Ever since you decided to have some personal space, dumbarse.
Spencer slipped his phone into his pocket, then realised he and Nick hadn’t agreed on a meeting place. Here, at his house? Probably. He remembered Nick saying something about a bag of tricks. That would require space. Privacy.
And just how much could they do during, what, seven, eight hours? Realistically, more like two hours and sleep and maybe a repeat. But even one fuck would do him more good than just about anything else had recently.
60
Sitting in the kitchen, he ate a salad he’d bought at one of the places around work, and washed it down with a glass of red that took the edge off a bit. Then had a long soak in the tub, grooming himself carefully. Shaved, trimmed, polished, resisted the urge to jerk off to relax. He’d enjoy Nick taking the remaining edges off for him.
He wrapped himself in a large bathrobe and lay down for a while on the bed. Just to close his eyes and chill after the long hot bath.
61
Chapter
siX
he doorbell prodded him out of darkness, and the Oh T shit! in his mind jerked him into complete awareness.
The DVD player said 12:05. After midnight. Right after midnight.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
He looked down at his robe. Well, this would have to do.
Nick could probably improvise if he’d expected Spencer to be fully dressed.
On his way to the door, he paused and glanced in the hal way mirror, arranging himself as much as he could in a few seconds. Then he put his hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, and sent up a silent thank you to whomever might be listening because Nick was finally here.
He pulled open the door, and the horrid week evaporated.
Leather jacket. Leather trousers. Laced-up boots that Spencer would probably be untying before too long. And over his shoulder, the nylon strap of a black duffel bag slung across his back.
Nick’s green eyes seemed darker under the porch light, and he smirked as he gave Spencer a down-up glance.
“Cutting to the chase, hmm?” That eyebrow quirked, and Spencer laughed just to keep himself breathing.
“Something like that, yeah.” He stood aside and waved Nick in.
As Nick moved past him, his gait fast and smooth like almost everything else he did, something in the bag on his back rattled. Metal against . . . something. Something solid.
62
Spencer gulped as he closed the door. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what Nick had up his sleeve. If he’d made a simple fuck-massage-fuck into something so earth-shattering, God knew what he could do with a handful of devices and implements.
“Bedroom?” Nick asked over his shoulder, but it sounded less like a question and more like a confirmation of something he already knew.
“Yeah. The . . . the bedroom.” Spencer followed. “You remember where it is.”
“I never forget important details.”
You don’t say.
Two feet into the bedroom, Nick dropped the bag with a heavy thud and some metal ic clanking. Spencer closed the door, and stepped around the bag and the rentboy. His heart was in overdrive now; hard to believe he’d been sound asleep a few minutes ago, because he was seven-Red-Bulls-and-an-espresso awake now. His palms were sweaty, making him wonder when he’d turned into a nervous school kid again.
Oh. Right. When he’d brought this guy home the first time.This guy who was cupping his elbow in one hand and stroking his chin—no stubble; wondered if he even needed to shave—thoughtfully while he looked Spencer up and down.
“The robe.” He made a gesture like he was dismissing Spencer. Or his robe? “Off.”
Obediently, Spencer undid the knot and shrugged out of the robe. He draped it over a bedpost, faced Nick again.
Nick’s expression and posture hadn’t changed. Ramrod straight crevices formed between his slim eyebrows. The only lines in his face, and even they were perfect and sharp. He still unnerved Spencer, but not as much as he had the first night.
63
What that meant, Spencer had no idea. Was he getting used to the idea of a sadist-for-hire?
And with all the wheels so obviously turning inside Nick’s head, Spencer wasn’t sure if he should be intrigued or scared out of his bloody mind. Maybe both.
Spencer blew out a breath.
“Hmm?” Nick asked.
“Should I . . .?” Spencer indicated the ground. That was where things started, wasn’t it, and he was itching to get started.
“You like kneeling.” One of those statements. “Done anything to deserve it?”
Deserve it? What? “I worked my arse off all week?”
Nick’s lips quirked with genuine amusement. “Lippy.
Might have to gag you.”
Oh. God.
“Safeword’s ‘Bonaparte,’” Nick said. “Remember?”
Surprised that Nick did, Spencer nodded. “I do. How does that work if I’m gagged?”