It was why he could charge pretty much whatever he wanted. He wasn’t just a prostitute. He wasn’t even just a top. He was, quite literally, during the scenes, the centre of Spencer’s world.
Stop being so melodramatic, he admonished himself. Let him be young and irresponsible. Hell, he might really just need a holiday. He’s probably realised he’s lost himself in work – just like you tend to – and is taking a week off to decompress.
Mere coincidence, Spencer silently insisted, that the urgent need for a decompression holiday was a week on the heels of that night.
He forced himself not to think about where Nick wouldn’t be tonight, or who he would be with instead. Now Spencer had to find a way to deal with a suddenly empty Friday night. The whole weekend was gaping empty, for that matter, since Saturday and Sunday would no longer be reserved for letting aches and bruises fade.
On his way back into the office from lunch, he glanced at Percy’s door. Could always go have drinks with him. Or, it being Friday night, the Market Garden was an option.
As soon as the thought crossed his mind, a sick feeling squeezed Spencer’s stomach. He wasn’t committed to Nick or anything, and was completely free to see or fuck any man in London or beyond, but he was too uneasy for that. He was still tripping over too much mental debris to consider fooling around with someone else. He wouldn’t be able to relax and enjoy it, so what was the point? Push came to shove, he’d have a wank in the shower to relieve some tension and call it a night.
Drinks, though. Drinks with Percy. That would be a distraction, if nothing else, which would keep his attention off the fact that his primary distraction was off cavorting in Spain.
He tapped on Percy’s door.
“Come on in.”
As Spencer pushed open the door, Percy held up a finger and gestured at the phone cradled on his shoulder. He rolled his eyes and made a blah blah blah gesture, which made Spencer laugh.
He eased himself into one of the chairs in front of Percy’s desk and waited for the man to get off the phone. That didn’t take long; apparently the conversation was already close to wrapping up, because within two minutes, Percy had slammed the receiver down with a bark of “Thank fuck.”
Spencer chuckled. “Having a good day, are we?”
His friend groaned and leaned back in his chair. “I swear on all that’s holy, these motherfuckers are trying to make this merger more difficult.”
“Isn’t that the name of the game with a merger?” Spencer laughed, thankful for the first time in his life to be discussing a damned merger. “Make it as difficult as humanly possible so all the faint of heart jump ship?”
Percy sniffed and rolled his eyes again. “You aren’t kidding. You know they’re talking about reducing headcount in Tax by half? After the merger?” He slammed a palm onto his blotter. “It’s already a goddamned skeleton crew down there!”
Spencer grimaced. “Really? Has it dawned on anyone in charge that there’s a reason that department exists? Like, we need them?”
“Tell that to the bean counters,” Percy muttered, waving a hand. “Anyway, what can I do for you?”
“Just wanted to come by and see if you were booked for the evening. I could stand to go out and drink away the week.”
Percy grinned. “Ah, there’s my lad! I was starting to worry you’d become a weekend hermit.” The grin broadened and his eyes narrowed, and Spencer cringed inwardly as that accusing eyebrow rose. “Or maybe there was a man in your –”
“Perceval.” Spencer glared at him, gesturing sharply at the door. “Do you mind? Walls are thin here.”
“Right, right.” Percy winked. “Okay, so I was thinking maybe there was ‘someone special’ in your life who you were keeping a secret.”
“No, nothing like that. Just ...” Just what, Spencer?
Percy was tuned in too well into Spencer’s inner voice, because his face asked the same question.
“The merger really drains me.” A merger is like the marriage of two companies, right? One entity can deal quite well on its own. Shit gets complicated when a second entity gets involved. How ironic. “I was falling asleep over my files these past weeks.”
“Months, Spencer. I thought I’d liberated you from that existence ...”
“You certainly gave it a good try.” Spencer inhaled and exhaled deeply, lifted his shoulders in a what-can-you-do gesture. “So ... liberate me again?”
“Damsel in distress?” Percy grinned. He clearly got a kick out of his Arthurian name.
