When Nick reached his arse, he was nearly ready to go again, but he almost jumped out of his skin when Nick’s thumbs slid into his crack and pulled his cheeks apart.
He tensed, then felt a thumb trail the slickness of the lube there, and wondered if Nick got a kick out of his lube-slick hole. While wondering if those thumbs would enter him.
Nick scooted further down his legs, changed the angle and pressed against Spencer’s perineum, but almost more intense was the slightest scrape of nails against the back of his sac. There was no way he could fall asleep now. Spencer rested his forehead against his arm and let Nick do whatever the hell he wanted.
As if satisfied with what he’d found, Nick’s hands moved back up all the way and started again at his neck. “So far, I think you’ll be okay on Monday. You might keep a bruise for a good week or so, though.”
Bruise?
Spencer lifted his head and glanced back, bringing Nick into the very edges of his peripheral vision. “You bruised me?”
“Not yet.” Matter-of-fact, as always.
Spencer lowered his head again. Nick had already mind-fucked him within an inch of his life; what was a bruise or two?
“You like this, don’t you?” There was a hint of a growl in his voice now, one Nick punctuated with a subtle roll of his hips, pressing his erection against Spencer’s bare arse.
“Yes, I do.”
“Would you like it more if I was fucking you?”
Spencer groaned before he could stop himself.
Nick laughed softly. “Of course you would.” Right back to taunting. Prick.
Nick shifted more weight over his arms and kept kneading Spencer’s muscles, which ached under the pressure. His skin burned, bordering on too much but staying mostly within the realms of incredibly arousing. It wouldn’t have surprised him at all if this was how Nick left a bruise. He massaged like he wasn’t satisfied with tenderising muscles. His hands demanded pliability from Spencer’s bones.
And all the while, there was that ever-present erection against Spencer’s arse. He couldn’t not focus on it, not even when Nick dug his fingers or the heels of his hands into Spencer’s back. It was always there. Always pressing into his skin and his awareness.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. His whole body throbbed in ways that should have been uncomfortable, but weren’t. The pain was ... well, shit, now he was starting to understand why some people liked it. Pain at the hands of someone like Nick, with the unspoken assumption – command – that he would enjoy it, was amazing.
And arousing. So, so arousing. Between the pleasant thrum of pain and the hot friction, not to mention that hard-on, Spencer’s erection was rubbing against the bed every time his body shifted or twisted under Nick’s touch. Strange, being so hyperaware of two hard cocks when he wasn’t even getting fucked. Or when, strictly speaking, one was just there to pleasure him. Though Nick fulfilled that role without seeming to.
Compared to the awkwardness of a one-night stand, this was so much easier. Compatibility didn’t even figure. No hot guys with terrible habits or no chemistry, no interesting guys with awful body hygiene or a tiny dick. Nick came in a package that was exactly as ordered – and probably included a return policy. He was starting to see Percy’s point.
He shifted again, trying to relieve some of the pressure against his dick.
“Now you’re ready for the second course,” Nick said on top of him.
Spencer nodded and opened his legs further. His pulse was speeding up when he heard the zip again, then the condom packet and the lube cap, and he couldn’t bloody wait to feel Nick inside him again. Slow or fast, bruising or without a trace, he really didn’t care as long as Nick did it.
Nick’s slick thumbs were at his arse again, digging into the muscle, opening him up for the cock that immediately followed, thrust in hard and fast. Spencer gritted his teeth to keep himself from shouting; the assault was amazing and yet completely brutal.
Nick didn’t even check with him if he was okay, merely placed one flat hand on Spencer’s lower back, levering himself that way as he began to thrust. No teasing, not this time. If Spencer hadn’t known better, it felt almost as if Nick was at the end of his patience. Now he was getting everything Nick had been holding back, and it was powerful and completely savage and it hurt, but every time it hurt, mellow pleasure trickled all through his body.
He bore Nick’s full weight, received his full strength in every movement, and yelped when Nick reached over to pull him back by the shoulders.
