If It Fornicates (Market Garden, #4)(37)

The church mouse swallowed. Then he nodded slowly.

A fresh, unblemished submissive. One with the desire, the eagerness, but no experience. Exactly the kind of john Nick loved to play with.

And he . . . couldn’t.

He couldn’t do it.

Nick took another drink from the cola, and put the glass down. “You want one of the Doms, then.” He nodded towards the corner of the room where a couple of the other kinky rentboys hung out. “They can show you the ropes, as it were.”

“Really?” The church mouse furrowed his brow again. “You don’t do that stuff?”

Nick shook his head. “Afraid not.”

“Oh. Okay. So, um.” The guy looked at the other rentboys. “So, one of them, then?”

Nick nodded.

“I’ll go speak to them. Cheers.”

Nick got up and let him out, and watched as the church mouse meekly approached the group of Doms. He’d have a good time tonight, of that Nick had no doubt.

But as for Nick, he just didn’t have it in him. Even a more vanilla john than this church mouse was too much for him tonight. The thrill of the hunt, the pre-game mind games, the paid play in a hotel or a flat or the back of a luxury car—none of it appealed to him. For the first time since he’d started working at the Garden, this was the last place in the world he wanted to be. He looked around aimlessly, noticed a look from Raoul that silently asked, You good, mate?

Nick responded with a half-hearted nod, and the bartender went back to wiping down the bar. Nick glanced at his watch. It was late enough that Spencer would be in bed. No rest for the wicked, and God, but Nick wanted to be there with him, f*ck him and then take the cage off to let him come if he begged nicely enough.

There. There was the charge he’d been missing all day. The charge he’d needed to get that connection with the church mouse off the ground.

But shit, thinking of Spencer while f*cking somebody else—that felt wrong. Like taking something precious meant for one special person and just throwing it at some random person who happened to be hanging around. No, worse than that. Taking that something precious, and actively seeking someone out so he could just throw it at them. That thought grew barbs and dug in deeper.

God, he was so f*cked. That was bad, really bad. He was reeling—because he couldn’t really dominate somebody when his head was elsewhere. When he wasn’t even present. While he was waiting for a goddamned text. Or imagining Spencer tossing around in his bed, turned on and helpless. Nick might hit too hard. Hit the wrong spot. Miss a clue of real distress. People got injured that way. And while he really didn’t mind selling pain or sex, that was simply not safe. Not right.

He rubbed the sides of his nose, then caught Frank’s gaze on him. He lifted an eyebrow, and Frank nodded at him in clear invitation, leaning back in the booth where he’d been going through papers, as he sometimes did.

Nick sauntered over and sat down. “Boss.”

“How you doing, Nick?”

“Doing all right.” Nick inhaled deeply. “Personally more than professionally, though.”

Frank pulled a pen from the inside of his jacket, the motion drawing Nick’s attention to the black T-shirt moulded to the boss’s impressive pecs. His salt-and-pepper hair was buzzed short, and he had the kind of face that went well with pilot shades. Nick always felt he looked like a drill sergeant from an American porn movie about military guys getting it on. Not exactly his scene, though he could appreciate it.

“You going to tell me?” Frank asked.

“You asking as my boss?”

“As somebody who wants to make sure he has an idea what’s going on with people in here.”

“Gotcha.” Nick folded his hands on the table to keep from giving away the hint of nerves he was feeling. “Don’t have it in me at the moment. I think I need a break.”

Frank tapped the pen he’d been making notes with on the table. “What’s up? Need help? Is it about university?”

“No. That’s all going well. I’m . . . I’m good with the workload and the times. It’s just, my head’s not in it. Both heads, I guess.”

Frank grinned wryly.

“And uh. I have a boyfriend.”

“Do you?” Frank’s eyes widened a little. “I had no idea.”

“It’s a fairly new development,” Nick said quietly.

“He got issues with your job?”

“He’s a former client. He knows what I do, and it doesn’t bother him.” Except he doesn’t like what the job is doing to me lately. “It’s just—to be perfectly honest and blunt about it, I don’t really give a f*ck about the clients. I’m slipping, sloppy, I’m just not myself anymore. Any arsehole can do what I can do at the moment. I’m maybe losing my touch.”

“Or somebody else is keeping it for you,” Frank commented. “Your touch, I mean.”

“Or that.” Nick stared at the table surface. “This is awkward.”

Frank remained silent for a while. “Take time off, Nick. You’ve worked hard, you got a lot going on. Hell, enjoy your boyfriend. You’re not a machine.”

Any other night, Nick would have had some smart-arse comment at the ready. Right now, all he could think was that he’d been fine—well, better than he was tonight, anyway—before he took time off. Before he’d focused completely on Spencer for a few days without either of their jobs distracting them. If he took more time off, he’d gravitate towards the man whose tormented, pleading texts had come in sporadically all day long. Off with the clothes, off with the chastity device, and he could have hot, sweaty, kinky sex with someone who actually held his attention.