Public Enemy, Undercover Lover Page 11

  All the while, Isaac pressed his palm to Andrew’s stomach, fingers pointing downward, and after popping his fly, he slowly dipped into the front of his slacks, past the elastic of his underwear, and right to the prize.

  Andrew whined, scraping his nails over Isaac’s skin.

  “Kiss me.”

  Andrew did, their tongues colliding and a shudder wracking through him. Isaac could feel the wetness building as he palmed him, the hardness of him pulsing. He shoved Andrew’s slacks and underwear out of the way.

  “You’re not finished with me yet,” he told him, removing his hand even as Andrew stood naked.

  Growling, Andrew tore at Isaac’s belt, risking wrecking the dress pants to speed through removing them, frantic to get back to thrusting into his palm. He pulled Isaac’s shorts down too, and lingered to admire the tattoos on his thighs, like the parallel Rebel and Imperial symbols from Star Wars.

  “Touch me, and I’ll keep touching you.”

  Starting on Isaac’s thighs, Andrew followed the lines of those symbols first, moving up and inward to finally take hold of him and stroking firmly through the precum. In turn, Isaac went back to Andrew’s abs, trailing downward until they were mirrored with equally firm grasps, jerking each other naked in Andrew’s office in front of his window.

  They clutched with their free hands, Isaac gripping the back of Andrew’s neck, and Andrew grabbing his shoulder, orbiting closer, until their hands fell away to allow their cocks to slide past each other instead. Andrew threw both arms around Isaac’s neck at the collision, thrusting into that sweet wetness between them.

  “Stop…and face the chair.”

  Andrew blinked hazily back at him. Then grinned. When he first bent to lock the roller chair in place, Isaac couldn’t help running his hands across Andrew’s ass. He smacked it lightly, reveling in how Andrew writhed, so he smacked it again.

  Andrew gasped.

  “I think you like that.”

  “Yes,” he panted.

  “Well then…” Isaac smacked harder, and then squeezed, rubbing at the reddened skin.

  “Ford,” Andrew mewled. “Come on…it’s so good, but I need you to fuck me.”

  “I thought this was my show,” Isaac taunted, rearing back to smack him again, again, consistently in the same spot, so that the over-sensitized skin couldn’t recover. “Are you going to behave for me?”

  “Yes…” Andrew sounded more pleading with each fresh whimper but ever tinged in want, pressing his ass closer to Isaac rather than away and biting his lip again as his face flushed darker.

  Isaac swatted him again and again, until the leather on the arms of the chair squeaked with how much Andrew was twisting them. “You can take quite a bit, can’t you? I saw that on the rooftop. Now, I get to feel for myself. Good boys get rewarded.” He rubbed soothingly over the spot he’d made red from his slaps, and then snatched the bottle from the desk to pour the silky liquid over his fingers.

  Slowly, he trailed his slick digits down the curve of Andrew’s ass to wet his puckered entrance and slid one finger in up to the knuckle—then deeper when Andrew opened without resistance.

  He snapped back, bringing the finger in all the way with a grunt.

  “So impatient. Behave or I’m going to have to punish you more.” Swatting his ass again in warning, Isaac teased with a second finger if he was going to be so insistent, gradually stretching and scissoring inside, pleased by how pliant he was.

  Deeper and longer moans spilled from Andrew’s lips, as he rocked his hips with increasing demand.

  “My, my…how long have you been thinking about this, Andrew?”

  “Christmas…” he rasped. “Never stopped thinking about it…about you.”

  “The way you lifted me on your shoulders in that alley…I’m going to treat you so good to pay you back for that.”

  “Yes,” Andrew moaned louder as Isaac twisted his fingers, “but I don’t want to wait…”

  “Think you’re ready?”

  “Please.”

  Isaac didn’t need convincing. Sliding his fingers free, he reached for the condom, but thought better of trying to open it with slick fingers. “You put this on me. We’re going to flip around and give our audience a good show.”

  Cheeks rosy and eyes nearly black, Andrew staggered as he turned and reached for the condom with a trembling hand. Both hands shook as he tore it open, but he managed.

