No Nick.
Chapter 10
Spencer’s phone stayed silent all weekend aside from a message from Percy.
You left early? Missing out! C U Monday.
And on Monday, Percy regaled him with everything he’d missed. Spencer caught some of it – a sub discovering for the first time she could ejaculate, an intense scene involving knives, one of the valets clocking out and joining in – but he distanced himself from the stories. Pretended they’d taken place somewhere he’d never been. The sensory hauntings still thrummed beneath his skin and in his ears, and he was caught between trying his damnedest to exorcise them and trying to hold onto and savour them as much as possible.
Spencer returned to his office after the wild debriefing, and checked his phone for the thousandth time. Nothing from Nick. By Tuesday night, still nothing. A text on Wednesday almost had Spencer jumping out of his skin before he realised it was just a dinner invite from his sister in Brighton.
Thursday? Nothing.
And Friday? The night Spencer had reserved indefinitely? Not a bloody thing.
No way was Nick haunting two of his weekends. After two weeks, the message was clear, and Spencer was bound and determined to move the fuck on.
So on Saturday night, he walked into Market Garden, hell bent on finding another guy who’d take his money and give him an orgasm or three. Didn’t even have to be a Dom. Just fuck me, for God’s sake.
He strolled past the bar in the front lounge, and one of the bouncers held open the door to the back room. Spencer took a deep breath, set back his shoulders, and went into the shadowy room full of men like him and the most mouth-watering array of gorgeous prostitutes who were –
Nick.
Double take. Triple take. No, it really was him. Sidled up next to some arsehole in a three-piece suit, chatting him up and probably getting ready to earn a few hundred quid.
Spencer had taken plenty of amazing beatings from Nick, the kind that left bruises and raised welts and drew screams from his throat, but the most pain he’d ever received from Nick’s hand was when it slid over the sleeved forearm of his next prospective client.
Spencer flinched and looked away. So that was that. Whatever emotions had drawn Nick into that kiss and sent him running for the hills were obviously under control now. Stowed away, maybe gone completely. Whatever cash Spencer would’ve paid, it could come from any man’s wallet. Back to strictly business and totally professional.
Well, all right. Nick wasn’t the only man in this room who’d take Spencer’s money.
He’d made himself way too vulnerable with all this. Percy did it exactly the right way. He didn’t harm anybody, he just had fun, paying people well. Live and let live. Fuck and let fuck. That was probably the best way to go about all this.
No wonder the pre-Nick Spencer hadn’t got laid in forever – he took everything too bloody seriously.
He could almost hear Percy’s affectionate mocking: “Looks like even the whores prefer the bad boys to a nice guy like you.”
Pushover. Doormat.
Though at least he was a doormat with a pile of cash. And if Nick didn’t want to earn it ...
Didn’t take long for someone else to approach Spencer. He was older than Nick, tall, black, broad-shouldered, goatee, shaved head. Late thirties? Smoking hot.
“Looking for someone?” he asked.
Spencer almost glanced at Nick, but didn’t. “No one in particular. Care for a drink?”
The guy smiled at him and nodded towards the bar. Spencer moved immediately, following the unspoken order.
He picked up the drinks and returned to the table where the other Dom had settled.
The guy nodded to him and took a sip. “Thanks.”
“Haven’t seen you around here,” Spencer dared, placing his own drink down. Of course, he’d only been here once, but ... it was as good an icebreaker as any.
“Oh. I’m not a regular at this club,” the goateed prostitute said. “Just chilling after doing a workshop on Shibari. Ropework.”
Spencer nodded. He and Nick hadn’t really done all that much restraining. Nick preferred Spencer to hold his positions by himself because he’d ordered him to, not because he couldn’t move. Getting somebody who’d tie him up in every way imaginable sounded perfect. Anything that was different from Nick – just to broaden his horizons.
His current non-Nick companion leaned over his drink. “I assume you’re looking for something specific in here?”
