If It Flies (9 page)

comfort. “Sure. If he’s there, why not.”
There wasn’t anything
wrong about my voice just now, was there?
“Have a great evening. I’m just going to hit the sack.”

Percy thankfully left him alone. Man, when had their

relationship started to feel like a pain in the arse, like an

intrusion into his personal space?

Ever since you decided to
have
some personal space,
dumbarse.

Spencer slipped his phone into his pocket, then realised

he and Nick hadn’t agreed on a meeting place. Here, at his

house? Probably. He remembered Nick saying something

about a bag of tricks. That would require space. Privacy.

And just how much could they do during, what, seven, eight

hours? Realistically, more like two hours and sleep and maybe

a repeat. But even one fuck would do him more good than

just about anything else had recently.

60

Sitting in the kitchen, he ate a salad he’d bought at one of

the places around work, and washed it down with a glass of

red that took the edge off a bit. Then had a long soak in the

tub, grooming himself carefully. Shaved, trimmed, polished,

resisted the urge to jerk off to relax. He’d enjoy Nick taking the remaining edges off for him.

He wrapped himself in a large bathrobe and lay down for

a while on the bed. Just to close his eyes and chill after the long hot bath.

61

Chapter

siX

he doorbell prodded him out of darkness, and the
Oh

T
shit!
in his mind jerked him into complete awareness.

The DVD player said 12:05. After midnight. Right after

midnight.

Fuck. Fuck.
Fuck!

He looked down at his robe. Well, this would have to do.

Nick could probably improvise if he’d expected Spencer to be

fully dressed.

On his way to the door, he paused and glanced in the

hal way mirror, arranging himself as much as he could in a few seconds. Then he put his hand on the doorknob, took a deep

breath, and sent up a silent
thank you
to whomever might be listening because Nick was finally here.

He pulled open the door, and the horrid week evaporated.

Leather jacket. Leather trousers. Laced-up boots that

Spencer would probably be untying before too long. And

over his shoulder, the nylon strap of a black duffel bag slung across his back.

Nick’s green eyes seemed darker under the porch light,

and he smirked as he gave Spencer a down-up glance.

“Cutting to the chase, hmm?” That eyebrow quirked, and

Spencer laughed just to keep himself breathing.

“Something like that, yeah.” He stood aside and waved

Nick in.

As Nick moved past him, his gait fast and smooth like

almost everything else he did, something in the bag on his

back rattled. Metal against . . . something. Something solid.

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Spencer gulped as he closed the door. He couldn’t even

begin to imagine what Nick had up his sleeve. If he’d made a

simple fuck-massage-fuck into something so earth-shattering,

God knew what he could do with a handful of devices and

implements.

“Bedroom?” Nick asked over his shoulder, but it sounded

less like a question and more like a confirmation of something he already knew.

“Yeah. The . . . the bedroom.” Spencer followed. “You

remember where it is.”

“I never forget important details.”

You don’t say
.

Two feet into the bedroom, Nick dropped the bag with

a heavy thud and some metal ic clanking. Spencer closed the

door, and stepped around the bag and the rentboy. His heart

was in overdrive now; hard to believe he’d been sound asleep

a few minutes ago, because he was seven-Red-Bulls-and-an-

espresso awake now. His palms were sweaty, making him

wonder when he’d turned into a nervous school kid again.

Oh. Right. When he’d brought this guy home the first

time.This guy who was cupping his elbow in one hand and

stroking his chin—no stubble; wondered if he even needed to

shave—thoughtfully while he looked Spencer up and down.

“The robe.” He made a gesture like he was dismissing

Spencer. Or his robe? “Off.”

Obediently, Spencer undid the knot and shrugged out of

the robe. He draped it over a bedpost, faced Nick again.

Nick’s expression and posture hadn’t changed. Ramrod

straight crevices formed between his slim eyebrows. The only

lines in his face, and even they were perfect and sharp. He still unnerved Spencer, but not as much as he had the first night.