Spencer arched his back, nearly protesting at the rough treatment, his arse on fire. Seriously on fire. What had been teasing wasn’t now. Nick fucked him hard and mercilessly, the bed creaking around them while Spencer did what he could to take it. Now this was what he’d paid for, though it was almost too much.
Nick paused just as Spencer was about ready to shoot. He shifted his weight and took Spencer’s wrists, folded them together in the small of his back, and oh God, this was hot beyond words, Nick’s weight on his arms, Spencer’s face pushed against the mattress with every thrust. He managed to buck up and, with an encouraging sound from Nick, get to his knees with Nick hilted inside him.
Every thrust now shook him to his core, his brain spinning on vague ideas of being trapped, captured, imprisoned, abused, his devilish captor fucking him without mercy or consideration. Fantasising that he really hated this, but he loved it, that there was nothing he could do about it, and that he was completely at somebody’s mercy, unable to speak even to beg.
Nick groaned, and it was the hottest thing Spencer had ever heard. Nick’s dam cracking, the veil of complete control lifting just enough to show the raw, primal man underneath who could only keep it together for so long. That Nick was even capable of getting there, that he’d got there while fucking Spencer, was the most spectacular turn-on imaginable.
Spencer wanted to fuck him back, to complement his movements and drive him even deeper, even harder, but he was pinned. Immobilised. One hundred per cent at the mercy of a man who, in spite of his own quickening breathing and tightening grasp on Spencer’s hands, wasn’t about to relinquish that control.
So Spencer didn’t fight him. He didn’t fight anything. He just knelt there and basked in it, lost himself in it, completely gave himself up to every thrust, and though he never came very hard the second time, he did this time, and his entire body wanted to shake but couldn’t because he couldn’t. Fucking. Move.
Nick rode Spencer’s climax right past its peak, and he fucked him even harder, to the point it hurt – but God, it was amazing – and finally released a strangled sound, one that might have been laced with profanity, and forced himself all the way into Spencer. His hips jerked against Spencer’s arse, like his mind wanted a few more thrusts but his body couldn’t handle any more.
In the next instant, Nick exhaled and released Spencer’s wrists. Spencer let his arms fall to his sides – didn’t really need them anyway – and just closed his eyes and panted.
And somewhere in the delirium, a single thought crystallised in his brain: This guy is worth twice what he charges.
Anybody who could get him off with nothing but fucking was a genius.
Nick pushed away, and that kind of gave Spencer back some control over his body. He fell to the side, this time watching Nick head to the bathroom, sliding the condom off and knotting it while he walked, when Spencer would have been overtaxed with merely walking and breathing at the same time.
God, it paid to hire a pro.
He drifted pleasantly, aching all over from two of the most intense orgasms of his life. Fuck the clock. Fuck the price. Just ... fuck.
Nick came back out of the bathroom, half-dressed and again looking unruffled, though flushed. He grinned when he saw Spencer flat on the bed. “Can any of the partners in your law firm do that?”
Spencer laughed, half-disbelieving how cocky the bastard was. “If they did, I’d definitely enjoy my job a great deal more.”
Oh. Money. Yeah – that. Spencer groaned and tried to remember where he’d put his wallet. Should be in his jacket. Though remembering Nick’s rate, that wouldn’t get him anywhere, unless Nick took credit cards. He did keep some cash in the living room, though. He’d stashed a few grand in a safe ever since the global financial meltdown in 2008. That whole debacle had spooked him enough to have a safe built into one wall to keep money for emergencies. This counted, kind of.
“Uh. Let me just ...” He managed to assemble enough bones in his body to get to his feet and walked – wobbled, really – into the living room. The safe opened after he’d focused enough to punch in the combination, and he pulled a wad of cash out. Twenty-five twenties, a respectable little pile. On second thought, he added a fifty. If Nick had told him to, he’d have given him all of it, because right now he was so floaty that he didn’t give a damn.
