Authors: LA Witt Aleksandr Voinov
As soon as the thought crossed his mind, a sick feeling
squeezed Spencer’s stomach. He wasn’t committed to Nick
or anything, and was completely free to see or fuck any man
in London or beyond, but he was too uneasy for that. He was
still tripping over too much mental debris to consider fooling around with someone else. He wouldn’t be able to relax and
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enjoy it, so what was the point? Push came to shove, he’d
have a wank in the shower to relieve some tension and call it
a night.
Drinks, though. Drinks with Percy. That would be a
distraction, if nothing else, which would keep his attention
off the fact that his primary distraction was off cavorting in Spain.
He tapped on Percy’s door.
“Come on in.”
As Spencer pushed open the door, Percy held up a finger
and gestured at the phone cradled on his shoulder. He rolled
his eyes and made a
blah blah blah
gesture, which made Spencer laugh.
He eased himself into one of the chairs in front of Percy’s
desk and waited for the man to get off the phone. That didn’t
take long; apparently the conversation was already close to
wrapping up, because within two minutes, Percy had slammed
the receiver down with a bark of “Thank
fuck
.”
Spencer chuckled. “Having a good day, are we?”
His friend groaned and leaned back in his chair. “I swear
on all that’s holy, these motherfuckers are trying to make this merger more difficult.”
“Isn’t that the name of the game with a merger?” Spencer
laughed, thankful for the first time in his life to be discussing a damned merger. “Make it as difficult as humanly possible so
all the faint of heart jump ship?”
Percy sniffed and rolled his eyes again. “You aren’t kidding.
You know they’re talking about reducing headcount in Tax by
half?
After
the merger?” He slammed a palm onto his blotter.
“It’s already a goddamned skeleton crew down there!”
Spencer grimaced. “Really? Has it dawned on anyone in
charge that there’s a reason that department exists? Like, we
need them?”
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“Tell that to the bean counters,” Percy muttered, waving a
hand. “Anyway, what can I do for you?”
“Just wanted to come by and see if you were booked for
the evening. I could stand to go out and drink away the week.”
Percy grinned. “Ah, there’s my lad! I was starting to worry
you’d become a weekend hermit.” The grin broadened and his
eyes narrowed, and Spencer cringed inwardly as that accusing
eyebrow rose. “Or maybe there was a man in your—”
“
Perceval
.” Spencer glared at him, gesturing sharply at the door. “Do you mind? Walls are thin here.”
“Right, right.” Percy winked. “Okay, so I was thinking
maybe there was ‘someone special’ in your life who you were
keeping a secret.”
“No, nothing like that. Just . . .”
Just what, Spencer?
Percy was tuned in too well into Spencer’s inner voice,
because his face asked the same question.
“The merger really drains me.”
A merger is like the
marriage of two companies, right? One entity can deal quite
well on its own. Shit gets complicated when a second entity gets
involved.
How ironic. “I was fal ing asleep over my files these past weeks.”
“Months, Spencer. I thought I’d liberated you from that
existence . . .”
“You certainly gave it a good try.” Spencer inhaled and
exhaled deeply, lifted his shoulders in a what-can-you-do
gesture. “So . . . liberate me again?”
“Damsel in distress?” Percy grinned. He clearly got a kick
out of his Arthurian name.
“I’m not wearing a frock for that. Just . . . I think I need
some of your carefully-applied craziness.”
Percy laughed. “Now, that’s a romance if I’ve ever heard
one. On such short order, I don’t think I can come up with
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something really crazy, though a bunch of the guys are
abseiling from the Shard.”
“I don’t do well with heights.”
“Paintbal ?”
“In November?”
“Short of pushing the senior partners of that other law
firm onto the Tube tracks, that’s all I have at the moment.” He paged through the calendar of his smartphone. “Or what about
this kink party on Saturday? There’s a club that only admits
pretty people, and they’re holding orgies in the countryside.
You know, renting old Georgian manor houses, get a bunch
of people in who pay a few hundred quid for the pleasure, and
then it’s a free-for-al . Oh, and everybody’s wearing masks,
though I’m pretty sure I’ve seen some big movers and shakers
in various states of . . . agitation.” Percy gave him a saucy grin.
“You don’t have prominent moles on the chin or anything, so
you should be okay. If you’re interested, I can get us a couple tickets. It’s mixed audience—the people running it told me
there’s bi guys and gay guys and straight guys who end up on
the wrong side of the tracks . . . purely by accident. And if
you’re not getting your money’s worth, it’s a full refund. The food’s supposedly pretty good too.”
God, where did Percy dig up this stuff? Oh. Ex-investment
banker. Enough said.
Spencer watched his thumb run back and forth along
the edge of the armrest. “And they’re discreet?”
Am I actually
considering this?
“Totally. Given the calibre of men who show up at these
things, everybody knows to keep their mouth shut. No one
would even find out if Prince Harry showed up in a Nazi
uniform for a game of strip pool.”
Spencer snorted. “Are you saying that’s happened?”
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“Not that I’m aware of, but given some of the stuff I’ve
seen? It wouldn’t surprise me.”
“I’m assuming I don’t have to wear a Nazi uniform, do I?
And my eight ball game is a little rusty.” He chanced a look at Percy, hoping no evidence of the last few months was written
across his forehead.
Percy shrugged. “Nah, you’re good. But if you’ve got one,
you—”
“No.” Spencer laughed. “Well, I guess if they’ll let in
riffraff like you, I could give it a go.”
“Excellent.” Funny how Percy’s grin wasn’t nearly as
unnerving now that Spencer had been on the receiving end
of Nick’s.
Wonder if that applies to everything in my life.
