If It Flies (Market Garden, #3)(12)

“Put it on.”

Spencer didn’t hesitate. He tore the packet with his teeth, rolled the condom onto Nick’s substantial cock. Once it was on, he looked up at Nick.

“Lube.”

Oh, yes. Finally . . .

He poured some lube onto his hand and covered Nick’s cock with it. Obeying a sharp gesture from Nick, he lay back on the bed again.

Nick didn’t say a word. He pushed Spencer’s legs further apart and guided himself to his very, very ready arse. Spencer bit his lips as Nick pressed in, and even though he was well-prepped and wanted it so f*cking bad, he wasn’t ready when Nick breached him. It wasn’t painful by any means, just . . .

intense. Incredibly intense. He vaguely remembered telling Nick he liked it rough, but in the back of his mind, he wondered if he could handle it rough right now.

Oh God, no, there’s no way . . .

But in spite of Spencer’s earlier insistence he liked it that way, Nick was being anything but rough right now. Rather, he was precise. Slow. Whether to give Spencer time to adjust or because he got a kick out of withholding what Spencer wanted, Spencer wouldn’t have dared to guess. He’d most likely be wrong. Nick moved as slowly as if he had no needs; he was controlled like no partner Spencer had ever had, so 38

Spencer relaxed and thought about the man’s hand on his hair. Relaxed into that remembered sensation.

“That’s better,” Nick said, and Spencer smiled at the approval.

Nick kept pushing forward, until Spencer felt his carefully-trimmed pubes against his arse. Ful . Tight. Shuddering. He lifted his legs further, exposing himself more to Nick’s cock, and Nick took them by the underside of his thighs, pushing them further up. He didn’t use them for leverage, not yet, but the guy was strong, and this seemed designed to remind him of that. Spencer relaxed. Breathed.

Nick ground a bit against him. “Tell me how that feels.”

“Ful .” Spencer swallowed hard. “Exposed. Good.”

Nick pulled back maybe an inch and slid back in. The motion was heavenly, still slow, but at least the bastard was finally moving. Spencer tried to push into it, but his position kept him completely passive. He looked up into Nick’s eyes, and Nick nodded as if to say, “Well done.” And then he moved.

Fuck! Lesson learned.

Withdrawing, Nick pressed most of his buttons, but pushing back in, he pressed all but one: the “rough” one. Nick’s movements were slow, smooth, as focused and irrepressible as if he were a f*ck robot. He did something pretty spectacular with the angles of his hips, too, sliding past Spencer’s prostate with every movement until Spencer was taut and tense and they were both glowing with sweat, no sound but the grinding, the rasp of skin against pubes.

In direct violation of what Spencer had claimed he’d wanted, Nick was slowly, methodically driving him up the wal , but hell, this was . . . this was something to be savoured.

You didn’t stuff your face with foie gras, either.

39

Nick let go of Spencer’s legs, which meant Spencer had to adjust a little to keep comfortable. Nick slid his hands up Spencer’s abs, their slow, warm path complementing the cadence of his hips perfectly. They stopped just below his collar bones, and for a moment, they were just there. Not pressing down hard, not holding Spencer against the bed, just . . . there.

Spencer shivered, closing his eyes as his lower back lifted off the bed. If Nick had this much of an effect on him in super slow motion, he could only imagine what would happen if Nick pulled out all the stops.

The fingers resting beneath his col ar bones curled slightly.

The nails—those black-painted staccato nails Spencer could see in his mind’s eye—bit in enough to get his attention. Not hard, but a sharp deviation from all the smooth and the slick and the soft he’d had so far.

Nick’s hips picked up the pace, but not by much. Like the bite of his nails, just enough to draw Spencer’s attention, and it worked, because now his attention was evenly divided between the dick moving so perfectly in and out of him and the nails resting beneath his col ar bones.

The nails moved, digging in hard now and drawing ten red hot lines down Spencer’s chest. One went right over his nipple, and Spencer gasped, but Nick didn’t stop, and the intense burning only complemented the slow and sensual below his waist, and . . . and . . . holy f*ck . . .

“Oh my God.” He couldn’t believe he’d even managed to speak. The nails continued past his ribs, onto his abs and sides, making muscles quiver and contract.

Halfway down his belly, the nails—f*cking claws— started coming together, pul ing towards his navel.

Wait. No. Not his navel. Lower . . .

40

His cock—which was plenty hard now—stiffened even more. His balls tightened. And the semicircle of sharp and burning just kept getting closer while Nick kept right on f*cking. Spencer groaned, bit his lips, squirmed under the pain and the lingering burn, felt himself tighten around Nick, too, but it seemed to have no effect on the bastard. Or none besides a grin. Their gazes locked again, and there was bloody-minded determination in Nick and self-possession and a generous helping of sheer wickedness that made Spencer’s balls draw up.

Just don’t scratch my dick, he pleaded silently in his own head. Nick’s right hand lifted away, hovered close to his dick, making Spencer nervous enough that he broke eye contact.