Spencer would’ve thought this newfound discovery would have him demanding to get out of the car right then. He didn’t.

At first, it seemed like it was the mortification. That the person he believed he might be seriously falling for got a kick on toying with his feelings and exploiting him for amusement and what, a power high? That was what he felt radiating off her in the glance she took at his groin. Not that she was leering, but simply approbation. As if to admire something that was her own belonging.

Incidentally, it had Spencer’s pulse quickening and he told himself it wasn’t in that sort of feeling. That he in no way liked being objectified, much less thought of as a plaything.
He didn’t. He really didn’t.

It was the alcohol from the aftershave messing with his head. Or maybe there was something laced in the cough medicine. He had no way of knowing when she'd started stringing him along and got up to teasing tricks. Worst of all, he couldn’t act like she didn’t fluster him— God knows, he's tried as hard as he could but he just didn’t have it in him to hide his thoughts, his feelings, his desires.

Not like she did. And instead of resenting her, Spencer envied it.
He wanted that— wanted her for having that. A twisted feeling he only seemed to grasp now, but why wasn’t he disgusted? Outraged? The humiliation was very much there but why did he… almost feel like… he liked it?

Age thirteen, he accidentally tripped over and he hadn't fastened his gym shorts enough so he ended up mooning his entire eight grade class, teacher and crush included his bare ass because at that particular time, his acne was severe and the cheap undies made them chafe. People mocked him for two years, calling him Spacne or Commando.

Undoubtedly the most humiliating moment of his life. Thinking back to it now still pinched a wave of nausea. He could laugh it off if he ran into an old classmate but he would never say he took pleasure in that attention.
Why was this so different?

He'd gotten himself to calm down once the car stopped in front of a white bricked, two storey house similar to several others in the neighbourhood, save for the roof that was a striking shade of magenta. The buttercups blooming in the yard marked a gentle, agricultural touch compared to other residents that had theirs ravished in weeds and kids' bikes.

He unfastened his seatbelt, trying to rid his mind of warped thoughts and obviously, that wasn’t allowed. Because the next thing he knew, fingers were on his face.

Spencer’s eyes rounded, body gone rigid at the sensation of Izzy caressing his chin for a second. Once again, she looked unapologetic to his fluster. “With how scruffy you look most of the time, didn’t expect you could clean up well.”

It was a subtle nod to the fact he'd trimmed his overgrown bangs too, mostly since he had spare time after scraping off the shaving cream and he was resourceful enough with stationary scissors to trim out unbalanced ends. A vocal acknowledgment was not what he planned and it made the mention so much more enthralling. There was no way around it that the squeeze in his chest was pleasure. He was happy she noticed.

He still wanted her to touch him. Order him on how to present himself again and he was freaking out now.
All that came out was his cheeks growing redder and he swore, Izzy’s eyes darkened with it. She moved on ahead and he followed her to knock on the door.

It was quickly answered and they were revealed to a short, Hispanic woman sporting a tube top, which wasn’t something Spencer was accustom to seeing on women past their thirties. Technically, Speedos and chokers should’ve been out of the norm but the night shift at a tattoo studio catered to many eccentric clientele.

Needless to say, the woman didn’t seem to be the kind to flash it in public, even if her figure pulled it off by how she hastily slung on her cardigan falling past her shoulders at the sight of him. Vivid shock sprung in her eyes framed by square rimmed glasses, lenses even thicker than Beck’s.

Spencer had worn on a hoodie to cover his chest and sleeve tattoos, partnering it with a smile in hopes it waned any startle he invoked. Her eyes mellowed a fraction before finding Izzy and then they just melted. “Bella!” The woman gushed and pulled Izzy for a tight squeeze.

Spencer watched in pure fascination at how Izzy acted upon hugging her back, even initiating kisses on both cheeks. He could differentiate her sense of ease around others in comparison with Colleen but he'd never known there was a deeper level.

