Spencer Cohen Series, Book Two (The Spencer Cohen Series 2) (16 page)

He gaped like a fish, pale and clammy.

I sighed. “The police have been notified that you breached the restraining order Yanni placed against you. You can probably expect a visit.”

He instinctively looked out the glass partition wall toward the elevators.

“And I will happily give them every email and text you sent me if I’m subpoenaed to do so. So, I’ll tell you what’s going to happen,” I said, like I was bored with the whole thing. “You’re going to forget Yanni. Don’t even look for him, or we will know. In fact, if you ever abuse
anyone
, physically harm them or fuck with their mental wellbeing, we will know.”

Lance looked at Ricky and Paul nervously.

He was sweating now and looked about ready to piss himself. I didn’t care.

“It’s been psychologically proven that people who perpetuate domestic violence have very little self-worth, debilitating insecurities, and are sometimes impotent or have very small dicks.” I looked at Emilio and shrugged. “Or so I read.”

Emilio nodded seriously. “I believe I read that also.”

I pretended to pull at a thread on the hem in my pants. “So Lance, here’s where you promise, like the piece of shit, small-dicked man you are, that you will leave Yanni alone. Forever.”

Lance nodded.

“Say it,” I prompted.

“Okay, okay,” he said.

“Good,” I said with a smile. “I’m glad you agree.”

Emilio stared him down. “You know, in Mexico we have a saying.
Lo prometido es deuda
,” he said, his accent thick and clipped. Then he repeated it in English. “What has been promised, is debt.” He stared at Lance until the piece of shit squirmed in his seat. “Don’t make us come collect. Because we will.”

I stood up and Emilio did too, and Lance followed on what I could only assume was shaky legs. I held out my hand for him to shake, more on my side of his table because there was no way I was meeting this fucker half way on anything. He hesitantly leaned across and shook my hand. His palm was sweaty and limp, his face still pale. “Now, smile for your colleagues who are watching. And get yourself some help. See a shrink that deals with abusive arseholes like yourself. For fuck’s sake.”

We left, I gave the wide-eyed assistant a smile as we walked past, and it wasn’t until we were in the elevator and the doors closed that we all busted up laughing. “Man, you were so good!” I told Emilio. I slapped my hand to his. “Don’t make us come collect,” I mimicked his voice.

Emilio grinned proudly. “And you telling him he’s a piece of shit, small-dicked man.” He laughed some more. “Perfect.”

“I speaketh the truth,” I said. “So, do you reckon it worked? You think he’ll look for Yanni now?”

Emilio shook his head as we walked out onto the city sidewalk. “Nah. Like you said. That piece of shit is a fucking coward.”

I held my fist out for him to bump with his. “Like I said, my man, I only speaketh the truth.”

* * * *

We were still pumped later that night, sitting around the small waiting room in the tattoo parlour. It was after seven, Emilio had shut the shop early, and the table in the middle of the chairs was filled with an array of takeout containers. Lola and Gabe were there, Daniela and Emilio, and me. I was waiting for Andrew to arrive, and right on seven, my phone beeped. He was at the back door. I let him in with a kiss. He dropped an overnight bag inside the door, and we walked through to where everyone was chatting, laughing, and eating. I pulled him onto the sofa next to me, sitting so our sides touched, shoulder to shoe.

When we’d got back from our little visit with Lance, I’d sent Andrew a text to say everything went as planned. But now we filled him in on the details. Daniela handed Andrew her phone with the photo we’d taken before we’d left, suited up with our game faces on. “That’s them, all dressed up.”

Andrew looked at the picture and his gaze shot to Emilio. “Is that you?”

It was hard to reconcile the mean looking guy in the photo to the always smiling, happy-faced Emilio sitting across from us. “Impressive, huh?”

“You look
good
!” Andrew said, then of course he blushed when everyone laughed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Emilio held his fist out for Andrew to bump. “Thanks, my man.” Then he turned to Daniela. “See? I am good looking to everyone, not just the ladies.”

And we spent the next several hours talking, laughing, eating, and drinking beers. Emilio and Andrew had drawing contests, most of which ended in bursts of laughter, and I spent the night with my hand on his thigh, chatting with everyone, marvelling at how perfect this was.

Andrew, the unlikeliest of people, a proper-speaking, argyle-wearing nerd fit in with this bunch of tattooed, mismatched family like he was made just for it.

Like he was made just for me.

I hadn’t realised it was so late, but when Andrew looked at his watch, he smiled. “It’s Saturday.”

I shook my head, a little confused. “So?”