“I’m not wearing a frock for that. Just ... I think I need some of your carefully-applied craziness.”
Percy laughed. “Now, that’s a romance if I’ve ever heard one. On such short order, I don’t think I can come up with something really crazy, though a bunch of the guys are abseiling from the Shard.”
“I don’t do well with heights.”
“Paintball?”
“In November?”
“Short of pushing the senior partners of that other law firm onto the Tube tracks, that’s all I have at the moment.” He paged through the calendar of his smartphone. “Or what about this kink party on Saturday? There’s a club that only admits pretty people, and they’re holding orgies in the countryside. You know, renting old Georgian manor houses, get a bunch of people in who pay a few hundred quid for the pleasure, and then it’s a free-for-all. Oh, and everybody’s wearing masks, though I’m pretty sure I’ve seen some big movers and shakers in various states of ... agitation.” Percy gave him a saucy grin. “You don’t have prominent moles on the chin or anything, so you should be okay. If you’re interested, I can get us a couple tickets. It’s mixed audience – the people running it told me there’s bi guys and gay guys and straight guys who end up on the wrong side of the tracks ... purely by accident. And if you’re not getting your money’s worth, it’s a full refund. The food’s supposedly pretty good too.”
God, where did Percy dig up this stuff? Oh. Ex-investment banker. Enough said.
Spencer watched his thumb run back and forth along the edge of the armrest. “And they’re discreet?” Am I actually considering this?
“Totally. Given the calibre of men who show up at these things, everybody knows to keep their mouth shut. No one would even find out if Prince Harry showed up in a Nazi uniform for a game of strip pool.”
Spencer snorted. “Are you saying that’s happened?”
“Not that I’m aware of, but given some of the stuff I’ve seen? It wouldn’t surprise me.”
“I’m assuming I don’t have to wear a Nazi uniform, do I? And my eight-ball game is a little rusty.” He chanced a look at Percy, hoping no evidence of the last few months was written across his forehead.
Percy shrugged. “Nah, you’re good. But if you’ve got one, you –”
“No.” Spencer laughed. “Well, I guess if they’ll let in riffraff like you, I could give it a go.”
“Excellent.” Funny how Percy’s grin wasn’t nearly as unnerving now that Spencer had been on the receiving end of Nick’s.
Wonder if that applies to everything in my life.
Spencer cleared his throat and sat up. “You’ll make the arrangements?”
“I will.” Percy folded his hands across his lap. “That’ll take care of tomorrow night. Drinks tonight?”
“Absolutely. And they’re on me.”
“Damn right they are.” Percy waved dismissively towards the door. “Now get back to work and earn me some expensive alcohol.”
Chapter 9
Whoever threw these wild – and yet discreet – sex parties certainly pulled out all the stops. When Percy stopped in front of the entrance, three valets in bowties and cummerbunds jumped to their feet and hurried down the steps. They opened the Jag’s doors, and one of them took Percy’s place in the driver’s seat while another issued a claim ticket.
“Have a good evening, gentlemen,” the third said, holding open one of the massive double doors. Spencer had been to corporate shindigs be
fore that looked just like this on the outside. Between the huge house, the valets, and the rather expensive-looking jackets hanging on the rack behind the guy at the coat check, this could have easily been some soiree thrown by a client or one of the partners. Someone who liked to pour expensive wine and caviar down people’s throats so they knew just how wealthy he was.
He doubted it would be wine and caviar going down anyone’s throats tonight. From the confirmation email Percy had forwarded to him the night before, there definitely wouldn’t be any wine. No alcohol on the premises, and violators were summarily banned for life. He could only imagine the penalties for anything stronger than booze.
Since this was Spencer’s first time, there was a background check and brief orientation. Fairly straightforward: no means no, not every sub is your sub, and generally don’t be a fucking wanker. Simple enough. The background check cleared, and they received white unisex half-masks, which they put on before they followed another ... employee? Valet? Whatever the hell they were. Cummerbund and bowtie, anyhow, and the kid led them down a hall lined with elaborate sconces that must have cost a fortune.