Even if he was left to be awkwardly standing at the shower of affection, he wished it hadn’t ended when it did. They were being ushered in, notably the woman looking much more welcoming as he stepped into the humble space.

“Apologies for my reaction earlier, I'm not used to Izzy bringing boys around. Or anyone in general, besides her girlfriend.”

“I’m not dating Colleen.” By Izzy’s tone, it sounded like she'd went over this a hundred times before.

“Yes, I can see that now.” Her eyes gleaming as they took in Spencer from head to toe. Despite her size, her grip was powerful as she took his hand to shake. “Wonderful to meet you, I'm Bella's favorite aunt, Doris.”

Spencer blinked there. Aunt? That had not been amongst his list of guesses, mostly on the fact that Doris was definitely of Hispanic descent and didn’t seem anywhere cold blooded enough to be related to Izzy.

Then again, the surname Montego sounded Spanish and when he took note of Doris’s hair bunched up in a bun, the thick, springy locks were so similar to Izzy’s own. Huh.

They probably were in fact blood relatives then. Spencer felt relieved the flare of disappointment that stirred lasted only for a moment.

The artistic touches were prevalent in the house; polished hardwood floors and crown molding to match the beige and white colour theme— he soon spotted a familiar set of dark drapes in the living room area. The exact teal curtains he and Izzy picked out at Home Depot. So she was the aunt Izzy was running all those errands for. To the extent of accepting his help.

Right. As sociopathic as Izzy behaved, that humanitarian side or her wasn’t an illusion. Which felt a lot easier to reason why he was still so hung up on her.

With how Doris was bouncing on the balls of her feet, you wouldn’t have guessed she was recovering from surgery. “I was actually about to call you,” Doris started to Izzy. “Joe said his shithead bosses are dragging him got another conference thing, so he had to cancel our reservations.” She huffed. “Would they just give him a goddamn break already? He's got a sick wife and kid.”

“And you'd probably be his dead wife now if not for those health benefits.”

Doris hissed something back at Izzy in her native tongue and Spencer's knowledge of Spanish was just the basics but he took a guess it was a curse word.

Izzy’s eyes flitted to Spencer for a moment. “Then I guess I'll just say hi to the girls and be on our way. They’re upstairs, right?”

“Ah, but you came all the way out here. Spencer’s not in any hurry, are you, honey?”

“Well—”

That was as far as he got out when he was outmatched by Doris bellowing like some banshee that he flinched a bit. “Sofia! Dakota! Get down here!” With the range in her pitch, it was quite certain the house next door heard it.

Almost immediately, the hurried light, footsteps could be heard above. Spencer veered his gaze to the staircase as small shadows stretched out on the walls. Glittery smiles and big, doe eyes appeared. They were two girls, one looking around ten years old who was patient in holding the younger ones hand as they descended the stairs.

Izzy didn’t bother to wait for them to reach the bottom and practically scooped them right up as they met halfway. He bore witness to that velvety softness in Izzy as she held them and exchanged hushed words that had them giggling. This playful, tender side of her was deeply endearing but at the same time, Spencer found it a bit too blinding.

So radiant as such, it casted onto those darker waves and envisions he had of her and Spencer felt a little sick that he got aroused at the colder, depraved side that might’ve been fake. He didn’t want it to be fake. What’s wrong with me?

“Spencer?”

He reeled from his thoughts to meet the light-hearted look on Doris’s face. He'd been caught gawking— hopefully, that was all he was doing and judging by the fact she wasn’t eyeing him weirdly, what was coursing through his mind wasn’t obvious.

“Yes?” He replied.

“I was saying, I was about to start preparing lunch. You'll join us?”

**

The older girl, Dakota, was Doris’s eleven year old daughter and matched her round face, but with tamer curls flattened with butterfly clips. The younger one, Sofia, didn’t need Spencer to take more than a look to see she was Izzy’s sister.

