If It Flies (10 page)

But now there was a blindfold on his face, and he was

obediently making himself vulnerable for a man who gleefully

carried around something called an evil stick.

Nick drew him out of his thoughts by running a hand—

warm, soft, light—down the centre of his back. His spine

straightened one vertebra at a time, like Nick was switching

on electrical charges all the way down from Spencer’s neck to

the small of his back. There, the hand stopped. Paused. Lifted away.No movement. No sound. No contact.

Spencer swallowed.

Crack
.

A hand hit Spencer’s arse so hard his eyes fluttered behind

the blindfold.

“Shit.” The word came out as more of a grunt than

anything.

“I don’t recall saying you could talk.” The razor sharp edge

on Nick’s voice jolted him more than the slap had. “Unless I

ask you a question, or you’re using your safeword”—
crack
—

“you won’t speak. Got it?”

Spencer nodded.

Crack
.

“Got it?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what I thought.” The edge dulled slightly, enough

to untie the muscles below Spencer’s neck.

Nick’s body heat moved, gathering off to Spencer’s left

side, leaving his right side cool and exposed. Then, once again, 69

the entire room was still and silent. He imagined Nick slipping in and out of his tangible, flesh-and-blood form, flitting from solid to ghostly and back just because he fucking could. If not for that warmth beside him, he might have believed that was

exactly what was happening.

Snap
.

“Fuck!”

The evil stick bit in just below Spencer’s nipple. Everything

behind the blindfold flashed red for a split second, and he

ground his teeth to keep from cursing again.

“You aren’t supposed to speak.”
Crack
. “Right?”

“Right,” Spencer said through his teeth. “Sorry.”

Silence. Stillness.

Snap.

Spencer bit back a curse. Held his breath until he was sure

it wouldn’t slip out. Then he exhaled slowly, and realised he

wasn’t sure if he was allowed to rub the stinging red hot spot inside his forearm. Probably not. Asking might get him a slap

on the arse, presuming might get him an evil stick across the

knuckles.

Snap
.

Under the shoulder blade this time.

Spencer breathed slowly and evenly. The tiny focal points

of pain still glowed on his nerve endings, like stars coming

into view one by one in a dark, bare sky. One by one—in

the middle of his buttock, just below his col arbone, on the

inside of his thigh—more stars came into focus, each glowing

brightly at first before settling into the same intensity as the ones before, slowly forming a constellation.

Spencer braced against the bed and forced back tears that

were increasingly from pleasure more than pain.

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Pleasure? From—

Snap.

God, yes.

Snap.

The sound he forced back this time was a groan. As

imaginary lines connected the stars, Spencer spun further into warm, red-dotted darkness. This wasn’t right, he shouldn’t

be this delirious from pain, and this oblivion shouldn’t be

so inviting, but to hell with it—
snap, snap, snap
—he didn’t fight it.

All at once, the side of his face was covered by warmth,

by softness, and the sudden touch—alien compared to the

snapping evil stick—jolted him hard, violently, spectacularly, and his knees sagged beneath him. One light touch after all

those bites, and he damn near came.

I don’t know what you’re doing, Nick, but don’t ever, ever
stop.
“You’re doing well.”

Those simple words of approval meant the world to

Spencer. More than wrapping up a big job. More than

happy clients congratulating him for ploughing through

an acquisitions contract over an extremely long weekend

powered by twice-brewed espresso and sheer desperation.

“Thank you,” Spencer muttered, and then flinched when

he remembered he wasn’t supposed to speak.

His nipple burst into fire when Nick twisted it in

retaliation. He cringed and writhed, and although the pain

kept him centred in his body, somehow he was slipping away.

Life was incredibly simple right now, and nothing mattered

beyond what Nick gave him. No thoughts anymore that he

was cal ing the shots, that Nick was just hired help. Right

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now, even that didn’t seem to matter, though it should have

freaked him out.

Nick’s hand trailed down his front, and Spencer gasped

for breath, expecting another slap or something worse, except

now on his dick. Maybe he should beg for that not to happen?

But would Nick care, short of using the emergency exit of the

word or the gesture?

Nick’s dry hot palm closed around his dick, jerked him

a couple of times, and Spencer’s legs grew weak, especially

when Nick’s hand slid up and squeezed the tip of his cock in

the foreskin. Spencer’s knees nearly gave and he pushed into

that hand in reflex.

“Please.”

The hand slid lower and damn near crushed Spencer’s

balls.“Yes?”

Spencer tried to resist the urge to try to protect his balls.

The pain was oh so good when it stopped. “I want to feel

you . . .”

“You are.” Nick twisted his hand around Spencer’s balls

again, and Spencer whimpered.

“In . . . inside.”

Nick paused, moved somehow, but Spencer wasn’t sure

what he was doing. Nick’s hand pushed something between

his fingers. “Put that on me.”

A condom. Sweet fucking hell.

Spencer took it in both hands, but soon realised that

opening a condom was more complex when he couldn’t see

a thing, especially when his senses were still overloaded, the evil stick’s bites still tingling and burning to the point of

distraction. And even when he’d pulled the condom from the

torn packet, it was all much more complicated than it should

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have been. Which way was the right way around? He reached

to the side, where Nick stood, ran his hands along the leather trousers to get an idea of the geography, located the zip with one hand while he held the condom with the other. He

twisted his arm enough to pull the zip down, and, oh wow,

Nick didn’t wear any underwear. That thick cock nestled into

his hand, and Spencer was tempted to pet and caress it, but

that hadn’t been the order.

He was just glad that he did seem to turn Nick on. Or at

least what they did.

He placed the condom on Nick’s cock, held it with one

hand and rolled it down with the other, felt Nick’s fingers

on his, adjusting the latex, making sure it was all in the right place.

