Public Enemy, Undercover Lover Read online

  Andrew choked back a whimper. That should not sound appealing, but he was already so hard. He’d needed to get off that morning, and another round sounded amazing, even if it was by his own hand. He deserved something out of the cat and mouse they’d played today, didn’t he?

  Shifting his hips, he let his legs drop open another inch. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Stay like that.” Ford squared himself facing Andrew at the edge of the other roof. “Take off your jacket. Then start to undo your shirt. Slowly. Don’t do anything more until I tell you to.”

  Shrugging the jacket from his shoulders, Andrew let it pool around him and reached for the top button of his shirt. Slowly, as asked, he undid one and then another, hesitating when he got to his navel. “Do you…think anyone can see us from all the way up here?”

  “Anything is possible, Andrew. Feeling shy? After this morning, I got the impression you liked living dangerously.”

  Andrew swallowed but kept his eyes on Ford, who was rapt with attention on everything he was doing. Once his shirt fell open, he hovered near his belt.

  “Take it off. Then unzip.”

  Andrew obeyed. His cock was still trapped within the confines of his slacks, but it was obvious he had nothing on beneath.

  “No underwear?” Ford asked smugly.

  “They got a little wet this morning. I didn’t have another pair.”

  “We’ll make an even better mess this time.” Ford snickered. “Won’t we?”

  With a bite of his lip, Andrew nodded. He wanted to pull himself out, felt pained by the pressure, by how much he needed to be free, to be touched, but Ford hadn’t given him an order to do that yet. His mind buzzed with all the things Ford might ask of him, and the last thing he wanted was to interrupt that.

  “You want to touch yourself, don’t you?” Ford asked.

  Andrew nodded again.

  Ford’s eyes took in his bare, revealed chest, his hips, hands twitching at his sides to touch something, anything, and the bulge still somewhat hidden. “My only regret about this morning is that I didn’t get to see you. Show me.”

  The quick dart of Ford’s gaze to Andrew’s eyes, holding there, watching him, before he glanced again to Andrew’s hand reaching into his slacks, shot another pulse between his legs. Andrew pulled himself free, careful around the edges of the zipper, and held himself for Ford to see—who looked at him so hungrily, out in the open, on a rooftop, where anyone could easily see what they were doing—and then Andrew dragged his thumb down his length.

  “Stop,” Ford ordered, jerking Andrew to a halt as he looked up at the sharp tone, only to see Ford soften. “I didn’t say you could do that yet. Wait to be told, or you’ll ruin the game.”

  Stilling his hand, Andrew calmed any burst of frustration and waited.

  “Good boy. You do this right and next time you can call the shots again. Anything you want.”

  Yes, Andrew thought—but no, shit, he should not be planning another ‘next time’ when he shouldn’t be allowing this time, shouldn’t have allowed this morning, or a first time! But the flutter of desire in his belly was too strong.

  At Christmas, it had been about having control, finally, when Andrew had felt so powerless. But lately, fighting to keep his business going, he always had to be in charge, take responsibility, and it was exhausting.

  “You look so wet, Andrew,” Ford husked. “I can see it from here.”

  Andrew peeked down, though he could feel the precum dribbling over his fingers.

  “You like me watching you like this, don’t you?”

  Another whimper passed Andrew’s lips, as he looked up, caught in Ford’s stare, and God, he was right; the feel of his eyes on Andrew was almost as good as being touched.

  He did still want to touch himself though, so badly.

  “Answer when I ask you a question,” Ford said.

  “Y-yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, I like having your eyes on me. Like this. Holding my cock.”

  “Mmm…you do, don’t you? You can touch yourself now, but slow. Very slow.”

  The first pass of Andrew’s fingers down his shaft, even at a gradual pace, was heaven, picking up the wetness, curling around his tip, his thumb passing more firmly, and then finishing the stroke toward his base.

  “Keep going…that’s it. A little harder now. Harder. Faster. Now stop.”

  Andrew trembled at the order to cease.

  “Take your pants off. Make yourself comfortable however you’d like but keep the shirt on.”

