Spencer Cohen Series, Book Three (The Spencer Cohen Series 3) (3 page)

He added more fingers and fucked me for a minute. One hand pushed down on my back, one hand at my entrance, he was leaning over me. I knew his huge cock was next, and I wanted it. I needed it. “Andrew.”

He pulled his fingers out of me, and while he applied the condom, I put pillows under my hips and laid back down for him with my face in the mattress and my arse in the air. He wasted no time. He simply positioned himself behind me, put his cock to my hole, and pushed into me.

He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t slow. He leaned forward and breached me, stretched and filled me. I groaned loudly, gritting my teeth. “Fuck. Your cock is huge.”

He stilled, his breath hot on my back. “You okay?”

“Fuck yes,” I told him. “Jesus.”

He gave me a second to adjust and then slowly started to rock into me. His voice was a gruff whisper. “You didn’t make me come before.”

I laughed into the mattress. “Remind me to fail next time, too, if it means you’ll fuck me like this.”

He thrust harder, making me cry out. Then he did it again and again until he stilled. His fingers dug into my hips, and he pulsed inside me. Jesus, I could feel him come. His voice was a strangled cry as he pulled out and collapsed on top of me; his chest was heaving, and his breaths were ragged.

I couldn’t move. I was pinned underneath him. His body was a glorious weight, and when he rolled off me, I felt the absence immediately. I shuffled around so I faced him and kissed him. “Wow.”

“I’ve never done that before,” he whispered, his eyes closed. It was as though he couldn’t bear to look at me.

“Never done what before?” I asked. “Fucked some guy into the mattress?” He nodded, still not meeting my eyes. “Andrew, seriously, you can do that to me every day of the week.”

He looked at me then. “Are you sore?”

I wrapped my arm around him and pulled him against me. “That was incredible. No, I’m not sore.” I wiggled my arse. “Well, maybe a little, but that’s because you’re hung like a horse.”

His reaction was a mix of amused and horrified. “Oh my God. Did I hurt you?”

I laughed. “No. Like I said, you can have me like that any time you want.”

“Oh.” Andrew chuckled, still obviously embarrassed. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“I know what came over you. Because I got you close to orgasm on the papasan chair, but I came first because, well, you were so fucking hot, and apparently
close to orgasm
wasn’t good enough for you.”

He barked out a laugh, flushed a full shade of red, and ducked his head into my chest. “God, Spencer. You can’t just say stuff like that.”

I drew in a deep breath and sighed. “You are a confounding man, Andrew Landon. Tiger in bed, kitten out of it.”

He pulled his head back quickly and stared at me. “What?”

He made me laugh. “You have no idea, do you?” I took his blank stare as my answer. “It’s what I find so enthralling about you. You look like a shy, mild-mannered guy, but underneath you’re really just a bossy top.”

His eyes almost popped out of his head. “A bossy top?” He scoffed. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you not here ten minutes ago? Because I’m pretty sure you just bossy-topped me into the mattress.”

He made a whining sound and shook his head. I think he was genuinely horrified. “I’m not… I don’t… I’m not just a top.”

“No, you’re a bossy bottom too.”

“I’m not bossy,” he said quietly. “Well, I don’t mean to be.”

I held his face and kissed him. “You’re perfect. Don’t change a thing.”

He gave me a small frown. “I’m not perfect. You keep saying I am, but I’m not.”

I rolled us over until I was on top of him. I put both hands to his face and kissed him again, deeper this time. When I pulled away, I waited for him to open his eyes and look at me. “You know what would make you absolutely perfect?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a pretty big ask, but I’m sure you’ll manage absolutely-perfect status.” I rolled off him, got off the bed, and walked to the door. “Pick a movie and make some popcorn.”

“And that will make me perfect?”

“Yep. I’m going to have a shower.”

He called out, “And you think I’m bossy?”