He narrowed his eyes at me and whispered, “So? That means it’s Saturday. And you never specified what time on Saturday we had to wait until. And I’m not waiting until Saturday night. No way.”

Saturday?
“Oh.”

Andrew stood up. “Thank you all for a great night,” he said, “but we might be going now.”

I laughed from where I still sat on the sofa. “It’s possible I told them we were holding off until this weekend before we had sex.”

Andrew stared at me, his mouth fell open, and he blushed right down his neck; his cheeks and the tips of his ears went red. He closed his eyes for a second then sighed loudly. “Well, on that note, yes, it’s now technically the weekend,” he checked his watch again, “by one minute. So we have somewhere else we’d rather be, no offence.”

I laughed, got to my feet, and put my arms around him. “Your tact could use some work.”

Andrew shrugged and half-smiled. He ran his hand over my arse. “You’re wasting time.”

I laughed again and turned to our somewhat shocked friends. “He doesn’t look like the bossy type, does he?”

Lola laughed and clapped her hands together. “You tell him, Andrew. And Spencer, we don’t want to see you until Sunday morning coffee.”

Andrew took my hand and dragged me toward the back door. “Don’t worry, you won’t,” he called out, and I could still hear them laughing as we shut the door behind us.

He had his overnight bag and waited for me to open the door. I let him inside first and followed him in, where he dropped his bag and pushed me against the door with his body. He kissed me like no one else had ever kissed me. He was ravenous, demanding, and so fucking hot. When he finally pulled his mouth from mine, he whispered against my mouth, “I’ve waited so long for this.”

My dumbarse brain was still reeling from that kiss. “Me too.”

“Tell me right now if you don’t want this,” he said, still pushing me up against the door. His hard on rubbed against mine, his eyes were dark, his voice was gravel and honey.

“I want you, Andrew,” I murmured against his lips. “I want you inside me, I want to feel you for days.”

I felt him shudder as my words trickled down his spine. He groaned. “Fuck.”

Then he took my hand and led me to my room.

There was no doubt about who was in charge. Andrew just took over, and I had no qualms in letting him. He pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it to the floor, then held my jaw while he kissed me. He decided the angle, he decided the depth, the tempo. Everything.

He ran his hand down my chest to my waistband and popped the fly. He slid my pants over my hips and palmed my dick. He bit back a groan and murmured, “Lie down.”

I did, and he pulled my pants off by the hems at my ankles. Then he pulled off his own shirt, but his pants stayed on. He left me lying on the bed and walked casually around to the bedside table and found the condoms and lube, casting his eyes over me as he threw the foil packet and lube beside me.

I couldn’t help but notice the very prominent bulge in his pants. “You’re very overdressed,” I said, languidly stroking myself.

He smirked as he undid his trousers and kicked them off. He was pale in the darkened room, standing naked and perfect, his cock jutted proudly from his body.

My blood warmed and my balls tightened as I looked at his erection, knowing exactly where it was about to go… my body ached with want.

“Andrew, please.”

He knelt on the bed and edged up between my thighs and sat back on his knees. “I think we’ve left it too long,” he mumbled. “This is going to be over very quickly.”

“I don’t care. I just want you inside me,” I told him. “We have all weekend to get it right, so don’t worry about that.”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said you’d be busy all weekend. I don’t plan on leaving this room much at all.”

I fisted my cock and swiped my palm over the head. Andrew pulled my hand away. “I believe your orgasm is my responsibility,” he said with a smile as he gripped me.

I hissed, trying to stave off the pleasure of his touch. Then he leaned down and licked my slit before taking the bottle of lube and popping the lid. He smeared his hand and fingers liberally, and this time when he gripped me, the slickness of his touch brought with it a whole new level of good.

Then his fingers went lower. He cupped my balls and squeezed gently before going lower still. He slicked my perineum with lube and slowly edged a finger around my arsehole.

“Oh, fuck. Andrew.”

He pushed his finger inside me. Just the tip, just enough. Then he pushed a little harder and a little deeper and stroked my cock with his free hand as he fucked me with his finger. When I whined in frustration and pleasure, he added another. Slow at first, but I was soon pushing back onto him, needing more. “Andrew, please. I’m ready.”

Then he took me into his mouth, sucking me as he fucked me with his fingers and when he touched something inside me, I saw stars. Then he did it again, and again, and I was lost to it. I gripped the sheets at my side as my orgasm shot through me.

My world went quiet, the room went dark, and my head spun.

