If It Fornicates (Market Garden, #4)(11)

Stop obsessing over it.

He shook his head and looked into his empty glass. Idle time meant an idle mind that insisted on overanalysing his situation. Once he and the john were past the point of paperwork, he’d have enough to concentrate on, and he wouldn’t have time to think about anyone or anything outside the hotel room or flat or wherever they ended up. Likely a hotel room. Guys like Red Tie didn’t cough up over a grand for a back alley blowjob or a quick f*ck in a backseat. Though guys like him tended to own very large cars, and often employed chauffeurs. If the back of the car was big enough . . .

He looked up as Red Tie returned, and the toothy grin said the background check had gone swimmingly. They usually did. Though when they didn’t, Nick sure thanked every deity imaginable that they were performed at all.

“Well,” Red Tie said. “That’s all taken care of. How about you and me get out of here and we see if you’re really worth twelve hundred quid?”

Nick stepped around the small table. “Oh, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that.”

Red Tie did have a huge car with a driver. As Nick climbed in, he checked out the spacious backseat, mentally calculating just how much could be accomplished here. A fair amount, by the looks of it; they could have easily fit two more people back here and still had leg and elbow room.

Red Tie gave the driver a quick, terse “Home, please,” and then rolled up the opaque privacy screen. Tinted windows blocked out the rest of the world, especially since it was after dark, and the two of them were alone in the car, facing each other on opposite bench seats.

“How long is the drive?” Nick asked.

Red Tie shrugged. “Thirty minutes, give or take?”

“Seems like enough time.”

The john’s eyes widened. “Enough . . . enough time for what?”

“Take off your trousers.”

The man’s eyes got even wider. “What?”

Nick tilted his head slightly. “I believe I was clear.” Now let’s see if you really are the eagerly submissive type.

Red Tie glanced at the partition. He swallowed.

And then he unbuckled his belt.

Nick sat back against the seat, leather creaking as he crossed one knee over the other and folded his arms across his mostly bare chest. He silently watched the wealthy man undoing his trousers and contorting as he pushed them down; no matter how big the vehicle, it was impossible to remove clothing with any semblance of grace.

Red Tie paused with his trousers around mid-thigh. “I . . . my shoes, they—”

“They can stay.” Nick waved a hand. “Everything’s off far enough anyway.”

“Far enough for . . .?”

Nick smirked. “Before I get started, I like to see what I have to work with.” He nodded towards the john’s lower body. “Underwear too. Show me everything.”

Red Tie went red-faced. He started to say something, but then he hooked his thumbs in his waistband and clumsily shimmied out of the white briefs.

“Jerk yourself off.”

“What?” Red Tie furrowed his brow. “Aren’t I paying you for—”

“You’ll get what you paid for. In fact, that’s what you’re getting now. So—” Another nod towards Red Tie’s now naked crotch. “—jerk yourself off.”

Red Tie swallowed hard. Then he sat back and closed his hand around his hardening dick. It was fairly good-sized. Not the most impressive thing Nick had ever seen, but he could work with it. And if Red Tie was getting that hard that quick, then it was a safe bet that for as flustered and nervous as he was, he was obviously enjoying this.

As the john started pumping his own dick with his fist, Nick added, “Oh, but you can’t come until we turn onto your street.”

“What?” The john stared at him. “But, but that’s thirty minutes!”

“I know.” Nick grinned. “Make it count.”

For a moment, it looked like Red Tie would protest further, but he then sat back and continued to stroke himself, leisurely, pacing himself for what he assumed would be thirty minutes. Never mind that the Dom got to change the rules when necessary. Or when he damned well felt like it.

Nick watched the man’s face more than his hand, and the john was looking back at him with something like frustration and defiance, like it was some kind of dare. This one should be interesting—he had issues, had likely not been trained properly, just hiring people to humiliate him, people he owned for the night. Question was, did he have more than that in him, or was that all he would ever experience?

The john was getting more into it, more aroused, and he broke the eye contact, head falling forward. Nick kept his position of apparent disinterest, although the guy definitely wasn’t hard to look at. In between some of the overfed (usually senior) bankers, it was nice getting one of the sharp ones who pursued a gym routine with the same fervour as a deal.

“How long have you been into this?”

“All my life,” the john responded, jaw taut as he wrestled for control.

“Fantasise about getting punished? Raped? Beaten?”

“Yeah.” The man’s lips twitched. “Doesn’t really fit with my job . . .” Likely a high achiever who’d pushed and pushed and somehow made it rather than get beaten down by a stronger man, which was what they truly wanted but never got. Just how many men out there compensated to the point that they buried their true selves was anybody’s guess, but the few who did eventually act on it provided Nick with a decent living.