Sofia looked so much like Izzy. Same shiny, bronze tanned skin and heap of ebony curls, a little too pudgy to make out if she'd bear the sharp cheekbones but it was all so identical, save for any coldness. Any sardonic edge, or unrelenting detachment. Sofia was much like any other five year old; innocent and temptingly cuddlesome.

Sofia was scared stiff at the sight of Spencer, almost on the verge of tears, which wasn’t a reaction he was used to but not unheard of. Dakota was the one to kindly make an effort to chat while Izzy was pulled into the kitchen.

Gradually, Dakota’s insistency made Sofia ease up and soon she had abandoned her colouring books in favour of trying to fill in the gaps on Spencer when he'd absentmindedly rolled up a sleeve. Kids were usually something he was fine with and the purpose to babysit suited him just fine.

He could happily chip in to Dakota’s gossip about her classmates that were still picking their noises. Humour Sofia in trying to climb him like playground equipment for hours on end if need be but he'd find his attention straying to the kitchen.

The sweet aroma of what was being prepared had him attempting to steer over. He'd managed to catch Izzy laser focused on dicing vegetables and fuck, was it enchanting. Something about the girl and sharp objects was mesmerising. Unfortunately, Sofia got into eating the raw dough and he was forced to leave.

An hour in, there was apparently a scheduled session Doris let the girls use the tablet and one the device was handed out, the girls hurried off to a corner, Spencer completely forgotten.

“They'll be glued to that thing non-stop,” said Doris. “I can watch over them, I'm sure Izzy would appreciate you giving her a hand finishing up.” She nodded to the kitchen, the forbidden land with a knowing look.

It was blatant Doris assumed Spencer’s relationship with Izzy ran an intimate, normal course like that and he hadn’t bothered to correct it solely because Izzy threw him that look. The 'Shut up and just do as told' look, he was used to obeying it because he felt he hadn’t much choice. At least, that’s what he convinced himself.

The granite countertops were coated in flour, sweet spices filtered the air from the sauce pan and pots on the stove. Izzy was hauling out the tray of crescent shaped pastries, flaked and golden from the oven and smelt absolutely delicious. Her eyes caught his and she didn’t stop her motion to set them aside to cool down.

She steered over to collect the littered instruments and bowls to stick in the dishwasher. Certain ones she kept at the sink to manually wash, all while Spencer stood. If she wanted him gone, she would say it and purely ignoring him wasn’t a problem. He needed to drink in as much of her that he'd been deprived of, silence suited him just fine.

So he couldn’t believe it had been her to break it. “You’re awfully quiet.” Her back was turned as she lathered soap on a grater. “Was seeing my family that much of a shock?”

“… Yes, actually.” He'd earned a glance. Expression unreadable. “I expected the Addams family but they’re all so warm and normal. I thought I was getting pranked.”

Whatever burdened her stare lifted a bit. “You can ask about it. I'm sure you’re curious.”

An invitation to pry? Well, this was starting to seem really off. He couldn’t be too sure what to make of it. “… Why does your aunt call you Bella?”

There came a pause from Izzy which had him questioning if maybe he'd misunderstood her statement. Then, she said, “It’s just a nickname from a dumb story.”

“I’m sure it’s better than the ones I got in junior high. Haunts me to this day.” There was curiosity peeking through the dull gaze now.

Izzy drew out a sigh. “My parents argued about what my name would be, Isabella or Isadora— they went with both in the end.”

He hadn’t known what he was expecting but not that. “So wait. Your whole name is…?”

“Isadora Isabella Montego.” The fact that a name so outlandish enough to be in an SNL skit came out of the lips of a woman so tonally neutral, made it all the more a delight. “They still like to keep the debate for fun so those who wanted Isabella and the others— I don’t talk to them much.”

“Of course.” Very understandable. Dora was objectively a nice name but it wasn’t hard to guess Izzy had a harder time tolerating it.

“What’s yours then?”

“Hmm?”

Izzy fully turned to face him now. “Your nickname trauma story. Tell me.”