It was out here in the long hall, on the way towards what must have been a ballroom or something similar, that the reality of the evening started to cleave itself away from the black tie galas Spencer had attended in the past. Maybe twenty feet from the door, the smell of leather reached him.
For a moment, a rapid-fire film of memories flashed through his mind, every one of them starring Nick and those leather trousers. The scent, the shine, the sound. Holy fuck.
But Nick wasn’t here, so Spencer shivered away the nostalgia and took a deep breath just before their escort pulled open one of the immense doors.
Beyond was a large ballroom filled with groups of people. Men, women, most seemingly in their twenties up to forties, in a variety of clothes. There were people dressed dramatically in large wigs and fishnets, or understated in tailored suits; some were getting more casual than that, having shed shirts and jackets. Everybody wore the half-mask, and the light was dimmed to flatter. Couches and pillows were strategically placed, but from beyond that room came the tell-tale snap of a whip on naked flesh. He shuddered, the impacts echoing like a visceral memory.
Candles flickered in a number of places, and attendants carried drinks and chocolate-dipped fruit. On the couches were people, some in the early stages of courtship, others very nearly puppy-piled. Men, women, a mix of both, it seemed almost like it didn’t matter.
The slap of leather on flesh tore him out of watching a guy with two women, the women on top, teasing and kissing each other. Spencer glanced at Percy, who looked like he was about to join that particular threesome.
Before Percy could suggest they both join in, Spencer said, “I’ll just go have a look around. I’ll catch up to you.”
Percy made a quiet noise that was equal parts acknowledgement and dismissal.
Spencer crossed the room, feeling quite a few gazes on him. He fiddled with the white wristband on his left hand which indicated he was here for male company. Percy wore none – anything goes. Such an easy solution that took the initial guesswork out of the flirting. He made sure it stayed outside and visible below his shirt cuff while he got used to his surroundings.
Intriguing sounds came from a side room; doors were wide open, and as he walked in, Spencer saw a man getting whipped with a single-tail in front of a small, appreciative crowd. Under the mask, he was greying, his chest bare: the distinguished silver fox type. The guy whipping him was a fair bit younger. Spencer appreciated how precisely he set every stroke, forming a regular pattern across the victim’s back.
Spencer’s mouth dried out and he leaned against the wall, and watched the Dom drain a glass of water before he continued. For a moment the man reminded him of Nick. Lean but strong, blond. Though this one was taller and older, and both his arms were tattooed, there were distinct traces of Nick in him. The flicker of a smirk. The arrogant gleam in his eyes. The subtle furrow of concern when his sub made a noise that could have indicated alarm.
Spencer got the hell out of there. Somehow, he was out of breath, even though he hadn’t done a damned thing except watch. Except listen. Except breathe in air that was tinged with leather and pheromones, cologne and massage oils. Even the vaguely medical scent of lubricant, which made him shudder.
He wandered back into the ballroom. Percy had had no difficulty finding some entertainment. His hand was in someone’s long, thick hair as the person’s head bobbed rhythmically over his crotch. Female? The skin-tight leather dress suggested it. Male? The shoulders hinted at it. Either way, Percy was lost in an enthusiastic blowjob, alternately looking down and letting his head fall back as he stared up at the ceiling with unfocused eyes.
Then he caught Spencer’s eye and threw him a filthy grin and a wink.
Spencer just offered a nod and thumbs-up – he had no idea of the proper response – and kept walking.
“Looking for something?” The sassiness in the voice once again brought Nick back to the centre of Spencer’s thoughts, but when he turned, the source of the question was distinctly not Nick. Not with the jet black hair and matching dark eyes. The mask obscured his eyebrows, but Spencer imagined them quirking, arching, furrowing just right to drag answers out of anyone he damn well pleased. He was chewing gum, and it was anything but subtle, his jaw snapping, pausing, snapping. He reminded Spencer of a lion licking his chops, an oral preparation for the spoils of his hunt. Not unlike Nick in that sense, but he lacked the magnetism that had drawn Spencer to Nick. Or, rather, the magnetism that had kept Spencer close to Nick when the rentboy had made his very deliberate and very bold approach.
