He’d spent every night with Spencer since the last time he’d worked a full night at Market Garden, which meant this was the first time he’d slept here—tried to sleep here—since he’d brought Spencer into his flat. Into this bed. Into him, for that matter.
Closing his eyes didn’t bring him any closer to drifting off, it just brought the other night back to the forefront of his mind. Hadn’t they come here to negotiate chastity play and look at some toys? And yet somehow they’d ended up naked in bed with Nick coming unglued with Spencer’s cock inside him.
He scrubbed a hand over his face and let out a sharp breath.
What the hell was happening to him? Okay, so he’d finally admitted to himself he was in love with Spencer. And maybe that explained why he couldn’t mesh with the Market Garden scene anymore when being a Dom-for-hire had been so easy for him in the past.
But his own flat was different. Spencer’s presence was still here, still charging the air with a current that teased the hairs on the back of Nick’s neck. His bed was no longer the place he came to sleep off a long night. It was the place where That Had Happened.
He didn’t regret it. Not letting Spencer fuck him, not letting himself fall in love with Spencer. He just had no idea what to do with the aftermath. Then again, he wouldn’t have to worry about sleeping here if he quit Market Garden, because he wouldn’t be able to pay for the damn place anymore. And if he did quit, then what? Take a job at Tesco? Let customers bully him and figuratively fuck him up the arse?
It’s making me fucking miserable.
Your job or . . . this?
Nick closed his eyes and sighed. Yes, he was miserable. Miserable, confused, completely fucking fucked in the head. But it wasn’t Spencer. God, no, it wasn’t Spencer at all. Maybe he was the catalyst, the thing that had shifted Nick’s world so far off its axis he didn’t know which way was up, but he wasn’t negotiable. His place in Nick’s tilted, screwed-up world wasn’t up for discussion.
Which scared the fuck out of Nick. Absolutely terrified him.
Well, being the reason you’re losing sleep and coming apart at the seams is one of those things I won’t let you ask me to do.
He shifted on his too-big, too-empty bed, resisting the irrational urge to reach for Spencer’s arm. Spencer wasn’t here, but that didn’t mean he was gone. Yet.
Just get some sleep. Too tired to think.
Right. Sleep now, then think, then talk to Spencer tonight. And maybe sort this out.
Except he was too wound up to sleep. There was a simple solution for that, one he’d used time and again to relax when insomnia decided to kick in.
Jerk off in the place where Spencer and I fucked like that?
Evidently his body didn’t object to the idea. His cock was already hardening just thinking about the last time he’d been here, when he’d been on top of Spencer, who’d been lying right here, just like this. Oh, what the hell.
He wrapped his fingers around his cock and stroked slowly as his erection thickened in his hand. He shifted a little to get comfortable, and the futon gave a quiet, familiar creak, one he’d heard thousands of times but this time sounded like one night in particular. So he moved again. The tiny creak echoed in the otherwise quiet flat, and sharpened the images in his mind. Spencer on his back. Brow furrowing, abs trembling with the effort of not moving and not thrusting, wrists straining against the leather cuffs, gripping the chain because Nick had told him to.
Nick bit his lower lip and arched his back, fucking his own fist as the bed squeaked again. It had been loud last time, hadn’t it? The whole frame protesting their rapid, violent motions as Nick tried to get Spencer as deep inside him as he could? He didn’t remember. All he’d heard then, all he could recall, was Spencer’s breathing. The quiet grinding and rattling of the chain between the cuffs. His own heart pounding. The sounds of the two of them kissing. Flesh hitting flesh.
And then he’d come, and he came this time too, toes curling and back arching as his semen hit his stomach just like it had landed on Spencer’s the other night.
All too quickly, it was over. One last aftershock rippled through him, and his body sank back to the bed, which offered one final, muted creak.
We have got to fuck like that again.
The thought startled him, but post-orgasm lethargy was already settling in. He had just enough left in him to fumble for a tissue, clean himself off, and then slip back in between the warm sheets.
He desperately wanted and needed to sleep, but in spite of the hour and the blissful fatigue following his orgasm, he still couldn’t. His brain just wouldn’t stop. He kept thinking about Spencer. Not just sex with him. Just . . . Spencer. About how much he couldn’t stop thinking about him when he was supposed to be focusing on the men who were paying him for sex and domination.
As long as I have him, I can’t give them what they need.