Spencer might’ve actually tried to deflect it under normal circumstances— he hadn’t imagined he would work up the nerve to bring it up on his own but the opportunity to know more about Izzy won over. Just the assertiveness in her tell me made him feel it was every bit necessary.

So he confessed the entire gym shorts incident to him to understand the origins. He always thought he'd loathe having to share it to someone but to observe that weighted darkness completely disappear on Izzy’s face into blatant amusement was his new, greatest accomplishment.

He'd have hoped for a smile but that could kill him. The corners of her lips were twitching a lot, enticing him to that edge. “… That… was precious.” It didn’t even sound mocking, every bit of her seemed to have genuinely enjoyed it. Just like the Izzy he knew and… liked so much for unfeasible reasons.

“But, you could’ve just lied though,” she said. “I mean, for all you know, I could’ve been making mine up.”

“Maybe. It’s kind of hard to believe you'd have a name so legendary and not be bragging about it.” That earned him an eye roll. “What you get from me is what you ask and nothing less— as agreed. You’re in charge.”

He said it without much thought, not anticipating it’d get a reaction. Much less, the intensity in the way Izzy was looking at him. It was ripe with some burning emotion he couldn’t dare to speak, nestled in his darkest fantasies.

Each sure step she took made the thumping in his chest more heightened to his senses and when she was close enough to reach, to catch her scent, his fingers twitched to touch. Izzy could tell— she always could but that usual gleam to his resilience was held back by something.

“And what do you hope to gain from playing along with it?” Izzy questioned, voice low as though if it were any louder, it break the trance she’d had over him. With one rubber gloved hand, she slipped it under his hoodie and lightly stroked his abdomen. The layer did nothing to stop the goosebumps spreading in the wake of the wet, soapy trails. “That I'll take up spending nights in your bed again? Having quickies against the couch?”

So that was it. Skepticism. Not uncommon with her, but Spencer couldn’t help but be surprised she’d think he had any power to hold anything over her. Sure, he still badly desired that intimacy. Preferably any hour of the day, if he could. “I’m not expecting that, Izzy. I want it but knowing what I want and being able to say it, is satisfying enough— that sounds really weird but, I've never really known how to be selfish like that.”

Izzy raised a brow. “That’s selfish to you?”

“I’m learning, alright? I'd more than welcome you to teach me.” There it was again. That sheer intensity flickering in her stare, biting down on her bottom lip. “I don’t just like you for your body. I'm sorry that wasn’t clear before and maybe at some time, I wished that was it because I must be pervert or something for being into this.”

“Obviously,” Izzy said without missing a beat. “… But I guess I'm included in that.”

Before Spencer could put together what that meant, he stiffened at her other hand joining in, the odd cold touch of something metallic bristle his skin. He hadn’t made note of it but Izzy never stowed away the wire wool she’d been scrubbing down a pot with.

She traced a circle around his navel, movement faster and harsher, working up a blistering friction of the metal coils against the skin. The heat circulating in the prickly, rough sensation made him suck in a sharp breath.

“Do you want me to lose this with the gloves and touch you?” She asked in a hoarse tone. “Say it and I'll do it.”

She picked up the pace even more, greedier and just about as aggressive. Making perfect knots, digging deeper. The back of his palm clamped around the edge of the countertop to keep him grounded once she was bordering to breech his boxers. He could feel the abused skin, peddling to tear; the brash heat hinting at bruising but with the accompany of some other growth rooting in his crotch.

Nothing about this was soothing or simple teasing, but God help him, it felt good. It hurt but it felt good knowing he had her attention. That she demanded it in the most despotic, raw sense that split white hot flashes of pleasure down his bones. If she wanted it, he wanted it too.

“You can just nod,” she goaded on. “Or even blink twice.”

Spencer held her gaze, steadfast and as earnest as he could be against the confinement. “Please don’t stop until you’re satisfied.”

