Mutual Possession (Nine Tenths of the Law #1)

16. Kendrick

Chapter sixteen

Kendrick

The second that Spencer walks through my apartment door, I can tell he isn’t at one hundred percent. All my anxiousness about having him away from me disappears at the sight of his familiar mop of blond hair.

He smiles weakly at me and kicks the front door closed with his heel. He winces when it slams shut.

“Have a good night?” I ask, leaning back against the counter with a mug of coffee cradled in my hands.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Neither could I. The empty space beside me never lets me get a good night’s rest. The nightmares are worse when I can’t wake up and pull him close, when I can’t physically assure myself that he’s fine. That he’s home, and everything is alright.

The messages last night, confirming he was home, along with a play-by-play of him getting ready for bed—which consisted of a lot of drunken, garbled messages that I didn’t bother trying to interpret—should have been enough to calm me. But they’re never as good as the real thing. The only time I fully relax is when he’s within reach.

I hate that he didn’t come to me last night. Or that he didn’t ask me to stay at his, so I could wait for him. I didn’t push it when he didn’t mention it. I never do. Our entire relationship is based on what he’s willing to give and ask for. Sometimes the line blurs, and I never know where he wants me to sit. So I wait for him to say it. Pieces of my heart break when he doesn’t say what I really want him to, but the second he smiles at me, they heal again. A continuous cycle of breaking and healing, over and over. If that’s what it takes to keep him, then I gladly submit myself to the groundhog situation.

If he’d been with anyone else last night, I might wonder about what happened, even with the constant communication. Sebastian, however—as much as their friendship irritates me—is one of the safest people in the world for him to be around. His four boyfriends keep him occupied, and they’re all sickeningly in love. Sometimes that logic calms me, sometimes it doesn’t. I still don’t like them together.

“Here, drink this.” He leans into me as I hand him my coffee, making sure that he has a good grip before letting it go. I kiss his forehead gently, and his eyes flutter closed. He twists so that his back is against my chest, silently urging me to take hold of him. As if I could ever ignore that request.

“Everything hurts,” he groans.

“Mhmm.” I bet; he looks like death warmed-over. “How much did you drink last night?”

“That fucking lawyer is hiding a steel goddamn gut. He put away just as much as me, and he could walk in a straight line fine. I bet he could still recite the alphabet backward.”

“I imagine his job makes him drink a lot.”

Spencer snorts out a laugh, the mug in his hands wobbling dangerously. “Fuck, probably. I wouldn’t do his job for all the money in the world.”

“Can’t argue with that.” I couldn’t think of anything worse. “Did you drive here?”

“How the fuck else would I get here?”

He’s not big on taxis or Ubers, and I doubt he’s ever taken public transport his entire life. “Don’t do that again.” Tipping his chin up with a thumb under it, I force him to look at me. The tired glint to his brown eyes doesn’t take away how beautiful they are. “You should have called me, and I would have come to get you.”

“Last night or now?”

What kind of question is that? “Both. It doesn’t matter where you are, or what time you contact me, I will always come and get you. Don’t drive hungover ever again.”

He visibly swallows. “Okay.”

“Good.” I can’t resist taking a kiss. Now that the floodgates have been opened, now that I know he’ll welcome this from me whenever I want it, there’s nothing that can stop me from taking as often as possible. I’ve always allowed him to set the pace, and I don’t think we can ever go back to that comfort level. Some of those locks are broken irreparably now.

“Everyone should be getting here in about an hour,” I tell him, lips brushing his. “Hunter says he’s bringing the truck, and Jericho and Six are driving an SUV each. It should be more than enough room for us to only have to take two or three trips.”

“You’re underestimating how much shit you have,” he mutters under his breath.

I chuckle and move him out of the way, gently nudging him until he’s leaning his hip against the counter on the side. It gives me room to get the fry pan on the stove and gather all the ingredients.

He moans when I get out the potatoes. “Are you making me hash browns?”

“I might be if you’re good.”

“I’ll be good.”

Doubtful, but we both know I’ll make them for him no matter what. “Did you have a good night with the lawyer?”

“You can use his name; it won’t summon him. He’s not Beetlejuice.”

“I’d rather not.”

“You liked him just fine when we were guarding him.”

“Did I?” That’s not how I remember it. Every time I hear that fucking stupid shark-baby song, it makes me think of him, and I can hear him humming it in my head. If he’d gone on much longer, I’d have punched him in the face and thrown his laptop out the window even if that meant breaking the glass to do it. Don’t think you’re supposed to do that to the person you’re protecting, but I’m not all that fond of rules. Especially not ones that tell me I can’t do harm to someone pissing me the fuck off.

