Mutual Possession (Nine Tenths of the Law #1)

9. Spencer

Chapter nine

Spencer

“I don’t think Cassie likes Tom.”

“It sounds like Tom is having an affair with her husband,” Kendrick says. He moves closer, peering over my shoulder. He smells nice, dull hints of what’s left of his cologne after a long day and his own masculine scent underneath. I want to roll in it. My favourite part of the day is just after I wake up, when Kendrick rolls out of bed to shower, and I can drag his pillow closer.

“Maybe that’s why Veronica got the acting gig? Real-life experience.” If I have to look at one more email that reads more like teenagers clawing at each other, I may actually go mad. “And I thought Greer writes passive-aggressive emails.”

“Do they not realise how easy it is to get access to these? Never put in writing, even behind a firewall, anything that you don’t want the world to see. Everything can be found.”

“Most people don’t think like that.” They don’t live in our world of shadows and deceit. They don’t look around every corner for monsters. Most can go through their whole life never once seeing eyes in the darkness, staring back at them.

Kendrick groans and leans back in his chair, dropping his head back. It stretches his neck, his Adam’s apple prominent, like a beacon. I want to put my mouth on it, lick the bump.

So I do.

Kendrick jerks in surprise and then relaxes, letting me do whatever I want. He curls a hand around the back of my neck, holding me steady as I feast on his skin. He tastes as good as he smells.

His mouth is waiting for me when I lift my head, and I immediately open mine, demanding a kiss like the one he gave me in the car and on the morgue stairs.

He obliges with a guttural moan that’s like poetry. His tongue explores my mouth, and I climb into his lap, wanting to be closer. The pleasure that sings through me at his touch isn’t sexual, it isn’t something that makes my dick stand up and ask for attention. It feeds something much deeper than that. A more important part of me that craves him like a drug.

Kendrick pulls away with another groan. “I don’t understand you right now,” he says hoarsely. “Why are you taking so much all of a sudden?”

“It’s not sudden.” Does it feel like that to him? I’ve demanded everything from him the entire time we’ve known each other. The second he was in my orbit, he was mine. Just like I’m his. I didn’t know that I could have this without promising more. As if Kendrick would ever force me to do anything I don’t want to.

“Is this because I was hurt?”

“Is what because you were hurt?” I ask sharply. I hate bringing this up. The memory of the panic when I woke in a strange place, with no Kendrick and no idea what had happened to him… it still haunts me like a scab that won’t heal over. He’s not the only one that has nightmares.

“Why you’re being so clingy?”

“I’ve always been clingy.” I’m offended that he thinks this attitude is somehow new in any way.

“Not like this.”

That’s a lie. Maybe the way that I’m showing it is a little different. The burning desire to crawl inside him and never let him more than a foot away from me is so much worse than it’s ever been, but the clingy? That’s always been there.

“You’re my person.” It’s that simple. Why does it have to be complicated?

“Your dick’s soft.”

“That’s not news.” I rarely get hard at the best of times and not ever for any particular reason. Most of the time I can ignore it. It doesn’t make me need. Not the way that I need Kendrick.

“When people make out like this, when they mark me, it means they want something else, Spence. You have to know that.”

Jealousy and anger burst in my chest, and my lips curl. “Who the fuck has marked you?” How dare anyone else even think they have a right to? The only marks on him are mine. Because he’s mine. No one else’s. I’ll hunt every single one of them down and leave them bleeding out on the floor while I leave bites all over Kendrick, right in front of them. A visual reminder of just why they’re dying.

“You’re not listening to me.”

“Answer the fucking question,” I demand through gritted teeth. “Recently?” The rage spreads until it’s all I can see. I tear at his shirt, roughly yanking it open. Some buttons fly off, and I don’t care. I need to see his chest, see where they touched him. Put my mouth over the top and remove any traces of them until I’m all that’s left.

“Spence, stop it.” He sounds exasperated, not angry.

“If you have nothing to hide, show me.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” He traps my hands in his and holds tight when I try to tug away from him.

“ Who has touched you? ”

“No one. We literally spend every waking moment together; when would I have had time to be with anyone else?”

“I shower.”

Kendrick raises a judgmental eyebrow. “You think I pop over to the neighbours for a quick fuck while you’re in the bathroom?”

I hadn’t, but now I do. “Who are your neighbours?” While I can hear everything they do through the paper-thin walls, I’ve never met them. What if they’re another Henry? Young, single, gay. Kendrick is a catch. My catch.

“Oh my god. Spence, it’s just you. You know that. Stop it. What the hell’s wrong with you? You need me to take my shirt off?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t argue further and finishes unbuttoning the shirt before dragging it and his jacket off his shoulders. The expanse of his chest is smooth. Unblemished. Hairless. He waxes, and I like it that way. It lets my hands roll down the warm skin better, and it emphasises all his hard, toned muscles. I can appreciate how much man I have under me.

