Not What it Seems by Nicky James

Eleven

River

The door to the room exploded inward so suddenly, I threw myself off the bed and hid on the far side, certain it was the police coming to arrest me. When it slammed shut a second later and Cyrus’s heaving, panting breaths echoed across the room, I poked my head out. The doctor was a mess. His tie was askew. His hair was sticking out in disarray—more so than usual—and his pale blue eyes were wild and haunted.

I stood, the urgent need to escape fading with his presence.

“That’s quite an entrance. I thought my heart stopped, but I won’t lie, I’m glad to see you. I kind of thought you’d abandon me.”

Cyrus’s frenzied gaze sought my face. He was delirious, and it seemed to take a full minute before he regained control. “I was going to leave. I didn’t want anything to do with you. Or this.” His brow wrinkled. He clawed at his neck, tearing his tie loose and leaving it to dangle. Next, he ripped a few buttons open at his collar and tipped his head back, smacking it against the door as he closed his eyes, chest heaving like he could finally breathe.

I wanted to ask how the interview went, but based on his appearance, I guessed not well. What had driven him to return? Why was he here if he didn’t want to be?

I gave him a second to calm down. Edging closer, approaching like he was a wild animal, I closed our distance. If I wanted the doctor’s help—and I needed it desperately—I had to be careful around him. He was already more than spooked. One wrong move and this would be over.

“Doc? What happened?”

His face pinched in what resembled pain. With a shaky hand, he fished inside his breast pocket and handed me a slip of paper. “I found it under the wiper blade of my car when I left New Horizon.”

I took the paper, and Cyrus sank to the floor, sitting with his knees drawn up, looking more and more vulnerable. Gone was the stoic doctor I’d met Monday. In his place was a distraught man who was unraveling fast.

I opened the paper and stared at the words, reading and rereading them as I absorbed their meaning. Someone out there knew I wasn’t guilty. They also knew I’d been targeted. And they suspected Cyrus knew where I was, or they wouldn’t have left this note. But who?

“C.J.? Who the fuck is C.J.?”

“Think, River. You aren’t stupid.”

I glared at the doctor before focusing on the signature. C.J.? Then it hit me, and the air left my lungs in a whoosh. “That’s not possible.”

“You said you saw her at the tree line. She was there at the institute, watching you. She was watching me. She knows something. Oh god, she knows I’m helping you.”

“My mother is dead.” I flung the paper back at Cyrus, retreating like I could escape the possibility. “It can’t have been her. I told you. I must have made a mistake. Whoever it was just looked like her. It was no one. I… I was stuck in that place too long. It was not her. It was—”

“I think you’re wrong. I think your mother is alive. C.J. Camilla Jenkins. Who else would bring you a warning?”

“I haven’t seen or talked to her in over a decade.” Shouting didn’t eliminate the fact that there was a penned note with her initials lying on the floor.

Our eyes clashed. The reality of what Cyrus had said tore at me. A part of me wanted to believe it. Another part of me was filled with rage. If my mother had been alive all this time, where had she been? Why had she not found me? Why had she let me believe she was dead and gone?

I had to sit down. Grappling for the bed, I fell onto the mattress, absorbing the idea, turning it around and around. If she was alive, if she’d written that note, then she knew something. I had to find her. Maybe she could help me clear my name. But how? Where? Why hadn’t she gone to the police?

My face was all over the news. There was no way I could do this without help. When I lifted my gaze, I found Cyrus watching me, resignation in his features.

“I think they suspect me,” he said before I could talk. “The detective was harsh. His questions were leading. Probing. My phone call to the station did me no favors.”

“Are you washing your hands of this? Of… me? Are you leaving?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. His lower lip trembled as he shook his head. “I can’t.” His words were drenched in emotion. “I can’t.”

Can’t stay or can’t go?

He didn’t elaborate. Cyrus kept repeating those two words over and over.

“If this is my mother, I have to find her. She knows something. Maybe she knows who did this to me.”

Cyrus scrubbed his face, ripping a hand through his hair. He slammed his head against the wooden door. I winced. “How?” Cyrus asked after a minute. “How do we find her? How does she know I helped you? Oh god, I’m in so much trouble.”

“I don’t think she knows for sure. It was a stab in the dark. She said, if you know where he is. We can find her. We’ll look. St. Thomas isn’t huge. Although I’d like to believe my mother has somehow managed to put her life together, chances are, she’s as big a mess now as she was years ago.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, she’s likely on the street. How she got here from London is anyone’s guess. If we figure out where the homeless gather in this city, I bet we’ll find her.”