“Yes, I do.” I went into my bathroom and my smile grew even wider when I saw his toothbrush next to mine in the holder. It was crazy how happy something so simple made me. Not that I’d ever admit to Andrew how seeing his toothbrush next to mine made my heart thump funny because I’m certain he’d think me mad. Or a romantic sap. Or both.

My smile cut short when he followed me into the shower—literally into the shower cubicle and the streaming water. He was still naked, but I could tell something was wrong by the look on his face. “Andrew?”

It was like something couldn’t wait, as though he had to tell me what was on his mind in that second or he’d die. His brow furrowed. “I know I’m bossy but I don’t mean to be. You make me forget to censor myself.”

Standing under the stream of water, I opened my mouth to speak, but he wasn’t done.

“With Eli, I had to watch what I said or did because I didn’t want to scare him off. I never spoke my mind. I never took charge and ordered him around in the bedroom like I just did with you.” He swallowed hard and blinked at the spray of water on his face. “But I can be me around you. I
am
bossy. I like things done a certain way. I’m a perfectionist, but I’m
not
perfect. You see the real me. This is who I am.”

To say I was stunned at his outburst was an understatement. Stunned, floored, amazed. And speechless. I pulled him to me then pushed him against the tiles and kissed him with as much honesty as he’d shown me. No, I couldn’t find the words in that moment, but I hoped he understood me anyway.

When I finally pulled away, both of us breathless, I kept my lips to his. “Don’t ever censor yourself,” I whispered. “Don’t change a thing.” I stared into his eyes, and amid the steam and ragged breaths, his gaze never left mine. “You are perfect.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m not.”

“For me. You’re perfect for me.”

He finally smiled, and lifting his hand to my chin, he scratched my beard. “Don’t be long. I’ll put the popcorn in the microwave.”

He walked out of the shower, drying himself quickly, and putting on nothing more than the towel around his waist as he disappeared out of the bathroom. I smiled to myself as I washed my body and shampooed my hair, and then I remembered… Popcorn. Microwave.

Shit!

The only popcorn I had wasn’t supposed to go in the microwave. It was some organic, gourmet stuff that had to be cooked on the stove.
Shit, shit, shit!
I shut the water off, and grabbing a towel, I scrambled out of the bathroom and ran into the kitchen while trying to wrap the towel around my hips with my hair full of shampoo. “Andrew!”

He was standing there, still with just a towel around him, holding the whole bag of popcorn with the microwave door open. I startled him. “What?”

“Not the microwave,” I panted. I closed the microwave door and put my hand to my heart. “Popcorn goes on the stove. In a pot. With oil. And maybe not the entire bag, unless we want to feed the masses.”

He looked at the bag like it had offended him. “I didn’t think it looked like the ones my mom used to make.”

I barked out a laugh. “Didn’t want to read the instructions on the packet?”

“Well, no, I just thought…” The corner of his mouth pulled down. “I told you I don’t cook. You give me the ‘you’re so perfect’ speech, and I try to kill us with popcorn.”

I took the popcorn from him and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “You’re still perfect.” But then shampoo ran into my eye. I squinted my eyes shut. “Ow, shit, shit. My eye!”

Now he laughed and, taking my arm, led me back to the bathroom. “Keep your eyes shut,” he said. I heard the water turn on and felt him pull my towel away before he took my hand and gently pushed me into the shower.

I stuck my head straight under and let the water stream over my face and eyes while washing the shampoo out of my hair. It only took a minute, and when I was done and dried, I threw on a pair of cargos and found Andrew dressed, sitting on the sofa with his bare feet on my coffee table. He had two bottles of water and a bowl of crisps. “I got them from your cupboard. Figured they were safer than popcorn.”

I lifted his chin and kissed him before throwing myself onto the sofa, half leaning on him like a pillow, and pulled his arm around my shoulder. “What movie are we watching?”

“
Reservoir Dogs
. Classic Tarantino. Is that okay?”

