If It Fornicates (Market Garden, #4)(31)

Two large canvas prints that Nick loved filled up some of the white walls. One was a close-up shot of metal chains, filling every square inch of the canvas, adding dark and grey and silvery accents to the flat that was mostly wood surfaces and white. The other was more explicit—a bent, muscular back, barely visible in the gloom, an arty shot of strength and obedience, and in a certain light, Nick could easily imagine bruises or bloody gashes on the surface.

Spencer looked at it, studied it for a full minute, then looked back at Nick. “It’s very you.”

Nick winked. “Actually, it’s very you, but I’ll let that stand.”

Spencer indicated the bed. “May I?”

Right. He didn’t actually have any extra chairs, because he really only slept and studied here. And Spencer sitting down on his bed seemed crazy, somehow, really f*cking intimate—his territory, his personal space, his private life, and Spencer right in the middle of it. The most shocking thing was that it didn’t freak him out. It was also hot as hell. It always took extra effort to dominate somebody in their own space, but in his own? Well, this could practically be his dungeon. Everything here was Nick’s. Including Spencer.

Nick cleared his throat. “Have a seat.”

As Spencer sat on the edge of the bed, the toy bag in the wardrobe was forgotten for the moment. It was hard to think of anything now besides the fact that Spencer was here in Nick’s flat. On his turf. Looking up at him from the edge of Nick’s bed, eyes full of You’re in charge and Whatever you say, I’ll do.

Nick approached Spencer slowly. There wasn’t a lot of room, so he made every step count, holding Spencer’s gaze. He stopped with maybe half an inch separating his leg from Spencer’s, and reached down to touch Spencer’s face. He trailed a fingertip along the underside of his jaw, pausing beneath his chin. Then he pressed upwards, tilting Spencer’s head back so he was really looking up at him now.

“I can’t even remember the last time I f*cked someone here.”

Spencer gasped. The full-body shiver reverberated through Nick’s fingers.

“Would you like that, Spencer?” he whispered. “To be f*cked here? In my flat?” He narrowed his eyes a little. “In my bed?”

Spencer licked his lips, then nodded as much as the fingers under his chin would allow. “I would. Yes.”

Nick drew his hand back. “Strip.”

Spencer’s hands flew to the top button of his shirt, but he paused. “May I . . . stand?”

Nick nodded. He stepped back to give Spencer more room. His mouth watered as he watched Spencer remove one layer after another. Spencer’s hands were steady, but quick; he knew better than to dawdle, and anyway, he probably wanted this as much as Nick did. Why waste time?

Spencer pushed his shoes up against the futon’s frame, and neatly folded and stacked his clothes on top of them. Then, completely naked and fully hard, he faced Nick. “Where do you want me?”

“Right there. Don’t move.” Nick pulled off his own shirt and tossed it in the general direction of Spencer’s clothes. He only had on trainers today, so he toed those off and nudged them aside. Eyes locked on Spencer’s, he unbuckled his belt. Spencer could barely stand still; the restlessness was written all over the subtle shifts of his weight to his right foot, left, right again, and the way he kept curling and uncurling his fingers into loose fists. Not nervous. He’d gotten over his nerves a long time ago.

Nick always had some sort of new game or device up his sleeve, but Spencer trusted him. Even when he was nervous, Spencer never seemed remotely tempted to back away. He reminded Nick of a kid trying out a theme park ride for the first time: he knew it was inherently safe, and wasn’t actually afraid, but had no idea what twists and turns and feelings awaited him once the ride began.

Nick dropped the last of his clothes on the small pile. For a moment, he just looked at Spencer. They were a couple of feet apart, both completely naked and aroused. A million ideas ran through Nick’s mind. Flog him? Bind him? Break out the evil sticks or the nipple clamps? Put him on his knees or over the bed?

His body moved before his mind had caught up, and by the time he’d realised what he was doing, Nick had closed the distance between them. He put his arms around Spencer’s waist, pulled their bodies close, pressed skin to skin, and kissed him. Spencer touched him back, almost hesitant, passive, then his hands were on Nick’s shoulder blades, firm, secure, thumbs stroking his skin.

There was something oddly protective and caring about the touch, which would have been preposterous from anybody else, but Nick found himself much less reluctant to accept it from Spencer.

Maybe that was something he’d been missing from his for-pay relationships. Maybe some return current that a man who hired him just didn’t provide, didn’t care to provide. But Spencer did. Maybe he wasn’t even aware of it. But it added something. Depth beyond lust.

He reached up and twisted Spencer’s nipples, made him cringe, but Spencer never broke the contact, and his erection kept pushing against Nick. His to torment, his to tease, his to make incoherent with pain or pleasure or both. And nobody else’s.

Nick broke the kiss and grinned up into Spencer’s face. “There’s something rather special about you.”

“Thank you,” Spencer said, and he clearly meant it. No sarcasm, no jadedness.