Chapter 7
ISAAC
Dinner. Family dinner. With Detective Wen of all people!
Isaac had flat out said no, never, nonsense, but as soon as Dalton had a say, he’d been forced to give in.
It didn’t matter if they pulled off the fake former dating charade, or not talking about how Andrew was the one who put him in jail.
It would still end in disaster, because family dinner at Andrew’s wouldn’t be anything like family dinner at Isaac’s.
Even after they’d parted for the day, he hadn’t been able to shake the image of what that would be like. Andrew’s beautiful little home with happy, smiling faces in it, not at all like what Isaac had grown up with.
It was silly to be envious. The Wens were hardly a nuclear family anymore.
Kevin and Candace would be there, Andrew’s mother had passed away, and his father was in another state.
Neither son was married nor currently involved with anyone—technically, on Andrew’s part. Their family was its own kind of mess.
But it was a loving, law-abiding, upper-middle-class mess.
Isaac wanted to backtrack, say—actually, raincheck till never—but Dalton had looked so excited, he hadn’t been able to say no.
His glare at Andrew afterward made it clear that he was not happy. Dalton figured his parent-trapping was simply closer to succeeding; he didn’t understand that the only reason Steven wanted them over was so he could judge them.
It was difficult to stay mad at Andrew though, when he pulled Isaac aside while they were still in his front lobby and whispered, “I’ll make it up to you.”
“How?”
“Do you want to go over that test run in my office?” Andrew asked louder, running his tongue over his lips with a heat in his eyes that no one else could see.
The rest of the group was dispersing, and the offer made Isaac forget that he should care Dalton was headed out the door with Riley—with Kevin too, thankfully.
Candace mentioned something about a PO Box or bank deposits and excused herself as well.
If she came back early, she’d be safely at her desk.
And Andrew did owe him.
The moment the door clicked closed behind them, Andrew had him pinned up against it, pupils dilated, and lips reddened from how much he’d been biting them. “I can’t stop thinking about fucking you.”
He plastered his body to Isaac’s, kissing him deep and grinding his very apparent erection into Isaac’s thigh. Possessiveness coiled in Isaac’s gut as he gripped Andrew’s waist in turn. With Andrew’s tongue in his mouth, hands up his shirt, and hips rocking, dinner was a problem for later.
“Someone’s hard up,” Isaac huffed. It didn’t matter if he also meant himself. “The alley wasn’t enough for you? I know it wasn’t for Riley.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Better that than his current conquest.”
Andrew snickered. “Having someone watch was kind of hot.”
“Are you saying you want me to open the blinds?”
The flush to Andrew’s cheeks darkened, and for a moment, Isaac thought he’d say yes.
But instead, he said, “You tell me. You’re in charge.”
Isaac hardened in a heartbeat. The back and forth was what he’d missed.
The chase. The challenge. He used to only find it in one-upping someone with his thefts—the police, businesses, security companies, Andrew.
He would have given up crime years ago if something else had been able to replace that sooner, but nothing ever had.
Not till Dalton.
And this, sparring with Andrew so much more rewardingly than playing cops and robbers.
He grabbed Andrew’s face to kiss him again, softer. They needed to get back to rough, and they would, but he liked the contrast of hard and soft and how, with Andrew, he could have both.
“I am going to fuck you on that desk,” he promised, rocking his hips forward and eliciting a sharp gasp.
“Yes.”
“Do you have what we need?”
Andrew licked his lips and nodded, pulling out of Isaac’s hold.
The small office was a tad cluttered, but a simple swipe of the desktop cleared it of anything in the way to tumble uncaringly to the floor, other than a mug that Andrew set aside more gingerly.
“No Santa today?” Isaac teased.
“It’s spring,” Andrew said, but the smile didn’t leave his face as he reached into a bottom desk drawer and produced a small bottle and a condom.
“And you chided me the other day.”
“Always be prepared.” Andrew shrugged.
“Are you a Boy Scout?”
Andrew made a point of reaching between his legs to palm himself through his slacks. “Not today.”
Surging forward, Isaac ripped the bottle and condom from his hands to place on the corner of the desk and dipped him back across its surface, nipping at his lips and raking his hands up beneath Andrew’s sweater.
Just as he was about to rip the offending article over Andrew’s head, he saw the desk chair and the window with its closed blinds. “I have a better idea.”
After leading Andrew around the desk, he pulled the chair out of the way and then turned to open the blinds, just enough so they could see the bustle of people outside, but the passersby couldn’t see them. Not unless they looked closely.
“Your audience.” Isaac motioned grandly at the window. “I expect a fitting performance and for you to obey everything I ask.”
“Yes, sir,” Andrew said, flush with excitement.
Sliding his hands around the waistband of Andrew’s slacks, Isaac slipped his palms down the back of them and gripped Andrew’s ass. He whimpered, canting against Isaac.
“This is going to be slow, Andrew. You owe me a very long good morning.”
Pinning Andrew to the desk, Isaac made a point of grinding their hips together as hard and as slow as he could and leaned in to kiss down Andrew’s neck.
They rocked like that for several mindless minutes, still fully clothed, Isaac’s mouth hot on Andrew’s neck, and Andrew’s tongue darting at his ear.
When Isaac finally removed his hands from Andrew’s slacks, he slid them up into his sweater and lifted it from his body.
Andrew squirmed under the feathering of Isaac’s fingertips down his abs.
“Undress me,” Isaac ordered.
He tugged Isaac’s jacket from his shoulders and went to rip his shirt over his head.
“Slower.”
Andrew complied with a groan but greedily ran his hands over Isaac’s ink once the shirt was off, feeling the soft dusting of hair over his chest that was mostly hidden amidst the dark colors.
Isaac let him spread his long fingers, tracing the intricate designs of a Jack of Spades, the Fibonacci Sequence swirling around his left peck, and a handful of sci-fi references and comic book characters, including the one they’d both heard radio dramas for: The Shadow, which Andrew paused at with a sweet smile when he saw it—a dark silhouette down his side with a wide-brimmed hat and a red scarf.
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.