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    a while. A few weeks, maybe.” Longer? He couldn’t even
    remember right now. Not since . . . at least not . . . what was the question?
    “That long?” Nick’s tone walked that razor-fine line
    between playful and snide. “Though I suppose if it hadn’t
    been a while, I wouldn’t be here tonight, would I?”
    “No.” Spencer closed his eyes and focused on those long,
    fine fingers moving over his hair in a smooth, calming rhythm.
    “I guess that means I should be careful, shouldn’t I?”
    Playful? Observant? Matter-of-fact? Fuck, Spencer couldn’t
    even tell. “Rough is one thing, but I wouldn’t want to—” He
    paused, and Spencer swore he could feel the man grinning.
    “— really hurt you.”
    “It hasn’t actually been—” Spencer’s mouth snapped shut.
    I didn’t ask that echoed in his mind.
    “It hasn’t actually been what?”
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    He moistened his parched lips. “Hasn’t actually been that
    long since I’ve been . . .” He pulled in a deep breath and looked up at Nick. “Penetrated.” And why was he telling him that?
    Nick’s job was to make him feel good—not self-conscious. He
    got enough of that elsewhere, if he really wanted it. And he
    didn’t. Yet he didn’t move away from his position.
    “So you’ve been a naughty boy and put something up
    your arse by yourself. What size? Are we talking a banana, a
    couple fingers, or a silicone horse dick?”
    Horse dick ? What was the little bastard thinking? That he was into animals? “Uh. Normal size. Silicone. I don’t do
    food.”
    Nick snickered. “Or have food do you .” He didn’t
    continue, but the silence was now definitely thoughtful. The
    caress continued, keeping him in place and calm, yet some of
    the tensions had returned with that last question. Nick was
    hitting his buttons to gauge his reactions, maybe. Get to know him, his temper, his responses. Damn, the guy was clever. One
    of the reasons why Spencer had stayed away from prostitutes
    was the idea that they were cheap and nasty and uneducated
    and that his hand (or a dildo) really could achieve the same
    results—for a lot less money.
    I stand corrected.
    “Show me your favourite.” Another straightforward
    order. Spencer made to get up, but Nick pressed down on his
    shoulder again. “Let’s go together.”
    It was a bit of an awkward shuffle on his knees, but he
    made it to the nightstand. He had a small collection—six in
    total, but really only used three of them these days. The mid-
    sized, electric-blue, silicone dildo was the one he used the
    most; then a similar size in harder plastic that vibrated; and a studded steel dildo with a bulbous head. He used that last
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    one for “rough.” Just the size of the head could reduce him to a sweaty, writhing mess.
    “Favourite?”
    Spencer cleared his head and reached into the drawer,
    hand hovering for a moment. He picked the blue one. It was
    the most familiar, the one that required the least preparation.
    Something about the brushed steel one made it look absurdly
    like a weapon.
    “Hand it to me.”
    Spencer lifted it up towards Nick’s hand. Nick brushed
    his fingers and took the dildo, examined it. “Why that one?”
    “It’s just . . . a good size for me.”
    “Hmm.” Nick eyed the toy, turning it and tilting his
    head to one side, then the other, inspecting it like he was a
    goddamned customs agent or something. For the first time
    tonight, Nick’s gaze was fixed somewhere other than on
    Spencer, but Spencer still felt more conspicuous than he ever
    had in his life.
    Part of him wanted to demand to know when they
    would be through with the games and could get on to what
    he’d paid for. But as he watched Nick sizing up the dildo like an executioner picking out a weapon, he had a feeling this
    was what he’d paid for. Not just getting fucked, but getting mindfucked.
    “Show me,” Nick said again, and held the toy out.
    He blinked. “Sorry, what?”
    “Show me.” The hand holding the