“Well, I ... it’s been a while since I’ve managed to relax properly.” He moistened his lips, once again resisting a glance in Nick’s direction. “Looking for someone to ... relieve some stress.”
“A top?”
“Absolutely.”
“Just a top?” The toothy grin made Spencer shiver. “Or something more aggressive?”
Yes, please. Oh God, please. Spencer shrugged. “I ... That would suit me.”
The other guy reached out and touched Spencer’s chin, turned his head this way and that. “Ever had a Dom?”
This time, Spencer’s eyes did flick towards Nick, but he quickly looked back at this guy before he’d had a chance to focus.
The damage was done, though, and the goateed prostitute glanced at Nick. “Oh, you were one of Nick’s boys, were you?”
Spencer’s mouth went dry, and he just nodded.
“Good to know,” the other guy said. “Anything specific that you’re just dying to get?”
“I’m into pain. Really into pain.”
The guy smiled at him. “With Nick you’d have to be. How long did he train you?”
“Three months.”
“Enjoyed it?”
“Yes, sir.” This man’s authority was easy, relaxed, a hint of playfulness under the surface, like a tiger toying with a mouse. Masculine – not like a character from Tom of Finland, but certainly inspired by. It pressed his buttons far more than the masked guy last week, and he was black, too, which made things easier since he didn’t have to deal with any biracial kink that easily freaked him out.
Nick never indicated he was into that.
Moreover, he could look this man in the eyes and look down, but only to show respect, not because he couldn’t bear to see the things he might have seen in another man’s face.
The best part? He could almost forget about that leather-coated presence on the other side of the room. That alone would make this guy worth whatever he charged.
Spencer took a long swallow of his drink, and as it warmed his belly, he let out a long, relaxing breath.
Step one: Get the fuck over the prostitute who’s already moved on.
Mission accomplished.
As he took another drink, he glanced at this other Dom, who was watching him through narrowed eyes with the faintest of grins on his lips.
Step two: Find someone else.
Check.
He set his glass down. Time to work out the details. He took a breath and opened his mouth to speak, but the air beside him suddenly changed. Moved. Cooled.
He turned his head.
Fuck. Back to step one.
Spencer gulped. “Nick. I ...” Didn’t realise you were here? Right, because Nick wouldn’t see the lie in his eyes.
Nick glanced at Spencer’s companion. Neither of them spoke, but something seemed to pass between them, some Dom or prostitute semaphore contained in narrowed eyes and tightened lips, and a moment later, Nick and Spencer were alone.
Spencer watched the other guy leave, and surprise faded in favour of anger. He clenched his jaw. “What the hell was that about?”
Nick shifted his weight. “Do you mind if I sit?”
Okay, that was unexpected. Nick? Asking permission?
Spencer still had his guard up, but he nodded and gestured at the chair across from him. Nick took the seat and folded his arms on the table. He leaned over them, almost hunched over them, like he was cold and didn’t want anyone to know.
“Long time, no see,”
Spencer said.
“I know.” Nick didn’t offer an explanation. He didn’t say a bloody thing beyond the simple acknowledgement.
“So after two weeks, why are –”
“We should get out of here.” The words came out of nowhere, as did the sudden, intense eye contact.
Spencer didn’t move, though. “You think I want to leave with you? After you bolted out the door and disappeared for two weeks?”
Nick lowered his gaze, and his lips tightened. It was hard to tell in the low light, but Spencer was sure Nick’s cheeks had coloured. Without regaining eye contact, and speaking barely loud enough for Spencer to hear him, Nick said, “I’m sorry.”
“For which part?”
The wince made Spencer almost regret the bitterness in his tone. Anger still kept the upper hand.
Nick closed his eyes and exhaled. Finally, he looked at Spencer again. “It startled me, okay? What happened last time?”