“That might be a stretch, but…”

“But nothing,” I say flatly. Just because I don’t chuck the fit that I want to when he spends time with the lawyer doesn’t mean I like the guy. Or even tolerate him. “He’s your friend, not mine. And I’ll continue being about as comfortable with it as you are with Henry.”

He stiffens, glaring at our coffee. “That’s different.”

“This I have to hear.” I glance over my shoulder at him while I flip the bacon and finish mixing the hash brown batter.

“Henry is single, and gay, remember? And you’re—” He gestures at me as if that explains at all what the hell he’s trying to say. I know him, but that doesn’t mean everything he says or does is completely coherent.

“I’m what?”

“You’re fucking hot, Ken. Only an idiot wouldn’t want you,” he says bluntly.

I don’t have a response to that. Spencer doesn’t want me. Not the way he’s talking about. “We’ve already had this conversation. I wasn’t even aware that he was gay, so he clearly hasn’t made any overtures. Gay men are capable of being friends without sex or attraction being part of it.”

“I didn’t say they weren’t.”

I’m not sure he knows what he’s saying. Something’s on his mind, but it’s not coming out particularly coherent. After pouring three hash browns into the sizzling pan, I turn back to him. I need to see his face while we’re having this conversation. “Did something happen last night?”

His face hardens. Well, that hit the nail on the head. “No,” he says too quickly. “Like what?”

Like what, indeed. “Did Sebastian say something to you?”

He deliberately takes a long drink of the coffee and then slides it across the counter in a blatant “more” gesture. He’s not getting anything until he tells me what the fuck is going on and what the lawyer has to do with it.

“If I said you could go and sleep with other people, would you do it?”

The question comes completely out of left field and floors me. “What?” What’s with his fixation on sex lately? Is he trying to kill me? There are quicker, cleaner ways to do it.

“Would you?” he demands.

“That’s the most ridiculous question you’ve ever asked me.” I wasn’t interested in sleeping with anyone else even before he’d demanded it of me. There hasn’t been anyone else, even in the remotest sense, since him. He consumes everything, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Why won’t you answer it, then?”

“Me not answering a question you already know the answer to doesn’t mean that whatever theory you have going on in your brain is correct.” Turning off the oven and sliding the fry pan away from the heat, I gather him into my arms.

“Spence. There is no one else, and there will be no one else. Even if you leave me and tell me that you never want to see me again, there still won’t be anyone else. I don’t abstain from sleeping with other people because you told me not to; it’s because I choose not to. They can’t ever give me even half of what you do. And if you need me to repeat that to you every day to remind you, to get it through that thick skull of yours, then I’ll do that.”

He softens a fraction in my arms. “What if I can’t ever—what if—”

“Why have you been thinking about sex so much lately?” I ask, brushing his hair away from his forehead. The blond strands are always so goddamn soft. “You said it wasn’t because you were thinking about it with other people, and I know you aren’t thinking about it with me. Talk to me, baby.”

“In the past—when—it’s always been hard for me.” He wrinkles his nose. “That came out wrong. You know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean.” There are a thousand jokes I can use to laugh this entire thing off, but I won’t. Whatever he’s trying to say, it’s important.

“I’ve never been interested in sex the way other people are. I did it because I thought I had to. That it’s a natural conclusion to a relationship. That in order to call it a relationship, there has to be something physical.”

“Not necessarily. And ‘physical’ is a pretty wide terminology.” My knuckles brush across his cheek. “This is physical.” I kiss him softly, his lips warm under mine. “That’s physical.” Trailing my hand down his arm, I tangle our fingers together and lift his hand to my mouth, kissing the back of it. “So’s that.”

“Are we in a relationship?” Spencer asks breathlessly.

“Yeah, baby, we are.” Lack of sex doesn’t make that any less true. We’ve been in one from the moment our eyes met for the first time, all those years ago.

“We don’t—I don’t—”

“Have sex? Do you think we have to? I’ve already told you that it has nothing to do with us or how important you are to me.”

“What if I want to try it?”

My heart thumps wildly. Every time he’s mentioned it the past week, I’ve dismissed it because I didn’t think he was serious. He’s never even hinted at it before. “Is this because I got hurt?” I’d asked him if that was the reason behind him being so clingy lately—more than normal, though it is a fluctuating needle—and he’d denied it, but now the strange fixation on sex? I don’t want him to have sex with me out of some weird obligation. It would make the entire exchange meaningless, and that’s one thing that we’ll never be.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” Spencer says. “I can’t say it’s not, not completely. When I think about it, how close to losing each other we were, I can’t breathe, I can’t think. I need us to be as close to each other as two people can possibly be, and I don’t care what that means. I’ll do whatever it is, with no regrets.”

