If It Fornicates (Market Garden, #4)(13)

Another mouthed profanity, this one almost brought to life by a low groan from the back of Red Tie’s throat. His rhythm faltered. Nick kind of wished at this point he’d had the man roll up his sleeves; nothing quite like watching those muscles and tendons twitching and trembling from a combination of exertion and frustration.

“How much farther?” Nick asked.

The john blinked a few times, then looked out the tinted windows, brow furrowed as if he could barely focus. “We’re . . . ten minutes. Max.” Followed by a whispered, “Thank God.”

“Think you can hold out that long?” Nick taunted. “You look like you’re right on the edge. God, you’re about ready to blow, aren’t you?”

“Fuck.” Red Tie squirmed, screwing his eyes shut and pumping his cock with rapid, irregular strokes.

“Tell the driver to drive round the neighbourhood once.”

Red Tie’s eyes flew open and his jaw dropped. “What?”

Nick pointed at the privacy screen behind Red Tie.

“But we’re . . .”

“Hmm.” Nick stroked his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “On second thought, I like to take in my surroundings. Really savour the details.” He narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps I should have you tell him to go round the neighbourhood twice?”

Red Tie gulped. He fumbled with his free hand for the button, then lowered the screen just half an inch. “Go round the neighbourhood once before we get to the house.”

“Yes, sir.”

He quickly shut the privacy screen and glared at Nick. “Is that—”

“Keep stroking.”

The groan of frustration made Nick grin. Though deep down, he was almost tempted to groan himself. Once in a while, he liked a challenge. Sometimes, he liked submissives who needed to be forced to their knees, and those who warranted a little punishment here and there. But subs—especially johns—like that were exhausting. They just weren’t the same as the ones who, with nothing more than a look, melted to their knees. The ones who didn’t protest every second while an orgasm was delayed, but were instead profoundly and genuinely grateful when that moment of hard-earned release was granted.

Subs like Red Tie weren’t Spencer.

No one was like Spencer. And no amount of money could make Nick feel for someone what he felt for Spencer whenever they played.

God, I need to feel that tonight. I need—

Focus. Nick barely kept himself from swearing aloud, and he tried to concentrate on his unruly sub-for-the-night. He couldn’t be a Dom while he was distracted. And God, he really was distracted.

“Stay . . . stay with me over the weekend?” he heard Spencer’s voice in the back of his mind. “I’d really like to spend more time with you. See . . . find out how it all works.”

Against his better judgment, he glanced at the digital clock above the privacy screen. 10:30. Only twelve hours or so until that weekend began. Until—

“Oh, God . . .” The john shuddered, biting his lip.

“Don’t come yet.” Nick forced an edge into his voice and forced Spencer’s voice out of his mind. “We’re not there yet, are we?”

“N-no.”

“Then you’d better not be there yet.” He sat up, leaning towards the john, resting his elbows on his knees. “And you’re not, are you?”

“N-no. I’m not.”

“Good.”

Though he’d enjoy punishing him. Setting a guy like this up for failure was always fun. They hated that, because for many of them, to make the kind of money they did, they’d had to eliminate the word “failure” from their vocabulary. It was fun to put it back in and point a searchlight at it.

He returned his attention to the man’s face, reading the war between needing to come and choosing to obey. To obey him. For a moment, Nick considered having Red Tie undress more so he could have a better look at his physique, but he quite liked the dishevelled look. The white shirt and the dangling red tie suited him. And those diamond-studded cufflinks and the expensive Swiss watch added to the image. Status symbols. Money and power and need, all on a man falling apart at the seams.

The car pulled into a driveway and stopped in front of a large house surrounded by a manicured formal garden and a high spike-topped iron fence.

The john kept going, eyes closed, probably far enough in his own head that he hadn’t noticed. Now, those were promising beginnings.

“Stop.”

The john gritted his teeth, but his eyes opened. “What?”

“Zip up.”

“I’m . . . so close.”

“Unless you want to drive around the neighbourhood again.”

“Fuck.” The john stopped, seemingly having to pry his fingers off his cock. He was unsteady and distracted as he got back into his trousers. Nick wondered why the driver hadn’t opened the door, but then, he might know the game, or at least have instructions.

Trousers secured (and tenting), the john rapped the privacy screen once. Nick heard the driver’s side door open, followed by sharp footsteps on the pavement. A moment later, their door opened. Nick stepped out first, which lifted the driver’s eyebrow briefly before the man schooled his face again. Nick gave him an up-and-down glance. Short dark hair, athletic build, mid to late twenties, and a clear face that was halfway between attractive and bland.