If there had been, most Twould’ve been covered by Spencer’s suit anyway, but he’d scrutinized himself, front and back, in the mirror on Saturday morning, on Sunday night, and again before he went to work. By the time he dressed Monday morning, he wasn’t so much paranoid about someone seeing a bruise as he was convinced there should have been some kind of mark. Some sort of black and blue graffiti proclaiming Nick was here. He certainly felt the remnants of Nick’s presence in the stiffness of his muscles and the barely-cooled burn on his skin. Sitting comfortably in his office chair was a challenge, though true to his word, Nick hadn’t left him unable to do so. Yeah, Nick was here all right, but he hadn’t left a single mark. Even the scratches, the streaks running down his chest and converging just above his cock, had mostly faded by Sunday and were gone this morning. Not a single scrap of evidence on Spencer’s body. No one would possibly know. No one, that is, except Percy.