Izzy immediately stilled. And Spencer broke into silent panic, questioning if he'd just screwed it up. Fuck, was this really all some prank? Maybe a trick to get him to back off? Or, had the idea meant to be he endured it in silence? He technically spoke against any of the options given.

Shit.

When she pulled her hand back, any pulsating warmth writhing turned cold and he braced himself for what he'd meet. He really couldn’t be sure what hit first; the shock or confusion in finding Izzy gazing at him in awe. Plush lips parted, eyes twinkling and her skin made it hard to see but he could’ve sworn, her expression seemed… flustered?

Spencer lost all comprehension on how to form words, that there were several seconds lapsed in his stupor and her transient state until the sound of the front door edging crashed in. There was the cheery voice of Doris, accompanied by two others. That seemed to jumpstart Izzy as her body tensed, the shine in her eyes burning out and she muttered something under her breath then moved to the sink.

At that, Spencer regained his speech. “Izzy, what—?”

The kitchen door swung open and he nearly jumped out of his skin. When finding the dainty smile belonging to Dakota beaming at him, he settled and tried to look as natural as possible. She dismissed him quickly to turn to her cousin calmly scrubbing down a sift. “Bella, Papi and uncle Edgar are here!”

Within the turn of her head, that tender visage was back on Izzy’s face. “I’ll be right there.”

One Dakota stepped out, back turned, Izzy let out a look of disgruntle and groaned.

“By uncle Edgar, does she mean…?”

“Yes.” Izzy ripped off the gloves. “Don’t say anything unnecessary. In fact, if he asks you more than three questions, stop answering.”

Spencer dutifully nodded and let her lead the way to the oncoming guests. Everybody was gathered in the entry hallway. There was a blonde haired man in a suit affectionately holding Doris by the waist and standing a good feet taller, was who Spencer guessed was dear uncle Edgar. On a first glance, there weren’t any obvious attributes to tie him to Izzy or Sofia, who was cradled in his arms. His stony face on an otherwise sublimely tanned complex didn’t yield much of any tenderness towards Sofia babbling at him with all the love in the world.

Edgar Montego was about as macho as his name suggested; thick, heavy set brows, chiseled jawline, superhero chin and a finely full mustache almost hiding his thin, terse lips. The leather jacket hardly concealed his brawny physique with the gold plating of his badge glaring off his belt.

Generally, there wasn’t much of a distinction other than the unique sense of pressure Spencer instantly felt. So much like when he first set his sights on Izzy and that steely gaze had evidently been inherited. The joyous, ambiance instantly stilled when their attention drew to him.

The blonde man, presumably Doris’s husband, seemed purely curious, brows hiked. Whereas Mr. Montego drew that classic narrowed glare Izzy would throw.

He set Sofia down to the carpet. “So you must be Isadora's friend.” By the strain in the last word and Doris’s eye roll, that probably wasn’t the term the woman had used.

Either way, Spencer put on a smile. “It’s very nice to meet you, sir.”

Mr. Montego didn’t return the sentiment. “I’m off duty, Edgar is just fine. I must say, when my sister was telling me Dora—” He caught Izzy grimace. “— brought somebody over, I didn’t know what to expect.”

Spencer let out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, seems to be the popular reaction.”

“You’re looking rather flushed. Everything alright?”

Yeah, just that your daughter was fondling me. “I’m good.”

“Am I putting you on edge?” If there was any hint of civility to the man's tone earlier, it was overtaken by the gruff, drill sergeant speech. Like he was seconds away from telling Spencer to start doing push-ups.

“Uh, no. Not at all.”

“Really? I reckon you should be.”

Spencer hadn’t the slightest clue what to say to that and thankfully, Izzy went to intervene. “Okay, Spencer’s got things to be doing so we’re leaving now.” She grabbed him by the wrist, hauling him to the door.

Doris was pouty, protesting to stay for dinner and Sofia started to tear up a bit, reaching for her sister. When passing by Mr. Montego, his dark eyes took in what Spencer only came to grasp was his fingers tightly interwoven with Izzy’s and Montego looked about ready to rip Spencer’s arm right off his body.