“We’re already as close to each other as two people can possibly be.” I place his hand over my heart so he can feel the way it’s trying to beat out of my chest. “You’re in here. There’s no closer place to be.”

His fingers curl over the fabric of my shirt, and then he’s tugging me down into an open-mouthed kiss. I moan and lean in, gathering him closer, one of my hands diving into his hair, holding him in place. He tastes like coffee, and it’s perfect.

“You never have to do what you don’t want to,” I murmur against his mouth, catching his hands where he’s trying to unbutton my shirt. “We don’t have to try anything, and you absolutely don’t have to make yourself uncomfortable because you think you need to. Sex isn’t the be-all and end-all.”

“You told me you wanted it with me.”

There’s a hint of hurt in his voice, like he thinks I’m lying. “I will always want it with you. You are—” I take a deep breath. “You’ll never not turn me on or be the best-looking thing in the world to me. That doesn’t mean I have to have it, or that not having it changes anything. I’ll be celibate the rest of my life and die with a smile on my face, knowing that I had everything I wanted, everything I needed .”

“I want to,” he insists. “I just—I’m scared, Ken. What if we do it, and I can’t? What if nothing happens?”

I know he’s capable of getting it up during sex. The very thought of it makes jealousy twist in my gut: that others have touched him, and he’s liked it. Unfortunately, I’m aware that it’s happened, and that his partners were all female. His worry isn’t unfounded. Not after everything we’ve done together that he hasn’t reacted to. It also doesn’t matter, because it’s not a make-or-break deal.

“Then nothing happens.” I brush my thumb over his bottom lip and then slip just the tip inside his mouth. He flicks his tongue over it and then suckles. It takes me a second to focus on what I was trying to say and not on the pleasure running through me like a live current. “If this is really what you want to try, then we can. If it doesn’t work the way you want it to, it’s not a failure, and I need you to agree with me right now that you won’t blame yourself, and you won’t feel bad about it.”

He nods too quickly.

“Not good enough, Spencer. I won’t do this if you’re only going to twist it into something negative.”

“You’re assuming it’s going to fail.”

“The fact you’re still using the word ‘fail’ isn’t making me want to do this,” I chide. It’s an experiment, and I’m willing to try it, so long as the result doesn’t matter, either way, to him. If it doesn’t work for him, then so be it. If it does, then we’ll continue to work on it and make sure that every experience—whether it’s just the once, or if he wants to again someday—is a pleasurable one for him. I don’t doubt that it will ever be as easy as, “I liked it, so let’s keep doing it every day.” Spencer doesn’t think about sex the way others do, and it won’t be like a switch flicked.

Spencer bites down on my thumb and then flicks his tongue over the abused skin. “I can’t promise that. I want to try anyway. Please. Please. ”

I should say no. As if I’ve ever been able to say no to him. He leans into my palm as I cup his cheek and press a kiss to his forehead. “Alright. If you’re sure this is what you want, we can try.” Christ. My fingers are itching to roam all over him, to show him how good I can make him feel. If he doesn’t get something from it, it won’t be because I didn’t try my best.

The vehemence of Spencer’s kiss takes me by surprise. It’s like he’s trying to crawl inside me, his hands moving everywhere until my shirt is undone, and my belt is unbuckled. He’s suddenly turned into an octopus with eight arms, and I can’t keep up.

“We don’t have time right now,” I say, disappointment heavy in my gut. We’ll have visitors soon, and this isn’t something I’ll rush through. We’ll need all the time in the world for this.

“Sure we do,” Spencer gasps, shoving my pants and underwear to my thighs in an impressive move. He grasps my cock, at half-mast already, and squeezes.

Fuck . I drag him into a kiss and push him against the counter. He smiles against my mouth and enthusiastically responds to the touch.

No. Wait. I can’t let him force this or start something we can’t finish right now.

He whimpers, and I groan at the sexy-as-fuck sound. Ignoring his front, I glide my hand around to his ass, massaging it in my palm, adding pressure against his muscles while I move back and forth over the round softness.

He strokes me awkwardly and kisses harder. Even if he’s not getting off on this, I can’t deny that he’s clearly enjoying it. That has to be enough. It is .

Hiking him up onto the counter, I spread his legs and slide between them, moving right back into another kiss. He twines his arms around my shoulders and gathers me closer, our chests pressed together.