Cyrus nodded but didn’t look any more reassured. After an uncomfortable pause where he tugged at his hair some more and worked himself into a bigger knot, he asked, “Am I looking for her alone? I mean, you can’t go out there. What if someone sees you?”

“We’ll go tonight after dark. I’ll stay out of sight and keep my face hidden as much as possible. You won’t know what she looks like.”

I knew it wasn’t the answer he wanted, but Cyrus nodded and picked himself up off the ground. His clothes were rumpled, his hair looked like it had been through a hurricane, and the stress lines marking his face were too many to count. He brushed his hands on his trousers as though tidying himself up and met my eyes. “We should lay low for the rest of the day. I’ll…” he glanced at the door, “go get us food.”

When he reached for the door handle, I chuckled. “Whoa there, bucko.”

He glanced back with a scowl. “What? We need to eat.”

I rose from the bed and approached, snagging his low-hanging tie and drawing him around to face me. “We do. But you look a mess right now. You’ll draw attention to yourself without meaning to. Come here, sexy.”

He didn’t argue. I took my time rebuttoning his shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles with my palm, and fixing his collar. Cyrus smelled like pine and spice and a mountain of stress. He was clammy, and his shirt was damp where he’d sweat himself into a puddle. He didn’t move or breathe as I pulled the knot on his tie tight and ensured it sat straight.

When I brought my hands to his hair, his lips parted, and his cheeks flushed. “W-what are you doing?”

“Fixing this disaster. It looks like we had an all-night fuck-fest. If I didn’t know the truth, I’d be jealous. Maybe try to keep your hands out of it for five minutes.”

I tamed his curls the best I could, bringing order to the chaos. Cyrus stood like a statue, his baby blues flitting all over my face.

“I’m not made to be a criminal,” he said after a time, his voice floating through the room.

“Me neither.”

“You’re much better at it than I am.”

“I’m used to thinking on my feet and going with the flow. It comes from a life growing up in foster care. Nothing was ever predictable. I never knew what tomorrow would bring. I got used to expecting the unexpected and rolling with it.”

A pinch appeared between Cyrus’s brows. “I’m sorry. That doesn’t sound pleasant at all.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about. It’s not your fault my mother was an addict and a prostitute.”

He ducked his chin, and I gave up trying to tame his hair.

“Are you going to be okay?” I asked.

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice. If you can’t do this, get your things together and go. I won’t be upset. I’ll understand.”

Cyrus lifted his chin and met my eyes. “But it will be easier with my help, right?”

“Yeah. A thousand times.”

“I’ll help you find your mother. Maybe… after… she can help you, and I can go home.”

A flash of disappointment rippled through me, but I shoved it aside. It was better than nothing. “Thank you.”

“What do you want to eat?” Cyrus asked, straightening.

“I’m easy. Get two of whatever you like.”

He moved to the door, but I put a gentle hand on his arm. “Any chance you can run into a store and get me something proper to wear? And shoes? Nothing fancy, but I have nothing.”

Cyrus’s attention moved to my feet and lingered. “Oh. Yeah. That makes sense.”

I wiggled my toes when he wouldn’t stop staring and chuckled. “You’re weird, Doc. Size eleven.”

“Right.” He snapped his gaze up and flushed. “Eleven. I’ll um…” He thumbed over his shoulder. “Be back shortly.”

* * *

Cyrus didn’t return for over an hour. He had two large shopping bags slung over one arm and a buffet of Chinese food in a large brown paper bag balanced in the other. Somehow, he also carried an assortment of soft drinks, juices, and water bottles in a cup caddy.

“I didn’t know what you liked. If this isn’t good enough, I can—”

“It’s fantastic. Are you kidding? I’m starving.”

For a moment, Cyrus seemed skeptical, like he was expecting me to complain about what he’d brought. I unpacked the containers of food while he watched, his body rigid, his gaze wary.

“Relax. This is great. I mean it.” I spread the containers of food across the bed, handing him a paper-wrapped set of chopsticks. “I love Chinese food. I love all food. It wouldn’t have mattered what you bought. Seriously. You’re so tense. Chill.”

“Okay. Good.” His shoulders came down a few inches.

