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  He glanced at the alarm clock. Still a good hour and a half. Plenty of time for Nick to fuck both mind and arse. Probably multiple times apiece.

  “On your back on the bed,” Nick repeated, as if he’d forgotten.

  Spencer swallowed. He sat on the edge of the bed, and ordered his hands to be steady and confident as he poured out some lube and put it on the toy. They shook more than he liked, so he worked faster to hide his nerves. Or maybe he should’ve let them show; Nick seemed to get off knowing he’d pushed a button or three.

  When the toy was good and slick, Spencer lay back across the mattress. This was an awkward position – by fucking design, no doubt – but he managed, parting his legs and bracing his heels on the frame for support. He looked up at the ceiling. That was a lot easier than focusing on the half-naked prostitute watching him so intently. A lot easier, maybe, but not enough to completely negate the strangeness of lubing up his own arsehole while someone watched. Especially when it was at the order of that puzzling voyeur.

  A finger to get started. A second to get him ready for the larger toy. He usually liked to draw out this part, enjoying every step between the first touch of lube and the eventual toe-curling orgasm. But then, he wasn’t usually on the clock. And his heart wasn’t usually beating like this, pounding against his ribcage with pre-emptive fear that Nick would get impatient.

  The bed shifted slightly. Or rather, something pressed against it just enough to make the frame issue a faint protest. Spencer turned his head. Nick was leaning against one of the posts at the foot of the bed, pressing his shoulder into it, arms folded across his bare chest as he watched Spencer fuck himself with two fingers.

  Nick’s eyes flicked up and met Spencer’s. A grin played at his lips. He unfolded his arms, and when one hand moved downwards, the gesture was too slow and deliberate not to hold Spencer’s attention. Especially not when Nick casually brushed his hand over the very pronounced bulge beneath his leather pants.

  Spencer bit his lip.

  Nick grinned. Then he lifted his hand away from his groin and gestured at Spencer. “You were going to show me something, yes?”

  Ignoring him was no longer an option. Or pretending he was really doing this because it had been his own idea. Or ... anything but what it was. He had paid company, and the guy was watching him.

  Though, crazily enough, it felt good to turn Nick on, to get a professional sex worker excited. He shook his head, tried to focus on the task at hand (as it were), and changed his grip on the dildo. God, he was glad he hadn’t picked the steel one. That would be cold now. Sometimes he’d put it in warm water because the heat and the slick power of it ... He focused on Nick’s bulge, took the dildo, and positioned it.

  Would Nick be larger than this? Certainly more human. As he pressed, the dildo opened him beautifully, and Spencer couldn’t help the groan at the stretch. He licked his lips, tried to get more comfortable, then slowly pushed the toy deeper, getting used to being filled and full, body tightening up against the invasion. He sometimes pretended he was being forced, and pushed in hard enough to hurt, but right now, he was in a weirdly mellow, receptive mood, no doubt because somebody was watching him. And Nick was. Never turned away, never unfocused, never spaced out; he just stood there, lips curled in a slight smile, amused, cocky, and watched every movement.

  Spencer remembered to breathe. “Am I ... am I supposed to come or ...”

  “Just go on. I’m here.”

  No doubt. Spencer concentrated on the pleasure, ignoring that it was his own hand doing this, and just enjoyed the soft, insistent slide, the pressure against his muscles and sweet spot. His erection was completely gone, but the other pleasure was so much sweeter.

  A familiar sound grabbed at the edges of his attention. He knew the sound, that amalgamation of a creak and a vibration, but couldn’t place it for some reason. His brain was just too tangled up in the increasingly amazing sensations and the terrifying-exciting-intimidating-addictive feeling of being watched.

  So he opened his eyes. Turned his head.

  Fucking hell. Nick’s zip.

  And in the time it had taken him to sort that in his mind, Nick had done more than just unzip his trousers, and now he was stroking his dick while he watched Spencer. In fact, he stroked it at exactly the same speed Spencer fucked himself with the toy. Slow, the rhythm changing every few seconds but still staying maddeningly smooth and languid.

  Spencer didn’t even care about the clock anymore. Watching Nick stroke himself while Spencer moved the toy in and out was just too hot to care about anything else.

