“Look at me.”
Oh. Spencer wondered briefly if Nick would try to make him call him “sir” or something, because that was probably where the spell would break. Just a tiny bit too far towards ridiculous.
Nick dug his fingernails—did he file them to be so sharp?—into Spencer’s chest and dragged them down. One went across his nipple, and Spencer jumped, but his balls jumped harder.
“Whatever I’ll do to your arse will be fine by Monday,”
Nick stated matter-of-factly. “At worst, sit on a pillow.”
“I can’t . . . I can’t take a pillow to work.”
Nick’s shoulder rose in a half-shrug. “Then don’t make me do more to your arse than you can handle on Monday.”
Sweet. Mother. Of God.
“Okay.” Sir. Wait, no, that’s— “You’re very easily distracted.”
“Not really.” Spencer swallowed. “Just a lot to . . . process.
Take in.”
Nick responded with a toothy grin. “Not yet there isn’t.”
What the fuck does—Good Lord, is everything this man says loaded?
“Anyway.” Nick cleared his throat and was right back to business, still teasing the fuck out of Spencer’s nipple. “You have condoms, yes? And lube?”
27
“Plenty.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” He abruptly withdrew his hand, and then gestured at Spencer. “All of that. Off.”
“Al —”
“Yes. Two hours, Spencer. The more time you spend dressed, the more time I spend dressed.”
Well, shit. Spencer got his clothes off so fast they may as well have evaporated. When he was completely naked, he stood there, in the middle of the room, wondering what would happen next. All part of the diabolical plot, he was sure.
Smirking, Nick cupped his elbow in one hand and thoughtfully stroked his chin with the other. He walked slowly towards Spencer. Then around him. Even when he was outside of Spencer’s peripheral vision, Spencer could feel him looking him up and down. Goose bumps rose everywhere goose bumps could, and his spine felt like a crackling bundle of live wires just barely contained beneath his skin.
Nick appeared again and stopped, still stroking his chin.
“Where do you keep all your necessities?”
Spencer gestured at the bedside table. “It’s all in there.”
“Get it out. Leave it on the table where I can find it easily.”
At some point, it dawned on Spencer that Nick wasn’t asking him to do anything. There was no “will you” or “please.”
Strange thing was, that fact didn’t dawn on Spencer until the lube and condoms were already sitting next to the reading lamp and he was halfway back to where Nick was waiting.
Motherfucker.
“I think I’m a bit too dressed.” Nick’s thumb and forefinger left his jaw and rotated downwards, pointing at the floor. “Boots.”
You’re kidding, right? You want me to kneel, bare-arse naked, on my own bedroom carpet, and take off your fucking 28
boots when I’m the one coughing up two hundred and fifty quid an hour?
Nick may or may not have been kidding—likely not— but Spencer was on his knees, bare-arsed naked, on his own bedroom carpet, taking off Nick’s fucking boots. And paying for the privilege.
Nick’s feet were bare, and his toenails were coated in black polish, just like his fingernails. Spencer wiped his hands on his thighs, then made to get up— And Nick touched his shoulders, pushing him down.
Holding him in place.
It was so bizarre, Spencer didn’t even know what to say or do. Normally, he’d have freaked out if anybody had given him that order, inside or outside the bedroom, but following Nick’s orders didn’t feel so bad. It didn’t feel weird, and he suspected it would stay that way as long as Nick didn’t push too far. There was something to be said for hiring a pro, and he was starting to appreciate that Nick was one. At least, he was hired help rather than somebody who actually mattered to him in some way in his real life. Office, job, family, all the other things.
He stayed down, found himself breathing a little faster than before.
“Look up.”
He looked up, not sure if he’d see concern or something else, maybe checking in with him to make sure he was still good, but Nick’s dash of arrogance hadn’t changed at al . “You like leather, right?”
Spencer nodded. “More than PVC.”
“I didn’t ask that.”
Ouch. Like Nick had told him to focus again, told him they weren’t having tea in the kitchen together. Nick had 29
drawn a line in the sand there, and Spencer had stepped over it, unaware it existed at al . Slowly, carefully, Nick seemed to be penning him in, and Spencer wondered for a moment if and when he’d freak out. Maybe when the guy shoved his feet into his face. Or . . . something. He should probably call a halt to the whole thing. Bonaparte?
“Show it.”
Spencer glanced up again. “What?”
“You like leather?” Nick’s lips pulled back in an evil, evil grin. “Show it.”
“How?”