“I want this,” he says, kissing across my jaw and then down to bury his face against my neck and lick my beating pulse. “Does it matter if it’s not a sexual desire? I need it, too, Ken, even if it’s not the way that you need it. I get to have all of you because you’re mine. And that means I look after you, in every way.”

I can’t think when he’s marking me like this. His words sink in deep, warmth spreading to my very soul. Does he not know that’s exactly how I feel? I want to dote on him, give him everything that he wants, indulge his every whim, care and pamper him for the rest of our lives. There’s nothing in the world that gives me the kind of pleasure he does in a single look. He’s everything, and all I need is him.

He lifts his head, lips red and swollen. “Let me look after you.”

How the hell am I supposed to say no to that? I can’t, it’s impossible.

Our eyes stay connected as I slowly lift his shirt. I have it up around his shoulders, ready to take it all the way off, when our guests burst in through the front door. Who knew when I gave them the key to the place that they’d use it to cockblock me? I didn’t know I could be cockblocked, considering that I chose to tie myself to Spencer.

Six stops short, forcing everyone behind him—Jericho, Hunter, Moira, and Greer—to crash into his back. “Interrupting something?” He grins. “If you want to keep going, be my guest.”

Pulling Spencer’s shirt down, I drag him forward off the counter and lower him to the floor. “You’re early.”

“By about twenty minutes,” Jericho says, a shit-eating grin on his own face as he leans against the doorframe. “Did you think you were gonna finish in that time? Sounds like you need to learn how to please a man.”

I need new friends, is what I need.

“Cover your eyes, Vee,” Six says, doing it for her. I missed her behind everyone else. Hunter’s daughter hasn’t gotten any height from her father.

She huffs in annoyance and tries to tug Six’s hands away. “Why? I’m old enough to see.”

Hunter chuckles. “Remember how we talked about movie ratings?”

“Ratings are puritanical, and I’m old enough to decide for myself what’s appropriate to watch.”

That’s so many words for a girl pushing seven that I can’t even think of a response.

Moira snorts in amusement. “I didn’t teach her that. It’s not nearly dirty enough to be my handiwork.”

No one argues with her. Olivia knows too many words that she shouldn’t, courtesy of all of us. As long as she uses her evil powers for good, we don’t mind.

“Neither did I,” Six says, removing his hands from her eyes to stare down at her. “Where the fuck did you even learn that word?”

“Language,” she scolds him. “That’s a naughty word.”

“I would argue that puritanical is a worse word.” Greer folds his arms over his chest. “Is that what they’re teaching you in school these days? What happened to just memorising your times tables?”

“Bobby said it at recess.”

Who the hell is Bobby? And why were they discussing anything that would involve the word puritanical? She’s growing up way too fast.

“In what context?” Hunter asks, amused. He’s obviously heard of this “Bobby” before.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs nonchalantly, like we’re asking her about the weather. “Something about Christ.”

“Maybe you should stop hanging around Bobby,” Hunter tells her dryly.

“He waits in line for me so he can get me the best candy at the canteen before they run out; they always run out. And he gives me his donut.”

“I wish I was half as smart as you when I was a kid,” Moira says with a cackle. “High five, lady, I’m so proud of you.”

Olivia gives her one, beaming as if she has any idea what she’s actually accomplished. I highly doubt she realises.

Spencer snorts. “She’s working it out early. Good for her.”

“Working what out?” she asks, blinking at Spencer.

“Don’t encourage her,” Hunter sighs. “Vee, sweetheart, regardless of interesting word choices, you’re not old enough to see when Uncle Spencer and Uncle Kendrick have PG-13 rated alone time.” Hunter tugs on her hair. “Now, go put your bag down somewhere it won’t get tripped over.”

“I watch PG-13 rated movies!”

“Only sometimes, and only after your Uncle Jericho and I watch it first.”

“I don’t think what Spence and Ken were doing can be considered PG-13,” Six says with a snicker. He and Moira fist bump, and I want to shove them all out the door so I can continue with my “not PG-13” session with Spencer.

“Are you helping or…?” Hunter looks at him like he wants to use some more naughty words that Olivia won’t appreciate.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Greer says with a scowl, heading straight for the stack of boxes pushed against the wall where the TV used to be. “If there isn’t pizza at the end of this, I’m burning your entire building.”

“This one or mine?” Spencer asks. “For clarity.”

“Both.”

“We should probably get you some pizza, then.”

“I’ve already ordered some to be delivered to Spencer’s apartment in four hours,” Hunter says. “So let’s try not to set fire to anything.”