  Nick stroked himself faster. Spencer moved the toy faster.

  And that was when it dawned on him: Nick hadn’t been mimicking his speed. He’d been mimicking Nick’s. Changing whenever he did. Obeying an unspoken command.

  And he’d never been so turned on in his life. Never. Didn’t matter what happened for the rest of the time they had together, he already had his money’s worth. Fuck.

  Nick slowed down, and then stopped. So did Spencer. He got a little thrill out of the subtle flush of Nick’s neck and chest, the hint of colour in his cheeks. Nick’s pupils weren’t completely blown yet, but they were getting there.

  “No more with the toy.” Nick didn’t seem even a little out of breath or flustered, no matter what his eyes and skin tone said. “Get me a condom.”

  Excitement rippled through Spencer’s body, curling his toes even as he withdrew the toy. He set it aside and picked up one of the foil packets. When he turned back, Nick had come closer. Soundlessly, too. Like he’d been over there and was now right here, and neither Spencer nor physics could explain how.

  “Put it on.”

  Spencer didn’t hesitate. He tore the packet with his teeth, rolled the condom onto Nick’s substantial cock. Once it was on, he looked up at Nick.

  “Lube.”

  Oh, yes. Finally ...

  He poured some lube onto his hand and covered Nick’s cock with it. Obeying a sharp gesture from Nick, he lay back on the bed again.

  Nick didn’t say a word. He pushed Spencer’s legs further apart and guided himself to his very, very ready arse. Spencer bit his lips as Nick pressed in, and even though he was well-prepped and wanted it so fucking bad, he wasn’t ready when Nick breached him. It wasn’t painful by any means, just ... intense. Incredibly intense. He vaguely remembered telling Nick he liked it rough, but in the back of his mind, he wondered if he could handle it rough right now.

  Oh God, no, there’s no way ...

  But in spite of Spencer’s earlier insistence he liked it that way, Nick was being anything but rough right now. Rather, he was precise. Slow. Whether to give Spencer time to adjust or because he got a kick out of withholding what Spencer wanted, Spencer wouldn’t have dared to guess. He’d most likely be wrong. Nick moved as slowly as if he had no needs; he was controlled like no partner Spencer had ever had, so Spencer relaxed and thought about the man’s hand on his hair. Relaxed into that remembered sensation.

  “That’s better,” Nick said, and Spencer smiled at the approval.

  Nick kept pushing forward, until Spencer felt his carefully trimmed pubes against his arse. Full. Tight. Shuddering. He lifted his legs further, exposing himself more to Nick’s cock, and Nick took them by the underside of his thighs, pushing them further up. He didn’t use them for leverage, not yet, but the guy was strong, and this seemed designed to remind him of that. Spencer relaxed. Breathed.

  Nick ground a bit against him. “Tell me how that feels.”

  “Full.” Spencer swallowed hard. “Exposed. Good.”

  Nick pulled back maybe an inch and slid back in. The motion was heavenly, still slow, but at least the bastard was finally moving. Spencer tried to push into it, but his position kept him completely passive. He looked up into Nick’s eyes, and Nick nodded as if to say, “Well done.” And then he moved.

  Fuck! Lesson learned.

  Withdrawing, Nick pressed most of his buttons, but pushing
back in, he pressed all but one: the “rough” one. Nick’s movements were slow, smooth, as focused and irrepressible as if he were a fuck robot. He did something pretty spectacular with the angles of his hips, too, sliding past Spencer’s prostate with every movement until Spencer was taut and tense and they were both glowing with sweat, no sound but the grinding, the rasp of skin against pubes.

  In direct violation of what Spencer had claimed he’d wanted, Nick was slowly, methodically driving him up the wall, but hell, this was ... this was something to be savoured. You didn’t stuff your face with foie gras, either.

  Nick let go of Spencer’s legs, which meant Spencer had to adjust a little to keep comfortable. Nick slid his hands up Spencer’s abs, their slow, warm path complementing the cadence of his hips perfectly. They stopped just below his collar bones, and for a moment, they were just there. Not pressing down hard, not holding Spencer against the bed, just ... there.

  Spencer shivered, closing his eyes as his lower back lifted off the bed. If Nick had this much of an effect on him in super slow motion, he could only imagine what would happen if Nick pulled out all the stops.