He set the shopping bags aside and kicked off his shoes. Pointing at the bags, he said, “The clothing isn’t anything special. It’s from Walmart. I stuck with sports pants and such since I didn’t know your waist size, and I know that probably isn’t what you wanted, but I figured it was safer than—”

I pressed a finger to his lips. “It will be fine. I’m not worried. Stop fretting. You did great.”

He blinked a few times, still acting like he was waiting for me to have an issue with something. I tugged his tie loose, yanked it over his head, and tossed it aside with a wink. “Come on, hot stuff. Let’s eat.”

He stared at the spread across the bed and tugged at his hair a moment. The man had all kinds of nervous tells. The hair tugging was excessive, although I wasn’t about to complain about a more disheveled Cyrus. I liked it. I remembered the debauched look he’d worn after a few good orgasms. Oddly enough, for a hookup that had happened months ago, I remembered a heck of a lot about those three nights.

Maybe it had to do with the two whole days in between that I tried hard not to think about.

Cyrus sat beside me, and I handed him a plate. While I filled my own with a few options, he undid the top few buttons on his dress shirt. Only then did the anxious creases on his brow fade. His clothing seemed to contribute to his stuffiness. I wanted to tell him to take it off, to eat in underwear and a T-shirt if it helped him feel better, but I knew he wouldn’t.

I leaned against the headboard, one leg tucked under my ass, the other stretched long across the side of the bed. Cyrus filled his plate and sat opposite me. We ate in silence, and I took the opportunity to examine the doctor. He took small bites of food, chewing for a long time before swallowing. Using his napkin, he dabbed his lips between every bite.

“Do you have any siblings?” I asked. We hadn’t delved into those topics during the weekend we’d spent together in May. “I know your parents are still around since you had a shouting match conversation with them this morning, but what about brothers and sisters?”

He shook his head, emptied his mouth, blotted a napkin against his lips, then answered. “No. No siblings. My parents had me late in life. I’m an only child.”

And doted upon no doubt. He had that air about him. What did they call it? An umbrella child? His mother probably shadowed him every step of his growing up, ensuring no harm came to her precious boy.

Cyrus ducked his chin and continued to eat. So much for opening the lines of communication.

“Tell me what the cops said,” I tried.

Cyrus caught my eye, looked away, shifted his position slightly, then told me everything that had happened at New Horizon.

“I was a wreck. The amount of flop sweat dripping down my face was a dead giveaway. The detective wasn’t fooled. He told me they would be reviewing the camera feeds, and he’d be in touch. I’m sure that’s code for, we’re onto you.”

“He has nothing. He knows he has nothing. The police resort to scare tactics to see if someone will crack. They’ll do that with everyone.”

“I almost did crack. He asked me why I called the station. Without explaining my trip to the morgue, my suspicions were weak and unfounded. I kept leaning on the patient doctor confidentiality response. If he decides to get a warrant, I’m screwed. I didn’t document our sessions like I was supposed to. I didn’t know how. I wasn’t supposed to know you. I was compromised from the second I walked into the room.”

“He won’t get a warrant. Don’t worry about that. They’ll be too busy digging into other people at the hospital. You’re low on the suspect list.”

Cyrus sighed. “Why are you so sure?”

I wasn’t, but I couldn’t tell him that. My best bet was to play down Cyrus’s worries or else he was bound to turn himself in or vanish before I got anywhere.

“Don’t worry about things that haven’t happened yet. Focus on the present.” I tapped his leg with my foot, wanting him to look up so I could give him a reassuring smile.

He glanced at where I made contact instead. For a moment, Cyrus seemed to drift into his own little world. He stared at my foot, the fingers holding his chopsticks twitching.

“Hello? Earth to Cyrus.”

He snapped his head up, horror and guilt swimming in the pools of his blue eyes. “What?”

“You were far away. Where did you go?”

“Nowhere.” He set his empty plate aside and repacked the food containers, his cheeks pink.

I handed him my empty plate, and he tossed it into the garbage along with his. Once he’d stuck as much food as he could into the mini-fridge, he relieved himself of his button-up, leaving him in a plain white undershirt. I wanted to tell him not to stop there, but I bit my tongue.

He sat back down, keeping his distance by remaining at the other end of the bed.

“We have a lot of hours to kill,” he said.

“We do. Want to make a few fake reports in case they’re needed? Would that help you feel better?”

“No.”

“How about a couple of rounds of sweaty, intense sex? I know that would make me feel better.”

“Stop.”

I laughed. “It was a joke.”