And if anyone is going to be marking him, it’s me. Bending, I bite down on the space above his left nipple. A deep groan rumbles up his chest. I’m doing this to him. Only me. I bite harder, needing it to stick. To linger.

Kendrick hisses, half pain, half pleasure. His hand moves back into my hair and presses me harder against him, urging me on. Good. I lick and suck until I’m satisfied that it’ll take longer than a day to fade. I’d tattoo it permanently on his skin if I thought he’d let me.

I pull away abruptly, and he blinks in surprise, eyes glazed over. He looks so fucking good like that. It makes me want to do this all day, every day, so he’ll stay just like this.

“Spence?”

“Get a tattoo for me.”

Kendrick slips a hand under my T-shirt, skin warm against mine. “What?”

“A tattoo.” I flatten my palm over his heart, my thumb grazing the mark I’ve made. Imprints of my teeth, still slick with my spit. “Right here.”

“Spence…”

“I’ll get one too.”

Kendrick hesitates, unsure. But he’s thinking about it now. He likes the idea of me marking myself for him. I’m not the only possessive one in this relationship.

“What kind of tattoo?” he asks.

“An orchid. They’re a symbol of love.” With the pad of my finger, I trace where I want the tattoo to go. “Black ones. Say yes.”

He searches my eyes, and I stay still, letting him see it all. There’s nothing about me that I’ll hide from him. Whatever he wants to know, whatever he wants to see , he can have all of it.

“Alright.”

“Soon?” I ask hopefully. We can talk about putting my name—or my initials, I can compromise—with the flower later.

“I’ll make an appointment for next week.” He spans his hands over my hips and then lifts me off him, depositing me back in my chair. “It’s getting late, and we still have a lot of emails to go through.”

And more. All the Microsoft Teams correspondence too. At this point, I know too much about the lives of all the staff members. More than I ever wanted to know.

My stomach begins to protest an hour later, and I drop my forehead to the desk. “I can’t look at another email. Please don’t make me.” I may cry. In fact, it’s almost guaranteed. I’d rather be out there kicking people and throwing my weight around. There shouldn’t be this much paperwork in espionage. It’s a cruel punishment for something I did; it has to be.

Kendrick massages my nape, almost absently. “Have you seen the name Colin Trine pop up in what you’ve been reading?”

“A few times,” I mumble. Probably more than a few. I don’t know. No more questions, Your Honour. My eyes slide closed, a shiver running down my back from Kendrick’s talented fingers. He can keep doing that, and I’ll have a nap.

“Have you noticed anything off about it?”

“Everyone that works there is fuckin’ off,” I slur. Backstabbing. Complaining. Two-faced assholes. It’s a goddamn viper’s nest. It wouldn’t surprise me one iota if someone there is the killer. More than one.

“Come look at this.”

Why does he want me to move? Does he hate me that much? It’s a cruel world. With a heavy sigh, I lift my head and scoot closer, hooking my knee over his. “What?”

“He has twice as many emails sent to Veronica than anyone else in the business.”

“Maybe they work closely together?”

“He’s a property lawyer, so while I’m sure they interact, not over a hundred emails a month kind of interaction.”

That is weird, I’ll give him that. “Have you looked at all of them?”

“Not yet. But I’ve seen his name enough it’s sticking with me. Her emails are friendly and open to start with, and then her responses get progressively shorter and colder, skirting the line of professional to outright hostility.”

“The entire environment is hostile.” More than. I’d have killed someone already, working in an office like that. Sliding my hand under his and taking hold of the mouse, I check the time stamps. Some of them are quite late, others around one in the morning. “Did his emails change too?”

“Not in tone. They’re just frequent.”

“Guess he’s thinking about her a lot. Did Six get her phone records?”

“You think he was contacting her on her personal phone?”

“Based on these emails, I want to see his house, at the very least.” I bet we’ll find some interesting things. “And I want all his emails.” Six only sent through ones that are directly connected to Veronica. But I wonder if Colin is talking about her to others. And whether he’s emailing anyone else this frequently.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll go ask him—”

“I can go. I need to stretch my legs.” Sitting for long periods of time makes me stir crazy. Unless we’re snuggling on the couch and having a movie marathon, it’s my least favourite activity. “You want a coffee on my way back?” It’s close to seven in the evening, and hopefully almost time for us to head home, but I don’t mind playing a little caffeine Russian roulette. Staying up late just means more time with him.

“Sure.”

I’m almost out the door when Kendrick calls my name. He’s looking at me with a strange expression on his face. “What’s wrong?”

He hesitates, then shakes his head with a small smile that’s almost shy. “Nothing. Don’t take too long.”

“I won’t.”

Six hasn’t poked his head in to let us know he’s leaving, like he always does, so he has to be here somewhere. His office door is closed but not locked, so I waltz right in.

And immediately freeze on the threshold. Oops.

Six has Greer bent over his desk, and they definitely aren’t working. I assume. Greer is hunched forward, knuckles white over the edge, his eyes closed, and the bottom of his white shirt shoved in his mouth, exposing his rock-hard stomach. A deep groan falls from his lips every time Six thrusts into him.

