If It Flies (5 page)

He stayed down, found himself breathing a little faster

than before.

“Look up.”

He looked up, not sure if he’d see concern or something

else, maybe checking in with him to make sure he was still

good, but Nick’s dash of arrogance hadn’t changed at al . “You like leather, right?”

Spencer nodded. “More than PVC.”

“I didn’t ask that.”

Ouch. Like Nick had told him to focus again, told him

they weren’t having tea in the kitchen together. Nick had

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drawn a line in the sand there, and Spencer had stepped over

it, unaware it existed at al . Slowly, carefully, Nick seemed to be penning him in, and Spencer wondered for a moment if

and when he’d freak out. Maybe when the guy shoved his feet

into his face. Or . . . something. He should probably call a halt to the whole thing.
Bonaparte?

“Show it.”

Spencer glanced up again. “What?”

“You like leather?” Nick’s lips pulled back in an evil, evil

grin. “Show it.”

“How?”

Nick pushed his hips forward. “Lick the seam.”

Uh. Spencer stared at the guy’s groin right in front of his

eyes, the flap of leather covering the zip. Somehow, specifying

“seam” sounded dirty in his ears, but he moved that little bit closer, stuck his tongue out and gingerly traced the smooth

leather. He could smell the zip from here, the metal ic tang,

but the taste of leather was stronger, and he thought he could sense a growing bulge just a breath away. God, he hoped Nick

was hung.

Cocky as he is, he has to be. Unless he’s compensating or—

“That’s enough.”

The sharp comment straightened Spencer’s spine. He

looked up.

The prostitute smiled, and an odd sense of relief rushed

through Spencer, though somewhere in his body it crossed

over a conduit and became electricity, and that electricity

went straight down to his balls. So strange, being this off-

balance and aroused at the same time. And one didn’t help the

other at al : the more turned on he was, the more off-kilter he was. The more off-kilter, the more turned on. What the hell?

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Nick leaned back a little and tilted his head, looking past

Spencer’s face and farther down. The smile turned to another

one of those mind-bending grins. “Well. Looks like I have

plenty to work with, don’t I?”

Heat rushed into Spencer’s face as well as his groin.

“Thank you,” was all he could think to say, and he wasn’t sure why.Nick’s hand moved over Spencer’s cropped hair. The

touch was surprisingly gentle. It put Spencer on guard

because, knowing what he did about Nick, gentle could very

abruptly become . . . not. At the same time, though, it was

calming. Like an intermission, a moment Nick had granted

him to catch his breath.

“How long has it been since you’ve been fucked, Spencer?”

Every muscle below Spencer’s waist tightened. “It’s . . .

a while. A few weeks, maybe.” Longer? He couldn’t even

remember right now. Not since . . . at least not . . . what was the question?

“That long?” Nick’s tone walked that razor-fine line

between playful and snide. “Though I suppose if it hadn’t

been a while, I wouldn’t be here tonight, would I?”

“No.” Spencer closed his eyes and focused on those long,

fine fingers moving over his hair in a smooth, calming rhythm.

“I guess that means I should be careful, shouldn’t I?”

Playful? Observant? Matter-of-fact? Fuck, Spencer couldn’t

even tell. “Rough is one thing, but I wouldn’t want to—” He

paused, and Spencer swore he could
feel
the man grinning.

“—
really
hurt you.”

“It hasn’t actually been—” Spencer’s mouth snapped shut.

I didn’t ask that
echoed in his mind.

“It hasn’t actually been what?”

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He moistened his parched lips. “Hasn’t actually been that

long since I’ve been . . .” He pulled in a deep breath and looked up at Nick. “Penetrated.” And why was he telling him that?

Nick’s job was to make him feel good—not self-conscious. He

got enough of that elsewhere, if he really wanted it. And he

didn’t. Yet he didn’t move away from his position.

“So you’ve been a naughty boy and put something up

your arse by yourself. What size? Are we talking a banana, a

couple fingers, or a silicone horse dick?”

Horse dick
? What was the little bastard thinking? That he was into animals? “Uh. Normal size. Silicone. I don’t do

food.”

Nick snickered. “Or have food do
you
.” He didn’t

continue, but the silence was now definitely thoughtful. The

caress continued, keeping him in place and calm, yet some of

the tensions had returned with that last question. Nick was

hitting his buttons to gauge his reactions, maybe. Get to know him, his temper, his responses. Damn, the guy was clever. One

of the reasons why Spencer had stayed away from prostitutes

was the idea that they were cheap and nasty and uneducated

and that his hand (or a dildo) really could achieve the same

results—for a lot less money.

I stand corrected.

“Show me your favourite.” Another straightforward

order. Spencer made to get up, but Nick pressed down on his

shoulder again. “Let’s go together.”

It was a bit of an awkward shuffle on his knees, but he

made it to the nightstand. He had a small collection—six in

total, but really only used three of them these days. The mid-

sized, electric-blue, silicone dildo was the one he used the

most; then a similar size in harder plastic that vibrated; and a studded steel dildo with a bulbous head. He used that last

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one for “rough.” Just the size of the head could reduce him to a sweaty, writhing mess.

“Favourite?”

Spencer cleared his head and reached into the drawer,

hand hovering for a moment. He picked the blue one. It was

the most familiar, the one that required the least preparation.

Something about the brushed steel one made it look absurdly

like a weapon.

“Hand it to me.”

Spencer lifted it up towards Nick’s hand. Nick brushed

his fingers and took the dildo, examined it. “Why that one?”

“It’s just . . . a good size for me.”

“Hmm.” Nick eyed the toy, turning it and tilting his

head to one side, then the other, inspecting it like he was a

goddamned customs agent or something. For the first time

tonight, Nick’s gaze was fixed somewhere other than on

Spencer, but Spencer still felt more conspicuous than he ever

had in his life.