“Ruining everyone’s fun, one doused flame at a time,” Six sings.

“Can I set fire to something?” Olivia asks.

Everyone says “no” at the same time. She rolls her eyes and then picks up a small book box.

“It’s not fair that you get to do all the fun things, and I don’t just because I’m little.”

I’d agree with her, but it’s not like we’re allowed to set fire to things either. It’s tough no matter what age you are.

“Is that too heavy for you?” Six asks her.

Olivia glares at him, and he lifts his hands in surrender. “Sorry, go about your business, ma’am.”

“Should have hired movers,” I mutter. We’d be done by now; they don’t require bribes, and there’s less chitchat. They’d also have knocked, so I could ignore them and keep ravishing my man.

Spencer nudges me. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Moving isn’t supposed to be fun. I’d prefer it to be quick, efficient, and involve less back talking. And Six trying to goad Greer into misbehaving. As if that’s hard. He may need some provocation, but not that much. Greer has the weirdest patience I’ve ever seen in a person, infinite one second and not so much in the next—and Six seems to know exactly where all the buttons are. And takes great delight in pressing all of them in new and interesting ways.

I’ve never looked for them; I like all my parts intact, and in the right place. Greer won’t shoot Six; I can’t say the same for the rest of us.

“Where’d you park the truck?” Spencer asks, joining the fray. His muscles flex as he picks up a box, and I can’t look away. Fucking hell, he’s so nice to look at.

“By some miracle, we got a park right out front,” Hunter replies. He gestures with his head to Jericho, who immediately finds a box. Everyone files out of the apartment behind him, all carrying various-sized boxes. Olivia’s chatter echoes from the hallway before disappearing.

Hunter stays behind, and I brace myself because it has to be deliberate.

“Doing alright?” he asks conversationally, leaning a hip against the counter.

I know that face. It’s rarely directed at me , but it’s not the first time I’ve seen it. “Just say what you want to say.” Everyone will be back soon, and he clearly doesn’t want an audience.

“I’m concerned about you.”

I turn to stare at the food on the stove that Spencer hadn’t even ended up eating. I’ll make sure he eats it when he comes back up. The others can handle things for a second while I feed him. “What for?” I already know what for.

“Spencer is complicated.”

“I’m aware.”

“I want to make sure that you are.”

With a sigh, I face him again. “This lecture is about six years too late.” And pointless. Nothing could ever make me second-guess or question Spencer and me.

“Strangely enough, I recall having one quite similar back then.”

I remember it. It’s not hard to work out that my relationship with Spencer doesn’t fit any boxes that people try to squeeze us into. I’ve never been good at following set patterns. Whatever we have, it’s what I want, and I don’t care how it looks to anyone else.

“He’s my person.” It’s as simple as that. Any obstacles that we have, we’ll deal with them. Nothing he can do will ever make me turn from him.

Hunter nods knowingly. “If you need someone to speak to, my door is always open.”

“Likewise.” As if he doesn’t have his own set of relationship issues that are way more complicated than Spencer and I could ever hope to be. The fact that he’s still married to one of the biggest—if not the biggest—sharks in the underworld, sets a precedent we couldn’t hope to match.

Hunter smiles wryly. “Nothing to talk about. I closed that door a long time ago.”

“I don’t think he thinks that.” I know for a fact that he doesn’t. I also know that Hunter may believe that he’s closed the door, but he hasn’t.

“It’s locked.”

“He has a master key.” I can’t judge him for it. Either of them. I understand completely. If Spencer left me, I don’t think I’d ever get over it. I would follow him to the ends of the earth, and further. The idea of accepting that we’re over is too foreign to me. As much as I hate Xavier, I can’t lie and say I don’t understand him. He’ll never let go.

Hunter stares at me as if daring me to say something. I don’t need to; I doubt he’s let go either, and he’s well aware of it. He leaves the door ajar, hoping that Xavier will push through it. And of course, the man does. A vicious cycle they can’t get out of. One they don’t want to get out of, not really.

That part at least sounds familiar.

Spencer waltzes back into the apartment, looking at least a little perkier than before. I still need to feed him, though, before he does anything else. He instantly looks for me, and smiles wide, making a beeline toward us.

I’ll never have the strength that Hunter does. I can never turn from Spencer, no matter what he does to me. What Xavier did was unforgivable, but even if Spencer did something on the same scale… It would be a lie to say I wouldn’t welcome him back with open arms every time. Because I would.

He could carve out my heart and eat it right in front of me, and I’d still ask him what else he needs. And then do everything in my power to give it to him.