If It Flies (3 page)

the side of Spencer’s neck. Spencer pulled in a gasp, but a

firm-and-not-so-gentle squeeze below the belt knocked that

air right back out.

“Fuck.” He put up a hand. “I . . . whoa. This is . . .”

Nick’s hand retreated to Spencer’s thigh. “You really are

new at this, aren’t you?”

“Just . . . just a bit. Yeah.” He grabbed his drink and

swallowed as much as it took to cool him off. Which was

better than half the damned glass.
Here we go again
. “Sorry, I’m . . .”

“Relax.” Nick grinned. “I don’t bite.”

Spencer eyed him, waiting for the inevitable “. . . hard” or

“. . . unless you want me to.” It didn’t come, though. In fact, Nick took his hand off Spencer’s leg and reached for his own

drink.

It was quickly becoming apparent there wasn’t a thing

Nick did that he couldn’t make sexy. Not overtly sexual,

but sexy. Right down to the way his hand was arranged

on the glass, like it was deliberate, even artful, every finger placed just so to make the simple gesture of picking up a

drink look . . . elegant? Maybe it was just the fine bones of

his wrist and hand. The black nail varnish didn’t hurt the

effect, like staccato marks at the end of each finger.

13

With his other hand, he steadied the straw. No suggestive

stroking or up-down motion, but he looked right at Spencer

while he sucked some of his cola up into his mouth. His

eyes—green, stunning pale green—locked on Spencer’s,

narrowing just enough to make Spencer wonder what was

going on in that mind of his.

Nick swallowed his drink, paused to run the tip of his

tongue around the end of the straw. Spencer suddenly wanted

to loosen his tie. He gulped, which only made the tie and

collar tighter.

Nick’s eyes darted towards Spencer’s throat. “How can

you even breathe in that thing?” Before Spencer could choke

out a response, Nick’s glass clinked on the table and those

slim, staccato-tipped fingers reached for his neck.

One finger hooked the knot of the tie and pulled. With

a swift, precise gesture, Nick undid the top button. And for

some reason, Spencer still couldn’t fucking breathe.

“There.” Nick drew back, smirking. “Much better.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Spencer managed to grin. “Do I have to

pay extra for that?”

Nick moistened his lips and turned his attention to the

straw in his drink, which he’d pinched between his thumb

and middle finger. “No. The first button’s complimentary.”

He covered the end of the straw with his index finger and

withdrew it from his glass. The vacuum held the cola inside

the straw, and Nick paused, letting the opposite end drip for a second, before he brought that end up to his lips. “Any more

than that? We’ll have to discuss prices.” He slid the tip of the straw under his tongue, and lifted his index finger so all the liquid slipped out and into his mouth.

Yeah. The tie and col ar weren’t the problem. There wasn’t

enough air in this room when Nick was around.

14

“So.” Nick slid the straw back into his drink. He sucked

his index finger into his mouth and, watching Spencer’s eyes,

slowly slipped it free. “What the hell is a man like you doing here?”

“Is that your way of asking what’s a nice guy like me doing

in a place like this?”

“No.” He covered the end of his straw again and grinned

at Spencer. “It’s me asking what exactly you’re looking for so I can decide how much you’ll pay me.”

God, but he was direct. Of course he wasn’t trying to sell

anything or close the deal. It seemed that in Nick’s mind, the deal was already closed, and there was nothing left to do but

sign on the dotted line, exchange money, and . . .

Holy fuck. He could afford it, that wasn’t a concern, but

a night alone and naked with a man like this? Spencer would

never have to give Percy details because there was no way he’d survive until morning. Or maybe Percy would have the good

grace to leave him alone about it? Well, he could dream.

“Uhm.” He blew out a breath. “I’d be looking for a . . . a

top.”There, he’d said it. Somehow, his concept of male whores

involved them getting it up the arse all night—which sounded

like a pretty good deal, though it was likely humiliating.