  The fingers resting beneath his collar bones curled slightly. The nails – those black-painted staccato nails Spencer could see in his mind’s eye – bit in enough to get his attention. Not hard, but a sharp deviation from all the smooth and the slick and the soft he’d had so far.

  Nick’s hips picked up the pace, but not by much. Like the bite of his nails, just enough to draw Spencer’s attention, and it worked, because now his attention was evenly divided between the dick moving so perfectly in and out of him and the nails resting beneath his collar bones.

  The nails moved, digging in hard now and drawing ten red hot lines down Spencer’s chest. One went right over his nipple, and Spencer gasped, but Nick didn’t stop, and the intense burning only complemented the slow and sensual below his waist, and ... and ... holy fuck ...

  “Oh my God.” He couldn’t believe he’d even managed to speak. The nails continued past his ribs, onto his abs and sides, making muscles quiver and contract.

  Halfway down his belly, the nails – fucking claws – started coming together, pulling towards his navel.

  Wait. No. Not his navel. Lower ...

  His cock – which was plenty hard now – stiffened even more. His balls tightened. And the semicircle of sharp and burning just kept getting closer while Nick kept right on fucking. Spencer groaned, bit his lips, squirmed under the pain and the lingering burn, felt himself tighten around Nick, too, but it seemed to have no effect on the bastard. Or none besides a grin. Their gazes locked again, and there was bloody-minded determination in Nick and self-possession and a generous helping of sheer wickedness that made Spencer’s balls draw up.

  Just don’t scratch my dick, he pleaded silently in his own head. Nick’s right hand lifted away, hovered close to his dick, making Spencer nervous enough that he broke eye contact. And then Nick slapped his cock. Spencer very nearly jumped, because it fucking hurt ... but the pain mellowed into a weird, weird burn, especially when Nick nailed his prostate at the same fucking time. Oh God. The guy would break him. Drive him fucking insane.

  The other hand did the same thing, slapped him hard, making his dick bounce and smack his flesh, and Spencer tightened and got so fucking close. Nick thrust a few times hard and fast, overloading his brain with pleasure/pain and, as if in an afterthought, used one of those wicked hands to jerk him at the same time, fingernails raking the side of his dick.

  Spencer made a sound somewhere between pleading and shouting as the orgasm very nearly blew off the top of his head. It felt like he couldn’t stop coming, spunk covering his belly up to his chest as Nick’s insistent short thrusts milked him through the orgasm.

  Oh God. Oh bloody hell.

  Spencer clutched for something, anything, but Nick pulled back and left him gaping, empty and bereft, covered in sweat and semen. And floaty. So floaty, in fact, that only the claw marks down his front kept him anywhere near his body. The marks felt like they were glowing bright flaming red despite his dark skin, and held him down like Nick’s hands had earlier.

  He reached up with a shaking hand and wiped sweat from his brow. Scrubbed over his face, if nothing else just to make sure some part of his body was still intact. Nick wasn’t touching him anymore. In fact, the air around Spencer was unnervingly vacant, devoid of the kid who’d stepped right up in his face ... was that tonight? Just an hour or two ago? Seemed like it hadn’t happened in this same dimension, never mind the same evening.

  He opened his eyes, blinked a few times until the room came into focus.

  Nick was gone. Completely gone. A phantom who’d slipped back into the shadows, leaving only goose bumps as evidence he’d ever been there at all.

  What the hell?

  Spencer pushed himself up and looked around as he reached for a handful of tissues. He was just gone?

  The tap turned on, and when Spencer glanced over his shoulder, the bathroom light was on and the door ajar. Ah. There. Now the world made sense again.

  Right. As if the world could make sense after a fuck like that.

  He cleaned himself up, and lay back in the centre of the bed. Too hot to get under the covers, too dizzy to stay upright, so he just lay there and waited for Nick to return.

  Chapter 4

  The en suite went dark, and Nick emerged from the shadows. God, he really was like a phantom, slipping in and out of a solid, tangible existence at will. Didn’t help that he was still half-covered in black; he never had fully removed his leather trousers, and they were once again zipped and buttoned. Even his hair was back in order, the blond fringe swept off to the side so it was almost out of his eyes. If not for the hint of colour in his skin, it would have been impossible to tell he’d been fucking and scratching and slapping Spencer within the last five minutes.

