If It Flies (Market Garden, #3)(11)

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 f*cking 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 f*ck 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.

35

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.

36

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 stroked it at exactly the same speed Spencer f*cked himself with the toy. Slow, the rhythm changing every few seconds but still staying maddeningly smooth and languid.

Spencer didn’t even care about the clock anymore.

Watching Nick stroke himself while Spencer moved the toy in and out was just too hot to care about anything else.

Nick stroked himself faster. Spencer moved the toy faster.

And that was when it dawned on him: Nick hadn’t been mimicking his speed. He’d been mimicking Nick’s. Changing whenever he did. Obeying an unspoken command.

And he’d never been so turned on in his life. Never.

Didn’t matter what happened for the rest of the time they had together, he’d already gotten his money’s worth. Fuck.

Nick slowed down, and then stopped. So did Spencer.

He got a little thrill out of the subtle flush of Nick’s neck and chest, the hint of colour in his cheeks. Nick’s pupils weren’t completely blown yet, but they were getting there.

“No more with the toy.” Nick didn’t seem even a little out of breath or flustered, no matter what his eyes and skin tone said. “Get me a condom.”

37

Excitement rippled through Spencer’s body, curling his toes even as he withdrew the toy. He set it aside and picked up one of the foil packets. When he turned back, Nick had come closer. Soundlessly, too. Like he’d been over there and was now right here, and neither Spencer nor physics could explain how.