If It Flies (12 page)

Spencer swallowed. He’d seen a few videos recently with

single-tails. Those things were brutal. But then, he’d also

winced at an evil stick not long ago, and now they just made

him grumble, which Nick thought was hilarious. He could

get used to a single-tail too.

“I’m game,” he said.

“Of course you are.” Nick grinned and ran his fingers

over Spencer’s hair just like he always did, except this time he let his fingertips continue down Spencer’s cheek. And stop

there, resting against his jaw. “I don’t think I’ve come up with anything yet that you’re not game to try.”

Spencer laughed. “Maybe you’re not trying hard enough.”

“Oh. Oh! Is
that
what it is?” Shaking his head, Nick clicked his tongue. His hand repeated its gentle gesture,

running over his hair and down the side of his face, and Nick

held his gaze as he said, “Spencer, my dear boy, what ever am I going to do with you?”

“Probably beat the hell out of me, and then fuck me?”

Nick bit his lip and shivered. “Oh, yeah. I definitely will.”

“Promise?” Were they getting closer together?

“Absolutely.” They
were
getting closer together.

“Too bad you don’t have the single-tail tonight.” Fuck.

Way closer. What . . .

“We’ll make do just fine without it.”

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Nick pressed his lips to Spencer’s. Every nerve ending

in Spencer’s body lit up with the sudden rush of electricity.

Nick had never kissed him before.
Ever
. And it was amazing.

Spectacular.

Just like he did everything else, Nick assumed control

of the kiss and guided Spencer’s mouth into motion. His

smooth chin grazed Spencer’s, and he knew just how to tease

Spencer’s lips apart. Goose bumps covered Spencer’s skin, his

whole body tuning in to that kiss, focusing on it, surrendering to it completely.

At the other end of some undefined expanse of time,

they separated, pul ing apart almost as slowly as they’d come

together.

Spencer opened his eyes. Then Nick did.

And a split second later, Nick sucked in a breath and

jerked away. “Oh.
Shit.
”

“What?” Spencer put up a hand. “What’s—”

“Fucking hell.” Nick sat up. He turned away from Spencer

and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “God, Spencer,

I’m sorry, that—”

“What? I don’t understand.” Spencer sat up and closed

some distance between them. “What the hell is wrong?”

“We—I shouldn’t have done that. It’s . . . against the rules.”

Spencer put his hand on Nick’s arm, and Nick recoiled,

flinching away from him like he’d smacked him. Nick got up,

running an unsteady hand through his hair.

“I . . . I should really go. This is—”

Spencer stood. He reached for Nick. “Let’s talk, Nick.

We’ve been able to talk about everything else.”

“We
did
talk about this,” Nick snapped. “And we agreed it wouldn’t happen.”

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Spencer froze. He couldn’t comprehend anything. His

brain was still too fucked up from God knew how long in

subspace, but he needed to process things. Which he couldn’t

do if Nick ran out the door before he’d even had a chance

to figure out which way was up, let alone what the hell was

going on.

Nick tossed a few things into his bag, and Spencer really

didn’t like the way his hands shook as he zipped it. Or the way his voice did the same as he muttered, “I should go. We’ll talk later.”“Nick.” Spencer put a hand on Nick’s arm again. “I don’t think this is as bad as you—”

“It is. Trust me, it is, and I need to . . . I can’t . . .” He glanced down at Spencer’s hand, shrugged just right to get

his arm out from under it, and as he took a step back, he

whispered, “Bonaparte.”

Everything stops at Bonaparte.

Spencer shook his head, tried to push the daze away,

halfway aware that Nick might need him, might need his

help, and that they should really talk about this. Hell, Nick

whipped him to tears or complete surrender or both, and they

couldn’t talk about a stupid kiss?

“It’s okay. I . . . I . . . If you need to back off, that’s, uh, fine, but can we talk about this?”

Nick was starting to get dressed.

Don’t let him get out of the door in that state.

“Nick, please. What rules are you talking about? Mine? I

never set those rules. Yours? Who agreed to those rules?”

“Don’t go lawyer on me,” Nick snapped. “It’s not good

form.”

“What, kissing?”

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Nick rolled his eyes. “No, arguing about it. It’s not like I

argue when shit gets too much for you.”

Uh, no. Nick didn’t. Sometimes the pain had been too

much, and Spencer had “tapped out,” but that was twice in

three months, and once had been simply due to fear of pain

rather than the pain itself.

“Okay. Sorry. That
was
bad form. I’m just . . . trying to understand.”

Nick, who was always so together, so easily in control,

looked like he was freaking out. And that, above everything

else, was deeply disturbing. The anchor had lost its hold. The solid ground under Spencer’s feet . . . wasn’t. He didn’t know what to think.

Nick stood there, gaze down and shirt in his hands.

His eyebrows were low over his eyes, his lips taut, and the

tightness in his neck and shoulders hinted at the much more

pronounced, cable-tight tension that always built just before

his orgasm took over. The same muscles and tendons under

the same skin, but now they seemed somehow harder.

“Let’s just talk,” Spencer said. “That’s al .”

Nick closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. “I need to

think first.”

“So, what?” Spencer blinked. “You’re just going to

disappear until you’ve cleared your head? What about me?

Do I get a word in this?”

He expected an angry reaction, a biting response, but

Nick just shifted his weight and kept his eyes down. “I don’t

want to make things worse.”

“Leaving will make things worse.”

Nick’s eyes flicked up to meet his. “So will staying.”

“How?” Spencer swallowed hard. “I’m . . . kind of lost

here.”

88

Sighing, Nick ran a hand through his hair. Then he took

a stiff, hesitant step towards the bed, and finally sat on its very edge, his leather trousers creaking with the slow movement

and the settling of his weight. Spencer wanted to reach for

him, if only to make some contact and be sure Nick was really

still here, but he didn’t move.

