Better than Sex (San Francisco Sex Gods #1)

Chapter 1

ONE

Spencer

There weren’t many rules to being a sex god, but rule number one was there for a reason. Don’t let the guy sleep over . It’s too intimate. The post-sex chemicals flooding your brain are likely to make you think cuddling is a good idea. Add alcohol to the mix and all bets are off. Worst case scenario: You pass out before you have a chance to send your hookup on his merry way.

Even before he opened his eyes, Spencer knew he’d broken this very important rule. He wasn’t alone in his bed. His hand was sandwiched between a man’s leg and his mattress, slowly going numb. Freeing it would no doubt wake up his sleeping bedfellow, and then he’d have a decision to make . Unceremoniously kick the guy out, or have sex again and then unceremoniously kick the guy out?

Sex seemed like the obvious choice. Who wouldn’t want to start the day with a good fuck? But morning sex – although great in theory – wasn’t always all that enticing. Too many unsexy realities to contend with. Pillow creases. Ratty hair. Stale sweat. Bad breath.

The sex last night had been good – fantastic, actually – but had it been good enough to put up with all that?

According to Spencer’s stiff dick, the answer was a resounding Yes .

He’d come to the moment of truth. His young, fresh-faced hookup was about to see him in the harsh light of morning, with no alcohol-induced haze to soften his rough edges.

Now, even at his worst, Spencer knew he was cute. Enviably cute, as a matter of fact, with a full head of sun-kissed, sandy-blond hair, eyes the color of melted chocolate, a killer jawline that was perpetually dusted with just the right amount of stubble, and a dick that was comfortably above average.

But a decade of late nights and heavy drinking was starting to catch up with him. Now that he was almost thirty, smile lines were forming at the corners of his eyes, and two shallow horizontal creases had taken up permanent residence on his forehead. When he indulged in his extensive skin care regimen and styled his hair just so, he could pass for a younger guy – almost as young as the guys he liked sleeping with. But this morning, he wouldn’t have a chance to slip to the bathroom undetected. Maybe that would work to his advantage. If he looked enough like the Crypt Keeper, the guy might run screaming and he’d be off the hook.

Spencer wrestled his hand free, and what’s-his-face stirred and stretched, his light blue eyes squinting against the sunlight that cast a golden glow over his delicate, boyish features. Fuzzy snippets of conversations about “catching waves” and the importance of sunscreen floated back into Spencer’s memory. That could only mean one thing.

I dub thee Surfer Twink.

With a broad grin, Surfer Twink ran his hand down his lithe, tanned body and gave his cock a few lazy strokes. He yawned and smacked his lips. “Hey.”

“Nope,” Spencer said, rolling toward the nightstand and returning with a small bottle. “Open.” When the guy dutifully opened his mouth, Spencer spritzed his tongue three times with peppermint breath spray. “Swish. Swallow.” He gave himself a few spritzes as well, and after a test sniff of Surfer Twink’s breath he propped himself up on his elbow. “Good morning.”

“G’Mornin’. I had fun last night.”

“Me too.” Spencer ran his hand through the young guy’s bleach-blond hair. “I have a proposition for you. If you think you can get us both off in fifteen minutes or less, we can go again. But then you have to get the hell out.”

The guy laughed and gave his dick a little shake. “Hop on.”

Spencer grabbed a condom and absentmindedly rolled it onto Surfer Twink’s cock. He slathered a liberal amount of lube on the guy’s dick, then tossed him the bottle. “You’re going to jerk me off while I ride you.”

“You got it!” The guy poured lube into his palm and waited for Spencer to get into position.

Still loose from the night before, Spencer easily slid onto the guy’s cock. Once he’d rolled his hips a few times to find just the right angle, Surfer Twink began stroking Spencer’s dick with a firm, skillful grip. Spencer closed his eyes and let out a groan of deep satisfaction. The lube was a bit cold, but the pressure of the guy’s hand and the smooth slide along his shaft were perfect.

It wasn’t long before they were bucking their hips in counterpoint, grinding and slamming together as they fucked faster and harder. Surfer Twink ran his hand down Spencer’s flushed chest. “I wish this could last forever.”

Spencer’s eyes snapped open and he stilled his hips. “What?”

Grimacing at the abrupt cessation of their sex, his hookup planted his feet on the mattress and tried to find the leverage to fuck up into Spencer, but all he could manage was a few unsatisfying thrusts. “I said I wish this could last forever. It feels really good.”

Relieved, Spencer started moving his hips again. Forever. That wasn’t going to happen, no matter how good the sex was.

“It feels amazing,” he agreed. “But we’re on the clock, remember? Fifteen minutes.” He batted Surfer Twink’s hand away and took over stroking himself, pinching one of his nipples while he bounced faster, desperate to get them both off as quickly as he could.