  Spencer wasn’t nearly so put back together. He’d cleaned himself off, but still, he could only imagine how he looked right now. A wreck, no doubt, but as Nick looked him over and grinned, he didn’t feel too terribly self-conscious. This was probably exactly what Nick wanted to see. Mission accomplished, paycheque earned, man down.

  Well done, lad. Well done.

  Nick sat on the bed beside Spencer, and curved a hand over his bare leg. “You still have me for another hour.”

  Another hour. Wow. Spencer licked his lips and ran his fingers over his sweaty hair. “I don’t know if I can handle another hour of you.”

  The rentboy chuckled, not even trying to hide the arrogant undercurrent of and don’t you forget it. He drew a fingertip up the inside of Spencer’s thigh, teasing hypersensitive nerve endings with a feather-light touch until Spencer arched and swore, nearly batting Nick’s hand away but somehow certain that wasn’t allowed.

  “God,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “You keep calling me that,” Nick teased. “I assure you: I’m not.”

  “You don’t say.”

  The laugh that followed was quiet, but undeniably diabolical. “I’m hardly here to save you. Just fuck you.”

  Spencer shivered.

  The hand left his thigh. “Get on your stomach.”

  Already? Shit. Though Nick hadn’t come, so he wouldn’t need much time to recover, would he?

  “I’m not going to fuck you again,” Nick said in that light, teasing tone again. “Relax.”

  “Isn’t that what I’m paying you to do?” Spencer was already moving onto his stomach as he said it. “To fuck me?”

  “Of course you are.” Nick didn’t even give Spencer a chance to settle before he started playing that little game of light touches on his spine. “And I will fuck you again before I leave, but not yet.”

  Spencer glanced back at Nick, and wasn’t at all surprised to see a devilish grin on his lips. Made him wonder what kind of kisser Nick was. Not passive, he was sure. Probably aggressive. Teasing. The kind who would playfully bite Spencer’s lip and force his tongue into h
is mouth, all in the course of the same kiss. He probably gave a hell of a blowjob, too, if it was possible to get him on his knees.

  Ironically, that was the thought on Spencer’s mind a second before Nick shifted, and now Nick was on his knees. Still over Spencer, but kneeling. Hardly a submissive posture, particularly not now that –

  Oh my God. Leather simultaneously warmed and cooled the sides of Spencer’s thighs, and just below his arse, more leather. Nick was straddling him. Over him.

  Nick wasn’t heavy by any means, but he was solid. Muscle through and through. He may have been slight, but he wasn’t going to break in half if the wind hit him wrong.

  His weight shifted towards Spencer’s torso. Once again, his hands were on Spencer’s shoulders. On the shoulder blades this time, and pressing in. He started making circles with the heels of his hands, and Spencer couldn’t help groaning.

  “Didn’t realise a massage was included.”

  “Sometimes I improvise.”

  “There’s some oil.” Spencer lifted his arm – when did his own limbs get so fucking heavy? –and gestured at the dresser. “In the top –”

  “No oil.” Nick’s hands pressed harder, made broader strokes across Spencer’s flesh. “I like some friction.”

  “Just don’t give me carpet burn,” Spencer muttered, but Nick’s hands felt good on his skin, the touches sure and gentle, considerate, ironically unlike the occasional one-night stands who all but treated him like a slab of meat.

  Spencer relaxed, noticed how Nick leaned into every one of his strokes, using his body weight rather than arm or hand muscles. Every now and then, Nick’s leather-clad groin came into contact with Spencer’s arse, and he wondered if Nick was enjoying the frustration of being trapped in his trousers. He imagined Nick getting himself off by just fucking his crack like this, or wanking over him. Both had definite appeal.

  The massage helped immensely with the comedown, though the second Nick added some fingernails, Spencer was wide awake again. His back was all warm, and now Nick was working his sides, sliding with both hands towards the spine, nails sometimes interrupting the open-palm motions. Spencer groaned with the pleasure of it. Every time he started to drift off, the nails brought him back.