If It Flies (14 page)

was anything but subtle, his jaw snapping, pausing, snapping.

He reminded Spencer of a lion licking his chops, an oral

preparation for the spoils of his hunt. Not unlike Nick in that sense, but he lacked the magnetism that had drawn Spencer to

Nick. Or, rather, the magnetism that had kept Spencer close

to Nick when the rentboy had made his very deliberate and

very bold approach.

The black-haired kid stopped chewing and inclined his

head, reminding Spencer of the unanswered question.

He muffled a cough. “I’m, um, just sort of checking the

place out. New here.”

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“Gotcha.” The kid snapped his gum, the sound eerily

similar to a whip on skin. “What do you think so far?”

“It’s . . . different.”

He laughed. “The night’s still young, my friend. It hasn’t

even got”—he brought up his smal , fine hands and formed

air quotes—“
different
yet.”

Oh. Fuck. Percy, where are—

Right. Blowjob.

The kid held out his hand. “Lee. And you are?”

Spencer hesitated. He shook Lee’s hand, and after a

moment, said, “Peter.”

“Well, Peter.” He made a sweeping gesture around the

room. “How about the grand tour from someone who

practically lives here?”

Oh, hell. Why not?

Spencer shrugged. “Sure.”

Lee reached for his arm, but this time, he was the one to

hesitate. “You don’t mind if I . . .” His eyes flicked towards Spencer’s arm.

“No. Not at al .”

Immediately, Lee relaxed. He slid his hand around

Spencer’s elbow and tugged him into motion.

The tour was likely a thorough one. Informative, maybe

even funny. Except Spencer barely heard a word of it. He

was too tuned into everything else. All the sights, sounds,

and smells that conspired to overload his senses, everything

swirling together like mismatched paint until they formed

one uniform colour, and that colour was
Nick
.

Every squeak of leather was Nick passing through

Spencer’s peripheral vision or getting comfortable on some

invisible piece of furniture. Every smack of anything on flesh was Nick’s doing, and registered on Spencer’s nerve endings

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like it had hit his skin. Fuck, the son of a bitch really was a ghost. A bloody poltergeist who taunted Spencer with smacks

and slaps and shining leather.

There were demonstrations—hell, in one secluded part,

a Dom was pushing needles through his sub’s skin, and all

Spencer could think was that he envied them the intensity of

those moments. Four months ago, he’d have considered them

sickos. But now he understood that closeness, that trust, and

it struck him that he’d had that with a guy he paid. What were the chances of that, really?

It got too much for him when the Dom kissed the sub,

who hung in her restraints, exhausted, blissed out, and smiling.

Too much.

Spencer turned away.

His newly-acquired shadow followed him. “So, Pete,

what are you looking for?”

I’m looking for Nick.

Spencer looked at the other man, and found it impossible

to believe he’d trust somebody who was wearing half a mask

and whom he didn’t know, didn’t particularly care about.

Here among strangers, just about anything could happen, but

it wouldn’t work for him. Maybe he could find somebody to

whip him, maybe get off.

But no one here was Nick.

His stomach clenched again. Tomorrow, he’d call himself

a fool, to have turned down free sex, a free course of pain.

He’d go to work on Monday and prod at the memory of pain,

of perfect surrender, but with no bruises or marks to show for it. Whatever. He’d deal with that tomorrow. For now, he’d go

home and take care of things under the shower. Maybe watch

porn. Maybe just replay what Nick had done to him, imagine

he was with him, ordering him to come.

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He would.

Even Nick’s ghost had more power over him than anybody

here.“I don’t think it’s anywhere here.” Spencer looked at the guy. “Thanks for the tour, but I think I’m heading home.”

“You sure? I could help you find it.”

You can’t.

Spencer smiled and made his escape, rushing down the

stairs to the ground floor, slowing down briefly to watch a half-naked dancer balancing a number of burning bowls carefully,

hypnotically, while contorting her lithe, strong body.

He shook himself free and continued outside. He didn’t

see Percy on the way out, but then, he’d be pissed off to have to leave early when he’d organized the tickets. Better leave

him to his fun and flesh piles.

Spencer dropped the mask with one of the attendants and

had another one call him a taxi while he sent Percy a text that the man would get later. When he was finished with whatever

and whoever he was doing. Spencer was definitely going

home. Just no headspace. No quiet. No real desire, just an itch he could temporarily take care of himself. No stranger who

intrigued him.

No Nick.

104

Chapter

teN

pencer’s phone stayed silent all weekend aside from a

S
message from Percy.

You left early? Missing out! C U Monday.

And on Monday, Percy regaled him with everything he’d

missed. Spencer caught some of it—a sub discovering for

the first time she could ejaculate, an intense scene involving knives, one of the valets clocking out and joining in—but he

distanced himself from the stories. Pretended they’d taken

place somewhere he’d never been. The sensory hauntings still

thrummed beneath his skin and in his ears, and he was caught

between trying his damnedest to exorcise them and trying to

hold onto and savour them as much as possible.

Spencer returned to his office after the wild debriefing,

and checked his phone for the thousandth time. Nothing from

Nick. By Tuesday night, still nothing. A text on Wednesday

almost had Spencer jumping out of his skin before he realised

it was just a dinner invite from his sister in Brighton.

Thursday? Nothing.

And Friday? The night Spencer had reserved indefinitely?

Not a bloody thing.

No way was Nick haunting two of his weekends. After

two weeks, the message was clear, and Spencer was bound and

determined to move the fuck on.

So on Saturday night, he walked into Market Garden, hell

bent on finding another guy who’d take his money and give

him an orgasm or three. Didn’t even have to be a Dom.
Just
fuck me, for God’s sake
.