  Isaac took him by the hips and pivoted them, turning the chair to face the window and positioning them in front of it. He let Andrew roll the condom up his length, feeling so hard, he thought he might burst at the brush of Andrew’s fingers, and then again when he added lube.

  He sat in the chair and patted his thighs with a suggestive smirk.

  Andrew bit his lip again, his flush covering the entire swath of his pale, exposed skin, as he turned and started to sit in Isaac’s lap.

  “Easy,” Isaac said, taking him in at the tip, hands moving to Andrew’s hips to steady him. “Slow as you need.”

  Andrew paused, and then started again slower, easing onto Isaac at such an agonizing speed, Isaac had to grit his teeth. The heat was intense, as was the tightness, despite the natural give of Andrew having obviously stretched himself before with hands and toys. Isaac remembered watching him finger himself open on that roof with nothing but spit and vigor and leaned forward to plant a kiss between his shoulder blades.

  Taking him deeper and deeper, Andrew groaned when he finally sat in Isaac’s lap completely. Gently, Isaac pulled him back against him, and they looked together at the slightly open blinds and the unknowing people so near them.

  This was better than the alley. Better than the roof, or the police station, even better than Andrew’s sofa, because there were no barriers anymore, or a ticking clock.

  “Move.” Isaac bucked up and drifted his hands between Andrew’s legs. “Show me how much you want it.”

  Starting a slow, rhythmic rocking, Andrew obliged. He encapsulated Isaac in such tight heat, Isaac fought the urge to rut upwards, hard and fast, and let Andrew control the speed, trembling in his arms, in his lap, as they watched the people outside.

  Isaac palmed Andrew’s balls with one hand, the other gathering the wetness dripping from his tip to smooth up his length, fondling and pumping Andrew leisurely. Little by little, Andrew’s rocking picked up, his voice becoming a stream of filthy moans and profanity.

  “Fuck, your cock feels good…and your hands…and your ink-covered skin.” He wriggled against him. “I wish I could suck you off while you’re inside me.”

  “What a mouth on you,” Isaac panted. “Keep going…tell me how much you like this.”

  “I love it. I love all of it…The people, the discipline, you telling me what to do.”

  “Harder. Faster,” Isaac growled as his own urgency increased and the call of an end drew nearer with Andrew bouncing on top of him like a goddamn pogo stick. “Fuck…should have had you like this from day one.”

  “Yes,” Andrew agreed with a wanton loll of his head. “Any time. I’ll get on my knees in the fucking street if you ask.” A particularly hard thrust up forced out a broken, “Ford!”

  “Isaac,” Isaac corrected. “You call me ‘Isaac’ when I’m inside you.” Sliding his hands from touching Andrew to grip his hips instead, he drove up fervently, and Andrew rode him just as fiercely, keening out the longest, most filthy moan Isaac had ever pulled from anyone.

  He felt Andrew tighten, ripping a moan from his lips next, as he stuttered up into the beautiful man atop him, digging divots into Andrew’s hips with his fingers. As his orgasm struck, and lingered, and then waned, he naturally slowed his thrusts, but Andrew whined.

  Moving his hands back between Andrew’s legs, Isaac felt that he was still hard and hadn’t yet followed him over the edge.

  “Turn around.”

  “What…?”

  “Turn around. I’ll take care of you.”

  Andrew’s legs shook as he stoo
d, gasping at the disconnect when he pulled from Isaac’s cock, and turned to face him. Isaac would have given anything right then to ensure that this version of Andrew Wen was something he got to see every day—tousled hair, a flush to his cheeks, reddened, damp, and parted lips, with eyes hazy and dark with lust. He’d caused all that, and now, he was going to give the payoff.

  Tugging Andrew forward by his hips, Isaac bent toward his slick and throbbing cock, and sucked it between his lips. Andrew cried out, though he managed to choke it back from being loud enough to alert the people passing outside. His eyes fell closed and he reached forward with both hands to hold Isaac’s head.

  The contact made Isaac twitch and pulse between his own legs again, having Andrew undone before him, unraveled in his grasp, all his. He sucked him down, fingers squeezing Andrew’s ass as he held him in place, tongue never ceasing its languid movements as he sucked and took Andrew in deeper, until a shudder ran through him, the hands on Isaac’s head shaking—

  “I-I…I’m—”

  And Isaac held him there to swallow back everything Andrew spilled.