Nick took the money from his hand, folded it and pushed it into his left trouser pocket, his jacket dangling from his shoulder.
“Uh, money for the cab ...”
“I’ll take the Tube.”
Did he live on the Circle or Metropolitan line somewhere? Spencer cleared his throat. “So do I have to, uh, go into that Market Garden place again?”
“Dunno. Do you?”
“I mean, to see you again.”
Nick shook his head. “I have private clients I meet outside.”
“Are you free ...” Like, tomorrow? “Soon?”
“Here’s my number.” Nick handed him a card. “Text me. I’ll let you know. But next week.”
No explanation for the long wait. Exams? Too many clients? Spencer realised he was thinking about negotiating with a rentboy while naked and fucked out. He still didn’t give a shit. “Uh. Thanks.”
Nick nodded. “See you soon.” He turned and shrugged into his leather jacket on the way out. He zipped it, though from the back Spencer couldn’t see if he zipped it all the way or left some of his bare chest showing. He took off out the front door, leaving Spencer alone in a house that echoed with the sharp commands, the silent smirks, and the insane fucking that had left him aching all the way to the bone.
Something in his mind suggested he should stand there and wonder about Nick for a minute or two. Where he was going. If he’d be safe. Why the hell he did this at all. How in God’s name he’d turned a bought-and-paid-for fuck into that.
But all that thinking bullshit could wait. For tonight, he had just enough left to get back to his bedroom, strip off the covers that would need to be washed tomorrow, and collapse into bed.
And for the first time in months, Spencer slept like the dead.
Chapter 5
There weren’t any visible bruises. If there had been, most would’ve been covered by Spencer’s suit anyway, but he’d scrutinised himself, front and back, in the mirror on Saturday morning, on Sunday night, and again before he went to work. By the time he dressed Monday morning, he wasn’t so much paranoid about someone seeing a bruise as he was convinced there should have been some kind of mark. Some sort of black and blue graffiti proclaiming Nick was here. He certainly felt the remnants of Nick’s presence in the stiffness of his muscles and the barely cooled burn on his skin. Sitting comfortably in his office chair was a challenge, though true to his word, Nick hadn’t left him unable to do so.
Yeah, Nick was here all right, but he hadn’t left a single mark. Even the scratches, the streaks running down his chest and converging just above his cock, had mostly faded by Sunday and were gone this morning.
Not a single scrap of evidence on Spencer’s body. No one would possibly know.
No one, that was, except Percy. At least the smug son of a bitch had had the decency to close Spencer’s office door before he said anything.
“So.” Percy strolled across the room and deposited himself in one of the leather chairs in front of Spencer’s desk. “Get your money’s worth?”
Spencer’s cheeks burned. “You could say that.”
“You surprised me, mate.” Percy shook his head. “Of all the guys there, I didn’t think Nick’d be your type.”
Something twisted in Spencer’s gut, and he told himself it was not jealousy. “You’ve been with him?”
“Me?” Percy waved his hand and shook his head again. “No, no. Nick is ... yeah, he’s not my type. At all.”
“Really?”
“Entirely too full of himself.” Percy wrinkled his nose. “I rent one of those guys, the only thing he’d better be full of is me.”
There was no one on the planet who could be quite as crude and to the point as Percy. Well, except maybe Nick.
“I don’t know.” Spencer leaned back in his chair, absently turning a pen over and over between his fingers so he’d at least look casual and unfazed by this whole thing. “I like his attitude. He’s feisty.” And while he’d never cared for these discussions with Percy, his own remark had devolved this conversation into a realm that made his skin crawl. As if he was stooping to the level of the other guys who commented behind their hands about the receptionist’s arse or that courier’s tits. Reducing someone – Nick, of all people – to a slab of meat.
To someone who was bought, paid for, and used.
Does what it says on the tin.
And although Nick had put himself on the market to be bought – at least for a few hours – that didn’t mean others shouldn’t treat him with respect.