Spencer cleared his throat and sat up. “You’ll make the
arrangements?”
“I will.” Percy folded his hands across his lap. “That’ll take care of tomorrow night. Drinks tonight?”
“Absolutely. And they’re on me.”
“Damn right they are.” Percy waved dismissively towards
the door. “Now get back to work and earn me some expensive
alcohol.”
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Chapter
ninE
hoever threw these wild—and yet discreet—sex
W
parties certainly pulled out all the stops. When
Percy stopped in front of the entrance, three valets in bowties and cummerbunds jumped to their feet and hurried down
the steps. They opened the Jag’s doors, and one of them took
Percy’s place in the driver’s seat while another issued a claim ticket.
“Have a good evening, gentlemen,” the third said, holding
open one of the massive double doors. Spencer had been to
corporate shindigs before that looked just like this on the
outside. Between the huge house, the valets, and the rather
expensive-looking jackets hanging on the rack behind the
guy at the coat check, this could have easily been some soiree thrown by a client or one of the partners. Someone who liked
to pour expensive wine and caviar down people’s throats so
they knew just how wealthy he was.
He doubted it would be wine and caviar going down
anyone’s throats tonight. From the confirmation email Percy
had forwarded to him the night before, there definitely
wouldn’t be any wine. No alcohol on the premises, and
violators were summarily banned for life. He could only
imagine the penalties for anything stronger than booze.
Since this was Spencer’s first time, there was a background
check and brief orientation. Fairly straightforward: no means
no, not every sub is your sub, and generally don’t be a fucking wanker. Simple enough. The background check cleared, and
they received white unisex half-masks, which they put on
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before they followed another . . . employee? Valet? Whatever
the hell they were. Cummerbund and bowtie, anyhow, and
the kid led them down a hall lined with elaborate sconces that must have cost a fortune.
It was out here in the long hal , on the way towards
what must have been a ballroom or something similar, that
the reality of the evening started to cleave itself away from
the black tie galas Spencer had attended in the past. Maybe
twenty feet from the door, the smell of leather reached him.
For a moment, a rapid-fire film of memories flashed
through his mind, every one of them starring Nick and those
leather trousers. The scent, the shine, the sound. Holy fuck.
But Nick wasn’t here, so Spencer shivered away the
nostalgia and took a deep breath just before their escort
pulled open one of the immense doors.
Beyond was a large ballroom filled with groups of people.
Men, women, most seemingly in their twenties up to forties,
in a variety of clothes. There were people dressed dramatically in large wigs and fishnets, or understated in tailored suits;
some were getting more casual than that, having shed shirts
and jackets. Everybody wore the half-mask, and the light was
dimmed to flatter. Couches and pillows were strategically
placed, but from beyond that room came the tell-tale
snap
of a whip on naked flesh. He shuddered, the impacts echoing
like a visceral memory.
Candles flickered in a number of places, and attendants
carried drinks and chocolate-dipped fruit. On the couches
were people, some in the early stages of courtship, others very nearly puppy-piled. Men, women, a mix of both, it seemed
almost like it didn’t matter.
The slap of leather on flesh tore him out of watching a guy
with two women, the women on top, teasing and kissing each
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other. Spencer glanced at Percy, who looked like he was about
to join that particular threesome.
Before Percy could suggest they both join in, Spencer
said, “I’ll just go have a look around. I’ll catch up to you.”
Percy made a quiet noise that was equal parts
acknowledgement and dismissal.
Spencer crossed the room, feeling quite a few gazes on
him. He fiddled with the white wristband on his left hand
which indicated he was here for male company. Percy wore
none—anything goes. Such an easy solution that took the
initial guesswork out of the flirting. He made sure it stayed
outside and visible below his shirt cuff while he got used to
his surroundings.
Intriguing sounds came from a side room; doors were
wide open, and as he walked in, Spencer saw a man getting
whipped with a single-tail in front of a smal , appreciative
crowd. Under the mask, he was greying, his chest bare: the
distinguished silver fox type. The guy whipping him was a fair bit younger. Spencer appreciated how precisely he set every
stroke, forming a regular pattern across the victim’s back.
Spencer’s mouth dried out and he leaned against the
wal , and watched the Dom drain a glass of water before he
continued. For a moment the man reminded him of Nick.
Lean but strong, blond. Though this one was taller and older,
and both his arms were tattooed, there were distinct traces of Nick in him. The flicker of a smirk. The arrogant gleam in his eyes. The subtle furrow of concern when his sub made a noise
that could have indicated alarm.
Spencer got the hell out of there. Somehow, he was out
of breath, even though he hadn’t done a damned thing except
watch. Except listen. Except breathe in air that was tinged with 100
leather and pheromones, cologne and massage oils. Even the
vaguely medical scent of lubricant, which made him shudder.
He wandered back into the ballroom. Percy had had
no difficulty finding some entertainment. His hand was
in someone’s long, thick hair as the person’s head bobbed
rhythmically over his crotch. Female? The skin-tight leather
dress suggested it. Male? The shoulders hinted at it. Either
way, Percy was lost in an enthusiastic blowjob, alternately
looking down and letting his head fall back as he stared up at the ceiling with unfocused eyes.
Then he caught Spencer’s eye and threw him a filthy grin
and a wink.
Spencer just offered a nod and thumbs-up—he had no
idea of the proper response—and kept walking.
“Looking for something?” The sassiness in the voice once
again brought Nick back to the centre of Spencer’s thoughts,
but when he turned, the source of the question was distinctly
not
Nick. Not with the jet black hair and matching dark eyes.
The mask obscured his eyebrows, but Spencer imagined them
quirking, arching, furrowing just right to drag answers out of anyone he damn well pleased. He was chewing gum, and it