If It Fornicates (A Market Garden Tale) (6 page)

Spencer always pays attention.

The thought startled Nick. Jerked him from his slouched position into a more upright one. The john eyed him, and Nick recovered quickly, sharpening his voice to match his tone: “If you’re not going to pay attention, there
will
be consequences.”

The john pressed his lips together. “My apologies,” he said eventually.

There was no more impersonal way to say
I’m sorry
, Nick thought. He nodded, prompting.

“What was the question, please?”

“Do you think you’ll be allowed to come? I’d weigh that carefully. Your driver will most definitely know if I’ve made you come in the backseat like a teenager with no control.”

The john swallowed, grip tightening on his dick again. “What happens if I do come? If it’s an accident?”

Sly bastard. Trying to game the system, and they were only fifteen minutes in.

“You do not want to find out,” Nick said.

The john’s eyes flashed—the guy had a rebellious streak the width of the Atlantic, but the good thing was, his tells were easy to read. When he lost control, when he tried to regain it, when he was frustrated; Nick could see right through him. By the time they got down to business in a secure place, Nick would know exactly how to handle him. Twelve hundred said he’d deliver exactly what the man wanted, with his compliance or not. Going a whole night had been a good call. This type should not be rushed.

“You don’t have a regular Dom?”

The man scoffed.

“Answer.”

“No. No, I don’t.”

“Why not? Can’t be the cash. A regular could cut you a deal.”

Red Tie’s hand tightened again, and he gritted his teeth. “I told you it . . . doesn’t fit . . .” He closed his eyes, hand slowing down, but he was getting so turned on now that Nick would have bet money on the john’s focus shifting from humiliation to the pure need to get off. Maybe already contemplating why he hadn’t hired a fifty-quid hooker for a blowjob.

“How does
this
fit?”

“It just does.” The man’s breath was laboured now. “Shit.”

“So you make do with vanilla sex while trying to fit in sex with a hired hand? That’s pretty sad.”

“It’s the only fucking thing that works.” The man shifted on his seat, eyes tightly closed. “I can’t believe . . .”

“How much this turns you on.”

“Yes.” The john shook his head, made no eye contact. “No whips, just . . . just my mind.”

“Tell you a secret. Even with the whip, it’s mostly the mind.” Nick paused. “Slow down.”

“Please.”

“Patience.”

The man’s tight lips moved just enough to form what Nick assumed to be “motherfucker.”

“Would you like to tell your driver to circle the block a few dozen times?” Nick asked. “I’m not the one with my hand around my dick. I can do this all night.”

Another mouthed profanity, this one almost brought to life by a low groan from the back of Red Tie’s throat. His rhythm faltered. Nick kind of wished at this point he’d had the man roll up his sleeves; nothing quite like watching those muscles and tendons twitching and trembling from a combination of exertion and frustration.

“How much farther?” Nick asked.

The john blinked a few times, then looked out the tinted windows, brow furrowed as if he could barely focus. “We’re . . . ten minutes. Max.” Followed by a whispered, “Thank God.”

“Think you can hold out that long?” Nick taunted. “You look like you’re right on the edge. God, you’re about ready to blow, aren’t you?”

“
Fuck
.” Red Tie squirmed, screwing his eyes shut and pumping his cock with rapid, irregular strokes.

“Tell the driver to drive round the neighbourhood once.”

Red Tie’s eyes flew open and his jaw dropped. “
What?
”

Nick pointed at the privacy screen behind Red Tie.

“But we’re . . .”

“Hmm.” Nick stroked his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “On second thought, I like to take in my surroundings. Really savour the details.” He narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps I should have you tell him to go round the neighbourhood
twice
?”

Red Tie gulped. He fumbled with his free hand for the button, then lowered the screen just half an inch. “Go round the neighbourhood once before we get to the house.”

“Yes, sir.”

He quickly shut the privacy screen and glared at Nick. “Is that—”

“Keep stroking.”

