering the zip. Somehow, specifying “seam” sounded dirty in his ears, but he moved that little bit closer, stuck his tongue out and gingerly traced the smooth leather. He could smell the zip from here, the metallic tang, but the taste of leather was stronger, and he thought he could sense a growing bulge just a breath away. God, he hoped Nick was hung.
Cocky as he is, he has to be. Unless he’s compensating or –
“That’s enough.”
The sharp comment straightened Spencer’s spine. He looked up.
The prostitute smiled, and an odd sense of relief rushed through Spencer, though somewhere in his body it crossed over a conduit and became electricity, and that electricity went straight down to his balls. So strange, being this off-balance and aroused at the same time. And one didn’t help the other at all: the more turned on he was, the more off-kilter he was. The more off-kilter, the more turned on. What the hell?
Nick leaned back a little and tilted his head, looking past Spencer’s face and farther down. The smile turned to another one of those mind-bending grins. “Well. Looks like I have plenty to work with, don’t I?”
Heat rushed into Spencer’s face as well as his groin. “Thank you,” was all he could think to say, and he wasn’t sure why.
Nick’s hand moved over Spencer’s cropped hair. The touch was surprisingly gentle. It put Spencer on guard because, knowing what he did about Nick, gentle could very abruptly become ... not. At the same time, though, it was calming. Like an intermission, a moment Nick had granted him to catch his breath.
“How long has it been since you’ve been fucked, Spencer?”
Every muscle below Spencer’s waist tightened. “It’s ... a while. A few weeks, maybe.” Longer? He couldn’t even remember right now. Not since ... at least not ... what was the question?
“That long?” Nick’s tone walked that razor-fine line between playful and snide. “Though I suppose if it hadn’t been a while, I wouldn’t be here tonight, would I?”
“No.” Spencer closed his eyes and focused on those long, fine fingers moving over his hair in a smooth, calming rhythm.
“I guess that means I should be careful, shouldn’t I?” Playful? Observant? Matter-of-fact? Fuck, Spencer couldn’t even tell. “Rough is one thing, but I wouldn’t want to –” He paused, and Spencer swore he could feel the man grinning. “– really hurt you.”
“It hasn’t actually been –” Spencer’s mouth snapped shut. I didn’t ask that echoed in his mind.
“It hasn’t actually been what?”
He moistened his parched lips. “Hasn’t actually been that long since I’ve been ...” He pulled in a deep breath and looked up at Nick. “Penetrated.” And why was he telling him that? Nick’s job was to make him feel good – not self-conscious. He got enough of that elsewhere, if he really wanted it. And he didn’t. Yet he didn’t move away from his position.
“So you’ve been a naughty boy and put something up your arse by yourself. What size? Are we talking a banana, a couple fingers, or a silicone horse dick?”
Horse dick? What was the little bastard thinking? That he was into animals? “Uh. Normal size. Silicone. I don’t do food.”
Nick snickered. “Or have food do you.” He didn’t continue, but the silence was now definitely thoughtful. The caress continued, keeping him in place and calm, yet some of the tensions had returned with that last question. Nick was hitting his buttons to gauge his reactions, maybe. Get to know him, his temper, his responses. Damn, the guy was clever. One of the reasons why Spencer had stayed away from prostitutes was the idea that they were cheap and nasty and uneducated and that his hand (or a dildo) really could achieve the same results – for a lot less money.
I stand corrected.
“Show me your favourite.” Another straightforward order. Spencer made to get up, but Nick pressed down on his shoulder again. “Let’s go together.”
It was a bit of an awkward shuffle on his knees, but he made it to the nightstand. He had a small collection – six in total, but really only used three of them these days. The mid-sized, electric-blue, silicone dildo was the one he used the most; then a similar size in harder plastic that vibrated; and a studded steel dildo with a bulbous head. He used that last one for “rough.” Just the size of the head could reduce him to a sweaty, writhing mess.
“Favourite?”
Spencer cleared his head and reached into the drawer, hand hovering for a moment. He picked the blue one. It was the most familiar, the one that required the least preparation. Something about the brushed steel one made it look absurdly like a weapon.
“Hand it to me.”
Spencer lifted it up towards Nick’s hand. Nick brushed his fingers and took the dildo, examined it. “Why that one?”
“It’s just ... a good size for me.”
“Hmm.” Nick eyed the toy, turning it and tilting his head to one side, then the other, inspecting it like he was a godda
mned customs agent or something. For the first time tonight, Nick’s gaze was fixed somewhere other than on Spencer, but Spencer still felt more conspicuous than he ever had in his life.
Part of him wanted to demand to know when they would be through with the games and could get on to what he’d paid for. But as he watched Nick sizing up the dildo like an executioner picking out a weapon, he had a feeling this was what he’d paid for. Not just getting fucked, but getting mindfucked.
“Show me,” Nick said again, and held the toy out.
He blinked. “Sorry, what?”
“Show me.” The hand holding the dildo bobbed once, as if to draw Spencer’s attention to it. “Put some lube on it, and show me.”
I thought I was paying for you to fuck me, not a toy I already bought.
Which totally explained why he took the toy back from Nick and was already reaching for the bottle of lube on the nightstand. The bottle of lube next to the condoms which hopefully symbolised a promise that he’d be getting fucked tonight with something that wouldn’t go back in his drawer.
Lube in one hand, retina-searing blue fake penis in the other, he looked up at Nick. “I ... is there a ...” Articulate. I swear to God I am articulate. He cleared his throat. “Is there a particular position?”
Nick pursed his lips like the question required substantial thought. That in and of itself was mildly alarming – and more than a little intriguing – because knowing him, he might ask Spencer to dangle from the chandelier in the hallway or something. There was some twisted shit behind those eyes. Twisted shit that would have had Spencer saying “yeah, no, I don’t think so” any other night, but for some reason, tonight it excited him as much as it unnerved him.
“On the bed.” Nick nodded sharply towards it. “On your back with your arse at the edge so you won’t have to move when I’m done watching you.”
His hand left Spencer’s shoulder. Spencer stood, grimacing as his knees reminded him how long he’d been down there. How much time did they have left, anyway?
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