  Mourning the loss of his hand, Andrew wondered how much more likely someone might realize what was going on up here once he was naked. That didn’t stop him though, and he’d soon dropped his pants onto the rooftop, spread his jacket across the ledge, and returned to his sprawled position, with nothing but his shirt hanging from his shoulders.

  “Good.” Ford ran his tongue over his lips. “Prop your knees up. Yes…like that. What a view. Now, I want you to suck two fingers into your mouth and keep them there. Get them wet until I tell you to stop.”

  The image of what Ford intended to have him do shook Andrew, and he thought—no, he couldn’t do this, not here, not out in the open. But he really didn’t want to spoil whatever this was between them, and the nervous tension in every action, in every moment spent exposed, intensified the heat building and how good it felt.

  He lifted his hand to his mouth.

  “Slower.”

  Hesitating, Andrew moved at a more gradual pace, reaching his mouth and parting his lips to suck two fingers in as instructed—slow, slower, mouth wide so Ford could see. Then he closed his lips around his fingers, letting the saliva build to coat them.

  “You can take them deeper than that, can’t you?” Ford’s grin was insufferable.

  And so sexy.

  Andrew groaned as he sucked them in deeper, saliva leaking from the corners of his mouth.

  “Better. You can stop. Make sure those fingers stay wet. You can guess what I’m going to ask you to do with them.”

  Opening his mouth to pull the fingers free—slowly, knowing Ford would remind him if he didn’t—he let them hover, waiting for orders.

  “You learn quick. Bring them down. Tease yourself a little, but don’t press inside yet.”

  Andrew was doing this, on a rooftop, exposed, in front of Artifice, his nemesis—for his nemesis. He’d never been so hard, leaking precum all over his thigh and the trench coat beneath him.

  Leaning further against the gargoyle at his back, Andrew spread his legs as far as he could, touched his fingers to the budded skin, prodding at his entrance, just a little, but not letting even a fingertip slip inside.

  Finally, Ford’s smug expression faltered, his mouth going slack. He was too far away for Andrew to see how blown his pupils might be, but he imagined them pure black.

  “Let one finger inside, only the barest inch, slow as you can.”

  Andrew whimpered again. Going this slow was torture, his gut on fire. He pressed in not quite to the first knuckle.

  “Keep going.”

  Thank God.

  “Deeper. Stretch yourself. Let me see how much you like it.”

  “Ugnnn,” Andrew arched his neck and closed his eyes—but no. He wanted to see Ford, wanted to watch those magnificent eyes on him.

  “You’re so beautiful, Andrew, you have no idea. Add the other finger.”

  Whining eagerly at the touch, Andrew stretched himself wider, starting to scissor, slowly, always so slowly. And as he lay there, balanced on the ledge of the roof, he saw Ford lift his hands to the waist of his pants, lamenting that they weren’t on the same roof and imagining how differently this could go if they were.

  Ford pulled himself free of his pants, took himself in hand, and stroked. Andrew wanted to touch him, touch himself again, feel Ford’s hands on him, something.

  “Keep going. Deeper,” Ford’s voice rumbled across the line, rough and quaking.
/>   Andrew complied, pressing his wet fingers deep inside himself, found his prostate, and quivered. “Ford…”

  “Wishing that was my cock inside you, Andrew?”

  “Yes.” Andrew’s free hand twitched to touch his untouched erection. He moved his hand closer, eyes on Ford touching himself. “Can I—”

  “No.”

  Andrew wailed, moving his fingers faster inside of him to accommodate. It felt good, and he enjoyed the way Ford looked at him, imagining he was the one touching him, but it wasn’t enough.

  Going straight for the sweet spot again and again, Andrew thrust with his fingers harder.

  “Fuck, you’re incredible,” Ford praised him.

  “Can I now…? Please?”

  “Yes…touch yourself, but don’t come. You come when I do.”

  Andrew’s hand on his cock was such an instant relief, he nearly sobbed.

  “Slower.”

  And then he did sob, because, “Please…please…” slow wasn’t enough.

