Spencer Cohen Series, Book Three (The Spencer Cohen Series 3) (2 page)

Andrew finished his burger and sat back in his seat, happily patting his belly. “So, what did you do this morning?” he asked.

I pushed my half-full plate away, baffled at how much he could eat. “Woke up alone.” I sniffed. “Where do you put all that food?”

“I burn it off at the gym. Would also explain why you woke up alone. I told you I was leaving.”

“I can think of plenty of other ways to burn calories.”

He blushed, but his smirk gave his interest away. “Is that so?”

“Yep. And you don’t even have to wear gym clothes.”

“Would I be wearing
any
clothes?”

“Absolutely not.”

He laughed. “Didn’t think so.”

“Truthfully, the fact you hide that body with any kind of fabric is a crime against humanity.”

He almost spat his drink, but he composed himself. “I’m not sure all of humanity would agree.”

“Then they’re either wrong or liars. Or lesbians. Or in the anti-argyle society.”

He burst out laughing. “Anti-argyle society?” He looked down at his argyle-patterned vest. “If they were anti-argyle, then wouldn’t that mean they don’t like me wearing it? Therefore they’d side with those who prefer me to not wear clothes, not those that do?”

“Don’t correct me with logic and reasoning and intelligence. It was funnier the way I said it.”

He laughed again and looked at me with soft, warm eyes. “So? Ready for your hot date tonight?”

My great mood just took a nosedive into Crapville. “It’s not a date.”

“I was joking.”

I frowned at my drink. We’d been through this before. “It’s work. I’m being paid to be there. If it were my choice, I’d be spending the night with you. You have to know it’s just a job to me.”

He put his hand up. “Spencer, I was just kidding.”

“Sorry.” I sighed. He said he was kidding, but I had to wonder… “Andrew, please tell me you’re okay with it?”

“I am.” He reached over and took my hand. “I am. I know it’s just a job. I was just joking. It was supposed to be funny because I know going to some formal dinner with a stuffy, old guy is the last thing you’d actually want to do.”

“Stuffy, old guy?”

“Well, that’s what you called him.”

“True.”

“And I should be able to joke about it,” he said. “Because tonight, while you’re sitting in a corporate dinner with a man you don’t like, listening to speeches from people you don’t know from a company you don’t work for, I’ll be curled up on your papasan chair reading a book and listening to the new album you’re about to buy me.”

I found myself smiling at him. “Still not funny.”

He chuckled. “Yes it is. I might even go down and hang out with Emilio until he closes up shop.”

My mouth fell open. “I hate you.”

He grinned. “No you don’t. And don’t leave your mouth open like that or I might be tempted to put something in it.”

Now I laughed. “We could go into the bathroom?”

He rolled his eyes and picked up a french fry from my plate. He wielded it like a weapon. “I’d be tempted to put one of
these
in your mouth, Spencer. One of these.”

“I like my idea much better.”

He shoved the french fry into his mouth and climbed out of the booth. “Come on then.”

I looked up at him all excited. “Really?”

“No, not in some diner bathroom,” he whispered, collecting Emilio’s burger-to-go off the table. “Music store, then your place.
Then
you can do what you like with me.”

“Promise?”

“Depends on the album you buy me.”

“Is that blackmail?”

“Nope. Think of it more as a pay and reward scheme.”

I rolled my eyes and walked to the door, which I dutifully held open for him. “Just so you know, I’m not opposed to blackmail. If it means I have you in bed for the rest of the day I’m all for it.”

He laughed and held out his hand. “May I hold your hand?”

“You may,” I said, but then pulled my hand away at the last second. “Depends on whether I have full discretion on the album I choose for you.”

He narrowed his eyes at me as he considered my counter. “Hmm, you drive a hard bargain. But fine.”

I held out my hand, and he grabbed it quickly, probably before I could add any more terms and conditions. I was grinning as we walked up the street hand-in-hand.

“And just so you know, if the music is crap, I might have to call veto on the condition of being in your bed all day.”

I barked out a laugh. “Just as well I have impeccable taste. And,” I added, “I’m not opposed to having you on the sofa instead.”

He chuckled. “I still haven’t figured out how we could use that papasan chair.”

I stopped at the music store, but before I opened the door, I leaned in and whispered, “If I choose the best album for you today, I shall fuck you in that chair when we get home.”

He blushed and his pupils blew out, his voice was breathy. “And how will you know if it’s the best album?”

“Believe me, I’ll know.” I opened the door and waited for him to walk inside. Andrew went straight to the jazz section, but I headed straight for the counter. I waited for the clerk to finish doing whatever it was he was doing. “Hi. I ordered in a record. Wilhelm Kempff’s
Moonlight Sonata
.”

The cashier clicked his fingers. “Yes! Came in yesterday. Not every day we get requests for classical. I’ll just grab it from out of the storeroom.”

Andrew walked quietly up behind me. “Spencer? What did you do?”

I smiled at him. “I might have pre-ordered you something.”

“You cheated?”

“I didn’t cheat. I just changed the way the game is played.”

He shook his head. “Do I want to know what it is?”

The cashier came back to the counter, record in hand. “Here it is. Not easy to get. The DGG vinyls aren’t too common these days, even second-hand.” He handed it to me, and taking the wrapped up burger from Andrew, I gave the record straight to him.

He stared at it and swallowed hard. “It’s Kempff’s 1965 performance with the Berlin Philharmonic in Berlin…” He shook his head, still looking at the record cover. “Spencer…”

“Did I do perfect?”

Then he looked up at me. His eyes sparked with something I wasn’t sure I’d seen before. “You did.”

