If It Flies (Market Garden, #3)(37)

His hand slipped, and the whip narrowly missed his elbow, but he corrected quickly, and Nick stopped. Spencer cringed, expecting a punishment, an admonishment, something, but after a short while—thirty seconds, maybe?—the whip sliced through the air a heartbeat before its tail bit into Spencer’s arse cheek again.

On some distant, visceral level, he was aware that the pain was far more intense now than it had been with those first few strikes. His skin burned in places, throbbed in others.

Unscathed flesh tingled with anticipation, and his head spun a little faster, took him a little deeper into somewhere else every time Nick laid that tail on him.

It hurt more, but he didn’t cringe or flinch away from it now. If anything, he arched into it. Sought it out. Silently 122

begged for it. He may have even begged out loud; he thought he tasted the vibration of speech on his own tongue, and the air thrummed with something besides his heavy breathing and the sharp cracks and the whistle of leather cutting through the air, but he couldn’t remember what he’d said. Maybe he’d just moaned.

Something in the room changed. Movement? Lack of movement?

Spencer tried to open his eyes, but every time he did, the light overwhelmed his already overloaded senses, so he squeezed them shut and tried to figure out what the hell was— Gentle fingers on slick skin.

His neck. The side of his neck.

Soft fingertips sliding over sweaty skin.

That featherlight touch reverberated through him, all the way down the length of his spine.

Movement again. Leather creaking softly. Cool breath on damp flesh. And a whisper, “You’re amazing like this, Spencer.”

The words were like a soft warm glow he could sense all over his body, inside and out, and he drifted in them like in a smal , perfectly safe space. Nick’s voice. Nick who’d never been quite that gentle before. This was the difference between before and after. He could taste the affection, the extra care, the gentleness—all in a man who’d just worked him over with a whip, turned him into complete contentment. In this space, nothing else mattered.

“I didn’t do anything,” he protested like in a dream.

“You’re just not aware you did, but that’s fine. You’re beautiful like this. Riveting.” A touch to his arm, and Spencer realised he was sweating, possibly bathed in sweat. What for?

Nothing to be afraid of.

123

“You did so well,” Nick said next to his ear. “I’d really like to f*ck you.”

“Sure.” Spencer needed a few moments before he realised that he could possibly have said no, but he didn’t want to.

Why would he?

Nick took him by the shoulder and elbow, led him around the bed, though Spencer shuffled on his knees, somehow not coordinated enough to stand and walk. He pushed up a bit and managed to flop across the mattress, opening his legs almost in afterthought.

“Roll onto your back,” Nick ordered, so Spencer obeyed, sucking in a hiss of breath when his raw skin met the bedclothes. Nick pulled off his own trousers while Spencer got used to the throbbing burn that felt no different from abrasions, a whole body full of them, and he guessed he had to be covered in welts. And maybe that was the reason why Nick wanted him on his back: it would hurt more.

But Nick had given the order, so he didn’t resist or hesitate much. It was a constant sting rather than the blooming pain after a hit, no surprises, no anticipation.

Nick climbed onto the bed, preparing himself. He prodded Spencer’s legs apart, and Spencer let him, not aware of arousal or pain, though he figured there had to be both of them. They just didn’t seem to matter.

Nick moved on top of him and started to push in; Spencer gasped at the blunt sense of pressure, the steady burn, but he knew by now how to take Nick, and Nick had used plenty of lube on himself.

“Look at me.”

The hard part. Spencer pried his eyes open with sheer obedience rather than determination. Nick’s young sharp features were flushed, green eyes gleaming with mischief, 124

maybe, or pleasure, as he slid all the way into him, triggering that electricity again and hilting himself completely. Spencer couldn’t help it—he smiled.

So did Nick. And then Nick leaned forwards. Down.

As soon as Spencer realised what Nick was doing, he raised his head and met him halfway, grabbing onto the back of his neck as Nick crushed his mouth in a demanding kiss. No holding back now. No pretending they shouldn’t or wouldn’t, just giving in and letting go, and kissing him like this was the way things were supposed to be.

Nick groaned against Spencer’s lips and thrust harder.

Spencer could barely keep his grip on Nick’s neck, and every time Nick’s cock slid across the hypersensitive spot deep inside, Spencer was a little closer to forgetting how to kiss him. Hell, how to breathe.

Nick pulled back, and Spencer’s hand slid off his neck as Nick pushed himself up onto his arms. He was going for broke now, f*cking Spencer harder, faster. The bed frame groaned and protested underneath them, threatening to come apart if Nick gave Spencer even a little bit more.

The bedding was coarse under Spencer’s raw skin, every motion sending burning reminders through his nervous system of the spectacular beating Nick had given him, turning him on even more. He might not be able to move tomorrow, but he didn’t give a f*ck.

Spencer struggled to keep his eyes open. They kept tearing up and trying to roll back, but damn if he was missing a single second of Nick like this: sweaty, dishevelled, every cord and vein standing out in his neck and shoulders. Jaw clenched, muscles tight, all hard, sinewy power, he was the very picture of control even as he pushed Spencer towards that moment when control was out of the question.