If It Flies (17 page)

Nick groaned against Spencer’s lips and thrust harder.

Spencer could barely keep his grip on Nick’s neck, and every

time Nick’s cock slid across the hypersensitive spot deep

inside, Spencer was a little closer to forgetting how to kiss

him. Hell, how to breathe.

Nick pulled back, and Spencer’s hand slid off his neck as

Nick pushed himself up onto his arms. He was going for broke

now, fucking Spencer harder, faster. The bed frame groaned

and protested underneath them, threatening to come apart if

Nick gave Spencer even a little bit more.

The bedding was coarse under Spencer’s raw skin, every

motion sending burning reminders through his nervous

system of the spectacular beating Nick had given him, turning

him on even more. He might not be able to move tomorrow,

but he didn’t give a fuck.

Spencer struggled to keep his eyes open. They kept tearing

up and trying to roll back, but damn if he was missing a single second of Nick like this: sweaty, dishevelled, every cord and

vein standing out in his neck and shoulders. Jaw clenched,

muscles tight, all hard, sinewy power, he was the very picture of control even as he pushed Spencer towards that moment

when control was out of the question.

125

Nick closed his eyes. “Oh . . .
fuck . . .
”

And Spencer lost it. His raw shoulders dug into the bed,

and his eyes rolled back, and somehow he found Nick’s sweat-

slicked arms and grabbed on, and hot semen landed on his

chest as Nick whispered curses and . . . fuck, fuck, Spencer’s senses couldn’t take any more, couldn’t get enough, couldn’t

take another damned second,
please, please don’t stop . . .

Nick forced himself as deep as Spencer could take him,

shuddered, and cursed one last time. Spencer blinked his eyes

into focus just in time to see Nick in suspended animation,

that frozen couple of seconds between release and col apse.

And then Nick exhaled. Let his head fall forwards. And

slumped over Spencer.

So, Spencer thought idly, half-heartedly waving away the

idea of sleep, that was what Nick looked like when he didn’t

fuck for money. Softer. Trusting. It felt like a privilege to see him like this. He closed his arms around Nick, felt him breathe heavily, chest pumping while he rested on top of Spencer.

Right now, holding him felt natural, right, like they

belonged together like this, and the pain and the sex were

really the same thing, each heightening the other.

Spencer kissed Nick’s temple, something he’d never

done before, and relaxed for a few more minutes, shifting

just enough to lower and stretch out his legs and for Nick

to slip free. Nick disappeared briefly, likely taking care of the condom, and then returned.

After Nick cleaned them up, they lay in silence for a long

time, Spencer idly stroking Nick’s shoulder with an open

palm, somehow managing to stay awake. The pain in his back

helped.

Eventually, he rolled to the side and set Nick carefully

down next to him. Their legs were still tangled, and all Spencer did was pull the covers up to their hips.

126

More time passed while Spencer watched Nick rest,

studying the veins on his lower arms, the faint lines of his now relaxed muscles—the same that had wielded the whip with so

much precision and power for God knew how long.

Nick’s eyes fully opened. “What are you thinking?”

“Just wondered how you got so good with that?”

“The whip? Training. Several hours a week. If I couldn’t

do all those circus tricks, I wouldn’t go anywhere near another human being with a whip. People lose eyes like that, or cut

their own faces. Scars can be nice, but not by accident.”

Spencer shuddered. “Scars from that?”

“Oh yeah. If you time the crack when the whip hits the

skin, you can end up with cuts. Can be very intense, but it’s

more than you want at the moment. I’m guessing.”

Spencer inhaled deeply, but he was just too relaxed to

freak out over the real danger of the whip, let alone question whether he could bear the pain.

Nick shifted beside him, and there was just a little bit

of tension in his body now. He looked in Spencer’s eyes.

“Speaking of what you want at the moment . . .”

Spencer propped himself up on his elbow. “Yes?”

“When we’re here, like this, it’s easy to say we can make

something work.” He slowly drew the tip of his tongue across

his lower lip. “But when the sun comes up is when the rubber

meets the road.”

“I know what I’m getting into.”

Nick’s slim eyebrow arched. “Do you?” He reached for

Spencer’s face, and his touch was gentle and comforting.

Comfortable. Something Spencer could get used to in very

short order. Nick swallowed. “It’s one thing to say now that

you’re okay with dating someone like me. It’s another thing

127

entirely when we’re in the middle of dinner and my second

phone rings.”

