If It Fornicates (Market Garden, #4)(18)
Great. Because Nick could totally do that and still be able to work. He cursed under his breath and turned away from the water so the warmth could work its magic on his tired back and shoulders. One way or another, he needed to get it together. Clients didn’t cough up that much cash for a half-arsed beating and a reluctant f*cking.
And quitting?
Not after one bad night.
I think we need to acknowledge the fact that it’s unhealthy, the amount of stress on both of us right now, Spencer had said. I don’t want this to be the reason for that. It means we need to take care of ourselves. And each other. And if it comes down to it, make some difficult decisions.
Even now, just hearing that in the back of his mind was enough to make Nick’s gut clench. Spencer was right, of course. All this stress was unhealthy. Sooner or later, something would have to give.
He rolled his shoulders under the hot shower, wishing he had Spencer’s hands on him right then.
Maybe all he needed was a holiday. He could afford it, both money-and time-wise. He still felt guilty for telling Spencer he’d gone to Spain a few weeks ago, back when he’d freaked out over the connection that had developed between them. A few days in Spain with a friend had seemed like a better explanation than what he’d actually done, which was throw himself into his job and put in more hours than ever at Market Garden, all in a feeble effort to convince himself he was absolutely not getting attached to one of his clients.
Maybe he and Spencer needed to go on holiday together. They both certainly needed it, and they could use the time to really get to know each other. Nick could think about everything while Spencer was in the same room. Hell, the same bed.
After his shower, Nick wrapped himself in a towel and went back into the bedroom, checked the phone, and smiled when he saw a text from Spencer.
Thinking of you. A DVD, wine, food, my place this evening?
For once, Nick didn’t hesitate.
Sure, he texted back. I’ll bring whips and chains.
He grinned when Spencer didn’t immediately respond. He could picture him, zoned out with anticipation, and he decided to let him stew in that. He lay down on the bed, plotting what he wanted to do to Spencer, the responses he wanted, the surrender. What it would feel like, and taste like, and sound like. He jerked himself off with those images in his head—but not just to be able to sleep, like he sometimes did. It was the alternative to jumping into a cab and showing up way too early and way too undignified.
A few hours later, he grumbled and stumbled out of bed. Well-rested, yes, but in need of caffeine, food, and yes, another shower. If he ever lived in a place plagued by drought, he’d be f*cked.
As he slowly caffeinated and fed himself, coming out of the haze of sleepiness, his phone buzzed unobtrusively on top of his dresser.
So help me, he thought as he reached for it, if they think I’m coming in tonight after I—
Oh. Spencer.
He couldn’t help smiling as he opened the message.
Looking forward to it.
At least Spencer wasn’t the type to send follow-up messages. Poke, poke. Hello? You there? Why aren’t you talking to me? Because that shit could go straight to hell. Spencer wasn’t clingy like that. Yet another one of his endearing qualities.
Still smiling like an idiot, Nick texted back, Give me an hour or so. It was still a little early yet—just past three thirty in the afternoon—but . . . oh well. Spencer wouldn’t mind, and Nick wanted to see him sooner than later. Win for everyone.
He finished his coffee, then got dressed and shaved. Though he loved the leather he wore for his clients, it was nice to dress down for once. Jeans, a faded Muse T-shirt, trainers. Spencer must feel the same way when he had a day off and didn’t have to bother with suits and all that bullshit. Even if the suits did look good on him. Like, really good.
On his way out the door, he glanced at the wardrobe where he kept the bag he usually took with him. All the toys and fun torture implements. Just the thought of carrying it made him tired, though. Maybe Spencer would understand if, in spite of the playful text he’d sent earlier, Nick left the bag of tricks at home for an evening. He could always improvise or use the few things he’d left at Spencer’s place, a bit like leaving a toothbrush and a comb. Also, Spencer did have a few toys of his own.
An image flickered through his mind of the first night at Spencer’s place, when Nick had just been a prostitute and Spencer had just been his john. He’d ordered Spencer to f*ck himself with one of his own dildos. Nick shivered at the memory. Good God, that had been hot. Maybe he’d tell Spencer to do it again.
With that thought in mind and the bag of toys still in the wardrobe, Nick left for Spencer’s flat.
“DVD” turned out to be Breaking Bad, which, for whatever reason, was hilariously funny. If anybody had told Nick four months ago he’d be sitting on a couch in front of the TV with a boyfriend who was a high-powered corporate lawyer and also an inspired (and inspiring) sub, he’d have strongly recommended laying off the drugs.
And sitting beside said lawyer, watching the exploits of a meth dealer and every few minutes exchanging he didn’t really just do that, did he? glances, made Nick feel almost normal. As if they had a normal relationship, like other people had.
And Nick hadn’t felt anything close to normal in a long time. Few of his friends and none of his family knew he was a prostitute, and when he was around them, he was always keenly aware of his secret. It reminded him a bit of the time before he’d come out, when every social function and family gathering had included a constant cadence of I’m gay, I’m gay, I’m gay repeating in the back of his mind. Not that he wanted them to know he was a prostitute, but just being around people who didn’t know made him hyperaware of the card he had tucked in his sleeve. Of that unspoken thing that made him different from everyone else in the room.