  When Isaac finally pulled off, licking his lips of the remnants, Andrew’s panting breath filled the room. His hands holding Isaac’s head turned to gentle strokes of his fingers carding through Isaac’s hair.

  Gentle. Tender.

  Intimate.

  Isaac looked up, their eyes meeting with a warmth passing between them, that kept passing between them, that Isaac wasn’t sure what to do with. They were just fooling around, but Isaac was growing more and more addicted every time they did.

  He couldn’t have said who leaned in first, but it was definitely Andrew’s decision to climb into his lap. Isaac barely felt the weight with how grounding it was to hold him.

  The kiss was slow, too slow, too deep a connection to fool himself into thinking this wasn’t more than sex. They didn’t say anything about it though. Eventually, Andrew got up. They cleaned themselves, disposing of the evidence in Andrew’s wastebasket, and dressed again, perfectly presentable before Candace returned from her errands.

  * * * *

  Isaac was home now, the hour growing late, and the afterglow long since faded to remind him of why he’d been angry with Andrew in the first place. There had been no family dinner yet, not with the Wens, just him and Dalton—and Luke and Kathleen.

  Neither of them stayed with Isaac, they both had their own places, but sometimes Luke would crash if he was working on a project, and Kathleen tended to linger with Dalton around, none of them used to the found family he’d helped them realize they had.

  There was an area of the warehouse that had originally been a garage. Luke used it for fixing up old cars, and Isaac planned security runs there when he was sick of sitting in his office. Since that’s where they’d chosen to hang their hats tonight, that’s where Kathleen and Dalton were too.

  It was still a warehouse, was the point, business by day and safe house turned apartment by night, with very little warmth. Dalton looked happy enough to be there, but Isaac wondered if it was enough.

  Dalton and Luke were rebuilding the engine on a 1969 Ford Mustang Boss 429—Luke’s dream car. He’d talked about fixing one up for years, but it was Dalton who’d pushed him to finally start. The parts weren’t hot—well, not any of the ones Luke had acquired recently—but Dalton didn’t care either way. He just chatted with Luke while they worked, giving the right oohs and aahs, and occasionally got pulled into conversations with Kathleen who sat on a loveseat in the corner doing paperwork

  Even now, as Dalton wiped off some of the grease to take a break, Kathleen called him over to inspect his hands.

  “Sweetie, after tonight, I’m going to have to give these poor things some TLC. You pick the time and the color; I’ll bring the manicure supplies.”

  Dalton giggled. “Definitely your electric blue, Aunt Katy.”

  Watching them from a table covered in schematics and notes for tomorrow, Isaac wondered if he’d know when it was enough. He’d gone so long without anything, always fighting for more, wanting and taking more. Now that he was trying to live his life differently, when did he get to relax and be done wanting? How would he know the difference?

  Part of him kept waiting for Dalton to vanish and all the good in his life to vanish with him. Once this case was over, once he and Andrew were back to being just competitors, that’s what would happen to them, wouldn’t it? The past always caught up eventually.

  The starkest reminder of that was in the headline of the newspaper resting beside his blueprints: Jareth Boyega Dead by Lethal Injection.

  He wasn’t the only inmate on death row who’d escaped at Christmas—his brother, Jericho, would have been too if he hadn’t left the city long before anyone could arrest him—but he was the only one who’d been mere months from the final curtain, and Isaac was the reason he’d gone back to jail. That didn’t weigh his death on Isaac’s conscience, but it did draw a hard line between who he’d been and who he wanted to be.

  That, a handful of the usual death threats, and a note from Willow G that had arrived with the paper.

  Seriously, Arty, are you back in the game?

  Even what was effectively the criminal hotline assumed he was playing double agent.

  “What’s up, Dad?” Dalton asked, stepping into his line of sight. He was smudged and dirty, carrying three empty beer bottles, two of which Isaac knew were Luke’s, waiting to be replaced with fresh ones.