The black-haired kid stopped chewing and inclined his head, reminding Spencer of the unanswered question.
He muffled a cough. “I’m, um, just sort of checking the place out. New here.”
“Gotcha.” The kid snapped his gum, the sound eerily similar to a whip on skin. “What do you think so far?”
“It’s ... different.”
He laughed. “The night’s still young, my friend. It hasn’t even got” – he brought up his small, fine hands and formed air quotes – “different yet.”
Oh. Fuck. Percy, where are –
Right. Blowjob.
The kid held out his hand. “Lee. And you are?”
Spencer hesitated. He shook Lee’s hand, and after a moment, said, “Peter.”
“Well, Peter.” He made a sweeping gesture around the room. “How about the grand tour from someone who practically lives here?”
Oh, hell. Why not?
Spencer shrugged. “Sure.”
Lee reached for his arm, but this time, he was the one to hesitate. “You don’t mind if I ...” His eyes flicked towards Spencer’s arm.
“No. Not at all.”
Immediately, Lee relaxed. He slid his hand around Spencer’s elbow and tugged him into motion.
The tour was likely a thorough one. Informative, maybe even funny. Except Spencer barely heard a word of it. He was too tuned into everything else. All the sights, sounds, and smells that conspired to overload his senses, everything swirling together like mismatched paint until they formed one uniform colour, and that colour was Nick.
Every squeak of leather was Nick passing through Spencer’s peripheral vision or getting comfortable on some invisible piece of furniture. Every smack of anything on flesh was Nick’s doing, and registered on Spencer’s nerve endings like it had hit his skin. Fuck, the son of a bitch really was a ghost. A bloody poltergeist who taunted Spencer with smacks and slaps and shining leather.
There were demonstrations – hell, in one secluded part, a Dom was pushing needles through his sub’s skin, and all Spencer could think was that he envied them the intensity of those moments. Four months ago, he’d have considered them sickos. But now he understood that closeness, that trust, and it struck him that he’d had that with a guy he paid. What were the chances of that, really?
It
got too much for him when the Dom kissed the sub, who hung in her restraints, exhausted, blissed out, and smiling.
Too much.
Spencer turned away.
His newly acquired shadow followed him. “So, Pete, what are you looking for?”
I’m looking for Nick.
Spencer looked at the other man, and found it impossible to believe he’d trust somebody who was wearing half a mask and whom he didn’t know, didn’t particularly care about. Here among strangers, just about anything could happen, but it wouldn’t work for him. Maybe he could find somebody to whip him, maybe get off.
But no one here was Nick.
His stomach clenched again. Tomorrow, he’d call himself a fool to have turned down free sex, a free course of pain. He’d go to work on Monday and prod at the memory of pain, of perfect surrender, but with no bruises or marks to show for it. Whatever. He’d deal with that tomorrow. For now, he’d go home and take care of things under the shower. Maybe watch porn. Maybe just replay what Nick had done to him, imagine he was with him, ordering him to come.
He would.
Even Nick’s ghost had more power over him than anybody here.
“I don’t think it’s anywhere here.” Spencer looked at the guy. “Thanks for the tour, but I think I’m heading home.”
“You sure? I could help you find it.”
You can’t.
Spencer smiled and made his escape, rushing down the stairs to the ground floor, slowing down briefly to watch a half-naked dancer balancing a number of burning bowls carefully, hypnotically, while contorting her lithe, strong body.
He shook himself free and continued outside. He didn’t see Percy on the way out, but then, he’d be pissed off to have to leave early when he’d organised the tickets. Better leave him to his fun and flesh piles.
Spencer dropped the mask with one of the attendants and had another one call him a cab while he sent Percy a text that the man would get later. When he was finished with whatever and whoever he was doing. Spencer was definitely going home. Just no headspace. No quiet. No real desire, just an itch he could temporarily take care of himself. No stranger who intrigued him.
If It Flies Page 9
