Smooth, smooth shoulders, perfectly shaped. Nick’s poise was as controlled and grand as if he were a stage magician.
And yet he didn’t seem melodramatic at al . Something about that easy confidence twisted Spencer’s balls, and he wasn’t even sure why. He folded the jacket and placed it on a chair, stealing a glance at Nick’s back even as he did it. Nick was cut, front and back. Smooth, too. Waxed, lasered, or just naturally hairless.
Nick didn’t turn to face him, so Spencer swallowed a moment of hesitation and walked around him. Quite subtly, Nick made him do things that he simply hadn’t imagined himself doing. Small things, but, shit, poignant.
“Like what you see?” Nick asked.
Spencer nodded. “You’re in shape.”
Nick grinned. “Only the very best for my boy Spencer.”
Wait, what? Who was the boy here?
“Take off the cufflinks and tie.”
Spencer’s hands were up to his throat before he could think better of it. He pulled at the fine Italian silk and smoothed it before he dropped it on—well, not the chair with Nick’s jacket. Somehow, those piles of clothes should stay separate. He put it on the bed, fiddled the cufflinks out of the French cuffs. They flared open, making his wrists feel naked and vulnerable.
He dropped the links into his trouser pocket so they wouldn’t get lost.
24
“Your shirt.”
Spencer unbuttoned it, eyes on Nick’s smooth chest, pulled it free and opened the last few buttons. He was about to take it off, when Nick’s “Stop” stopped him.
Nick looked him up and down. Again. One more time.
Some sort of mindfuckery, Spencer had no doubt, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what. Nick gave him a nod, indicating to finish that part of the striptease, and Spencer finished removing his shirt. Under Nick’s scrutiny, he was glad he did work out whenever possible—swimming, running, because otherwise the job stress would simply murder him.
And now, it amazed him just how exposed he could feel while he was still dressed to the waist.
Nick motioned him forward with two fingers.
Spencer followed, moved right up to where Nick indicated.
This close up, Nick was shorter, slighter than him, but that thought faded when Nick placed his fingers on Spencer’s sternum. “Fantasies? Anything you’ve always wanted to try?
Stuff from the locked part of your hard drive? Tell me.”
Tell me. That may as well have been the password to those files buried deep in the back of Spencer’s mind, because his mouth didn’t hesitate to respond. “I like it rough.”
“Define ‘rough,’ Spencer.” Those two fingers trailed across Spencer’s chest, towards his nipple, and Nick’s nipple ring suddenly had Spencer’s attention. “How rough?”
“I . . .”
“There’s all kinds of degrees of rough, Spencer.” He really liked saying his name, didn’t he? His fingers drew closer to Spencer’s nipple, making progressively smaller circles.
“There’s the kind that leaves marks.” Green eyes flicked up, down again. “There’s the kind that leaves serious marks.”
25
Oh God. The man hadn’t been joking about the things he could offer besides topping. And maybe, in the privacy of his own home, with a guy who was discreet and a professional— maybe it was possible to actually act on those fantasies. It would be hard to shock this guy, wouldn’t it?
“N-no visible marks.”
A grin. A filthy, shiver-inducing grin. Nick looked at him through that blond fringe again, tossed his head, looked at him with nothing over his eyes. “Well, they’ll be visible to me, won’t they?”
Spencer swallowed. “You know what I mean. Nothing anyone at the office will see.”
Nick nodded and made a quiet sound, watched his finger continue its spiral ing path towards Spencer’s nipple. “And what about on surfaces no one at the office will see?”
“Um, well . . .” He sucked in a hiss of breath as Nick’s nail took over for his fingertip, trailing round and round that sensitive flesh, biting in just enough to keep Spencer from forming a coherent thought. “Just . . . no blood.”
“No blood through the skin?” Nick teased, pressing in with the edge of his nail. “Or none under the skin either?”
What? What the hell? What the hell are you— Bruising. Right.
Couldn’t he just say that, then?
As if he could hear Spencer’s thoughts, Nick met his eyes, and that damn grin curled a little higher on one side.
Oh. Of course he couldn’t just say it. That wouldn’t fuck with Spencer’s mind nearly enough, would it?
“I need to be able to sit at my desk and work,” Spencer said, and, funny, but this very simple, very reasonable statement already felt a little bit like he was defying Nick. What, fifteen minutes in? Something like that. And why on earth not defy 26
Nick? He was a rentboy, so it was Spencer who was actually in control. He assumed he’d at least get to come in the next two hours. Nick had to know what he was doing, so, uhm, maybe try and relax.
“I’ll improvise. Don’t have my bag of tricks with me.”
Toys. Whips? What . . . oh God. Spencer glanced at the bed and Nick slapped him sharply on the chest, making him jump. What was that for?