If It Flies (4 page)

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 prostitute 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 hal , 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.”

22

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.

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.

23

“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 al . 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.

24

“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.”

25

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 spiral ing 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

26

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?”

27

“Plenty.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He abruptly withdrew his hand,

and then gestured at Spencer. “All of that. Off.”

“Al —”

“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 live 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
28

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.