I heard a faint chuckle before the sound of foil tearing, and the lid to the lube pop once more. Then he was back between my thighs, pushing my legs up higher and further apart. He leaned over me, his face just above mine, and with his cockhead pressed against my hole, he pushed into me.

He felt so much bigger.
So
much bigger. I watched in wonder as his eyes fluttered closed and his nostrils flared, a picture of such beauty as he breached me. But he was stretching me, slowly, torturously slowly, he was filling me with his huge cock, and when I gasped, his eyes flew open.

He stilled. “Are you okay?” he whispered, his voice hitching as he spoke.

“Fuck,” I whined. I inhaled deeply and breathed through the intrusion. “Yes. Keep going. Please.”

So he did. But he watched me now, resting on his elbows, his hands at my face. He pushed forward until he was fully seated inside me.

“This,” he whispered reverently. His eyes never left mine. “Oh my God, this.”

I gasped at the timbre of his voice. Not capable of anything more, I agreed with a nod. “This.”

He moved then, thrusting in and out, slow at first and building, faster and deeper, and his eyes squinted closed, and he slid his arms underneath me, holding me tighter. His fingers dug into my body, and he cried out as he stilled over me, inside me.

I grabbed his face and kissed him, plunging my tongue into his mouth as he came. His whole body trembled and shook until he groaned into my mouth and collapsed on me. All that was left was his hard breaths and the rapid beat of his heart against my chest. He slowly pulled out of me, only to fall on top of me once more. He buried his face in my neck, nuzzled into my beard, and didn’t move.

I traced patterns on his back until he sighed. “So worth the wait,” he murmured.

I chuckled sleepily. “I agree.”

Andrew rolled off me and climbed off the bed. He was gone a moment, disposing of the condom, no doubt. I didn’t open my eyes to check. I just held out my arm and waited for him to come back to bed. When he came back, he fit right in against me, like he was designed just for that particular spot, and my arm held him there. “Want me to clean you up a bit?” he asked softly.

“Mm-mm. Nuh.” I still hadn’t opened my eyes, but I pulled him a bit closer. “Later. Now we sleep.”

He settled heavily against me, his head on my shoulder. His breaths soon evened out into a peaceful, deep sleep. I kissed the top of his head and fell asleep, more content and happy than I had felt in a very long time.

* * * *

I woke to warm kisses and scratchy whiskers on my shoulder. I was lying on my stomach, and there was a delicious weight on my back. “Spencer, wake up.”

I smiled into my pillow. “What time is it?”

“Eight o’clock.”

“But it’s Saturday.”

“Exactly.” Andrew ran his hands down my back and gripped my hip bones, giving me a jolt of pleasure. “It’s Saturday.”

I groaned, still half asleep, half really turned on.

He rolled off me and onto the bed beside me. “Guess I’ll just have to get my own arse ready.”

That made me open my eyes.

He laughed. “That’s what I thought.”

“You don’t play fair.” Then I actually looked at him. He was wide awake, smiling, and very fucking naked. He had one knee bent, one hand stroking his dick, and his other hand disappeared down to where I imagined he was playing with his own arse. “Jesus.”

“I woke up with your dick against my ass,” he said. “So this is technically your fault.”

I barked out a laugh and rolled onto my back, the sheet half coming off my side. My morning wood had become fully fledged wood and I couldn’t help but palm myself. “I’ll happily take the blame for that.” But morning was morning, and I needed to take a piss. I got off the bed and stretched, giving Andrew a full, shameless eyeful.

He licked his lips and bit back a moan. I laughed, and he scowled at me. “Hurry up!”

I laughed as I walked into the steamy bathroom. “Did you shower already?” I called out as I relieved myself. It was never easy urinating with an erection.

“Yeah. Hope you don’t mind.”

I washed my hands and my face and walked back into my room. He was still splayed out on the bed, his thick long cock now lying across his hip. It stopped me where I stood.

He smiled. “I figured I’d, you know, get myself ready and cleaned up for you.”

I looked behind me, like I was searching for something. “Have you seen shy Andrew anywhere? I seem to have misplaced him. Sexy Andrew is still here, and demanding Andrew is here, but that shy, blushing Andrew seems to have disappeared.”

He chuckled. “I’m not really shy. Awkward sometimes and easily embarrassed but not shy. If I want something, I will ask for it. Is that okay?”

I knelt on the bed at his feet. “That is more than okay. So tell me what you want.”

“I want you to rim me, then fuck me.”

Jesus Christ.
His words set fire to my blood. “Fuck Andrew,” I mumbled, giving my dick a squeeze. “You’ll make me come if you talk like that.”