  “Almost. Slower. Keep using those fingers. Show me how open you are. How much you want it. You do want it, don’t you? You want me to fuck you.”

  “God, yes…”

  “I will. Soon, I will. But tonight, you need to come for me just like this. Faster.”

  Andrew sped up his hand and the fingers inside him, eyes on Ford, who was rapidly moving his own hand over his red and weeping cock.

  “F-faster,” Ford’s voice stuttered, hoarse now. “Faster. Fast as you can.”

  Andrew’s hand practically blurred with speed; he was so close to coming.

  “Not yet.”

  “Ford,” he growled.

  “Almost…almost. Now!” Ford’s voice broke off in a cry as he came over his fingers.

  Andrew moaned at the sight, finally giving over to the sensations wracking through him and coming so hard, his vision darkened. He nearly swayed on the ledge, correcting himself so that if he did topple, he fell onto the roof instead of all those stories down to the ground.

  Gasping and breathing deep, he managed to stay upright, feeling buzzed and sticky. There was cum all over his coat, but he didn’t care. He let his eyes drift sluggishly to the other roof, landing on Ford looking blissed out, face a mask of pleased calm, hand still on his dwindling cock, eating up every inch of Andrew he could look at.

  Andrew would have blushed if he wasn’t heated and flush from head to toe already. He needed a shower and being out in the open, completely nude save for his shirt, started to creep up on him. “Can I…get dressed now?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Andrew used his coat to clean up, since it was stained anyway. Eventually, standing at the ledge across from Ford, clothed again but spent, he couldn’t help wishing once more that they were on the same roof.

  “So…I get to call the shots again next time?”

  Ford hummed at the suggestion, flicking his eyes down Andrew’s body like before. “Looking forward to it.”

  “That was…”

  Ford raised an eyebrow expectantly.

  “Not terrible.”

  “You mean, not so bad from someone who gets it wherever they can?”

  Andrew cringed. He had been an ass that night, even if he’d felt justified. “I had a bad day. Lately, I’ve had a lot of them. But after this, at least as far as trackers and bugs go, maybe we can call it even?”

  “How about a freebie then, since you worked so hard to learn something about our joint quarry today?”

  “You know something?”

  “Just one thing. They’re not using any fences. Direct to buyer only. So, you can tell your brother not to waste his time.” Ford raised his hand in a swift salute.

  “Wait! Whatever happened to that T-shirt and sweats you stole from me?”

  “Hmm…we have that ‘next time’, maybe I’ll tell you.” He winked and turned on his heel to go.

  Andrew hated that Ford was his competition, but all was indeed fair in…well, not love and war, but whatever else this was.

  Still high on sensations, Andrew turned to look out at the city again, glancing at the stone gargoyle he’d used as his pillow. He patted the side of his trusty sentinel. “This one’s just between us and the city, Bruce.”

  “Still hacked into your radio, Andrew.” Ford chuckled.

  Andrew blushed and ended the call.

  * * * *

  “Dad, this is it. You’ll love this place. I practically lived off their chicken salad in college.”

  Dad. Isaac still loved that more than he could say.

  “I was applying theories of absolute zero again today. Thought of you,” Dalton said after they’d ordered at the counter and sat in an out of the way booth. “If harnessed correctly, it’s almost like stopping time. In your line of work, can you imagine—”

  “No shop talk,” Isaac said.

  “Come on.” Dalton flashed a cheeky grin. “Discussing theory and application doesn’t put me in any danger.”

  “It’s a slippery slope. If you’re so interested in how to apply absolute zero to security consulting, Google it.”

  Dalton laughed. He was smart, more than enough to make Isaac proud, not that he ever would have needed his son to prove anything to him. Dalton had a degree in thermodynamic engineering, working toward his master’s with plans for a PhD, and a cushy job at Avalon, a local research facility. Isaac had never even finished high school, entirely self-made. He was proud of that too, but he was glad Dalton had experienced something different.

  He didn’t look anything like Isaac, only a trait here or there, a specific smile, gesture, or way he said something.

