Free Spencer Cohen Series, Book Two (The Spencer Cohen Series 2) by N.R. Walker Page A

twenty times. Then we did the garlic and the tomatoes, and I may have planted kisses on his neck every now and again or nudged my nose into the back of his hair.
    Food had never been so erotic before, and having my dick pressed against his arse didn’t help matters any. But I made him do it all; I just helped and instructed, mostly just so I had an excuse to touch him. Or stand with my dick against his arse and my lips at his neck.
    By the time we threw it all into a pot, added the minced beef and a jar of sauce, and much to Andrew’s dismay, my Aunt Marvie’s special ingredient—a few spoonfuls of crushed pineapple—I put the lid on it and set it to simmer.
    “Now what?” he asked.
    “It needs to cook for a while.”
    He wiped his hands on a tea towel and set it down on the counter. “For how long? What about the pasta? You know I actually quite enjoyed this. Cooking, that is. It was fun.”
    I bit my bottom lip and could feel the gravitational pull of every damn centimetre between us. He had no clue how fucking sexy he was or how much he drove me crazy. “Forty-five minutes, maybe an hour, on a real low heat. Plenty of time.”
    “Plenty of time for what? Pasta doesn’t take that long, does it?”
    I took two big strides to stand in front of him, so close I spoke against his lips. “Have you forgotten already?”
    Recognition sparked in his eyes, and he exhaled in a rush. “Oh. You said after dinner…”
    “I did, but for the last half an hour, all I’ve been doing is imagining how your arse tastes.”
    He melted against me, like my words made his knees weak. “Oh.”
    “Do you want me to rim you?” I asked. My lips brushed against his.
    He nodded. “I showered,” he breathed. “And I cleaned… there.”
    I smiled and ghosted my lips against his. “I thought you said you’d never done it before.”
    “I googled,” he blurted out.
    I chuckled at that. “Did you, now?”
    He nodded. “It was very detailed.” He cringed. “And kind of gross and explicit. I had to buy some douching bulbs,” he said. Then he squinted his eyes closed and made a weird squeaking noise. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I just said that.”
    I put my hands to his face and kissed him. “You are so perfect.” I grabbed his hand and led him to my bedroom. When I turned to face him, his expression stopped me. He looked nervous and excited, his cheeks were flushed pink, his lips parted and wet, but his eyes were dark with lust. “Jesus, you’re so fucking sexy,” I mumbled before I wrapped my hand around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. He kissed me back, hard and urgent, pawing at my shirt, trying to undress me while never breaking the kiss. He was horny, there was no doubt about it.
    “Sit on the bed,” I urged him.
    His chest was heaving and he looked a little confused, but he did as I told him. I knelt before him and undid his laces, pulled his shoes off, then his socks. I ran my hands up his legs, squeezing his thighs and palming his erection through his trousers. I popped the button on his fly, and he lifted his hips so I could pull his pants down and off him. I tossed them onto the floor and stood up, giving him a close and proper look at the bulge in my pants. I even gave myself a slow palm, more for his benefit than mine. When he looked up at me, he had sex and desire written all over his face.
    “Stand up,” I whispered. He did, so I pulled his shirt and vest off together and took a long admiring look at his body. “Fuck you’re hot.”
    He undid my jeans roughly. “Maybe we should skip the rimming and move straight to the fucking,” he said gruffly.
    I grabbed his face and kissed him so hard, ploughing his mouth with my tongue that he whimpered. He fucking whimpered. “On the bed, face down,” I said.
    He moved quickly, first kneeling on the bed, then spreading his thighs, he lay down, keeping his arse up. Fuck. He was putting on a show for me. Intentional or not, he was driving me crazy. I