Maybe he’ll be rough.

Spencer clamped down on that thought quicker

than he’d have stomped on a cockroach in his student

accommodations—what, ten years ago?

Nick kept looking at him. “And?”

So that part of the deal was on. “I’m in charge.”

“You’re the customer. Of course you’re in charge.” Those

lips quirked with the most devilish little grin that made

15

Spencer grateful he could just sit here for a while. That way, nobody had a clear view of his trousers.

“My place?”

“After you’ve done the membership application, yes.”

Nick nodded towards one of the guys at the bar. “There’s a

background check, but they’re discreet.” The grin was still

there, as if the whole thing was an elaborate prank.

“How quickly can they do it?”

“Pretty quickly.” Nick nodded over. “You can do that

now.”Spencer hesitated, then figured Nick would probably

wait those five or ten minutes, so he stood and headed over

to the bar.

It took twenty-five minutes altogether, and he grew more

and more impatient. Nick wouldn’t wait this long, would he?

But he had, chasing melting ice cubes around in his drink

with the straw.

Spencer rejoined him in the booth. “All right. Paperwork

is taken care of. So how much are we talking?” The

implication—obligation?—in his own words rattled him.

Naturally, Nick wasn’t fazed at al . “Want an hour, half a

night, whole night?”

“When do I have to decide that?”

Nick
tsk
ed. “Well, I need a baseline to give you a quote.

Personally, I recommend more than an hour, so we can get

to know each other better.” And how did he manage to be so

suggestive without waggling his brows or giving him a wink?

The inflection in his voice was so subtle the come-on was

barely there.

Spencer exhaled. “Why don’t we start with two hours?”

Nick studied him for a little while. “Five hundred.”

“I beg your pardon?”

16

“Two hours. Five hundred quid.”

Spencer grinned. “You’re charging partner rates.” Not

quite. At his firm, partners didn’t get out of bed for any less than £650 an hour. Still, nice little student job if you could get it. Of course, Nick might have to pay off the establishment,

possibly a pimp.

“You a lawyer?”

Spencer’s grin died. “Uh. Never mind. Five hundred quid

is fine.” He’d hardly need dozens of hours—he wasn’t trying to solve a tricky legal problem. Besides, he did believe in paying specialists what they were worth, and Nick was making him

hard just with his cocky arrogance. If he was any good at

fucking—and he’d likely had the practise—that would be

more than worth it. Spencer swallowed. “I’m assuming I can

feed the meter if I want to go on longer?”

An incredibly subtle laugh curled Nick’s lips. There was no

middle ground with this man: either everything was blatant

and in your face, or subtle to the point that Spencer couldn’t always tell if it was really there.

“Feed the meter. Cute.” Nick dipped his straw in his drink

and covered it with his finger again. After he’d released the

liquid into his mouth, swallowed it—God, he could even

make that sexy, the way he raised his chin to expose his entire throat—he put the straw back in his drink and said, “We can

always negotiate extensions.”

This was strictly business to him, wasn’t it? He enjoyed it,

got a charge out of it, but when it came to transactions, it was all black and white. Cash and sex. Nothing more.

“Two hours, then.” Spencer tried not to shift around,

keeping both his nerves and impatience as far up his sleeve as he could. “What does two hours with Nick get me, anyway?”

17

Nick grinned. Nothing subtle this time, not even a little.

“It gets you two hours with Nick.” The grin broadened a

little more, pale green eyes narrowing like he could see right through to anything Spencer was trying to keep up his sleeve.

“After al , Spencer, what more could you possibly want?”

He gulped. Nick laughed. So much for hiding a damned

thing from him.

Nick drained his drink and pushed the glass away, sliding

up next to Spencer so they were
almost
touching. “So. Two hours? Let’s go.”

“Does that two hours start now?” Spencer was already

sliding out of the booth because according to Nick this was a

done deal, and who was he to argue? “Or when we get to—”

I’m really doing this?
“—my place?”

