“Sure. Say whatever you want, when I’m balls deep in you, I’m in charge and we both know it.”
Spencer shivered. Oh, yeah. He did know it, didn’t he?
And he fucking well liked it and didn’t give a damn why. He cleared his throat. “So, um, do you mind if I ask a personal question?”
“Ask whatever you want. Price doesn’t include answers.”
“So is there any point in asking?”
“Maybe.” Another unseen shrug. “Just no guarantee.”
“Fair enough.” Wonder how much guaranteed answers are.
“How in the world did you get into this business?”
“It’s easy money.”
“Is it?”
“Week’s salary for a night of work? Sure is.” Nick traced the line of Spencer’s nose down to his lips. “Spent lots of time in various clubs. Sometimes, people offered me money.
Sometimes, I took it. Gathered some experience. Went ful -
time.”
“Just like that?”
Nick chuckled. “I wasn’t forced into it. I’m not a broken kid who needs to be rescued, Spencer. I do what I do because I’m good at it and it pays a lot.”
“Damn,” Spencer murmured. “There go all my clichés.”
“Not saying they don’t exist, but . . .” Nick shrugged again.
“I might upgrade to online porn someday, but the thing is, I like to see who I’m dealing with, and the camera adds performance stress. I don’t think this shit should be rushed.”
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Yeah, things like the petting and the . . . centring, for want of a better word—those needed time and patience. With a camera, things were on the clock by the minute rather than the hour, and he imagined that could quite easily go very wrong. “So what’s this? A cuddle? Heart-to-heart?”
“You were flying so high, I had to bring you back down.
Aftercare.”
“Okay.” He felt good. Easy. Light. Relaxed. Deeper and warmer than simple after-sex buzz. “I like this.”
Nick chuckled again. “I like all of it. The anticipation. The build. The sex. And then this.”
“I imagine it might be different with a partner or a boyfriend.”
He’d been fishing, and he knew it. Nick didn’t respond immediately, so he’d noticed it too. And didn’t answer. Maybe too close to home, too personal, or maybe a warning sign that a customer was getting rather too interested.
When he finally did say something, it wasn’t exactly an answer. “You seem to be single.”
“Yeah, the last one . . . transferred to the New York City branch to work on acquisitions in Europe for American multi-nationals. Great career step for him, but a long-distance thing wasn’t really feasible when both of us were fal ing asleep over a pile of files almost every night, anyway.”
“Ugh. I don’t know which would be worse: the job with the pile of files, or the boyfriend with the pile of files.”
“Try both.”
“I’ll pass.” Nick touched Spencer’s face, and the tender contact startled him until he realised Nick was just sliding off the blindfold. “Don’t need this anymore,” he said, and tossed it on the floor in the general vicinity of his duffel bag. “So what’d you do? Date a co-worker?”
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“No. Same line of work, different companies.” Spencer’s eyes took a moment to come into focus, but when he could finally make out Nick’s smooth features, he said, “and both brought work home at night.”
“Well, better than fishing off the company pier, but not by much.”
“Tell me about it.” he said, “You ever do that?”
“What? Date people I work with?”
Spencer nodded.
“Fuck, no.” He absently reached down to fiddle with his belt, squirming like he’d rested on something uncomfortable.
“Co-workers or clients.”
Well, damn.
The pang of disappointment smacked Spencer in the gut harder than Nick had slapped his arse earlier. And what the hell was that about? Disappointed that the prostitute he’d paid for didn’t work for free?
“Do you date at al ?” Spencer asked.
“You find me a guy worth dating who’s willing to date a whore, and we’ll talk.” The faintest hint of bitterness tinged the edges of his voice. Nick cleared his throat and quickly said, “And I’d be bored to death with someone who fell asleep on file folders every night.”
Ouch.
Spencer tried to come up with a defence like that he wouldn’t take work home if he could have something so much better (though he knew if he was ever going to make partner, he likely would have to), then muttered, “I don’t think that’s inevitable.”
“Spencer.” Nick’s voice was firm, though kind, nothing like that easily commanding game voice he used. “Look at me.”
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