“Startled you enough to –”
“I fucked up. I get it.” Nick couldn’t quite keep the unsteadiness – nervousness? – out of his voice. “I’m sorry. It’s just, that wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“And how is going back to my place right now going to make any of this better?”
“Because maybe it’ll give me a chance to pick up where we left off.”
Spencer’s heart jumped into his throat. “I ... what?”
Nick swallowed. He fidgeted, squirming like he wanted to look anywhere except right at Spencer, but he didn’t break eye contact. “The mistake ... my mistake was going away. And staying away.”
Spencer blinked.
This time, Nick did look down, focusing intently on playing with the end of one of his black-painted nails, like there was a rough edge he was bound and determined to smooth with only the pad of his finger. “Maybe I’m just stubborn, or a slow fucking learner, but it took until ...” He paused, gnawing the inside of his cheek before he looked at Spencer through those long lashes. “Until I saw you with another Dom. And then I ... God, this is hard. I never get jealous of another Dom. I don’t. But I could have murdered him for laying a hand on you. And that just brought home what the whole problem is, that night and all the fucking nights since then.”
Spencer folded his arms on the table and leaned forwards. They were inches apart now. Either of them could bridge the gap with ease, but they didn’t. “I’m still not quite following. You just want to pick up where we left off. You want me to trust you again like I did up until that night when you kissed me and then bolted.”
Nick winced again, looked down at his boots. Uneasy as Nick seemed to feel, Spencer half-expected him to turn and go, but Nick didn’t move. He stood his ground regardless of the embarrassment, didn’t turn away and leave him, this time for good. Why not?
Spencer went on, “You didn’t want to talk about this that night. You told me we’d talk about it last Friday.” He shook his head and started to sit back. “And now you want me to cough up a grand for –”
“I don’t want your money.”
Spencer halted, having only widened the gap between them by a couple of inches. “I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t want your money.” Nick looked him straight in the eyes. “I want you.”
“Me? What about me? You hardly know me.” Though his stomach was falling out of his body and rapidly approaching the core of the earth.
Nick stared at him, an echo of the old Nick, merciless and cocky. This stare seemed annoyed, but Nick didn’t shut down, didn’t tell him to go fuck himself. “I want you, Spencer. Your trust. Your surrender. Your courage. That’s all ... strong stuff. Felt like you were made for me – never freaked out, no bad habits from some arsehole that I had to train out of you. You went into it with everything, all out, and there was nothing you wouldn’t have given me if I’d asked for it. That’s huge for me, Spencer. I’ve never really had that, and now that I’ve had it, I don’t want to lose it. I don’t want to lose you, Spencer.”
Oh God. Oh dear Lord.
Spencer deflated, not sure how to take it. He’d have preferred those words in between pain so he could actually focus, could actually listen to every small inhale or exhale. That Nick could need him seemed too much to comprehend.
Nick’s black-painted fingernails tapped rapidly on the table. “I want to beat your shitty week out of you and give you a new start. I want to fuck it out of you, clear your head so there’s nothing in there but me. The money doesn’t matter. I want to do it for you. For me.”
Oh God. Spencer was reeling, but Nick’s stare didn’t waver, nor did his voice. “I want to give you what I have, Spencer, and take everything from you. But that shit’s not easy when there’s money involved. The things I want to give you – you can’t buy those. Nobody can. They aren’t for sale.” He swallowed hard. “All of that scares the hell out of me. That’s ... that’s why I left. And I’m sorry for that.”
Spencer rubbed his face. Nick’s intensity was turning him on. Hell, Nick would never fail to turn him on, even hurt as he was. Had been. He had no idea what he was anymore, just that he believed Nick, and that some part of him was damn near screaming with tension.
“All because of a kiss?”