“This is a business transaction.” Icicles hung off every

word. “It’s just supposed to be . . .”

“Just sex.”

A stiff shrug. “More or less. Some pain play, dominance . . .”

He waved a hand sharply. “Whatever. Just that. There are lines we can’t cross.”

“Are you saying we’re in danger of crossing those lines?”

Nick met his eyes. Neither of them needed to add the “. . . or have we already?”

Spencer drew a shuddering breath. “I like you, Nick.

I really do. I . . . guess I trust you so much that it’s kind of difficult not to like you.”

Nick shook his head. “That’s the point. You don’t have to

be in control. I do.”

Oh.
Oh.

“It’s okay. I—I can forget that happened. We just got

carried away.” And it had felt so damn nice. “An accident,

though you’re an amazing kisser. I’m good with that. If you

want, you can kiss me. We just change the rules.”

Nick looked at him like he was a complete babbling idiot.

Maybe he was. But damn, it had felt nice, and now that he

knew Nick had lost control, even in this simple, everyday

gesture that still felt more intimate than all the other things they’d done, it thrilled him to his toes. But maybe that was

just ego. The john who got an enormous kick out of the whore

89

climaxing. Some things couldn’t be faked, and maybe for

Nick that was kissing. Of all things.

Nick tapped his temple. “In here, I know it happened.”

His Adam’s apple jumped. “And . . . why.”

Spencer chewed his lip. “Well, that makes one of us.”

Closing his eyes, Nick blew out a sharp breath. “Don’t

make me spell anything out, Spencer. Not tonight.”

It was bizarre to hear Nick pleading. Even at the height

of pre-climax tension, he gave orders. Any question he asked,

he damn sure knew the answer to already. He didn’t beg. He

didn’t plead. He just bloody
didn’t
.

So this? Spencer had no idea how to process this.

“I need to go.” The firmness had returned to Nick’s voice,

but he stood as slowly as he’d sat down. “We’ll talk more.

Next week.”

At least that allowed Spencer to breathe a little easier. This wasn’t a slamming door, just an intermission. There would be

a next week.

He stood too. “I guess we should settle up. For this

evening.”

Nick chewed the inside of his cheek, shook his head.

“We’ll work it out when I come back. When we both have

clearer heads.” He met Spencer’s eyes again. “You won’t be

paying full price for tonight, I just . . . I don’t know how

much . . .”

“I’ll pay you in full for tonight.” Spencer picked up his

wallet off the dresser and slid the notes free. As he held them out to Nick, he added, “If you want to discount it, we can

work that out when you come back.”

Nick eyed the money, then Spencer. With a sigh that

could have been relief, resignation, defeat, or God knew what, he took the cash, and it was probably no accident that their

90

fingers didn’t brush. He slid the notes into his back pocket

and put on his shirt.

“So, next week.” He cleared his throat as he draped his

jacket over his arm. “Same time.”

Spencer nodded. “Same bat time, same bat channel.”

Nick allowed himself a quiet laugh, which relaxed Spencer

a little more. Maybe he was just spooked. Couldn’t think on

his feet right now. Needed to collect his thoughts in private

before the two of them talked it over.

And with an equally quiet “I’ll see you,” Nick left.

Leaving Spencer to ponder, for the next six days, how

something that had felt so good could hurt either of them.

91

Chapter

eighT

on’t be able to make it tonight,
the text said. And a
W
second text, just a few minutes later:
Heading with a
friend to Spain. Realised I haven’t had a holiday in years.

With a friend?

Spencer’s stomach clenched, and he wished he’d left the

phone at his desk rather than taken it with him to lunch.

Nick had never skipped out, always been on time, reliable and

steady like few other people in Spencer’s life.

Though it figured. Getting trashed in Spain with a friend

was one of those things young guys did, and maybe Nick

figured that letting his hair down, getting piss drunk and

possibly laid—
don’t think about that part
—was the best way to relax. Besides, Spain was cheap at the moment, and out of

season, too.

Only problem was, he’d come to rely on Nick for his sanity

after each stressful week, especially now that the firm’s big

merger deal was heating up again, with lots of musical chairs

being fought over in the various practices, and he itched to try to intercept him on the way to the airport. Except that would

be far too clingy. That, and trying to guess the right airport between Heathrow, Gatwick, City, Stansted, and Luton

would be a desperate bid with no chance of success.

He slid his phone into his pocket, feeling abandoned,

bereft, disappointed in Nick and in himself for how much he

relied on this.

What had Percy said?
I do like some variety.

92

Thing was, this was much deeper than punching a hole.

This pain/pleasure thing was so much more complex than

the sex, and on that count, he’d been completely honest with

Nick. He trusted him. And Nick had made a commitment—

to teach him, train him, and above al , to be worthy of that

trust.It was why he could charge pretty much whatever he

wanted. He wasn’t just a prostitute. He wasn’t even just a

top. He was, quite literally, during the scenes, the centre of Spencer’s world.

Stop being so melodramatic,
he admonished himself.
Let
him be young and irresponsible. Hell, he might really just need
a holiday. He’s probably realised he’s lost himself in work—just
like you tend to—and is taking a week off to decompress.

Mere coincidence, Spencer silently insisted, that the

urgent need for a decompression holiday was a week on the

heels of
that
night.

He forced himself not to think about where Nick wouldn’t

be tonight, or who he would be with instead. Now Spencer

had to find a way to deal with a suddenly empty Friday night.

The whole weekend was gaping empty, for that matter, since

Saturday and Sunday would no longer be reserved for letting

aches and bruises fade.

On his way back into the office from lunch, he glanced

at Percy’s door. Could always go have drinks with him. Or, it

being Friday night, the Market Garden was an option.