The cashier took the album and checked it for scratches before he re-sleeved it. I paid some indecent amount of money for it, thanked the cashier, and we left. Only we didn’t get too far. Andrew stopped just a few steps up the street. “I can’t believe you did that,” he said, still holding the album like it was the holiest of grails.

“It wasn’t that hard,” I explained. “You said
Moonlight Sonata
was your most favourite song. So, of course I googled best performances and read some forums to see what classically like-minded people thought, and this guy—” I pointed to the old dude on the cover “—came up time and time again.”

“No.” Andrew shook his head like I missed the point. “That you would do that for me. That you would put that much thought into something to make me happy.”

“Does it?” I asked. “Make you happy?”

“Incredibly.”

“I ordered it a few days ago,” I told him. “I kinda forgot about it until you mentioned getting a new album. I didn’t even know if it had come in yet.”

“And you made a bet for the most perfect album without knowing you could get it?”

“Sure. I just would have found you something else.”

He slowly shook his head. “Not as perfect as this.”

“Now that you mention that bet,” I said thoughtfully, “may I suggest we go back to my place and christen the papasan chair?”

He chuckled, and a faint blush crept over his cheeks and down his neck. “You were never going to lose that bet.”

I put my arm around his shoulder, and we started to walk again. “Never. Unless there’s a B Side somewhere of Jeff Buckley playing Beethoven, I don’t think the most perfect album actually exists.”

We dropped off Emilio’s lunch, and when we got back to my flat, I took the album from Andrew and slid it onto the dining table. I wasted no time in kissing him. I cradled his face with my hands and led him backwards to the papasan chair. Granted, circular, dish-shaped chairs that moved weren’t exactly suitable for sex, but this was a challenge I wanted to accept. And conquer.

He’d been eyeing off this chair for the weeks he’d been coming here, and he’d even mentioned a few times that he’d wondered how suitable it was for sex. So I knew he wanted to try this.

He pulled his mouth from mine. “Bathroom,” he whispered, then disappeared through the bathroom door.

I missed the taste of his mouth already. But figuring he was going to be a few minutes while he cleaned himself up a bit, I collected some supplies from my bedroom, leaving the lube and condom on the papasan chair. Then I put the record on the turntable but didn’t play it. Not yet.

When he came back out, he wore nothing but a towel around his waist and a nervous smile. God, he was so gorgeous. I moaned at the sight of him, the promise of what his being naked meant. My cock pulsed in anticipation.

Andrew slowly walked over to the papasan chair and bit his bottom lip. “Um.”

“Kneel on it,” I murmured. “Hold the top edge like handlebars.”

While he did that, I undressed, tossing my clothes somewhere behind me. I was too busy watching Andrew to notice anything else. He’d lain the towel over the padded papasan cushion and knelt, thighs spread wide and his arms stretched to grip the top edge of the chair. He looked perfect.

Still standing on the floor, I reached between his legs and rubbed his balls and gave his cock a few strokes until he let his head fall forward and he moaned. Then I smeared lube over my fingers and found his hole, rubbing across his entrance, then slipping a fingertip inside him.

By the time I’d added a second finger he was rolling his hips and making the most delicious sounds. He threw his head back, and his tone had the bite of impatience. “Spencer.”

Taking that as my cue, I stepped back and gently lowered the tonearm of the record player. The familiar crackle of a vinyl recording filled the room as I rolled on the condom and applied more lube, then knelt behind him. I leaned in and spoke gruffly into the back of his neck. “Ever been fucked to your favourite song?”

Goosebumps broke out over his skin, and he let out a nervous breath, half laugh, half need. “No.”

I pressed the head of my cock against his ready arse as the melodic piano music started, teasing him as the music teased the air. When the intro morphed into something more, I pushed into him.

Andrew groaned as I filled him. His head fell forward as he gripped the top of the chair, and the muscles in his shoulders flexed tight, distracting me from the pleasure building, from how good he felt.

The chair started to tip, with the weight of both of us at one end. So I leaned down, pushing Andrew forward a little and pushing into him fully at the same time. He cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure I knew well. I leaned over him and kissed his shoulder, his neck, and whispered in his ear, “You’re so fucking hot.”

He arched his back, pushing his head back and giving me more of his arse. “Spencer,” he murmured. The music took off in the second movement, complex and amazing, and I thrust into him in 3/4 time.

Andrew reached back blindly and found the back of my head, keeping my lips at his ear. He was arched like a bow, impaled on every inch of me, and we kept perfect rhythm with Beethoven.

I reached around his body and gripped his cock. He was hard, and the precum at his tip made my hand slick as I stroked him. But I was too far gone to wait for him. He felt too damn good, and I was already so on edge.

“Spencer,” he grated out. “Fuck.”

And that was all it took. My name from his lips and a whispered curse and the coil in my balls sprang, surged, and my orgasm roared through me like wildfire. I gripped his hips and thrust into him one final time as I filled the condom. The room spun, silent and loud at the same time, and I almost lost balance.

Before I had fully come to my senses, Andrew was now standing in front of me. I was somehow on my feet and he had his hands on my arms to steady me. “You okay?” he asked with a laugh.

“Mmm.”

He grabbed my hand and led me to my bedroom, where he all but pushed me onto my bed face first. “Lie down. We’re not done.”

I laughed, muffled, into my pillow. “I tried to hold back, but that was too fucking hot.”

Not aware of much else around me, I felt the bed dip before he pushed my thighs wider apart. Then there was cool liquid and fingers probing me, without warning, without apology. I groaned and gripped the bedcovers, suddenly more coherent. I loved being manhandled in bed. And I loved that Andrew, quiet, shy and geeky Andrew, was the complete opposite of that when it came to sex. He was in charge. There was no doubt. I lifted my arse for him. “Yeah. Like that,” I urged him.