63

What that meant, Spencer had no idea. Was he getting used

to the idea of a sadist-for-hire?

And with all the wheels so obviously turning inside Nick’s

head, Spencer wasn’t sure if he should be intrigued or scared

out of his bloody mind. Maybe both.

Spencer blew out a breath.

“Hmm?” Nick asked.

“Should I . . .?” Spencer indicated the ground. That was

where things started, wasn’t it, and he was itching to get

started.

“You like kneeling.” One of those statements. “Done

anything to deserve it?”

Deserve it? What?
“I worked my arse off all week?”

Nick’s lips quirked with genuine amusement. “Lippy.

Might have to gag you.”

Oh. God.

“Safeword’s ‘Bonaparte,’” Nick said. “Remember?”

Surprised that Nick did, Spencer nodded. “I do. How

does that work if I’m gagged?”

“
When
you’re gagged.” Nick’s lips curled into that

demonic little grin. “Ever done martial arts? The tap to signal you’re giving up? That works for me.” Nick demonstrated a

quick double-tap on the tight leather of his trousers. “Got it?”

So Nick had done kung fu or something? Spencer really

wanted to know more about the man. Where he’d come from,

why he did what he did, whether he liked him or whether it

was all business all the time.

Nick cleared his throat. “Got it, Spencer?”

“Yeah. Got it. I can remember that.”

Nick nodded and indicated the ground.

Spencer almost hurried to the spot and knelt.

64

Oh, that took care of the awkwardness of standing

naked and being studied. And how extremely odd that he

preferred it down here. Nick touched Spencer’s hair, trailing

the tips of his fingers down his temple and along his jaw,

pushed two fingers between his lips. “Show me how much

you missed me.”

Oh hell, what was it about Nick that something so

relatively minor could turn him on so fiercely?

Because nobody else just pushed their fingers into his

mouth or told him in no uncertain terms what the rules were.

And that they weren’t up for negotiation. Spencer sucked on

the two fingers, pretended they were a dick, traced them with

his tongue and tried to get between them, but Nick resisted

the attempt, so Spencer moved his head, fucking his own

mouth with Nick’s fingers.

“Very good,” Nick whispered. The turn-on was immediate

and hit Spencer low in the gut. Nick wouldn’t have to work

hard to get him off tonight. That bag of tricks there was serious overkill. All it took really was Nick’s attitude, his approval, and that big dick of his.

“Hmm, you did miss me.” Nick grinned. “That much,

huh?”

And then some.
Spencer just moaned an affirmative

around Nick’s fingers. Nick’s other hand was on his hair

again, stroking, petting. Calming and exciting at the same

time. He squirmed, shifting his weight from one knee to the

other. Somewhere in his mind, or in some parallel universe,

he was already prostrate in front of Nick, taking him hard and fast until Nick pushed him to the very edges of bearable and

climaxed himself, and in the present, in this dimension, that

mental image made his head spin and his heart pound.

65

“All night,” Nick whispered, still stroking Spencer’s hair.

“I can have so much fun with you now, can’t I?”

The whimper escaped before Spencer could try to stop it.

Once it was out, he didn’t care.

Nick grinned, and then tugged the fingers Spencer had

been sucking on. Spencer instinctively parted his lips to let

Nick’s fingers slide out. As Nick withdrew his hand, he said,

“Get my bag.”

And here we go.

Spencer leaned towards the bag, which was just close

enough for him to grab without moving from this comfortable

spot at Nick’s feet. He brought the bag back and set it beside him, looked up at Nick.

“Open it.”

He unzipped the bag. Holy hell. What
was
half this stuff?

It looked like a mix of sporting equipment, office supplies,

kitchen appliances, and torture devices. The nipple clamps,

he recognised. Porn was educational once in a while, after al .

The long leather-wrapped handle with the thin, knotted tails

was pretty self-explanatory, as were the handcuffs. The ball

gag was—wait, was that a horse bit?

