If It Fornicates (Market Garden, #4)(10)

Tim set his glass beside Nick’s. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“I don’t consider myself a beggar.”

Tim laughed. Nick managed a quiet chuckle, but didn’t say much. He liked Tim, but wasn’t really in the mood to socialize. Especially since socializing was sometimes indistinguishable from flirting. Even with the black leather trousers every rentboy in the room wore, a client might think they were otherwise occupied and go give his money to someone else.

Right then, the club door opened. Every man-for-hire’s head turned, even some of the ones already occupied with clients. A well-appointed businessman strolled in, looking every bit the rich, f*ckable bastard. God, his cufflinks alone probably cost more than most men’s cars, because those were emphatically not Swarovski crystals.

Tim gasped and put a hand to his chest. “Oh, hello.” He elbowed Nick. “Do you see that?”

“Yes, I do.” Nick took a quick drink to cool and moisten his mouth as he sized up the man from a distance.

“Bloody hell.” Tim shook his head. “I would f*ck that man so hard, whoever pulled me out would be the new King of England.”

Nick laughed. “You wish.” And he started towards his chosen prey. On the way, he tried to get more of a bead on the man. Flashy as he was, he wasn’t a lawyer. Lawyers wore more subdued suits, for one, at least in Nick’s experience. Early, maybe mid-forties. Red tie. So maybe a CEO? A vice president at one of the big investment banks? The red tie was a stereotype—somebody must have invented the “Alpha males wear red ties” thing twenty years ago in GQ or Esquire. And ever since then, the herd had followed, which in itself was just f*cking ironic.

Nick pushed up against the man’s table, regarded him from the side, noticed the man looking at him, gaze trailing over his skin.

The man’s lips quirked into a smile. “And who are you?”

“Nick.” Nick turned and faced him fully.

“Just Nick.” Red Tie’s eyes flashed with interest and his gaze drifted to Nick’s bare chest. “Nice piercings.”

Nick didn’t follow the man’s gaze downward. That would have subtly shifted the power balance out of his favour. “You got any?”

“No. I was considering it though.”

Don’t tell me you don’t like the pain.

“But I travel a lot to the States. They have those X-rays now.” Red Tie smiled. “You’re never sure if you’re flying into a state where perverts get thrown into jail.”

Nick nodded. “You gotta wonder though what they’d do to you in jail.” He bared teeth. “From the corner office to everybody’s bitch, I’d guess.” Said under his breath, more offer than threat.

Red Tie’s hand went up to his collar and tugged at the knot. “You think?”

“I do. I think you’d get fed a lot of cock, until you like it, and then because you like it.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Obviously, I’m the safe option there, but I can give you a taste of that.”

Red Tie exhaled, studied him, and then glanced around the room—not to evade, just to check on witnesses. “How much are we talking?”

“Five hundred for a couple hours.”

“And you . . .” The man cleared his throat. “Deliver on that?”

“Ask anybody. If you want pain, hell, if you want to get f*cked until you scream, that’s my profile.” Nick pushed away from the table, knowing his barbs and hooks were embedded in the guy’s bones and nervous system. Humiliation he could deliver. Pain, absolutely. “Best Dom you’ll find in here. And I play rough.”

Red Tie nodded. “Okay. How much is the whole night?”

All night? Thank God he’d rested well. He got the sense he’d need it. “Twelve hundred.”

Red Tie nodded. “Let’s go.”

Twelve hundred for a night, and he hadn’t even batted an eye. Nick could make a killing off this guy if he played his cards right.

He waved a hand towards the bar. “They do a discreet background check first. It’s quick, and then I’m all yours.”

Red Tie glanced at the bar, at Nick again, and then nodded a third time and headed for the bar.

As his evening’s paycheque took care of the necessary paperwork, Nick finished his watery Coke. Something in his gut tightened as he shifted his attention from finding a client to doing what needed to be done so he could get paid.

Then I’m all yours.

How many times had he said that to johns? He’d never given much thought to the choice of words, needing only to convey the message that his client had rented him for the evening and would get his money’s worth. Not that Nick was literally all his.

The thought made him uncomfortable, but he brushed it away. Just part of adapting to the idea of prostituting when he had a boyfriend. Spencer didn’t have a problem with it. He’d said he didn’t, and he’d looked Nick in the eye when he’d said it and hadn’t given him any reason to think he was lying. This had been part of the deal from the beginning, and Spencer had gone into their relationship knowing that when they weren’t in the bedroom together, Nick’s body was for rent. For other men to rent.

Nick’s mouth dried as he watched the john filling out the short form at the bar. If this didn’t bother Spencer, why the hell did it bother Nick all of a sudden?