Nick slid partway out of the booth, but didn’t get up.

He pursed his lips and ran his gaze up and down Spencer’s

body, a gesture that registered on his nerve endings like an

actual touch. Their eyes met, and Nick pushed himself to his

feet. “Assuming you’re local, we’ll start the clock when we get there.”

Spencer’s heart pounded. His wallet had hoped for that

answer, but his body wasn’t entirely sure what to do with two

solid hours of Nick.

He’d find out soon enough, though. Nick pulled a black

leather jacket over his otherwise bare torso. Spencer got up

and—oh God—Nick gave a nod to Percy, who gave him a

two-fingered salute before he resumed making out with a

blue-haired black twink, and they were out the door.

The back door, fortunately, rather than through the

lounge where the female strippers did their thing, and then

down an alley to a different road from where the cab had

18

deposited Percy and him earlier. They had discretion down

to a science in this place.

19

Chapter

threE

he backseat of the cab was less cramped than the

T
booth, but somehow felt . . . tighter? More intimate?

Perhaps because of the implication, what their presence in the vehicle actually meant. That must have been it, because it felt even more confining as Spencer gave the driver his address.

Or maybe it was because, as he worked out the details with

the driver, he was being slowly and subtly ambushed by the

leather-wrapped demon beside him. A hand over his thigh. A

thumb dangerously close to his groin.

The cab pulled away from the club, and as Spencer sat

back against the seat, Nick slid closer.

“I suppose now,” he murmured, a hint of taunting in his

voice, “would be a good time to lay down the ground rules.”

“Ground rules?” Spencer moistened his lips. “Such as . . .?”

“Customer’s always right,” Nick said. “You tell me.”

Spencer glanced at the cabbie, who hopefully could hear

nothing on the other side of the glass window. “I’m assuming

stuff like . . . condoms and all that is self-explanatory.”

“You’re assuming.” Nick grinned. “Would you bet your

arse on it?”

Spencer wasn’t quite sure how this space, that could

easily hold a wheelchair plus people, could be so crammed.

“Well, play nice, use lube . . . the works. Common courtesy.

It’s not . . . really that complicated, is it?” His nerves were showing. Again. But as far as negotiations went, arranging

an arse-fucking was hardly sorting out a peace treaty in the

Middle East.

20

“Well, one thing I hear often is ‘not in the face,’ or ‘no

permanent marks’ . . .” Nick shrugged, then idly rubbed the

area just to the side of a nipple piercing.

“Uh.” Now the tension had even drained the oxygen from

his lungs. “Err, no. That’s too much.”

Nick licked his teeth. “Well, we can set a safeword

regardless. I can push until I get the sense we’re taking things too far. If I do take it too far, you can safeword.”

“Ehhh.” Spencer regarded him again, top to bottom

(
awful pun,
his inner voice informed him). “Let’s just stay . . .

the other side of that.”

Nick grinned. “You’re cal ing the shots.”

That sounded quite ironic, too, like Nick was just

humouring him. Well. He’d found the one whore in London

who specialised in people with a fetish for smartarses. Spencer would never have assumed Nick was his type—it had been his

body much more than his personality that had attracted him,

but even that cheekiness intrigued him now. Besides, if the

guy was going to top him, Nick was allowed to be a bit of a

smartarse. That should definitely be more fun and interesting

than dating a doormat. How long since he’d had a sufficiently

aggressive top? Way too long. Throwing a surreptitious glance

at the devil in black leather, Spencer had a feeling he’d be

making up for that in spades tonight.

When they finally arrived in Hol and Park, Spencer

opened the gate, and then the door to his three-bedroom

house. He’d had it gutted and completely rebuilt over the

last two years rather than move to somewhere bigger, largely

because he liked the area. Apart from knocking down a few

walls, he’d had the eighties
interieur
ripped out, too, as well as some of the awful seventies floors. It was now all clean lines, 21