After a satisfying (but not earth-shattering) orgasm, Spencer threw on a pair of sweatpants and ambled into his living room, a room that hadn’t changed much since his dad first bought the place in the early 90s. It still had the leather, glass, and chrome furnishings his father’s interior designer once deemed appropriate for a youthful bachelor pad. Although Spencer replaced the outdated art when he took over the apartment, he didn’t have the wherewithal to completely redecorate.

Surfer Twink followed close behind, pulling on his tank top. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee drew them both in the direction of the small galley kitchen.

Xander, Spencer’s best friend and roommate, was lining up mugs on the waist-high island that separated the kitchen from the living room. Fresh from the shower, his damp black bangs clung to his forehead and a towel was knotted low on his hips. Xander never passed up an opportunity to flaunt his meticulously waxed chest. With his flawless, golden tan skin he inherited from his Spanish father and the muscles he’d sculpted through his work as a personal trainer, he saw no reason to be modest. He was hot and he knew it – which sometimes made him insufferable.

“I was wondering when you two were going to wrap things up,” Xander said as he poured a cup of coffee. He raised his eyebrows and smirked when he caught Surfer Twink staring with a glazed look in his eyes, letting his gaze track the length of Xander’s body until it came to rest on the visible bulge pressing against the towel. “Well, aren’t you adorable?”

Surfer Twink appeared to snap out of his cock-induced trance and settled onto one of the bar stools at the island. He took a sudden interest in smoothing the wrinkles out of his floral board shorts.

“Are you going to introduce me to your friend?” Xander asked.

Spencer pulled his mouth into a tight smile and gestured in Xander’s direction. “This is my roommate, Xander. And this is…” Spencer’s hand swung to his hookup and hovered in the air. He struggled to pull together the scattered memories of the night before. Shots of whiskey. Dancing. Loud club music with a deafening bass beat. Surfer Twink leaning over to shout his name into Spencer’s ear. “And this is, uh…” By some stroke of luck, a name popped into his head. “Roy.”

“Rory, actually.” Rory grinned, seemingly unfazed by Spencer’s gaffe, and extended his hand. “Nice meeting you, Xander.”

Xander shook his hand. “The pleasure is mine, Rory.” He carefully enunciated the two syllables of Rory’s name.

Roy. Rory. Spencer was impressed with how close he’d gotten but had to at least try to appear repentant about forgetting the guy’s name. “Sorry about that, Rory. It was loud in the club last night. I must have misheard you.”

“No worries. It was weird, though, when you called me Riley last night.”

Xander snorted.

“Why didn’t you correct me?”

Rory lowered his voice. “Your dick was in my mouth.”

Spencer massaged his temples. What’s the proper etiquette when you’re embarrassing yourself in front of a stranger and your roommate looks like he’s ready to explode from suppressing his glee? “Maybe it’s because you look like a Riley. Xander, doesn’t he look like a Riley?”

“I have no idea what a Riley looks like.” Xander took a sip of coffee, studying Rory appraisingly. “You look like a Todd.”

Rory brightened and stabbed his index finger in Xander’s direction. “That’s my middle name!”

“Really?”

Rory laughed. “No, not really. It’s Mitchell.”

Xander huffed out a chuckle. He got another mug out of the cupboard. “Would you like some coffee, Rory Mitchell?”

“Sure.” Rory rubbed his hands together excitedly.

Spencer placed his hand over the mug to stop Xander from filling it. “Actually, Riley – shit – Rory was on his way out. Isn’t that right, Rory?”

Rory raised his hands and laughed again. A sprightly, playful sound. If the second rule of being a sex god wasn’t Don’t hook up with the same guy more than once , Spencer might have enjoyed getting to know him better. “Okay, okay. I’ll get out of your hair.”

Spencer walked Rory to the door and held it open while he slipped on his flip-flops. “Maybe we can do this again sometime,” Rory said, leaning in for a kiss.

At the last second Spencer turned so that the kiss landed on his cheek. “Sure, maybe.”

Rory paused, his eyes scanning Spencer’s face. After a casual shrug, he took his baseball cap off the hook by the door. “Bye, Spencer. See you around.”

“Bye, Riley.”

“It’s Rory,” Rory called over his shoulder as he walked to the elevator with a spring in his step, whistling a cheery tune and donning his baseball cap with the brim to the back.

Spencer closed the door and pressed his forehead against the cool wood.

“Oh, I like him,” Xander said.

Spencer made his way back to the kitchen and slumped over the island. “Fuck you.”

Xander planted an exaggerated kiss on his cheek. “Aww. Love you too, man.”

Spencer smiled and playfully pushed Xander away. He loved his friend, even when he was being a snarky dick. Since the fateful night when they’d met as nineteen-year-old boys and pledged to rule the city as sex gods, they’d grown up together, supporting each other through successes and setbacks, happiness and heartache. Xander was the closest thing to a brother Spencer had ever known.