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He strolled past the bar in the front lounge, and one of

the bouncers held open the door to the back room. Spencer

took a deep breath, set back his shoulders, and went into the

shadowy room full of men like him and the most mouth-

watering array of gorgeous prostitutes who were—

Nick
.

Double take. Triple take. No, it really was him. Sidled up

next to some arsehole in a three-piece suit, chatting him up

and probably getting ready to earn a few hundred quid.

Spencer had taken plenty of amazing beatings from Nick,

the kind that left bruises and raised welts and drew screams

from his throat, but the most pain he’d ever received from

Nick’s hand was when it slid over the sleeved forearm of his

next prospective client.

Spencer flinched and looked away. So that was that.

Whatever emotions had drawn Nick into that kiss and sent

him running for the hills were obviously under control now.

Stowed away, maybe gone completely. Whatever cash Spencer

would’ve paid, it could come from any man’s wallet. Back to

strictly business and totally professional.

Well, all right. Nick wasn’t the only man in this room

who’d take Spencer’s money.

He’d made himself way too vulnerable with all this. Percy

did it exactly the right way. He didn’t harm anybody, he just

had fun, paying people well. Live and let live. Fuck and let

fuck. That was probably the best way to go about all this.

No wonder the pre-Nick Spencer hadn’t got laid in

forever—he took everything too bloody seriously.

He could almost hear Percy’s affectionate mocking:

“Looks like even the whores prefer the bad boys to a nice guy

like you.”

Pushover. Doormat.

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Though at least he was a doormat with a pile of cash. And

if Nick didn’t want to earn it . . .

Didn’t take long for someone else to approach Spencer.

He was older than Nick, tal , black, broad-shouldered, goatee, shaved head. Late thirties?
Smoking
hot.

“Looking for someone?” he asked.

Spencer
almost
glanced at Nick, but didn’t. “No one in particular. Care for a drink?”

The guy smiled at him and nodded towards the bar.

Spencer moved immediately, following the unspoken order.

He picked up the drinks and returned to the table where

the other Dom had settled.

The guy nodded to him and took a sip. “Thanks.”

“Haven’t seen you around here,” Spencer dared, placing

his own drink down. Of course, he’d only been here once,

but . . . it was as good an icebreaker as any.

“Oh. I’m not a regular at
this
club,” the goateed prostitute said. “Just chilling after doing a workshop on Shibari.

Ropework.”

Spencer nodded. He and Nick hadn’t really done all

that much restraining. Nick preferred Spencer to hold his

positions by himself because he’d ordered him to, not because

he couldn’t move. Getting somebody who’d tie him up in

every way imaginable sounded perfect. Anything that was

different from Nick—just to broaden his horizons.

His current non-Nick companion leaned over his drink.

“I assume you’re looking for something specific in here?”

“Well, I . . . it’s been a while since I’ve managed to relax

properly.” He moistened his lips, once again resisting a glance in Nick’s direction. “Looking for someone to . . . relieve some stress.”

“A top?”

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“Absolutely.”

“Just a top?” The toothy grin made Spencer shiver. “Or

something more aggressive?”

Yes, please. Oh God, please.
Spencer shrugged. “I . . . That would suit me.”

The other guy reached out and touched Spencer’s chin,

turned his head this way and that. “Ever had a Dom?”

This time, Spencer’s eyes did flick towards Nick, but he

quickly looked back at this guy before he’d had a chance to

focus.

The damage was done, though, and the goateed prostitute

glanced at Nick. “Oh, you were one of Nick’s boys, were you?”

Spencer’s mouth went dry, and he just nodded.

“Good to know,” the other guy said. “Anything specific

that you’re just dying to get?”

“I’m into pain.
Really
into pain.”

The guy smiled at him. “With Nick you’d have to be. How

long did he train you?”

“Three months.”

“Enjoyed it?”

“Yes, sir.” This man’s authority was easy, relaxed, a hint of

playfulness under the surface, like a tiger toying with a mouse.

Masculine—not like a character from Tom of Finland, but

certainly inspired by. It pressed his buttons far more than the masked guy last week, and he was black, too, which made

things easier since he didn’t have to deal with any biracial kink that easily freaked him out.

Nick never indicated he was into that.

Moreover, he could look this man in the eyes and look

down, but only to show respect, not because he couldn’t bear

to see the things he might have seen in another man’s face.

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The best part? He could
almost
forget about that leather-coated presence on the other side of the room. That alone

would make this guy worth whatever he charged.

Spencer took a long swallow of his drink, and as it warmed

his belly, he let out a long, relaxing breath.

Step one: Get the fuck over the prostitute who’s already

moved on.

Mission accomplished.

As he took another drink, he glanced at this other Dom,

who was watching him through narrowed eyes with the

faintest of grins on his lips.

Step two: Find someone else.

Check
.

He set his glass down. Time to work out the details. He

took a breath and opened his mouth to speak, but the air

beside him suddenly changed. Moved.
Cooled
.

He turned his head.

Fuck. Back to step one.

Spencer gulped. “Nick. I . . .”
Didn’t realise you were here?

Right, because Nick wouldn’t see the lie in his eyes.

Nick glanced at Spencer’s companion. Neither of them

spoke, but something seemed to pass between them, some

Dom or prostitute semaphore contained in narrowed eyes

and tightened lips, and a moment later, Nick and Spencer

were alone.

Spencer watched the other guy leave, and surprise faded

in favour of anger. He clenched his jaw. “What the hell was

that about?”

Nick shifted his weight. “Do you mind if I sit?”

Okay, that was unexpected. Nick? Asking permission?