Nick squatted in front of Spencer, leather trousers creaking

and his knee brushing Spencer’s bare leg. He reached into the

bag and riffled through it, pushing aside all manner of things that must have come from the junk door in de Sade’s kitchen.

Spencer held his breath. The horse bit was a little much. The

cat o’ nine tails, maybe.
Fuck
those spurs or whatever the hell they were.

“Ah. Here we are.” Nick pulled something free, and stood.

Spencer looked up. In one hand, Nick had a black satin

blindfold. Okay, fair enough. Not that he wanted to be blind

in the same room as that goddamned bag, but okay. In the

66

other hand, a skinny, foot-long stick, like an extra-long swizzle stick. Or an unlit sparkler. Except with a grip.

His arse clenched. No way.

He swallowed. “What . . . what exactly is that for?”

Every one of Nick’s teeth showed. His Cheshire Cat look

was even more unsettling than those little barely-there grins.

Especially when he had . . . whatever the fuck that thing was

in his hand. “This?”

“Yeah. That.”

“Quite simple, really.” Nick slid the blindfold over his

own wrist so he wouldn’t drop it. Then he leaned down. He

held the stick by the handle and pressed the last two or three inches of the opposite end against Spencer’s stomach. Fairly

straightforward. At least it didn’t go anywhere near his arse.

Nick lifted that free end with his index finger and pulled

it back so the stick bowed with tension.

Oh. Crap.

He let it go.

Snap
.

“Fuck!” Spencer grimaced and bit back a shitload more

profanity. The intense sting, concentrated into a single tiny

spot, took his breath away. “Is that even legal in this country?”

“Don’t know.” Nick looked at him, all innocence and

angel wings with those lifted eyebrows. “I may have neglected

to declare them at customs. Got them at a specialist event.”

Specialist event? Did toppy rentboys with a pile of

interrogator tools have their own trade fairs?

“Not sure what I’d tell customs, anyway.” He looked

thoughtfully at the stick in his hand. “Declaring myself in

possession of ‘evil sticks’ seems like it would just raise eyebrows and”—he waved his other hand—“I can’t be bothered.”

Can’t be bothered. Right. “Evil sticks? Seems . . . apropos.”

67

Nick shrugged. “That’s what the vendor called them.”

“Mm-hmm. Those can’t be covered by the Geneva

Conventions.”

“Sure hope not.” Nick grinned. He cupped Spencer’s

face in one hand, the firm but gentle touch sending a shiver

through him. “You’re cute when you’re freaked out. We better

get to business.”

Business. Which involved getting him aroused as all hell

and then crashing him down to earth, though he hadn’t felt

the impact last time. Only when Nick closed the front door

behind himself, that part was bad. Still had several more hours before that was an issue, though.

“Here.” Nick dangled the blindfold from his outstretched

fingers.

Spencer took it and put it on. Nick vanished from view,

but the smell of leather was still there. So was Nick’s hand.

Spencer relaxed and was tempted to rub his face against

Nick’s thigh. Didn’t, though.

Nick took his shoulder and pulled, indicating he should

get to his feet. When Nick pushed him towards the bed,

Spencer stretched out a foot to make sure he wasn’t stepping

on anything.

“Just trust me.”

Just.
Right.

“Here.” He took Spencer’s hands and placed them on the

footboard of the bed. “Hold onto that. ‘Bonaparte’ or the

double-tap stops everything.”

Everything. Spencer nodded, closed his fingers around

the edge. He had to bend forwards, but the position itself was comfortable and stable.

Nick pushed up against him, his leather-clad groin

brushing Spencer’s arse. He tapped the inside of Spencer’s

right leg. “Open further.”

68

Spencer slid one foot over the carpet and couldn’t believe

he was doing this.

Absolutely not
, he heard himself telling a boyfriend a year or two ago.
No blindfolds. No fucking way
.