The john headed down the stairs; Nick followed.
Below, another door was unlocked, and the room looked like a second living room, with couches and a huge flat-screen TV. Part of the vast space was taken up by a billiards table. What did rich people call this? A game room?
The john locked the door to upstairs and put the keys down on the billiards table. Then he faced Nick, and his expression showed more cards than he probably thought. Lips twisted with vague irritation, eyebrows lifted slightly and knitted together with what could have been anticipation, apprehension, or both. Which meant Nick had him wrapped around his finger.
“Nice place.” Nick ran a fingertip along the edge of the billiards table’s pristine green felt. With what he hoped—hell, knew—was an unsettling grin, he said, “Not a bed in sight.”
Red Tie swallowed. “Would . . . would the bedroom be better?” He nodded towards a huge couch on the other side of the room. “That one, it folds out, so—”
“Oh, no.” Nick waved a hand. “I like places like this.” He traced his finger along that edge again, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as the john’s eyes tracked that slow, deliberate motion. “So much more room to be . . . creative.”
The john’s forehead creased in pure Oh shit fashion. That never failed to amuse Nick, that moment when a john realised his safe place wasn’t. The home turf advantage didn’t mean a damned thing when Nick was there. Instead of going to the lion’s den, Red Tie had brought the lion home with him, and Nick barely kept himself from letting go of a maniacal little laugh as he watched that realisation sink in.
And that laugh died in his throat when he remembered another similar moment not too long ago, when—
Focus. Tomorrow is all about Spencer. Tonight is about this guy. Fucking focus.
He gestured at the john. “Strip.”
“I . . . what?”
“It was one word,” Nick said. “And I know you understood it.” He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows as he folded his arms across his chest. “I’m waiting.”
A moment of hesitation. A glance around as if someone might suddenly wander in and bust them. And then his fingers went to the top button of his shirt.
Nick watched Red Tie the entire time. The john glanced up occasionally, eyeing him as if to ask, Are you still watching? And Nick would smirk. Of course I’m still watching, he didn’t have to say. And it’s making you nervous, isn’t it?
Of course it was.
Somewhere between the car and here, the man’s erection had softened, but as he faced Nick, stripped bare, his cock started to harden again. His nipples stood out too; the room was cool, after all.
Nick made no small gesture of looking Red Tie up and down, scrutinizing every inch of his body. All the smooth, defined muscles. For a businessman, he certainly hadn’t let himself go, and he was just the right combination of contours and hard lines. Judging by his barely contained frustration in the car, he had a temper, and judging by his body, he blew off steam at the gym. That outlet had done him good, that was for sure.
Nick stepped a little closer, and let the john’s body language tell him where his comfort zone was. When Red Tie’s breath caught and his posture stiffened, Nick was right on the edge of that zone. So, of course, Nick took another step and grinned as Red Tie fought a losing battle not to show his discomfort.
Squirming and looking down at Nick, he swallowed hard. “What do you want me to do?”
Nick looked him straight in the eyes. “For the moment, you’re already doing it.”
Red Tie may as well have had Oh God oh God written across his forehead. His eyes were wide, his body still tense. He probably would have preferred Nick circle him like a shark rather than just corner him. And Nick loved the fact that he could corner someone in the middle of a room; there was no wall against Red Tie’s back, just the knowledge that he wasn’t allowed to take a step back. An actual wall couldn’t hold a submissive in place better than a Dom’s command.
Or lack of permission, in this case, since Nick hadn’t told him he couldn’t move. Red Tie obviously understood there was no such thing as permission by omission.
Good. Very good. Maybe he wasn’t such a brat, after all.
It surely wasn’t pride. There was no belligerence in the man’s posture. And his dick was hard, which was a dead giveaway.
“Down.”
The john went to his knees, tentatively, carefully, still staring at Nick.
“Open your legs wider.”
The man shuffled his knees apart, quite a bit further than was necessary, though Nick assumed he was getting into it, overcompensating into the other direction now.
“Much better,” Nick said, noticing that the praise made the client relax a little. “I think you were interrupted.”
The john frowned, confused, then Nick cupped himself, and he got it right away. His hand went back to his dick. “How do . . . should I do this?”