Page 27 of Crowbar

“Yours tastes better,” Spencer whined.

God, he was fucking adorable. “We’re eating the same thing.”

“Weird how food tastes better when it’s stolen. You ever notice that?” He swiped another piece of chicken, grinning at me with his mouth full, green eyes filled with triumph.

“Just take it.” I slid my plate closer to him.

“No. The theft is part of the experience. You’re ruining my joy.”

“You’re a menace.”

“You’re obsessed with this menace.” He said it like a joke, but his gaze flicked to mine, waiting to see if I would contradict him.

“Can’t argue with the truth.”

His fork paused halfway to his mouth, color creeping up his jaw, spreading toward his ears. He ate the noodles but was no longer staring at me.

We ate in comfortable silence for a minute. Somewhere outside, a car honked. On the floor, Gunner was snoring.

Spencer leaned forward to set his plate on the milk crate, and I caught the small flinch. His arm was bothering him more than he was admitting.

“When’s the last time you took the ibuprofen?” I asked.

“This morning.”

“It’s been eight hours.”

“Has it?” He glanced at the clock on the microwave. “Time flies when you’re being nursed back to health by a man who crawls around engines.”

“Take the pills, Spencer.”

“Bossy.” But he was already standing, moving toward the kitchen. He grabbed the bottle from the counter, shook two pills into his palm, and swallowed them dry.

“Water,” I said.

He filled a glass and drank half of it, maintaining eye contact the entire time like he was proving a point. When he set the glass down, there was a smear of orange sauce at the corner of his mouth.

Pushing to my feet, I walked toward him. His eyes grew wide as I approached, back pressed against the counter. His breathing became shallow, the fingers on his good hand curling around the counter’s edge.

I swiped my thumb across the corner of his mouth, catching the sauce. His breath hitched. The sound was small, but I heard it. So had my wolf.

“Sauce,” I said.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

“Welcome.” I was close enough that I could see those teasing freckles, see the way his pupils had blown wide, and see the pulse beating at the base of his throat.

“Crowbar.” My name in his mouth sounded surreal.

Slowly, I leaned in, giving him time to pull back, to laugh it off, or to turn it into another joke. His gaze dropped to my mouth then back up, a look of raw need reflecting in his eyes.

I cradled his jaw, my thumb tracing his smooth skin, careful of his arm as I took a step closer, possessing my lips to his in a slow-burning kiss. I nipped and sucked at his bottom lip, coaxing them apart, and swept my tongue inside.

My hand slid to the back of his skull, my fingers threading through his hair. He made another sound, softer, and melted against me. The kiss turned slower, deeper, tongues moving in a rhythm that had my cock pressing against my jeans.

Spencer fisted my shirt, pulling me to him, making needy little noises that were unraveling me.

I braced a hand on the counter beside his hip and angled my head, deepening the kiss. He was eager, kissing back, just as hungry as I was.