I sighed, completely content and happy. “Like I said. Perfect.”

I had to work, which was crap, but Andrew said he’d drive me to my client’s place. I was trying not to think about how weird it might be for him, driving his boyfriend to work, where I was spending the evening pretending to be the boyfriend of someone else. I offered to call a cab, but Andrew wanted to reassure me he was okay with it.

I finished tying my bowtie, slipped on my jacket, and walked out to where Andrew was waiting.

He stared. Wide eyed, open mouthed. “Oh.”

I looked down at my tuxedo. “Do I look okay?”

He cleared his throat. “Um, yes.” He shook his head. “Jesus.”

“It’s a formal, black-tie dinner,” I said, crinkling my nose. “And anyway, the suit hides my sleeves. Peter would prefer me to not show my tattoos.”

Andrew scowled at that. “Did he say that?”

I tried not to smile. “I asked. It’s a part of my job to look the part. Peter’s a bit older and has always been vocal in his distaste of tattoos, so his ex-boyfriend would know something was up if I were to turn up with mine showing.”

“Well, Peter’s a bit weird.”

“He’s not the weirdest,” I conceded. “He just likes men half his age. Nothing wrong with that. I think he was looking to settle down, but his ex wasn’t ready for that.”

Andrew nodded thoughtfully. “You think they’ll get back together? His ex-boyfriend’s name is Duncan, yes?”

“Yep. Duncan Doolittle. And I don’t know if they’ll get back together. Duncan’s a hard one to read.”

Andrew smiled. I’d told him some things about this new job, so he got the job reference. “I’m almost certain not all vets have the last name Doolittle. And couldn’t you have kidnapped someone’s dog to take it into his clinic? That’d have to be a bit more exciting than sitting through a formal dinner.”

I chuckled at him. “Not to mention illegal. And no, Peter works with Duncan’s best friend. That’s how they met. So the friend will be at this dinner because it’s a work thing. He’ll see me with Peter and no doubt tell Duncan. Then Peter and I will take his cat, not some stolen dog, to the vets, and Doctor Dreamy Duncan Doolittle can decide if he’s jealous or not.”

“Doctor Dreamy Duncan Doolittle?”

“Yes. Alliteration about appearances is always awesome when articulated artistically.”

Andrew laughed. “That was terrible.”

“Then why did you laugh?”

He was still smiling. “I was being polite.”

I rolled my eyes. “You were not. You totally think I’m great.”

He didn’t answer, but he also didn’t stop smiling. “You look great in that tux,” he said, giving me another once over. “Maybe we should go out somewhere fancy sometime so I get a night with you dressed like that too.”

I lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. “Any time. A black-tie jazz night perhaps?”

He smiled shyly. “Would you dance with me?”

“You told me you don’t dance.”

“I don’t dance in nightclubs or bars.”

“But at some fancy place dressed in a tux you would?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes. On a dance floor full of elegantly dressed hetero couples in one of LA’s best jazz bars? Hell yes, I would. And you”―I kissed him lightly― “would be the most dapper of them all.”

“Most dapper?” He laughed. “Is that the male equivalent of Cinderella?”

“I was thinking more like James Bond, but whatever.”

He chuckled and sighed happily. “Well, I still think you look great—”

“Dapper.”

He snorted. “Okay. I still think you look dapper in your suit. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous.”

I put my forehead to his. “If it means anything, I’d prefer to be here with you.”

His blue-grey eyes flashed with a smile. “I know.”

I held his chin between my thumb and forefinger. “So, what are your plans for tonight? Are you really going to go hang out here and downstairs with Emilio?”

“Would that make you insanely jealous?”

“Yes. And don’t look so amused. You could at least try and look put out.”

Andrew laughed. “Actually, I’m going to see my parents.”