  “Planning for tomorrow.” Isaac gestured at the table, casually slipping the paper and note beneath the schematics.

  “Anything I can help with?” The bottles clanked as Dalton set them down to glance over the controlled chaos of how Isaac worked.

  “Not until I have the initial guidelines for you to hand to Vallancourt.”

  “Okay. Anything I can help with concerning what you were really thinking about? Like Andrew?”

  Isaac pursed his lips. “I’m surprised you can still plot over that after being distracted by Riley today.”

  “Plotting? Who’s plotting? I’m just asking.” Dalton leaned on the edge of the table. “And we had lunch, Dad. That’s it. Riley’s cute. Wicked smart. I might see him again. You know, getting out, dating, letting people get to know you, can all be good things.”

  Isaac’s eyes fell to the table.

  “Wait, it is Andrew that’s bothering you?”

  “No,” Isaac snapped. But then, he had to admit, “Somewhat. It’s this family dinner. You realize Andrew’s brother only wants to prove to himself and to Andrew that I’m no good.”

  “Maybe,” Dalton said, “but that’s why I’ll be there to help show off to everyone how amazing you are. Ooh, we should bring dessert!” he brightened as though his current grungy surroundings could never stifle him. “You can make those brownies we had at Kathleen’s birthday.”

  The contentment that fluttered in Isaac’s chest might be happiness, fulfillment, enough, but it was all so domestic, he was bound to screw it up.

  “Dad? What’s wrong? Really?”

  The words caught in Isaac’s throat, but he knew Dalton wouldn’t leave things alone. After months of back and forth in moments like this, he’d learned that occasionally he had to give in. He just wished he had something less melancholy to say than, “I’m sorry this isn’t a home.”

  “What?” Dalton reared back. “What do you mean?”

  “This is an old hideaway for criminals. It isn’t a home. Not a real one.”

  “Home isn’t a place, Dad.”

  “It should be. Everyone deserves a safe place to return to.”

  “I thought that was a safe house?” Dalton grinned.

  He was too sweet, too good for Isaac. Isaac wanted to offer him something better. “What if, after all this is over, I get a real apartment?”

  “Is that something you want?” Dalton asked. “Don’t do it for me. I don’t need…I don’t even know what to say, rent control? This is fine, Dad. Really.”

 
“Hey!” Luke called, peeking his head out from beneath the car. “You going to take all night getting those beers? We got a crankshaft to place.”

  “Coming!” Dalton called back, never discouraged by Luke’s surly disposition. Then he turned to Isaac with understanding and…love. “Whatever you want, Dad, as long as you’re happy. You get that’s all I want, right?”

  Isaac nodded mechanically, feeling his throat tighten like he might choke up, because he wasn’t used to anyone feeling that way about him and saying it so freely, but Dalton always made him feel so much.

  Smiling broadly back at him, Dalton snatched up the beer bottles, but before he left, he pressed a quick kiss to Isaac’s temple.

  Heat prickled Isaac’s eyes, making him glad Dalton moved behind him and couldn’t see. He’d gotten a good life from his mother, but he’d missed out on having a dad, and Isaac had missed out on having any kind of normal family interactions, so he was going to make up for that, even if it meant having dinner with a family of detectives and their friends that hated him.

  First, he had to complete a fake heist with his fake ex without falling any further down the rabbit hole that he was afraid he’d never be able to climb out of.

  Chapter 8

  Dalton was supposed to be the one doing all the plotting, pushing them into awkward situations or making up excuses to get them alone. But somewhere along the way, that had fallen aside, and everyone else started playing their part too—even Steven, however unintentionally, by suggesting dinner.

  And Andrew himself. After all, he had no one else to blame for picking up coffee for him and Ford for the second time in two weeks.

  It was mid-afternoon, not the morning coffee rush, so the place wasn’t packed. Some afternoon caffeine seemed like the perfect way to break the ice for his upcoming B&E.

  Andrew snickered as he waited for his order. He was not excited—well, just a little. Ford did mock burglaries all the time, it was his tried and true method having been a thief, but Andrew never went that far with a client. He did inspections and made recommendations. If this worked well for him, maybe he’d give it a try more often.