If It Flies (Market Garden, #3)

“When you’re gagged.” Nick’s lips curled into that demonic little grin. “Ever done martial arts? The tap to signal you’re giving up? That works for me.” Nick demonstrated a quick double-tap on the tight leather of his trousers. “Got it?”

So Nick had done kung fu or something? Spencer really wanted to know more about the man. Where he’d come from, why he did what he did, whether he liked him or whether it was all business all the time.

Nick cleared his throat. “Got it, Spencer?”

“Yeah. Got it. I can remember that.”

Nick nodded and indicated the ground.

Spencer almost hurried to the spot and knelt.

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Oh, that took care of the awkwardness of standing naked and being studied. And how extremely odd that he preferred it down here. Nick touched Spencer’s hair, trailing the tips of his fingers down his temple and along his jaw, pushed two fingers between his lips. “Show me how much you missed me.”

Oh hell, what was it about Nick that something so relatively minor could turn him on so fiercely?

Because nobody else just pushed their fingers into his mouth or told him in no uncertain terms what the rules were.

And that they weren’t up for negotiation. Spencer sucked on the two fingers, pretended they were a dick, traced them with his tongue and tried to get between them, but Nick resisted the attempt, so Spencer moved his head, fucking his own mouth with Nick’s fingers.

“Very good,” Nick whispered. The turn-on was immediate and hit Spencer low in the gut. Nick wouldn’t have to work hard to get him off tonight. That bag of tricks there was serious overkill. All it took really was Nick’s attitude, his approval, and that big dick of his.

“Hmm, you did miss me.” Nick grinned. “That much, huh?”

And then some. Spencer just moaned an affirmative around Nick’s fingers. Nick’s other hand was on his hair again, stroking, petting. Calming and exciting at the same time. He squirmed, shifting his weight from one knee to the other. Somewhere in his mind, or in some parallel universe, he was already prostrate in front of Nick, taking him hard and fast until Nick pushed him to the very edges of bearable and climaxed himself, and in the present, in this dimension, that mental image made his head spin and his heart pound.

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“All night,” Nick whispered, still stroking Spencer’s hair.

“I can have so much fun with you now, can’t I?”

The whimper escaped before Spencer could try to stop it.

Once it was out, he didn’t care.

Nick grinned, and then tugged the fingers Spencer had been sucking on. Spencer instinctively parted his lips to let Nick’s fingers slide out. As Nick withdrew his hand, he said, “Get my bag.”

And here we go.

Spencer leaned towards the bag, which was just close enough for him to grab without moving from this comfortable spot at Nick’s feet. He brought the bag back and set it beside him, looked up at Nick.

“Open it.”

He unzipped the bag. Holy hell. What was half this stuff?

It looked like a mix of sporting equipment, office supplies, kitchen appliances, and torture devices. The nipple clamps, he recognised. Porn was educational once in a while, after al .

The long leather-wrapped handle with the thin, knotted tails was pretty self-explanatory, as were the handcuffs. The ball gag was—wait, was that a horse bit?

Nick squatted in front of Spencer, leather trousers creaking and his knee brushing Spencer’s bare leg. He reached into the bag and riffled through it, pushing aside all manner of things that must have come from the junk door in de Sade’s kitchen.

Spencer held his breath. The horse bit was a little much. The cat o’ nine tails, maybe. Fuck those spurs or whatever the hell they were.

“Ah. Here we are.” Nick pulled something free, and stood.

Spencer looked up. In one hand, Nick had a black satin blindfold. Okay, fair enough. Not that he wanted to be blind in the same room as that goddamned bag, but okay. In the 66

other hand, a skinny, foot-long stick, like an extra-long swizzle stick. Or an unlit sparkler. Except with a grip.

His arse clenched. No way.

He swallowed. “What . . . what exactly is that for?”

Every one of Nick’s teeth showed. His Cheshire Cat look was even more unsettling than those little barely-there grins.

Especially when he had . . . whatever the fuck that thing was in his hand. “This?”

“Yeah. That.”

“Quite simple, really.” Nick slid the blindfold over his own wrist so he wouldn’t drop it. Then he leaned down. He held the stick by the handle and pressed the last two or three inches of the opposite end against Spencer’s stomach. Fairly straightforward. At least it didn’t go anywhere near his arse.

Nick lifted that free end with his index finger and pulled it back so the stick bowed with tension.

Oh. Crap.

He let it go.

Snap.

“Fuck!” Spencer grimaced and bit back a shitload more profanity. The intense sting, concentrated into a single tiny spot, took his breath away. “Is that even legal in this country?”