Spencer chewed the inside of his cheek. Dinner? With

Nick? Like a real dinner instead of pre-sex takeaway? It was

surreal to even think of them actually going through with

this. He wanted it. God, he wanted it. But was Nick actually

considering it?

“Spencer?”

He looked at Nick again. “Look, it’s not like we’re talking

about moving in together. And I’ll admit, I wasn’t too sure

about the idea of dating someone in your line of work, but the last two weeks have given me a lot of time to think.”

Nick inclined his head. “And . . .?”

“And I think I’d rather give it a try and see what happens

than walk away.” He paused, struggling to keep looking into

Nick’s beautiful, inquisitive eyes. “Maybe I don’t know what

the hell we’ll be getting into, or if it’ll work in the long run, or anything. What I do know is that right now, tonight, being

with you feels right. Being away from you . . . doesn’t.”

Nick lowered his gaze for a second. Meeting Spencer’s

eyes again, he said, “So we’ll take it one day at a time.”

Days. Not just nights—Friday nights—anymore.
Days
.

“Yeah.” Spencer put his hand over Nick’s. “A day at a time.

We’ll see what happens.”

Nick was quiet for a moment, eyes unfocused and brow

furrowed. Spencer’s heart beat as hard as it could in this

lethargic, post-coital state, and he had to remind himself not to hold his breath while Nick sorted his thoughts.

Nick smiled.

He didn’t say a word. Neither did Spencer. Just a smile,

and then he reached for Spencer.

128

And Nick’s long, tender kiss told Spencer everything he

needed to know.

129

Acknowledgments

Thank you to Gitte and Misa, our wonderful Brit checkers.

As always, any remaining mistakes in that department are

Aleks’s fault. That’s L.A.’s story and she’s sticking to it.

More Market Garden Tales by

L.A. Witt & Aleksandr Voinov

Quid Pro Quo

Take It Off

If It Fornicates (Coming Soon)

Capture and Surrender (Coming Soon)

Also by Aleksandr Voinov

Skybound

Incursion

Gold Digger

Country Mouse, with Amy Lane

City Mouse, with Amy Lane (Coming Soon)

Dark Soul Vols. 1–5

Break and Enter, with Rachel Haimowitz

Scorpion (re-issue with Riptide Publishing, Coming Soon)

Dark Edge of Honor, with Rhi Etzweiler

The Lion of Kent, with Kate Cotoner

Unhinge the Universe, with L.A. Witt (Coming soon)

For a full list, please v
isit www.aleksandrvoinov.com

Also by L.A. Witt

The Closer You Get

Conduct Unbecoming

Where There’s Smoke

A Chip in His Shoulder

O Come All Ye Kinky

Something New Under the Sun

Covet Thy Neighbor (Coming Soon)

Finding Master Right (Coming Soon)

Unhinge the Universe, with Aleksandr Voinov (Coming soon)

For a full list, please v
isit www.loriawitt.com

About the Authors

Aleksandr Voinov is an emigrant German author living

near London, where he is one of the unsung heroes in the

financial services sector. His genres range from horror, science fiction, cyberpunk, and fantasy to contemporary, thriller, and historical erotic gay novels.

In his spare time, he goes weightlifting, explores

historical sites, and meets other writers. He singlehandedly

sustains three London bookstores with his ever-changing

research projects. His current interests include special forces operations during World War II, pre-industrial warfare,

European magical traditions, and how to destroy the world

and plunge it into a nuclear winter without having the benefit of nuclear weapons.

Visit Aleksandr’s website a
t www.aleksandrvoinov.com,

his blog a
t www.aleksandrvoinov.blogspot.com, a
nd follow him on Twitter, where he tweets as @aleksandrvoinov.

L.A. Witt is an abnormal M/M romance writer currently

living in the glamorous and ultra-futuristic metropolis

of Omaha, Nebraska, with her husband, two cats, and a

disembodied penguin brain that communicates with her

telepathically. In addition to writing smut and disturbing the locals, L.A. is said to be working with the U.S. government

to perfect a genetic modification that will allow humans to

survive indefinitely on Corn Pops and beef jerky. This is all a cover, though, as her primary leisure activity is hunting down her arch nemesis, erotica author Lauren Gal agher, who is also said to be lurking somewhere in Omaha. L.A. can be found

a
t www.loriawitt.com, a
s well as exchanging irreverent tweets with Aleks as @Gal agherWitt.