If It Fornicates (Market Garden, #4)(12)

Nick uncrossed his legs, then re-crossed them, and slouched, deliberately looking as unenthusiastic as possible. Examining his fingernails, running his thumbnail over the edge of the middle one, he said, “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

Red Tie jumped. Then his hand, which he probably hadn’t even realised had stopped, started moving again. “This . . . this what you do, then? Charge a man a thousand quid so you can . . . sit back and watch him wank?”

Nick arched an eyebrow, and started to speak, but then the hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he thought of the way Spencer always responded to that look. The immediately downturned eyes, the tension in his neck and shoulders if he thought he’d misstepped, and yet at the same time, a release of breath. Like the reminder of who was in control let him relax.

Red Tie’s brow furrowed. Maybe from Nick’s extended silence, maybe from the way he was jerking his cock, but Nick wasn’t taking any chances; he was in charge here, he was in control, and damned if he was handing back any of that control until the evening was over.

He looked at his nails again. “You’re paying me to be in charge. If you question me every step of the way, then . . .” He looked the man in the eye, and when Red Tie dropped his gaze, added, “That’s what I thought.” He paused. “We still have a good twenty minutes. I wouldn’t yank it quite that hard unless you want to be on the verge of losing it the entire time.”

Red Tie’s lips tightened, and he slowed his hand.

“I mean,” Nick went on, narrowing his eyes and not suppressing his amusement even the tiniest bit, “it’s your call. Sometimes it’s fun to ride that edge, you know?” He shifted enough to make sure his leather trousers squeaked. “Being hard as hell, wanting to come so bad it hurts.”

The john bit his lip.

Nick arched his eyebrow. “But the clock won’t let you, will it?”

A soft groan, and the man’s free hand shook a little as he reached up to bat away a single bead of sweat.

“I asked you a question.”

Red Tie gulped. “I . . .” His cheeks flushed even darker. “What was the . . . question?”

Nick released a long, emphatically disapproving breath. “You mean you’re not paying attention?”

Spencer always pays attention.

The thought startled Nick. Jerked him from his slouched position into a more upright one. The john eyed him, and Nick recovered quickly, sharpening his voice to match his tone: “If you’re not going to pay attention, there will be consequences.”

The john pressed his lips together. “My apologies,” he said eventually.

There was no more impersonal way to say I’m sorry, Nick thought. He nodded, prompting.

“What was the question, please?”

“Do you think you’ll be allowed to come? I’d weigh that carefully. Your driver will most definitely know if I’ve made you come in the backseat like a teenager with no control.”

The john swallowed, grip tightening on his dick again. “What happens if I do come? If it’s an accident?”

Sly bastard. Trying to game the system, and they were only fifteen minutes in.

“You do not want to find out,” Nick said.

The john’s eyes flashed—the guy had a rebellious streak the width of the Atlantic, but the good thing was, his tells were easy to read. When he lost control, when he tried to regain it, when he was frustrated; Nick could see right through him. By the time they got down to business in a secure place, Nick would know exactly how to handle him. Twelve hundred said he’d deliver exactly what the man wanted, with his compliance or not. Going a whole night had been a good call. This type should not be rushed.

“You don’t have a regular Dom?”

The man scoffed.

“Answer.”

“No. No, I don’t.”

“Why not? Can’t be the cash. A regular could cut you a deal.”

Red Tie’s hand tightened again, and he gritted his teeth. “I told you it . . . doesn’t fit . . .” He closed his eyes, hand slowing down, but he was getting so turned on now that Nick would have bet money on the john’s focus shifting from humiliation to the pure need to get off. Maybe already contemplating why he hadn’t hired a fifty-quid hooker for a blowjob.

“How does this fit?”

“It just does.” The man’s breath was laboured now. “Shit.”

“So you make do with vanilla sex while trying to fit in sex with a hired hand? That’s pretty sad.”

“It’s the only f*cking thing that works.” The man shifted on his seat, eyes tightly closed. “I can’t believe . . .”

“How much this turns you on.”

“Yes.” The john shook his head, made no eye contact. “No whips, just . . . just my mind.”

“Tell you a secret. Even with the whip, it’s mostly the mind.” Nick paused. “Slow down.”

“Please.”

“Patience.”

The man’s tight lips moved just enough to form what Nick assumed to be “motherf*cker.”

“Would you like to tell your driver to circle the block a few dozen times?” Nick asked. “I’m not the one with my hand around my dick. I can do this all night.”