The groan of frustration made Nick grin. Though deep down, he was almost tempted to groan himself. Once in a while, he liked a challenge. Sometimes, he liked submissives who needed to be forced to their knees, and those who warranted a little punishment here and there. But subs—especially johns—like that were exhausting. They just weren’t the same as the ones who, with nothing more than a look, melted to their knees. The ones who didn’t protest every second while an orgasm was delayed, but were instead profoundly and genuinely grateful when that moment of hard-earned release was granted.

Subs like Red Tie weren’t Spencer.

No one was like Spencer. And no amount of money could make Nick feel for someone what he felt for Spencer whenever they played.

God, I need to feel that tonight. I need—

Focus
. Nick barely kept himself from swearing aloud, and he tried to concentrate on his unruly sub-for-the-night. He couldn’t be a Dom while he was distracted. And God, he really was distracted.

“
Stay . . . stay with me over the weekend?
” he heard Spencer’s voice in the back of his mind. “
I’d really like to spend more time with you. See . . . find out how it all works.
”

Against his better judgment, he glanced at the digital clock above the privacy screen. 10:30. Only twelve hours or so until that weekend began. Until—

“Oh, God . . .” The john shuddered, biting his lip.

“Don’t come yet.” Nick forced an edge into his voice and forced Spencer’s voice out of his mind. “We’re not there yet, are we?”

“N-no.”

“Then
you’d
better not be there yet.” He sat up, leaning towards the john, resting his elbows on his knees. “And you’re not, are you?”

“N-no. I’m not.”

“Good.”

Though he’d enjoy punishing him. Setting a guy like this up for failure was always fun. They hated that, because for many of them, to make the kind of money they did, they’d had to eliminate the word “failure” from their vocabulary. It was fun to put it back in and point a searchlight at it.

He returned his attention to the man’s face, reading the war between needing to come and choosing to obey. To obey
him
. For a moment, Nick considered having Red Tie undress more so he could have a better look at his physique, but he quite liked the dishevelled look. The white shirt and the dangling red tie suited him. And those diamond-studded cufflinks and the expensive Swiss watch added to the image. Status symbols. Money and power and need, all on a man falling apart at the seams.

The car pulled into a driveway and stopped in front of a large house surrounded by a manicured formal garden and a high spike-topped iron fence.

The john kept going, eyes closed, probably far enough in his own head that he hadn’t noticed. Now, those were promising beginnings.

“Stop.”

The john gritted his teeth, but his eyes opened. “What?”

“Zip up.”

“I’m . . . so close.”

“Unless you want to drive around the neighbourhood again.”

“Fuck.” The john stopped, seemingly having to pry his fingers off his cock. He was unsteady and distracted as he got back into his trousers. Nick wondered why the driver hadn’t opened the door, but then, he might know the game, or at least have instructions.

Trousers secured (and tenting), the john rapped the privacy screen once. Nick heard the driver’s side door open, followed by sharp footsteps on the pavement. A moment later, their door opened. Nick stepped out first, which lifted the driver’s eyebrow briefly before the man schooled his face again. Nick gave him an up-and-down glance. Short dark hair, athletic build, mid to late twenties, and a clear face that was halfway between attractive and bland.

But not so bland when the man’s attention returned to his boss. Nick could almost feel the current shift there. What did these guys have going on?

“Will you require me again tonight, sir?” the driver asked.

Red Tie shook his head and made a dismissive gesture. “Take the evening off. We’re not to be disturbed.”

The driver nodded and remained with the car while Red Tie made his way to the door, and Nick followed.

Old Georgian manor house, from the stern symmetry of it. Easily one-and-a-half million in brick and mortar. The john opened the door into the spacious hall—all clean lines, white walls, marble floor. Now, where would he take Nick? The choice of room sometimes gave things away. Bedroom, living room, or . . .

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?”

“You’ve jerked off before, haven’t you?”

Red Tie gripped himself and began stroking, slowly at first, then he closed his eyes and went for it, probably hopeful that this time Nick would let him come. And, yes, his arm muscles were very pretty this way—so was the tautness around his throat and neck, the tensing of his belly. A rich guy kneeling in the middle of a
game room
in his own very expensive house, trying to get off before he was ordered to stop.