“Oh, how’s Yanni going?” Yanni was the acting-student guy I’d been paid to find for my last client, who turned out to be the charming arsehole who belted the crap out of Yanni and called it love. I’d brought Yanni home with me, not really knowing what else to do with him, and Andrew had said he knew of some place where Yanni would be welcome and safe. That
place
just happened to be his parents’ house. The plan was to find Yanni a flat of his own, but a week later and he was still there. Andrew hadn’t mentioned him for a day or two. “Found somewhere for him to live yet?”

“No. Well, I’m sure there’s been plenty of safe-houses, but to be honest, I think my mom likes having him around. Another actor in the house and she’ll be in heaven. She probably has the furniture in the living room pushed to one side and has had the poor guy adlibbing scenes with her from her latest acting class.” Andrew smiled fondly. “She used to make Sarah and I do that.”

“Didn’t want to be actors?”

He looked horrified. “Lord no. That’s why I did piano and Sarah did ballet. Being on stage in front of a critical audience is my worst fear. I wouldn’t even do piano recitals.” He shuddered.

“Worst fear? Like ever?”

“Terrified. What’s your greatest fear?”

“Being burned alive. Which is a stupid way to say it actually because you don’t say drowned alive or stabbed alive. So, it’s more a case of being set on fire till you’re not alive anymore.”

“Death by fire.”

“Yes! Death by fire.”

Andrew nodded slowly, his brow furrowed. “I can see why. Being on stage is a lot like death by fire. Harrowing, excruciatingly painful, torture.”

I refrained from rolling my eyes. “Yeah, they’re so alike.”

He laughed. “Speaking of excruciatingly painful, remember how Sarah called me that time and told me we’d be invited to some fancy lunch at my parents’ house?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Mom asked if you’d like to come along.” Andrew bit his lip and looked to the floor. Before I could reply, he quickly added, “I told her I wasn’t sure if we were up for that just yet, and now I know your worst fear, you’d probably prefer to be burned at the stake than to spend an afternoon in the company of my parents and their friends.”

I put my finger to his chin and lifted his face so he’d look at me. “I’d love to. When is it?”

“Not this Sunday but the next.”

“If I don’t have to work, I am all yours.”

“Are you sure? It’ll be boring and full of people who think they’re better than they are.”

How could I ever refuse him when he looked at me so happy and hopeful? “Of course I’m sure. You have a toothbrush in my bathroom. I’m pretty sure that’s a ‘social lunch with your parents’ qualifier.”

He gave me a shy, half-smile. “I like having your toothbrush in my bathroom. I smile every morning when I see it.” He shook his head a little and squinted his eyes closed as his skin flushed right down his neck. “God, I shouldn’t have said that.”

I cracked up laughing because I’d totally thought the same thing. “Don’t be embarrassed. If there was a magazine titled
Things That Make Spencer Happy
, your toothbrush in my bathroom would be on the cover.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Amongst other things, but yes, I’d have a whole cover issue dedicated to that. Right after the issue with your picture and good music, classic movies, and green tea.”

Andrew chuckled and pressed his lips to mine. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For getting me. For not thinking I’m an idiot. For doing the whole magazine cover thing, as well. I’ve never known anyone that does that like me. Until I met you.” He pecked his lips to mine again. “And for what it’s worth, if there was a magazine called
Things That Make Andrew Happy
, you’d be on the cover too.”

I was grinning. I couldn’t help it. “Oh, don’t forget, you need to think of something to draw for my next tattoo.”

He made a face. “You’ll really get whatever I draw tattooed onto your body?”

“Well yeah, if I like it.”

“Oh good. So no pressure or anything.”

I gave him a light kiss with smiling lips. “It’ll be fine. You know me better than anyone, so I’m sure whatever you come up with will be perfect.”

He stared, literally stared into my eyes. “Do I?”

“Know me better than anyone?” I resisted the urge to look away but managed a nod. “Yeah.” Before my chest burst with nerves, I changed the subject. “Come on, we better get going or I’ll be late.”

