If It Fornicates (A Market Garden Tale) (5 page)

He leaned against one of the chest-high tables, a Coke beside him that was watered down from the melting ice cubes. Like all the other unoccupied rentboys, he watched the door. The rentboys were like grizzlies in a river tonight, watching and waiting for a salmon to jump right into their mouths. If someone came in who was worth Nick’s time and energy, he’d have to move in fast.

Nothing had piqued his interest yet, though. Earlier, one of those smarmy business types had strolled in here like he owned the place, and Nick had sauntered up to him because he’d liked the idea of being paid to fuck that smirk right off his face. Guys like that inevitably turned out to be Nick’s favourite kind of bottom: the kind who started out cocky but ultimately begged and practically cried for more.

This one? Not so much. He wanted Nick to bend over and take it, for one thing. He wanted him to take it in the wallet too: only one hundred fifty quid? Fuck off, numb nuts.

So Nick was still here, and hadn’t yet earned his keep for the evening. He was patient, though. Biding his time until a thick enough wallet came in attached to a submissive enough guy willing to suck Nick’s cock and pay for the privilege.

“You look bored.”

Nick turned just as Tim, one of the not-so-kinky rentboys, appeared next to him. Nick shrugged. “Just haven’t seen anything I like yet.”

Tim set his glass beside Nick’s. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“I don’t consider myself a beggar.”

Tim laughed. Nick managed a quiet chuckle, but didn’t say much. He liked Tim, but wasn’t really in the mood to socialize. Especially since socializing was sometimes indistinguishable from flirting. Even with the black leather trousers every rentboy in the room wore, a client might think they were otherwise occupied and go give his money to someone else.

Right then, the club door opened. Every man-for-hire’s head turned, even some of the ones already occupied with clients. A well-appointed businessman strolled in, looking every bit the rich, fuckable bastard. God, his cufflinks alone probably cost more than most men’s cars, because those were emphatically
not
Swarovski crystals.

Tim gasped and put a hand to his chest. “Oh, hello.” He elbowed Nick. “Do you see that?”

“Yes, I do.” Nick took a quick drink to cool and moisten his mouth as he sized up the man from a distance.

“Bloody hell.” Tim shook his head. “I would fuck that man so hard, whoever pulled me out would be the new King of England.”

Nick laughed. “You wish.” And he started towards his chosen prey. On the way, he tried to get more of a bead on the man. Flashy as he was, he wasn’t a lawyer. Lawyers wore more subdued suits, for one, at least in Nick’s experience. Early, maybe mid-forties. Red tie. So maybe a CEO? A vice president at one of the big investment banks? The red tie was a stereotype—somebody must have invented the “Alpha males wear red ties” thing twenty years ago in
GQ
or
Esquire.
And ever since then, the herd had followed, which in itself was just fucking ironic.

Nick pushed up against the man’s table, regarded him from the side, noticed the man looking at him, gaze trailing over his skin.

The man’s lips quirked into a smile. “And who are you?”

“Nick.” Nick turned and faced him fully.

“Just Nick.” Red Tie’s eyes flashed with interest and his gaze drifted to Nick’s bare chest. “Nice piercings.”

Nick didn’t follow the man’s gaze downward. That would have subtly shifted the power balance out of his favour. “You got any?”

“No. I was considering it though.”

Don’t tell me you don’t like the pain.

“But I travel a lot to the States. They have those X-rays now.” Red Tie smiled. “You’re never sure if you’re flying into a state where perverts get thrown into jail.”

Nick nodded. “You gotta wonder though what they’d do to you in jail.” He bared teeth. “From the corner office to everybody’s bitch, I’d guess.” Said under his breath, more offer than threat.

Red Tie’s hand went up to his collar and tugged at the knot. “You think?”

“I do. I think you’d get fed a lot of cock, until you like it, and then
because
you like it.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Obviously, I’m the safe option there, but I can give you a taste of that.”

Red Tie exhaled, studied him, and then glanced around the room—not to evade, just to check on witnesses. “How much are we talking?”

“Five hundred for a couple hours.”

“And you . . .” The man cleared his throat. “Deliver on that?”