“Down.”

Spencer retook his position against the bed and bent a

little to level the difference in height. Opened his legs further so Nick had him where he wanted. Where they both wanted.

He heard the lube cap open and close, the wet sounds of

lube being smeared on a condom.

Finally.
Spencer clenched his eyes behind the blindfold and took a few slow, deep breaths. As Nick’s fingers slipped

into his crack and found his anus, he took even slower,

deeper breaths. Not nerves this time. Oh, hell no. He was

so far beyond nerves now. Just need. Pure, white-hot need.

He reminded himself not to grit his teeth, no matter how

impatient he was, because that would only make him tense

up and prolong Nick’s careful but insistent prepping, sliding

lubed fingers in and out of the ring, but never reaching far in.

Apparently satisfied Spencer was ready for him—which

he was, oh God, he so was—Nick withdrew his fingers,

and wiped them on Spencer’s thigh. He rested one hand on

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Spencer’s hip, but not the other, and Spencer imagined it

steadying Nick’s cock by the base. Steadying it. Guiding it.

Oh, fuck. There.
Yes
.

Nick pressed in, and Spencer pushed back, leaned back,

wanting as much of Nick as possible and to hell with the pain.

“Patience,” Nick said, half teasing and half dead serious.

“We’re doing things my way, remember?”

Spencer licked his lips and nodded. “Sorry.”

Nick pushed against him again, and just like the first time,

Spencer almost col apsed in on himself when the head of

Nick’s cock passed the tight ring and was, finally, inside him.

He gripped the footboard tighter and curled his toes into the

coarse carpet as Nick slid deeper, withdrew, slid even deeper.

His skin tingled all over, especially where the sparks of

pain still lingered, and his lack of sight left him no choice but to focus a little on those burning embers, while the bulk of his awareness concentrated on Nick’s slow, slick strokes. Nick had barely touched his cock, had only just started fucking him,

and Spencer swore he was already a breath away from letting

go. This was an unknown, unexplored level of turned on, an

intense need for release coupled with an insatiable craving for more, more,
more
, and Nick had barely gotten started.

Both of Nick’s hands were on Spencer’s hips now, fingertips

digging into his flanks as he started picking up speed. And

it was glorious, every movement just right, just perfect, and

with the residual sting from the evil sticks echoing all over

on his skin, Nick’s steady, strong,
demanding
presence, the way he was inside him and holding him by the hips—it all

came together into one amazing whirlwind of sensation that

matched his need perfectly, the fucking like a much-rehearsed

movement; they just worked together like this, until even

their breaths came in parallel.

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Spencer pushed back, wanted more, wanted to come,

wanted to feel Nick at his worst and best. Ignoring the warning hiss, he pushed back harder, trying to get Nick to speed up.

Instead, the bastard stopped.

“You’re not in control,” Nick informed him. “It’s a privilege

to have your hands free. Not to be gagged. If you don’t behave, I’ll tie you up like a Christmas turkey. Understood?” A vicious twist to a nipple made Spencer shudder and groan.

“Understood.”

“Good.” Nick’s hand moved from his nipple to his throat,

dug in fingers and thumb, and what was it about that touch

that made Spencer’s balls draw up? He felt Nick pulse inside

him, and heard something like a small gasp. Nick’s hand

pressed harder against his throat; it really hurt, because that fucker was strong.

Then, at the same time, Nick’s thrusts picked up again,

short and brutal, and that combination set Spencer off like

fireworks. His throat was pressed shut while he came, and he

didn’t really have enough air to gasp, and he saw stars behind the blindfold while Nick kept fucking him hard.

He nearly buckled when Nick pulled out and stroked his

back.“Well done,” Nick told him and took him by the elbow,

guiding him around the bed and onto the mattress.

Nick vanished for a couple of minutes. When he returned,

he settled near Spencer on the bed and pulled him against his

chest. Still blindfolded. He smelled of coconut and pineapple

and fresh sweat, which seemed a vast improvement on the

regular piña colada recipe.

“Oh God,” Spencer breathed.

Nick ran his fingers over Spencer’s shoulder. “Hate to

break it to you, but you are a masochist.”

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Spencer chuckled. “No shit.” Though it did seem weird

to own that title, and if someone had told him in the middle

of a normal Tuesday afternoon, he might have balked. But

lying here with fading red points on his nerve endings, and

his whole body still floating from the fucking evil sticks and the . . . well, the fucking? He couldn’t argue.

Those fine fingers stroked Spencer’s hair, and he pressed

against them like a cat.

Nick laughed softly. “Kind of had a feeling you would be.”

“Oh yeah?” Spencer turned his head towards the sound of

Nick’s voice. “What gave you that idea?”

“Well, I figured you must enjoy suffering if you hang out

with the doucheweasel.”

Spencer snorted. “What? You know him?”

Nick made a soft, derisive sound, and Spencer could

almost hear him rol ing his eyes. “Uh, yeah. And if you’re a

friend of his, you
must
be a pain slut.”

“Oh, he’s not that bad.”

“You’ve obviously never tried to sell him your dick.”

“Uh, no. Can’t say I have.”

“Brings out the arsehole in a lot of people. Ironically.”

Spencer hesitated. “You deal with a lot of jerks in your

line of work?”

“Well, they’re usually the ones in need of cock by the

hour.” Nick shrugged, his shoulder brushing Spencer’s.

“Either because no one else will touch them, or because they

can’t stay faithful to the ones who do.”

“Doesn’t sound like a great work environment. With

people like that around.”

“Says the lawyer.” Nick wriggled beside him, maybe

stretching out or otherwise getting comfortable, and

continued stroking Spencer’s hair. “Only difference between

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your work environment and mine is I can shove a ball gag—or

anything, really—into someone’s mouth if he won’t shut up.