  And his eyes; he had Isaac’s eyes, bright blue to contrast his mother’s dark skin.

  “I’ll get you one of these days, Dad,” he said, drum-tapping the table before he pushed out of the booth to head toward the bathrooms. “Be right back.”

  A past life of skirting the law meant Isaac was almost always on edge, perceptive to any threats he might have to defend against, but especially around Dalton. He had to be alert, because he had so much more to lose. One of the reasons he’d never considered giving up crime before was because he’d never found something to replace that thrill or possessive sense of accomplishment.

  Dalton was so much better than anything he’d ever stolen.

  Everything was looking up, and it had all been acquired legally. Mostly. His job. Time with Dalton. Escapades with Andrew Wen in dark rooms and on rooftops…

  “Ford?”

  Isaac jumped and had to wonder if he’d summoned Andrew simply by thinking of him, because suddenly, there he was, coming from around Isaac’s shoulder. “Andrew.”

  “Hi.” There wasn’t any confrontation in his expression today, just a rare, hesitant smile. “Here to enjoy the chicken salad or planning a stick-up later?” he teased—teased, like he was honestly happy to see Isaac.

  “What is it with the chicken salad here? Can’t be that special.”

  “It’s the dried cherries.”

  The warmth that spread through Isaac’s chest surprised him, but he didn’t have much time before Dalton would be back, and Andrew discovering he had a son was just as bad as any enemies.

  Then a bitter thought crossed his mind. “Did you track me again?”

  “What? No. I just come here.”

  That might be true. This was closer to the persona Isaac remembered from when Andrew was a detective. Sympathetic, earnest, almost sweet. It was just as well that he’d found his way off the force.

  He looked like he had half a mind to take the empty seat in front of Isaac but hesitated with a bite at his lip. “I know we’re still at odds professionally, and I’m sure you’ll infuriate me to no end trying to steal more jobs from me in the future, but…I never actually apologized for Christmas.”

  “Andrew—”

  “I get why you left,” he pushed on. “I wasn’t exactly hospitable, and you still kept your end of the bargain. You’ve been a model citizen ever since
. You know, besides shameless shenanigans in uniform and invasion of privacy,” he whispered. “But I won’t talk if you don’t.”

  The smile that lit Isaac’s face in response surprised him too. He tried to think of a comeback, only for Andrew’s eyes to fall to the empty seat again and notice the second drinking glass.

  “Are you on a date?”

  “No,” Isaac said too hastily. “It’s not a date.”

  “If it was one of your associates, you wouldn’t care, but you’re anxious. Stealing more clients from me already? Or maybe you are planning a job, and you just use security as a front.”

  He was teasing again, Isaac could tell, but that’s what all the naysayers said: that Isaac was faking it. Once word of the new thief finally spread, they’d all say it was him. A few skirts of the law were one thing, but he couldn’t risk going back to jail, not when he had Dalton.

  Dalton—who was out of the bathroom and headed for their table!

  “Listen, now isn’t the best—”

  “Andrew?”

  Andrew spun around when Dalton called his name.

  When Dalton called his name.

  “Dalton? Oh my God, how are you?”

  They hugged, completely unabashed in their open display of affection.

  “Why are you never on Facebook?” Dalton squeezed Andrew tightly. “I can hardly keep up. Did I hear you quit the force?”

  “Almost a year ago now. I started a security firm.”

  “That’s awesome! And kind of funny. My dad does security too. Dad? What’s with the face?”

  Dalton’s eyes landed on Isaac, and when Andrew turned to see that no, there was no other man in line of sight to be the bearer of that endearment, his jaw nearly hit the floor.

  “Dad?”

  “Do you and Andrew know each other?”

  “How do you know each other?” Isaac threw back, because if they’d slept together, he would have an aneurism right there in the café.

  “Andrew tutored me in Art History in college. How do you know him?”

  The actual answers flitted through Isaac’s mind.

  He was my nemesis.

  He’s the detective who put me in jail.

  We fucked on his living room sofa half an hour before I met you, and I helped him through two orgasms yesterday.