That didn’t happen. Instead, they were fleeting farewells from the girls and Doris, then the thud of the door shutting behind them. Izzy didn’t let go until she had to unlock her car door and Spencer climbed in to the passenger seat, a bundle of nerves.

“Well that was—”

Hot, eager lips came down hard on his, leaving him at a loss for a moment before gradually recoiling to respond to the ardent kisses. Past the instant head rush, his voice managed to surface above a moan, “Izzy, your dad might—”

“Shut up.”

So he did. It was possibly the easiest command to submit to, despite the inkling of dread that a certain cop would come storming in to wring Spencer's neck. Though, the risk might've been well worth it to encounter the taste of bliss again. And to such a degree unlike any other time to the former.

The kisses weren’t so much that in comparison to Izzy simply using Spencer’s mouth to indulge in whatever craze had possessed her. Pressing, prodding, nibbling and all round devour him on an incessant pattern. And with her knees tucked in his ribs, she’d squeeze to reel a desperate, nearly feral sound out of his throat.

She was… excited. He could practically feel the waves of it in the heat of her, luring him to take her in his arms. Run his fingers in her hair and enter inside her once again, be wholly and completely bound. It'd only been on three occasions but he felt like he was already going through withdrawal symptoms by the way he was trembling.

There was still that voice of caution she could likely just be toying with him again, maybe go as far as to pull his pants down and kick him out of the car. Contrarily, the scenario made him throb, aching in deep, dark cravings he'd never felt before. His hands were itching forward to touch but he hadn’t been given any notice she wanted him to. She seemed fully content sucking on his bottom lip like a horny teenager, taunting his hard-on to climaxing.

If she wanted it, she would say it. He considered using the seatbelt to shackle his wrists together if he couldn’t control it, when Izzy abruptly withdrew.

Her pupils were heavily dilated, darker than he'd ever seen them and her swift manner to push her curls out of her face was devastatingly coy. “Jesus, you’re too fucking cute. I don’t know what I'll do with you.” The words spurned in her lust lidded voice struck a violent shudder down his spine.

Spencer thickly swallowed.

“You can speak, it’s fine.” She slid off of him, settling into the driver’s seat but he hadn't a clue what to say now.

“… I,I think it’s better if I just get an Uber back. Your dad might think we're... y'know.”

“Like I could give two shits. I'd dry hump you on the dinner table in front of him. I just didn’t want you to have to put up with that tension. Or traumatising the kids.” She sounded frankly far too serious about that being her reasoning in the instance.

“How considerate of you. But, I still think you should go back. I feel bad for Doris and everyone.”

“I have lunch with them plenty of times, Spencer.”

“And you shouldn’t take that for granted.”

Izzy passed him a pointed look. “I’m not. And this sounds like you just want to get away from me.” Spencer let his silence answer that, guiltily hanging his head. She frowned. “What the fuck? I thought we— you had— did you not like it? Was... Was I pushing you too far?” Her voice scarily graveled, seeming to look worried she had actually harmed him in some way.

“No, I did,” he hastily said. “I mean, look.” He gestured to the immodest bulge in his pants. “I didn’t hate a second of it. Which is kind of a bit confusing for me right now. I'd like to just be on my own and get myself sorted out. Is that okay?”

“Of course.” He couldn’t help but be surprised at how she answered. Then again, Izzy should’ve known better than anyone what he was going through. She could understand and empathize, maybe there was some disappointment but whatever sort of attraction she had towards him, was probably what got her so worked up.

It may have been a bit early to deduce but Spencer was sure his feelings lied deep than their shared, perverse acts to get off on. So it was still one-sided though at least he had some leverage to have her keep him around.

Once the Uber was contacted and Spencer didn’t feel any relative tightness in his jeans, Izzy parked by a sidewalk for him to step out of the car. He offered a wave but she simply drove off.