Respect. Listen to you, Spencer. You’re still halfway on your knees when it comes to him.
“Well, whatever turns your crank, Spence. You do look a hell of a lot more relaxed. I keep saying, a good whore is the same for us as a weekend at a spa for the missus.”
Only your missus kicked you in the balls and walked away with five of your millions and your favourite house in the countryside.
“What about your Jamaican boy?”
“What about him? I do like some variety.” Percy grinned. “If you’re only renting, you can use the whole range, right?”
Unless you found one that was damn near perfect on the first attempt.
“Well, it worked for me,” Spencer said lamely. “But I’d better get back to work. My private equity guys are chomping on the bit about this reverse merger salto mortale while swinging from the chandelier and paying-no-tax bullshit.” He glanced at the pile of files on his desk, the print-outs and the agreements and the whole history of his current case. Guess who’d be working seventy or eighty hours to get that particular mess straightened out? “I’d, um, better get to it.”
Percy stood. “Sure. Ping me if you need to unwind. Things are kinda slow this month for me.”
Hence dropping in on him. “Will do.”
Sometimes it felt like Percy was trying to push his buttons, goad him into a reaction. When they’d first met, Spencer had been convinced that Percy was flirting with him, way before he knew that Percy swung every which way. Too bad they had absolutely no chemistry at all; never mind how unprofessional it would have been, or how weird it was knowing that Percy’s main kink seemed to be dark skin.
He leaned forwards and pulled the chair closer to the desk, opened the folder at the first Post-it. He was more focused than last week, as if his brain had relaxed over the weekend, unsnarled. To stay engaged with his work, he only had to remember Nick’s disapproving stare and his relentless demand to focus on the here and now. Being not so bloody exhausted helped, too, because after Friday, he’d spent the rest of the weekend sleeping or doing very little. Granted, he might have jerked off more than usual. But that had helped, too.
After a productive few hours, he checked his phone. He’d texted Nick earlier, and lo and behold, a response.
Meet Friday after midnight. No question mark, so it somehow felt more clandestine, like two spies agreeing on something dangerous.
Friday, Spencer texted back, hesitated, then added, All night?
Twelve hundred, came the answer.
I’ll
throw in breakfast?
A few minutes later, Nick responded, See you Friday.
No comment on the breakfast invite, but Spencer figured they’d work that out when the time came. Nick had probably already made a decision one way or another, and discussion wasn’t necessary. Typical.
Maybe they’d discussed all they’d needed to discuss, but that didn’t mean Spencer’s mind was devoid of questions. Not that he punched any of them into his mobile phone for Nick to resolve. They just swirled around inside his brain while he worked. Tried to work. Made it look like he was working.
He gave up and took an early lunch he didn’t have time to take.
Hands in his pockets, eyes down, Spencer left the building and headed for a cafe down the street where they knew his name and his usual order. Just a smile and a wave at the waitress, and his food would be on the way to his table in the back corner.
Anna smiled as she poured him a cup of coffee. “By yourself today?”
“Yeah, just me.” Spencer returned the smile. She left him to his coffee and the certainty that the shadowy ghost of Nick, the one that slipped in and out of the bedroom like smoke under the door, was sitting across from him.
Without all the paperwork, responsibility, and that ringing phone, he let the barrage of questions crash into his skull. What am I getting myself into? Should I cancel? Where in the hell do I find a man like Nick without a price tag?
That, in turn, made him wonder if Nick just got his kicks at the Market Garden with his harem of clients. Did he ever have relationships? A boyfriend? Hell, a girlfriend? For all Spencer knew, Nick had a wife and three kids in Tower Hamlets. Though at five hundred a fuck, he could afford somewhere nicer. Maybe even a dog and a picket fence, all paid for by his dick and his mouth.
He doubted Nick had a wife or a girlfriend, though. A husband or a boyfriend maybe. He just didn’t strike Spencer as being even a little bit bisexual, never mind hetero.
If It Flies Page 5