“We should make a plan. I’ve put my career on the line for you, so how are we going to prove you’re innocent? Where do we begin?” Cyrus was focused on my extended foot. Either he was adamantly avoiding eye contact, or he had a foot thing.

“I think our plan depends on whether we find my mother or not. If that was my mother who left the note.”

“It was. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Except it doesn’t.”

Cyrus glanced up, assessing me once before returning his focus to my foot.

I rocked it back and forth, curious if he’d follow the motion. He did. When I wiggled my toes, he took his bottom lip in his teeth.

I readjusted my ass, feigning discomfort as I subtly moved my foot closer to his crossed legs. He kept studying it, completely absorbed and oblivious that I was noting it all.

I tried hard not to smile or comment.

“What are your ideas, Doc?”

He frowned and popped his lip from his teeth, wetting them with a languid draw of his tongue. “Um…” His gaze came up. “I think if we don’t find your mother tonight, we should head to London and question some prostitutes in that area, see if anyone remembers seeing those girls with anyone in particular.”

“Sure. That might be a long shot.”

“Maybe.”

I angled my foot so my toes brushed his leg, and Cyrus’s focus was drawn down again. I expected him to move away, but he didn’t. Surprising me, he placed a hand on top, his touch soft but the gesture more confident than any other he’d displayed since we’d reconnected. He moved his hand up and down in a gentle caress, climbing my shin a short way before gliding down again, stopping at my toes.

My skin buzzed. I stayed quiet, watching him. He was utterly mesmerized.

He continued stroking my leg and foot, so focused on what he was doing, I feared the slightest reaction from me might stop the whole thing.

After journeying up and down a few times, his second hand got involved, and it turned from a gentle, explorative touch to a foot massage. Only once did his baby blues peek up like they were asking permission or waiting for me to stop him.

Our eyes clashed. A sizzle of heat stared back at me, and it simmered my blood to life.

I stayed quiet.

While locked on each other, Cyrus pressed harder into the tight muscle along the arch of my foot, and I groaned. A twisted little smile touched his lips with the sound, and he did it again. And a third time.

“Your nothing but a cock tease.”

“I’m giving you a foot massage. What does that have to do with sex?”

“Oh yeah?” Another deep muscle press, and my eyes fluttered closed on another groan. “Just a friendly foot massage. Right. Nothing sexual about that at all.”

Cyrus worked me with skill, and I melted into a puddle of goo, groaning freely every time he focused on a particular area that was tight.

When a warm wet mouth circled my big toe, I yelped, popping my eyes open. Cyrus had been expecting the reaction. He had a firm hold on my ankle, preventing me from tugging my foot away. His tongue moved around my toe before he sucked it, and I squealed, arching my back, doing all I could to get free.

“Oh my fucking god. That is the weirdest sensation ever.” I squirmed and tried to dislodge him, laughing and bucking while trying not to kick him in the face. “Stop, stop, stop. Oh my god, stop.”

Cyrus pulled off and laughed too, giving me my foot back.

“Gross.” I wiped my wet toe on the bed, which only made him laugh more. It was that same unbidden laughter I’d heard briefly at the hospital. The free-spirited one that had caught me off guard, and despite the oddity of his actions, I was enraptured by it.

“You’re a freak. You know that, right?”

“You have sexy toes. I couldn’t help it.”

“Toes can’t be sexy. They aren’t sexy. I can’t believe you sucked my toe.”

Cyrus licked his lips, his smile radiant. “You didn’t like it?” He shrugged. “That’s fine. Grant thought it was weird too. He was more of an asshole about it, though.”

I sobered, extending my leg again and resting my foot in Cyrus’s lap. “Would that be the ex?”

He nodded, glancing down at my foot, a debate forming on his face as he seemed to decide whether it was safe to resume the massage or not.

“Go ahead. No toe sucking.”

Disappointment crossed his face, but it was gone so fast I couldn’t decide if I’d imagined it. Cyrus took my foot between his hands and worked the muscles with the skill of a masseuse. A pinch remained between his brows, and his mind seemed far away.

“Want to talk about him?”

“God no.”

“I don’t mind.”

“It’s fine.”

“How long has it been over?”

“Two years.”

“Two years. And was I…” I left the question hanging.

“I don’t want to talk about that either. I’m pathetic. I get it. Who goes to a bar as a forty-five-year-old man with the expectation of finding a relationship-quality man amongst a bunch of twenty-year-olds?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Me, that’s who. I was an idiot.”

