If It Fornicates (A Market Garden Tale) Read Free

had studied burnout in-depth at university, but was that what this was? He sighed. “I don’t know what it is. Like I said, it’s not my body that’s tired.” Nick turned his head as far as he could, just enough to bring Spencer into his peripheral vision. “That’s what I meant when I said it felt like I’d been at your job all day.”
    “Brain stuffed with wet wool?”
    Nick laughed, facing forward again. “Yeah. Exactly. I mean, maybe it is burnout. I just . . .” Feel like there’s more to it than that? Maybe he was overthinking it. Trying to self-diagnose something strange and obscure like every psych student eventually did.
    He closed his eyes and enjoyed Spencer’s magic hands as they travelled down his back. Spencer’s thumbs pressed in on either side of his spine, and his fingers kneaded the outer muscles until they relaxed. Nick completely lost track of time, and very nearly forgot where he was until Spencer stopped.
    Rolling his relaxed shoulders, Nick turned again. “Fuck, you’re good at that.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Thank you .” Nick realised right then how close they were, but just when Nick thought a kiss was inevitable, Spencer stepped back. He had a good sense of physical space. Nick couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever crowded him. And the man was bigger and taller than he was.
    “Well, let’s see what our dinner guest looks like now.” Spencer grabbed two oven mitts again and opened the oven. A waft of oily, citrusy, rosemary-scented heat escaped. He took hold of the roasting pan, lifted it out of the oven, and put it down on two slate plates.
    Nick eyed the immense bird. “I think they sold you a goose.”
    “Looks like it, doesn’t it?” Spencer stabbed the alleged chicken with a two-pronged fork and moved it onto a carving plate. In short order, he’d cut and carved the monster and put plenty of white meat on two plates with honey-roasted carrots and green salad. “I’ll just get the wine.”
    Nick lifted an eyebrow. “You sure about the wine?”
    “It’s a good bottle. Gift from a client who’s investing in wines.”
    No sex, then? Or at least no games. “I’m not that tired,” Nick defended.
    “What? Oh. Well, we . . . we don’t have to do anything tonight.”
    “If I’ve had more than a little to drink, we can’t. Anything more than a glass.”
    “That’s all right. Tomorrow?” A hint of strain in his voice suggested that he very much hoped it would be tomorrow. But Spencer wasn’t pushing for it. He wasn’t a needy sub manipulating his way to a beating or sex.
    “Okay.” Nick grabbed the plates. “You deal with the wine.”
    With the chicken served and the wine poured, they took their seats at the table. Spencer gestured at the food. “Please, by all means.”
    Nick nodded. “Thanks.”
    The chicken was surprisingly moist and tender. “If I’d known you were this good a cook,” he said, “I’d have suggested this sooner.”
    Spencer smiled over the rim of his wineglass. “We’ll have to do it again, then.”
    How . . . domestic. There was just no other word for it. This wasn’t the first meal they’d shared, but the first that seemed so homey and normal. And for that matter, the first time a meal together hadn’t explicitly served as foreplay of some description. Eating together for the sake of eating together.
    Nevertheless, looking at Spencer meant seeing sex. Meant seeing that unconditional surrender, that sweetness in him that surfaced when he overcame the pain, his brain stewed and softened in nature’s hormone cocktail.
    Nick swallowed a sip of wine. “How was your week?”
    “Finally closed the big deal. Paperwork is all signed and done. I’m taking a little time off. Tomorrow and Monday.” He paused to slice off another bite of chicken. “At least that’s the plan.”
    “Sounds like I’m not the only one who needs a holiday.”
    Spencer looked down at his plate and sighed. “I’m not even sure that’s enough, to be