If It Fornicates (Market Garden, #4)(34)

“Mm-hmm.” Nick dropped a light kiss on Spencer’s forehead. “And maybe, in light of you coming without permission, we’ll go with something a little more . . . severe.”

Spencer tensed slightly. “More severe than what?”

“More severe than me just telling you not to touch yourself,” Nick teased. He nudged Spencer’s shoulder. “I’ll get my bag. See what you’ll be wearing to the office on Tuesday.”

Spencer shuddered, but he obeyed and sat up.

Nick reached for his bag and dug for a number of options. He could discard three entirely—Spencer was simply too large for them, and they did need at least a bit of play when his dick tried to get hard.

He found one of his favourites—a stainless steel cage that would serve its purpose beautifully. He hadn’t used this one more than once or twice.

Spencer licked his lips when Nick pulled it out and lifted it up high enough for him to see. “That one should fit.” He reached for Spencer’s dick and pulled him closer by it. Spencer immediately complied. When Nick pushed the steel sleeve over his dick, Spencer tensed.

“C-cold.”

“It warms up quickly.” Nick pulled it in place, closed the securing ring around Spencer’s balls, and inspected it from all sides. There were holes at the tip, allowing Spencer to piss, but the cage held his cock at a severe curve down, making it impossible for him to get hard. Coming was out of the question. It was weightier than one in plastic, but he did prefer steel for this. It was just a more primal material, stronger, unyielding, and the fact that it didn’t splinter or scratch even with heavy use was another plus.

Spencer stared at him, as if about to bargain, but he didn’t.

“That works on you. It’s a good look.”

Spencer chuckled. “As long as I can wear it with a suit.”

“Oh, definitely. It’s a very good look under a suit.” Nick kept the cage in place with one hand, then kissed Spencer. “Considering I like your dick that much, nobody else can use it.”

Spencer swallowed. “No. It’s yours.”

God, f*cking hell, this man was perfect.





This thing is going to drive me insane.

Nick snickered over the text from Spencer. That’s the idea, he wrote back. A second later, he added, Have we learned anything from this experience?

He continued getting himself ready to go to the Garden. He was halfway through shaving when a text message pinged his phone again.

Don’t come until you tell me to.

Fast learner. Nick set his phone aside and continued shaving. He hadn’t bothered over the last couple of days, so his skin was less than thrilled, but he’d live. Wasn’t like he got terribly scruffy after only one long weekend.

Once his face was smooth, he left the bathroom and dressed. As he put his foot up on his desk and laced up his boots, his leather trousers squeaked softly. His jacket rubbed against his skin, the surface still cool. He wore this or something similar to it every time he went to the Garden, but it felt . . . weird tonight. What the hell? He’d taken weeklong holidays more than once, and slipped right back into his black leather without a second thought. After three days, he shouldn’t have batted an eye.

He finished lacing his other boot and dropped his foot to the floor. Shaking his head, he picked up his keys and headed out. Maybe he just hadn’t rested enough. A weeklong holiday left him refreshed, if a little hungover. Considering he and Spencer had been at it until early this morning, that must have been it. Lack of sleep. Nothing ever fit quite right when the head was still tired and jumbled.

Which completely explained, of course, why, when he walked into Market Garden an hour or so later, he felt like he’d just arrived on an alien planet.

That was just bizarre. The back room and the lounge area were like second homes for Nick. He knew every crease in the back room’s hideous wallpaper, and he could practically recite the bar’s top-shelf booze by brand, in order, from left to right and back again. He knew the whores, the customers, the bouncers, and the bartenders. Even the women in the front lounge, and their customers, bouncers, and bartenders.

So why the hell did everything feel all wrong tonight?

Ah, look, Jared and Tristan being all cute and gothy, trying to pretend they were as interested in scoring tonight as getting into each other’s leather trousers. He gave a brief nod to the head bartender and took up his position near the bar. A Coke with a slice of lime materialised next to him. Raoul himself was on duty tonight.

“Good weekend?” Raoul seemed in one of his better moods.

Nick nodded. “What the doctor ordered. You?”

Raoul gave a noncommittal shrug. “Finally got the moving sorted. Commuting into London was a f*cking pain in the arse.”

“Brighton, right?”

Raoul nodded. “City of yoga teachers and barkeeps. Much better up here for money.”

Yeah. Go where the bankers are. Half the service industry workers followed their prey much like sharks followed herrings . . . or whatever. Cod. City bankers were more like cod—grew fatter with age and no limit to size.

“What are you doing here on a Tuesday, anyway?”

“Need some extra cash.” Raoul flexed his biceps. “Getting another tattoo tomorrow.”

Needles—firmly something for other people. Even his piercings had been more a dare than a desperate need to see a needle pushed through his flesh. “Ah, that explains it.”