“Ask anybody. If you want pain, hell, if you want to get fucked until you scream, that’s my profile.” Nick pushed away from the table, knowing his barbs and hooks were embedded in the guy’s bones and nervous system. Humiliation he could deliver. Pain, absolutely. “Best Dom you’ll find in here. And I play rough.”

Red Tie nodded. “Okay. How much is the whole night?”

All night? Thank God he’d rested well. He got the sense he’d need it. “Twelve hundred.”

Red Tie nodded. “Let’s go.”

Twelve hundred for a night, and he hadn’t even batted an eye. Nick could make a killing off this guy if he played his cards right.

He waved a hand towards the bar. “They do a discreet background check first. It’s quick, and then I’m all yours.”

Red Tie glanced at the bar, at Nick again, and then nodded a third time and headed for the bar.

As his evening’s paycheque took care of the necessary paperwork, Nick finished his watery Coke. Something in his gut tightened as he shifted his attention from finding a client to doing what needed to be done so he could get paid.

Then I’m all yours.

How many times had he said that to johns? He’d never given much thought to the choice of words, needing only to convey the message that his client had rented him for the evening and would get his money’s worth. Not that Nick was literally
all his
.

The thought made him uncomfortable, but he brushed it away. Just part of adapting to the idea of prostituting when he had a boyfriend. Spencer didn’t have a problem with it. He’d said he didn’t, and he’d looked Nick in the eye when he’d said it and hadn’t given him any reason to think he was lying. This had been part of the deal from the beginning, and Spencer had gone into their relationship knowing that when they weren’t in the bedroom together, Nick’s body was for rent. For other men to rent.

Nick’s mouth dried as he watched the john filling out the short form at the bar. If this didn’t bother Spencer, why the hell did it bother Nick all of a sudden?

Stop obsessing over it
.

He shook his head and looked into his empty glass. Idle time meant an idle mind that insisted on overanalysing his situation. Once he and the john were past the point of paperwork, he’d have enough to concentrate on, and he wouldn’t have time to think about anyone or anything outside the hotel room or flat or wherever they ended up. Likely a hotel room. Guys like Red Tie didn’t cough up over a grand for a back alley blowjob or a quick fuck in a backseat. Though guys like him tended to own very large cars, and often employed chauffeurs. If the back of the car was big enough . . .

He looked up as Red Tie returned, and the toothy grin said the background check had gone swimmingly. They usually did. Though when they didn’t, Nick sure thanked every deity imaginable that they were performed at all.

“Well,” Red Tie said. “That’s all taken care of. How about you and me get out of here and we see if you’re really worth twelve hundred quid?”

Nick stepped around the small table. “Oh, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that.”

Red Tie
did
have a huge car with a driver. As Nick climbed in, he checked out the spacious backseat, mentally calculating just how much could be accomplished here. A fair amount, by the looks of it; they could have easily fit two more people back here and still had leg and elbow room.

Red Tie gave the driver a quick, terse “Home, please,” and then rolled up the opaque privacy screen. Tinted windows blocked out the rest of the world, especially since it was after dark, and the two of them were alone in the car, facing each other on opposite bench seats.

“How long is the drive?” Nick asked.

Red Tie shrugged. “Thirty minutes, give or take?”

“Seems like enough time.”

The john’s eyes widened. “Enough . . . enough time for what?”

“Take off your trousers.”

The man’s eyes got even wider. “What?”

Nick tilted his head slightly. “I believe I was clear.”
Now let’s see if you really are the eagerly submissive type.

Red Tie glanced at the partition. He swallowed.

And then he unbuckled his belt.

Nick sat back against the seat, leather creaking as he crossed one knee over the other and folded his arms across his mostly bare chest. He silently watched the wealthy man undoing his trousers and contorting as he pushed them down; no matter how big the vehicle, it was impossible to remove clothing with any semblance of grace.

Red Tie paused with his trousers around mid-thigh. “I . . . my shoes, they—”

“They can stay.” Nick waved a hand. “Everything’s off far enough anyway.”

“Far enough for . . .?”

Nick smirked. “Before I get started, I like to see what I have to work with.” He nodded towards the john’s lower body. “Underwear too. Show me everything.”