Part of him wanted to demand to know when they

would be through with the games and could get on to what

he’d paid for. But as he watched Nick sizing up the dildo like an executioner picking out a weapon, he had a feeling this

was
what he’d paid for. Not just getting fucked, but getting mindfucked.

“Show me,” Nick said again, and held the toy out.

He blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“Show me.” The hand holding the dildo bobbed once, as

if to draw Spencer’s attention to it. “Put some lube on it, and show me.”

I thought I was paying for
you
to fuck me, not a toy I already
bought.

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Which totally explained why he took the toy back from

Nick and was already reaching for the bottle of lube on the

nightstand. The bottle of lube next to the condoms which

hopefully symbolised a promise that he’d be getting fucked

tonight with something that wouldn’t go back in his drawer.

Lube in one hand, retina-searing blue fake penis in the

other, he looked up at Nick. “I . . . is there a . . .”
Articulate. I
swear to God I am articulate
. He cleared his throat. “Is there a particular position?”

Nick pursed his lips like the question required substantial

thought. That in and of itself was mildly alarming—and more

than a little intriguing—because knowing him, he might

ask Spencer to dangle from the chandelier in the hal way or

something. There was some twisted shit behind those eyes.

Twisted shit that would have had Spencer saying “yeah, no, I

don’t think so” any other night, but for some reason, tonight

it excited him as much as it unnerved him.

“On the bed.” Nick nodded sharply towards it. “On your

back with your arse at the edge so you won’t have to move

when I’m done watching you.”

His hand left Spencer’s shoulder. Spencer stood, grimacing

as his knees reminded him how long he’d been down there.

How much time did they have left, anyway?

He glanced at the alarm clock. Still a good hour and a half.

Plenty of time for Nick to fuck both mind and arse. Probably

multiple times apiece.

“On your back on the bed,” Nick repeated, as if he’d

forgotten.

Spencer swallowed. He sat on the edge of the bed, and

ordered his hands to be steady and confident as he poured

out some lube and put it on the toy. They shook more than

he liked, so he worked faster to hide his nerves. Or maybe

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he should’ve let them show; Nick seemed to get off knowing

he’d pushed a button or three.

When the toy was good and slick, Spencer lay back across

the mattress. This was an awkward position—by fucking

design, no doubt—but he managed, parting his legs and

bracing his heels on the frame for support. He looked up at the ceiling. That was a lot easier than focusing on the half-naked prostitute watching him so intently. A lot easier, maybe, but

not enough to completely negate the strangeness of lubing up

his own arsehole while someone watched. Especially when it

was at the order of that puzzling voyeur.

A finger to get started. A second to get him ready for the

larger toy. He usually liked to draw out this part, enjoying

every step between the first touch of lube and the eventual

toe-curling orgasm. But then, he wasn’t usually on the clock.

And his heart wasn’t usually beating like this, pounding

against his ribcage with pre-emptive fear that Nick would get

impatient.

The bed shifted slightly. Or rather, something pressed

against it just enough to make the frame issue a faint protest.

Spencer turned his head. Nick was leaning against one of

the posts at the foot of the bed, pressing his shoulder into it, arms folded across his bare chest as he watched Spencer fuck

himself with two fingers.

Nick’s eyes flicked up and met Spencer’s. A grin played

at his lips. He unfolded his arms, and when one hand moved

downwards, the gesture was too slow and deliberate not to

hold Spencer’s attention. Especially not when Nick casually

brushed his hand over the very pronounced bulge beneath his

leather pants.

Spencer bit his lip.

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Nick grinned. Then he lifted his hand away from his

groin and gestured at Spencer. “You were going to show me

something, yes?”

Ignoring him was no longer an option. Or pretending he

was really doing this because it had been his own idea. Or . . .

anything but what it was. He had paid company, and the guy

was watching him.

Though, crazily enough, it felt good to turn Nick on, to

get a professional sex worker excited. He shook his head, tried to focus on the task at hand (as it were), and changed his grip on the dildo. God, he was glad he hadn’t picked the steel one.

That would be cold now. Sometimes he’d put it in warm water

because the heat and the slick power of it . . . He focused on Nick’s bulge, took the dildo, and positioned it.

Would Nick be larger than this? Certainly more human.

As he pressed, the dildo opened him beautifully, and Spencer

couldn’t help the groan at the stretch. He licked his lips, tried to get more comfortable, then slowly pushed the toy deeper,

getting used to being filled and ful , body tightening up

against the invasion. He sometimes pretended he was being

forced, and pushed in hard enough to hurt, but right now, he

was in a weirdly mellow, receptive mood, no doubt because

somebody was watching him. And Nick was. Never turned

away, never unfocused, never spaced out; he just stood there,

lips curled in a slight smile, amused, cocky, and watched every movement.

Spencer remembered to breathe. “Am I . . . am I supposed

to come or . . .”

“Just go on. I’m here.”

No doubt. Spencer concentrated on the pleasure, ignoring

that it was his own hand doing this, and just enjoyed the soft, insistent slide, the pressure against his muscles and sweet spot.

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His erection was completely gone, but the other pleasure was

so much sweeter.

A familiar sound grabbed at the edges of his attention.

He knew the sound, that amalgamation of a creak and a

vibration, but couldn’t place it for some reason. His brain was just too tangled up in the increasingly amazing sensations and the terrifying-exciting-intimidating-addictive feeling of being watched.

So he opened his eyes. Turned his head.

Fucking hell. Nick’s zip.

And in the time it had taken him to sort that in his mind,

Nick had done more than just unzip his trousers, and now he

was stroking his dick while he watched Spencer. In fact, he