“I think Greer still has nightmares.”
Oh, he definitely does. “Greerisa nightmare.”
“Well, fuck you too,” the man himself says from the doorway. “I should have brought my stapler. You’d be so much prettier with a dent in your face.”
“Your love language needs a little work.” A lot of work, in fact. Six is the only one who likes it.
Spencer buries his face in my neck and licks at my skin. Trying to ignore the way my entire body comes to life in an instant, I focus on Greer.
“Looks like you’ve figured yours out,” Greer replies. “I need to talk to you guys about what you know about Jack and the rest of your case. There might be something that can help us track this guy down.” His gaze flicks to where Spencer is sucking on my skin and rotating his hips on my lap. “When you’re not busy.”
“Yeah, give me, um—” I bite back a groan and cup the back of Spencer’s head, urging him on. “Like five minutes?” Spencer bites down and worms a hand between us, reaching for my dick. “Make that fifteen?”
“How about we head to yours after work for dinner, and Six can meet us there? You owe me some of that beef bourguignon.”
“Yeah, that—” I don’t finish, tugging Spencer up into a kiss. I vaguely register the door clicking closed before all my focus and attention is on Spencer, squirming in my lap. I gather him closer, and he moans, sweeping deeper into my mouth.
There’s something about the kiss, like it’s twisted wrong. Carrying a darkness that isn’t usually there. Not pleasure for the sake of pleasure. Spencer’s using it to mask himself, and I won’t allow that.
When he tries to sneak his hand under my waistband, I grasp his wrist, halting him. “Spencer, stop.”
“You don’t want it?” Spencer asks, a tinge of hurt in his voice.
“Baby, I will always want you. There’s neveran instance where I won’t want you. I could be six feet under, and I wouldstillwant you.”
He tenses and presses his fisted hands against my chest. “That’s nothappening,” he says furiously.
The crux of the problem. “Not anytime soon.”
“Not ever.”
“Life doesn’t work like that.”
“When you go, I go.”
I won’t argue with him, not when I would do the same in his place. We’re tied together, in life, in death, and far beyond that. He’ll never go somewhere I can’t follow, because I would follow him anywhere, no matter what that means or the consequences. “Nothing is happening to either of us.”
“It might. There’s a psycho out there that’s been watching us, one who has a weird fixation with murder.”
“Murdering women. It could be a sexual thing, which means we don’t fit the pattern.”
“And those that get in his way,” Spencer says stubbornly. “I highly doubt he had sexual fantasies about Irene.”
“You never know. Don’t judge people’s tastes.”
“She doesn’t fit the pattern any more than we do. You can’t deny there’s some risk here.” He flattens his hands, his nails digging in. “And if something happens to you again, I can’t—”
“Hey, hey.” I slide my hands under his and grasp them. “We can’t guarantee safety, we can’t. But we also can’t let it control us. We do what we can, and we enjoy what we have.” I kiss him gently, keeping it that way even as he tries to deepen it. Getting into the habit of using sex, or physical pleasures, to cover our issues… it’s a slippery slope I don’t want to go down. “Next week we’re going to see the psychologist Hunter referred you to, and we’re gonna talk about this.” He relaxes slowly as I rub my thumbs on his neck. “It’s okay to be scared. I’m terrified, too, Spence. The idea of you being taken from me again leaves me in a cold sweat. But that can’t be what we’re reduced to. You mean too much to me for me to be a constant source ofstress for you. I can’t promise I’ll always be okay. I can promise that I’ll do my best to always be careful and to always be there for you.” Sweeping his hair from his forehead, I trail down his cheek, feeling the light day’s growth of stubble. “I want that same promise from you.”
“I promise.”
The next kiss is more tender, better.
About us and nothing else.
Chapter twenty-eight
Spencer