Red Tie went red-faced. He started to say something, but then he hooked his thumbs in his waistband and clumsily shimmied out of the white briefs.

“Jerk yourself off.”

“What?” Red Tie furrowed his brow. “Aren’t I paying you for—”

“You’ll get what you paid for. In fact, that’s what you’re getting now. So—” Another nod towards Red Tie’s now naked crotch. “—jerk yourself off.”

Red Tie swallowed hard. Then he sat back and closed his hand around his hardening dick. It was fairly good-sized. Not the most impressive thing Nick had ever seen, but he could work with it. And if Red Tie was getting that hard that quick, then it was a safe bet that for as flustered and nervous as he was, he was obviously enjoying this.

As the john started pumping his own dick with his fist, Nick added, “Oh, but you can’t come until we turn onto your street.”

“What?” The john stared at him. “But, but that’s thirty minutes!”

“I know.” Nick grinned. “Make it count.”

For a moment, it looked like Red Tie would protest further, but he then sat back and continued to stroke himself, leisurely, pacing himself for what he assumed would be thirty minutes. Never mind that the Dom got to change the rules when necessary. Or when he damned well felt like it.

Nick watched the man’s face more than his hand, and the john was looking back at him with something like frustration and defiance, like it was some kind of dare. This one should be interesting—he had issues, had likely not been trained properly, just hiring people to humiliate him, people he owned for the night. Question was, did he have more than that in him, or was that all he would ever experience?

The john was getting more into it, more aroused, and he broke the eye contact, head falling forward. Nick kept his position of apparent disinterest, although the guy definitely wasn’t hard to look at. In between some of the overfed (usually senior) bankers, it was nice getting one of the sharp ones who pursued a gym routine with the same fervour as a deal.

“How long have you been into this?”

“All my life,” the john responded, jaw taut as he wrestled for control.

“Fantasise about getting punished? Raped? Beaten?”

“Yeah.” The man’s lips twitched. “Doesn’t really fit with my job . . .” Likely a high achiever who’d pushed and pushed and somehow made it rather than get beaten down by a stronger man, which was what they truly wanted but never got. Just how many men out there compensated to the point that they buried their true selves was anybody’s guess, but the few who did eventually act on it provided Nick with a decent living.

Nick uncrossed his legs, then re-crossed them, and slouched, deliberately looking as unenthusiastic as possible. Examining his fingernails, running his thumbnail over the edge of the middle one, he said, “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

Red Tie jumped. Then his hand, which he probably hadn’t even realised had stopped, started moving again. “This . . . this what you do, then? Charge a man a thousand quid so you can . . . sit back and watch him wank?”

Nick arched an eyebrow, and started to speak, but then the hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he thought of the way Spencer always responded to that look. The immediately downturned eyes, the tension in his neck and shoulders if he thought he’d misstepped, and yet at the same time, a release of breath. Like the reminder of who was in control let him relax.

Red Tie’s brow furrowed. Maybe from Nick’s extended silence, maybe from the way he was jerking his cock, but Nick wasn’t taking any chances; he was in charge here, he was in control, and damned if he was handing back any of that control until the evening was over.

He looked at his nails again. “You’re paying me to be in charge. If you question me every step of the way, then . . .” He looked the man in the eye, and when Red Tie dropped his gaze, added, “That’s what I thought.” He paused. “We still have a good twenty minutes. I wouldn’t yank it quite that hard unless you want to be on the verge of losing it the entire time.”

Red Tie’s lips tightened, and he slowed his hand.

“I mean,” Nick went on, narrowing his eyes and not suppressing his amusement even the tiniest bit, “it’s your call. Sometimes it’s fun to ride that edge, you know?” He shifted enough to make sure his leather trousers squeaked. “Being hard as hell, wanting to come so bad it hurts.”

The john bit his lip.

Nick arched his eyebrow. “But the clock won’t let you, will it?”

A soft groan, and the man’s free hand shook a little as he reached up to bat away a single bead of sweat.

“I asked you a question.”

Red Tie gulped. “I . . .” His cheeks flushed even darker. “What was the . . . question?”

Nick released a long, emphatically disapproving breath. “You mean you’re not paying attention?”