“Hey, guys. Do you want me to—”

“Nah, come on in,” Six says casually. “He loves an audience. Don’t you, L?”

Greer doesn’t answer. Can’t. I doubt that Six will be impressed if he spits out his shirt. And Greer is nothing if not obedient when it comes to Six. Everyone else is another story, of course. Greer willingly submits to his partner and has no qualms about doing it in front of people. Why would he? It doesn’t take away how much of an asshole he is, or his unshakeable confidence when flipping the entire world off. Getting on his knees doesn’t weaken him in any way, and I think he likes how it can make people underestimate him.

“I’m just here to give you more work,” I reply. “Sure you want me to stay?”

Six grins and then rolls his hips, rattling the desk and making Greer whine low in his throat. “What do you need, Spence?”

I drop into Greer’s empty chair and hook my ankle on my knee, lacing my hands behind my back and stretching out. “Need you to look into one of Veronica Ferguson’s coworkers. We think he might have had an unsavoury interest in her, so we want to see who he’s been talking to, and about what.”

“Send me an email with a name, and I’ll get it for you tomorrow.” Six stops moving, a hand idly caressing Greer’s chest. Greer’s angry muffling sounds like he’s trying to swear. There was definitely an “asshole” in there somewhere. “What did you just say to me?” Six asks, like he’s giving Greer a chance to take it back. He’s not going to, and we all know it.

Greer stills.

Six taps his way up Greer’s spine, humming a light tune before landing on his nape. The same grip Kendrick had on me not that long ago. The way that Greer responds is worlds different. The tension leaves his face at the same time that his mouth opens, the shirt falling. Putting his trust completely in a man who has him at a disadvantage, who could kill him in the blink of an eye.

“Apologise.”

Greer doesn’t hesitate or fight him. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t believe you. Say it again.”

“I’m sorry.”

Six uses a hold on Greer’s shoulder to drag him up so that he’s half standing and pressed against Six’s chest. Greer is completely clothed, his pants tented and straining from his hard cock. I’m glad that he doesn’t have it out. I have zero interest in seeing his parts. The only man I want to see naked is Kendrick, and he’s never been shy about taking off his clothes in front of me. He never denies me when I ask.

Six presses his lips to Greer’s ear. “Again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Do you deserve for me to finish this?”

I’m curious to know how he’ll answer. He shocks me by replying with, “No.” Why wouldn’t he say yes just so he could get off? He clearly needs to.

Is this how Kendrick feels in the shower after I get him riled up? Does he look like that when he fists his cock?

“But you want it anyway,” Six says harshly.

“Yes.”

“Say please.”

“Please.”

Why have I never thought about this before? About Kendrick and what he’s like in situations like this. Sex in general has always been vaguely satisfying at best, boring at worst. Not something I’ve ever had the need to indulge in frequently if at all. And definitely not after the last disastrous attempt years ago. The urge to be close to a person in any capacity lay dormant until I met Kendrick. Then it flared to life without any prompting. I want my hands on him every second of the day, want his on mine. It’s never extended to anything sexual, but that’s never mattered to me. I just need him close to me.

Kendrick says he doesn’t miss sex, but how can he not when it’s something that he likes to do? He talks about what he wants to do with me, and I know he means this. I try to imagine Kendrick in Greer’s place. There’s a flicker of something, low in my gut. Not enough to take hold of and examine further. It slips away as quickly as it comes. What if it were me bent over? The flicker is louder but still nothing tangible, a vague heaviness that pours through my fingers like sand.

What would Kendrick look like? I’ve never seen him this way. Lost to pleasure. Lost in the haze of lust, his body begging for it. Would he beg me for it? Would he make me beg for it?

An unfamiliar hot flush runs over me. Not arousal. Deeper than that. It starts at the heart of me and spreads outward.

I stand abruptly, and Six sends me a questioning look without faltering, still wringing those noises from Greer.

“I have to go,” I blurt. I almost run headfirst into the door before I fling it open and rush out.

Kendrick startles when I burst into our office. I open my mouth, but no words come out.

“Spence?”

“Do you want to have sex with me?”

He tenses at the question, his brows drawing in. “I thought you were getting coffee. Did you drink it all without me?” He glances down to my hands, but of course there’s nothing there. I didn’t get the coffee. I completely forgot I was supposed to.

“But you do, don’t you?”

Kendrick wets his lips, and I track the movement. “You know I do.”

Except that I don’t . I mean, I do. Of course, I do. I provoke him deliberately because I know he wants me. Because I love the hold I have over him, and what he’ll do for me, no matter what it costs either of us.

He wants me. I want him too. That’s not the same thing, is it? His want is different than mine. Not better or worse. Just different. What does that mean for us? Can I keep us on this tightrope forever? Will something have to give?

“Can we go home now?”

Kendrick tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “If you want,” he says slowly. It’s obvious he has questions. I don’t have any answers for him. Not even for myself.

“I want.”

I don’t know what I want.