Andrew was pretty quiet in the car on the way to Peter’s. I’d given him the address, which he’d promptly punched into an app on his phone and set about driving me. It wasn’t an overly long trip, and when I put my hand on his thigh, he quickly slid his non-driving hand over mine. He smiled at me but didn’t say much. When we drove up Peter’s street and he pulled the car into the kerb, I asked, “Everything okay?”

“Yes, of course. Just thinking about what tattoo I’m supposed to draw for you.”

I didn’t exactly believe him. I think he was more worried about my night with Peter than he was letting on, but he just didn’t want to admit it. “Don’t over think it. Sometimes the best ideas are the simplest.”

“Easier said than done.”

“True.” I looked up at Peter’s house. “I better get going. Have a fun night with your parents. Tell them I’ll be there next Sunday. And tell Yanni I said hi.”

He almost smiled, but then his eyes darkened. “Can I kiss you?”

Oh. Random, but okay. “Anytime you want.”

He leaned over the centre console and I did the same, but as our lips met, he put his hand to my face and kissed me deeper. And harder. And better. It wasn’t just a quick goodnight snog. It was a “you might be spending time with him but you fucking belong to me” kind of kiss. I’d never experienced possessiveness by anyone before, and I had to admit, it was hot as hell.

I pulled away with a groan. I was breathless, and my heart rate spiked. I licked my lips tasting him there. “Fuck, Andrew.”

He let out a breathy laugh. “Sorry.”

“Jesus. Don’t apologise. You can kiss me like that anytime you want.” I opened my door, but before I got out, I added, “And for what it’s worth, the answer is yes, I will.”

He looked confused. “Answer to what?”

“The question in that kiss. The ‘you better be thinking of me tonight’, which is not technically a question, but you know what I mean.”

Andrew blushed which told me my assumption was correct. “Is that right?”

I leaned over the console and waited until he leaned in too. When my lips were almost touching his, I said, “Yes, I’ll be thinking of you.” I kissed him soft and sweet. “I’ll call you,” I promised and got out of the car.

He drove off, and before I’d reached Peter’s front door, I shot Andrew a quick text.
Oh, btw, Possessive-Andrew can show up anytime he likes. That kiss was hot
.

I was still smiling as I knocked on Peter’s door. He opened the door, clearly surprised and pleased by my appearance. “Spencer,” he said, giving me another once over as I walked inside, “you look great.”

“Thank you, you too.”

Peter was wearing a tux like me, and he wore it well. He was a forty-three-year-old, reasonably fit-looking purchasing manager for a large corporation. He just happened to have a thing for twinks in their twenties. He claimed he liked their energy, which I assumed he meant he liked their libido and stamina. Not that that was a bad thing. Peter was a very nice, polite, and professional man. I know I’d called him old and stuffy to Andrew, but Peter wasn’t that bad. I liked him. He was decidedly normal and undecidedly single after his vet boyfriend declared he didn’t want the settled-down life in the ’burbs.

I felt a bit sorry for Peter. From what he told me, he’d spoiled his boyfriend with time and affection, but the guy had grown bored and called it quits. I’d done some online scouting and found his ex-boyfriend, a guy by the name of Duncan, was already out playing the field. His social media statuses and comments made no attempt at hiding his on-the-market approach to life. Peter had simply thought it might mean Duncan needed to get out a bit and party, but that he’d come back when he realised the partying lifestyle wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. That was a month ago, and now it was time to see if Duncan had had his fun and wanted to get back with Peter.

Which is where I came in.

Duncan’s best friend, Zach, was an IT guy at the same company Peter worked for, and Zach was attending this work dinner tonight. The plan was, he’d see Peter with me and tell Duncan. We’d then turn up with Peter’s cat at the vet clinic Duncan worked at, concerned over some non-existent problem.

That was how it was supposed to go, anyway.

“You ready to go?” he asked, looking at his watch.

I gave him a reassuring smile when he looked at me. “Let’s get this show on the road.”