“No you aren’t. But you won’t find your soulmate at the bar. Not that bar. You’ll find guys like me who can’t give you what you need.”

He pressed his lips together and focused on my foot for a long time.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings when I stopped texting.”

“Just drop it. I’m embarrassed enough. It’s my own fault for expecting more from a hookup. I was classic clingy Cyrus as Grant would put it.” He laughed humorlessly. “Clearly I had no idea how one-night stands worked. I mean, I gave you my real name. Mistake number one. Who knew I was supposed to lie?”

“A lot of guys give their real name.”

“Just drop it.”

You’re the one talking about it, I wanted to say.

He shifted my foot aside and took the other into his lap, working it the same way. It felt good, and the more he massaged, the more I relaxed. But I couldn’t deny the effect it was having on me. My blood ran hot through my veins, and my cock was half-hard. What did a foot massage have to do with sex? Man, this guy was clueless.

Cyrus was focused on what he was doing. There were no more playful glances. The pinched expression on his face bothered me more and more the longer it remained. He was hard on himself. To the extreme. And I’d hurt his feelings. Before the strangeness of having my toe sucked and breaking out into a fit of giggles ruining the moment, Cyrus seemed to have been taking a step forward. Advancing, despite his claim that we shouldn’t start anything again.

And I’d unintentionally shut it down.

He was embarrassed, ashamed. The doc had a foot fetish—that much was clear—and I got the feeling he’d been made fun of in the past for it by the ex, Grant.

And I’d perpetuated it with my reaction and comments. I wasn’t the kind of person who insulted other people’s kinks. It was weird, sure, but I could tolerate it.

“Go ahead. Use your tongue again,” I whispered. “Just… don’t suck this time. That felt weird. I’m a bit ticklish.”

Cyrus lifted his gaze. Heat filled his cheeks, but desire blazed in his eyes. His lips were rosy and parted. He wavered, unsure.

“Come on, Doc. Do it. I know you liked it. I don’t want to accidentally kick you in the face, so seriously, no sucking. My toes,” I added. “If you wanna suck my dick, I’m game.”

He nodded. It was fast and clipped. Cyrus moved my foot off his lap and lay across the end of the bed, one hand roaming up and down my leg again, making the hairs stand on end as he stared hungrily at my bare feet.

God, this was weird. Of course, he couldn’t suck my dick like a normal guy. He went straight for the toes.

I braced myself for the odd sensation, ready so I wouldn’t jerk away or laugh.

Cyrus wet his lips before licking a path up the arch of one foot. He watched me the whole time, and I knew he was waiting for a negative reaction.

I couldn’t help tensing and grinning. I was ticklish, and it agitated those sensitive nerves in my foot. Cyrus seemed to be waiting for a response, so I nodded, silently encouraging him to keep going.

He flicked his tongue once along each toe, from big to small, then back. The horrible urge to laugh and jerk my foot away passed, and I closed my eyes and let the odd sensation wrap around me.

It was surprisingly erotic.

When Cyrus saw I wasn’t stopping him, he took his time, licking a wet path around each toe, scraping his teeth once—which made me jerk unintentionally.

Then his wet mouth was on my other foot, giving it the same attention.

Then he was planting open-mouthed kisses up my calf.

I opened my eyes and was engulfed by blazing blue flames as he moved up my body.

He nipped the inside of my thigh, right below the hem of my shorts, and my cock pulsed, pressing against the fabric. He moved higher, staring at the obvious mound of my erection, licking his lips before shoving the T-shirt higher and continuing his oral assault over my abdomen. I remembered how eager he was to please. How invested he got in foreplay.

The way he’d peer up at me when he blew me, hungry for approval.

I snagged the fabric of Cyrus’s undershirt and tugged it over his head, tossing it aside. While he dipped his tongue into my belly button, swirling and circling around the edges, I raked my nails over the hard plane of his back.

“You’re so hot. Come here,” I whispered, not wanting to break the moment.

He climbed the rest of the way up my body, then his rosy, wet mouth was on mine, our tongues clashing together. He tugged my shirt up and off. Cyrus straddled my waist, his ass grinding my erection as he rocked. He was just as aroused, the hard line of his length stabbing my abdomen.

I had the worst feeling that he’d hate himself for caving later, but I didn’t want to stop the momentum. Panting, he ravished my mouth with elevated hunger. Cyrus whimpered and thrust his hips, grinding against me. He was so vocal and raw in bed. I loved it.