Nick nodded. “Yeah, well. I don’t kiss. Sometimes I do. I mean, it’s not that ironclad a rule. With you, it was that I liked it too much. I’d known from the start I’d have to keep you at a distance because it would’ve been just too easy to tell you those things. The ...” He circled his hand, grasping for words. “What I felt. You just weren’t like the others – you never played power games, never second-guessed me, just rolled with it from the start. You trusted me completely. And when you asked me if I date, and I thought, you, maybe, and that thought kept coming back. And that’s dangerous, Spencer. That’s really bad news in my job.”
Spencer flinched. There was that, wasn’t it? Nick’s job. The conclusions they came to at this table wouldn’t change how Nick paid his rent.
Spencer looked down at Nick’s arms, which were tightly folded on the table again, six tense inches away from his own. It was too much. Too fast. He’d come in here to forget about Nick, and now ... now this.
“Give me something, Spencer,” Nick whispered. “Throw me a bone here.”
Spencer still didn’t move. He didn’t understand what was happening. Or what he was supposed to do with it. The only thing he did understand was this deep, raw relief that they were finally having this conversation. No matter how much it confused him and had his heart pounding, the relief was there, and he couldn’t ignore it.
But Nick had ditched him.
But Nick was, and would remain, a prostitute.
But he’d fucking disappeared for two bloody weeks and –
Spencer reached across the table. His hand hovered over Nick’s arm for a moment, then settled on the back of his forearm.
Nick exhaled.
So did Spencer.
Now what?
Nick slid one arm out from under the other and placed his hand on top of Spencer’s. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t understand this any more than you do.”
Not a consolation, no, but honest. Spencer could take honesty.
His mouth was dry. He cleared his throat. “What do we do now?”
“I’m thinking –” Nick watched his fingers slide between Spencer’s, capturing his hand one vulnerable spot at a time. “– that we both suck at this.” His eyes flicked up again. “So maybe we should go someplace where communication comes a little more ... naturally.”
“Is that a good idea?”
Nick’s hand tightened around Spencer’s, gripping firmly but not uncomfortably. “At this point, I don’t even know which way is up, never mind what’s a good idea and what’s not. But I don’t know what else to do. And –” He pulled in a deep breath. “– walking away just isn’t an option anymore.”
A shudder ran through Spencer, all the way down, and he hooked his foot around the chair leg as his toes
curled inside his shoes. “If that’s the case, maybe we should go.”
Some of the tautness in Nick’s expression eased. Then a little more. Finally, he smiled, and Spencer’s bones liquefied. God. Yes. Getting out of here was a good idea.
Chapter 11
The click of Spencer’s bedroom door seemed to echo for miles.
He leaned against the door. Nick held his gaze. They were a few feet apart now, but that void seemed narrower – infinitely more passable – than the sliver of space that had separated their arms on the table at Market Garden.
Nick set his shoulders back. He pointed at the floor in front of his boots. “On your knees.”
Spencer hesitated, like he had that first time. Communication? Or launching immediately into the most intense exchange they could have? He took the step and knelt, though he wished he didn’t have these thoughts whirring in his head, the conviction that they’d resolved nothing and were only plastering over the break.
Nevertheless, kneeling at Nick’s feet felt good. It felt right.
And – oh. Nick’s hand on his hair. That he knew. That made sense. That was perfect. He pushed his head lightly into Nick’s hand. Nick rewarded him by trailing his fingers over Spencer’s hair.
It also meant that Spencer wasn’t supposed to speak, just feel, just respond, just answer questions if they came.
Nick’s hand slid down to Spencer’s shoulder. He crouched next to him. His face seemed oddly open, and he came even closer, and the kiss was deliberate and tender, and even more intense than last time because they were both calm, the tension wasn’t blinding them, they were both sober and aware and under control. This felt more like a promise than a mistake. Spencer reached up on impulse, but hesitated, not sure if he was allowed to put his hands on Nick.
But Nick was kissing him. He could.
So he grabbed Nick by the shoulders and pulled him closer, still, he hoped, respectfully, but he needed to touch him now, and if that meant he’d get the snot beaten out of him, that was worth it.
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