Xander plunked a cup in front of Spencer, filled it nearly to the brim with coffee, and stirred in two heaping teaspoons of sugar. “Drink up. You look like hell. How late were you up last night?”

“We passed out around three.”

“I have to say, I was a little surprised to see you had a guest. It’s been forever since you’ve had a guy sleep over.”

It was too early for their customary Sunday morning debriefing. A hangover headache throbbed behind Spencer’s eyes. “I guess I’m getting soft in my old age.”

“He was cute. Frat boy? Skater? No, wait.” Xander held up a finger, and his face broke into a smile that could only be described as maniacal. “He’s a surfer, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, surfer,” Spencer mumbled, before taking his first long swallow of coffee.

“You certainly have a type. If any more surfers took you for a ride, you’d have surf wax coming out of your pores.”

“Ha ha.”

Xander rested his forearms on the island. “So, gimme the tea. Did you let him stay because he ticked a box on your fuck-it list?”

“Nope.”

The fuck-it list was Spencer’s ambitious plan for making the most of his sexual prime – a carefully curated checklist of every sex act and fantasy he wanted to experience before he reached the ripe old age of thirty. “I only have one thing left to do, and Rory was definitely not a virgin.”

Being a gay man in San Francisco was like being the proverbial kid in a candy shop. Anything and everything you could possibly want was there for the taking – and Spencer wanted it all. When he and Xander came up with the rules for being a sex god, Spencer took rule number three as his personal motto: Try everything at least once.

In the ten years since he’d first written his fuck-it list, he’d done exactly that. He’d had sex in every conceivable position (including a few he was convinced he made up) and in every conceivable location. A hot tub. A dance floor. A streetcar. A leather swing in a bathhouse. He’d licked a guy’s armpits, and sucked a guy’s toes. He’d been tied up. Blindfolded. Handcuffed. Been in threeways. Fourways. Orgies.

He’d had hundreds of men in hundreds of ways. But with his preference for adventurous, promiscuous guys, there was one fantasy he had yet to experience – taking a guy’s virginity.

One fantasy, one little checkbox, was all that stood between Spencer and his dream of becoming a legend that could match – and top – any guy’s sexual bragging. And bedding a virgin? What better way to prove his sexual prowess than rocking some lucky guy’s world with the best lay of his life, the one that all his future fucks would be compared to?

It would be his crowning achievement. The only problem was finding a virginal man in San Francisco who’d choose to sleep with a man who, by gay standards, was over the hill.

“Wait,” Xander said. “You still haven’t slept with a virgin?”

“I’ve been saving the best for last.”

“Well, ticktock, motherfucker. You better get on that.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “It’s not that easy.”

“Isn’t it?”

“You try finding a virgin when you’re pushing thirty,” Spencer said, his voice rising. “Trust me, I’ve looked.”

“Where? The back room at the Manhole? They’re not there. I mean, one might wander back there, but he wouldn’t be a virgin for long.”

Spencer scoffed. “Dude. Not helping.”

Xander took a bite of a protein bar and mumbled with his mouth full. “I don’t understand why you put that one on the list in the first place, after everything that happened between you and—”

Spencer held up his hand. “Don’t speak his name in this apartment. I’m nothing like him. The circumstances will be totally different.” He heaved a sigh. “If it happens at all.”

“Look, Spence, don’t give up this close to the finish line. We still have a few weeks before your birthday. The guys and I will help you figure it out. We sex gods stick together, yeah?” Xander held his fist in front of him.

“Yeah.” Spencer gave Xander a listless fist bump.

“Okay, then.” Over Spencer’s protests, Xander took his coffee cup and emptied it into the sink. He pointed in the direction of Spencer’s bedroom. “Go. Get your narrow little ass in gear. I’ll text Blake and Quinn to let them know we’re running late because you were entertaining a gentleman caller.”

Spencer flipped Xander off and trudged back to his room. The combined smell of cum, whiskey, and day-old man hung heavy in the air. He opened his window to let in some fresh air and moved through the well-practiced routine of resetting his room after a hookup. Pick the comforter up off the floor. Strip the dirty sheets. Throw out the condom wrappers.

Wipe the slate clean, as if no one was ever there.

Spencer hauled the laundry into the bathroom and pushed it all into his hamper with a groan. His whole body ached. Gone were the nights where he could party until dawn and bounce back with a cup of coffee and two ibuprofen.

Leaning on the vanity and grimacing at his reflection, he gingerly patted the dark, puffy skin under his bloodshot eyes. God, he looked exhausted.

He imagined Rory coming up behind him and playfully nudging his shoulder while he reached for his toothbrush. “ Looks like somebody kept you up all night.” Rory smiled, his eyes twinkling. “You always look good to me, though. ”

Spencer dropped his gaze quickly and stared at the sink while he brushed his teeth. Being a carefree sex god was a lot of fun, but it had its downside. When sex is just a game, you always face the day alone.