I wanted to be buried balls deep in his ass. I wanted to revisit those uninhibited moans and watch as he came undone beneath me.

But he broke from my mouth and ruined the fantasy with five simple words. “I don’t have a condom.”

I didn’t let it trip me up. His bruised mouth and the flash of worry behind his baby blues made him all the more enticing. Swiping a thumb over his swollen bottom lip, I smirked.

“Then I guess you’ll have to put this pretty mouth to good use. I have a stellar memory, Doc, and you give amazing head.”

Something sparkled in his eyes at the compliment. Cyrus nodded, wet his lips, and slipped down my body again.

The shorts he’d given me to wear were form-fitting and didn’t hide my bulge. He stared as he took hold of the waistband and drew them down over my cock.

I lifted my hips, encouraging him to take them all the way off.

Nestled between my legs, Cyrus took a long time assessing what he was about to do, mapping every inch of my length. Then he started at the base and drew a path with his tongue from root to tip. The whole time, he looked me in the eyes.

I groaned. “You’re such a fucking tease.”

He grinned and licked me again, deliberately slower.

I threaded my fingers through his wild curls and brought his pouty lips to my tip, holding him there. “You wanted to suck something earlier. Now’s your chance, hotshot.”

Cyrus started with a teasing swipe of his tongue, but he didn’t make me suffer. In less than a heartbeat, he wrapped his gorgeous lips around my head and took me down his throat.

I cried out, throwing my head back and pinching my eyes closed at the sensation. “Ah… that’s it. So fucking good. Oh my god, your mouth is everything.”

He hummed and set a torturously slow rhythm, sucking me in, swirling his tongue around my base and slowly drawing me out again.

My fingers tightened in his hair, and it took all my self-control not to fuck his throat good and hard. He was amazing. Cyrus seemed to have this innate desire to please, to be perfect at everything he did. He feared failure. There was something about the constant need for approval that made him try harder.

I guided his mouth over my length, grunting each time he gave a bit of suction. The way he dipped his tongue into my slit at the top and hummed his approval when he earned himself a taste of precum was everything.

“You like that? You like sucking cock?”

He nodded, licking me again.

“Want me to shoot my load down your throat?”

Another nod.

“Show me what you’ve got.”

In that eager-to-please way he had, Cyrus went to town. The wet slurping sounds that filled the room were music to my ears. My legs vibrated with the ramped-up intensity, and before I could warn him, I was coming. Holding his head in place, I shoved as far down his throat as I could and cried out.

Cyrus choked and sputtered but fought to take every drop without trying to get free. When the pleasure ebbed, I released my tight grip on his hair and petted it back off his face as he came up for air.

His lips were even redder and more swollen than before, but he was smiling as he swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“God, you’re amazing. Where’d you learn to suck cock like that?” I tugged him up so he was lying beside me.

He shrugged, not answering.

He still wore his trousers, but the tenting fabric showed just how aroused he was.

“Take your pants off.”

He did.

Eagerly.

His hand found his straining erection as he lay back down, and he gave himself a few strokes.

“How close are you?”

“So close.”

“What do you want?”

His cheeks took on color.

“Tell me, Doc. Now’s not the time for shyness.”

“Will you… Can you…” Then quieter, “Eat my ass?”

I chuckled. “Such a little slut.”

Before he grew ashamed of his request or changed his mind, I shoved his knees back and examined my destination. “Such a nice pucker. I wish we had a condom. I’d fuck you so good right now.”

Cyrus whimpered and closed his eyes, his hand moving over his cock with enough intention he was going to make himself come before I got down to business.

Knowing my time was precious, I circled his hole with my tongue once, then twice, before plunging the tip inside. Cyrus bucked and whined, his hand flying, his hips arching off the bed as he chased the building sensation. I fucked him with my tongue as he let out a long string of yes, yes, yeses and mores, and oh gods, and fucks.

Then he screamed as thick ribbons of cum painted his chest. I kept up the assault on his ass, sucking his pucker and delving as deep as I could go until he shoved me away, panting, “Too much. Stop.”

I chuckled, crawled up his limp body, and pecked his lips. “See? Now the thoroughly debauched look makes sense.”

Cyrus couldn’t stop smiling, but he covered his face with an arm, trying to hide. I got the sense the doc was easily embarrassed too. During the weekend we’d shared before, I hadn’t noticed, but he’d been more of a stranger then.

I flopped down beside him, wondering how long it would be until Cyrus decided he’d made a huge mistake and was leaving.