If It Flies (Market Garden, #3)(10)

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 32

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 f*cked, but getting mindf*cked.

“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 f*ck 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 f*cked 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 f*ck 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 34