He smiled like he’d just accepted that as a challenge, but he didn’t say anything. He just casually stroked himself, waiting for instruction.

“Roll over,” I ordered. “Put the pillows under your hips.”

He did, and his perfect arse was perched up and waiting. Fuck. I spread his legs a little wider and knelt between them. I put my hands to his arse cheeks, spreading them, and nuzzled my beard against the sensitive skin around his hole.

He hummed in anticipation, so I let my hot breath wash over his entrance, knowing the different sensations only heightened the experience. He groaned, impatient and wanting. He was so turned on, and he loved being eaten out.

“Mmm, breakfast of champions,” I said.

He laughed into the mattress, and that was when I licked over his hole. His laughter caught, strangled in his throat, overtaken by a sound of unsolicited pleasure. He gripped the sheets and raised his hips. So I spread him a little wider, and slipped my tongue inside him, making him gasp and moan.

The more I did it, the more he wanted, pushing back to meet me, and it wasn’t long until he was thrusting and rutting into the pillows while I fucked his arse with my tongue.

“Spencer, I really need you,” he ground out. His voice was desperate. “Need you inside me. More, need more.”

I found a condom and slicked myself up with lube and added more to his waiting and ready arse. He was still on his stomach, his arse in the air; his breathing was sharp and desperate.

I positioned myself over him, my cock at his hole and gently pressed into him. He was so warm and tight, so slick and welcoming. His shoulder muscles bulged as he fisted the bedcovers, but he kept his arse high and his head down. “Fuuuuuuuuck,” he groaned the word.

I pushed in slowly, all the way, and gave him time to adjust. And for me to calm down. I’d never felt this connection. More emotional than physical, the need to show him how I felt was more important than fucking.

And in that moment, I understood what it meant to make love. I’d always thought of it as fucking or sex. The physical need for release, the primal urge to claim and own, to give and receive pleasure.

But this was so different. Each movement was tender, timed with his breaths. Each thrust was in sync with my heart, and I held him. I slid my hands under his shoulders and held him as I filled him. I kissed the back of his neck, scraping my teeth against his skin, and when I couldn’t hold the tide of pleasure back any longer, I simply let it go.

When my world came back to me, I was still inside him.

My heart beat in time with his, our pulses united.

I slowly pulled out but stayed where I was. I kissed the back of his neck again and murmured his name. “Andrew.”

“You okay?” he asked.

I’d just had a huge, monumental moment in my life. Not just the acknowledgment that I was in love with him, but the realisation I was capable of such a powerful emotion, such an all-encompassing, soul-rendering emotion. And, that I was deserving of it too. Something years of therapy hadn’t quite managed to convince me of, Andrew did it in a matter of weeks. Not that I could tell him that. Not yet, anyway.

“I’m more than okay,” I answered. I rolled off him but kept him in my arms. “Can we go back to sleep now?”

He chuckled but shook his head against my chest. “Nope.” Then he sidled up, fully against me, letting me feel his still-hard cock. “Your work isn’t done.”

I laughed. “I was selfish, sorry.”

“You were so hot,” he said. “Don’t apologise because that was pretty damn amazing.”

“But you didn’t come.”

“Not yet, anyway.”

“I’d like you to.”

He ground his hips against me. “Where?”

“Wherever you want.”

Andrew groaned, and peeling himself away from me, he got to his knees on the bed beside me. “Open your mouth.”

Smiling, I shoved a pillow under my neck, opened my mouth, and flattened my tongue, ready for his cock. He certainly didn’t waste his time, and I didn’t waste a drop.

* * * *

We slept some more, we showered, we ate, we laughed. We listened to the piano concerto album he bought me the other day, and Andrew spent a good while trying to figure out how we could possibly have sex in the papasan chair. He changed his Facebook status to “In a relationship” and we added a selfie of us laughing on the couch and he got a gazillion likes and questions, but he turned his phone off and slid it onto the coffee table. I spoke to Peter Hannikov, my prospective new client, and arranged to see him Monday. After which, my phone joined Andrew’s on the coffee table. Andrew pulled me back onto the sofa and kissed the side of my head. We watched
A Clockwork Orange
, all cuddled up, which inevitably led to more sex.

He was insatiable.

And wonderful.

We eventually made an appearance downstairs in the shop at dinner time, only staying long enough for a few crude jokes at our just-had-sex expense, and to offer to get anyone something to eat. Then, still laughing, Andrew took my hand and pulled me out into the warm LA night.