Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Lord, have mercy. My application for sainthood damn well better be approved, and quickly. I headed the truck in the general direction of all the newer housing, figuring I could turn back around if needed once he gave me an actual address. Rainbow Cove was a little town. Eventually, we’d pass near his place, but it sure would help if he’d tell me where.
“Be a good boy.” The boy part slipped out. I’d recently discovered that a certain variety of younger guy tended to respond to the word, but I didn’t know Quinn’s kinks, and we weren’t in my bedroom. I was about to apologize when he made this happy little noise that went straight to my groin.
“That’s just it. I don’t want to be good with you. Maybe you should spank me. You’d be good at that, I bet.” He gave me another of those appraising looks, one I’d dearly like to receive under more sober circumstances.
The good doctor bringing up spanking was beyond intriguing, as was the way he reacted to me calling him boy. I wanted to know way more about what else he might like. But I also needed to be able to face my mirror in the morning.
“Look, Quinn. It’s late. If you want to revisit the subject of getting kinky when you’re sober, I would be more than down with talking.” He wouldn’t remember me saying that. And if he did, he’d be too embarrassed to ever bring it up. I knew all the words to this particular song. “But I’m not going to mess with you while you’re drunk. No way. So, let’s get you home.”
“You’re mean.” Pouting, he slumped back against the seat.
“When it keeps you safe, yup, I am.” My voice came out far snappier than I’d intended.
I concentrated on driving for a few moments and then took a deep breath before apologizing. “Sorry—”
Thump. I glanced up to see Quinn’s head fall against the window. His body had gone limp, and an honest-to-God snore wheezed from his parted lips.
“Quinn,” I said loudly.
No response. Now what? Was I supposed to keep driving around until he woke up?
“Fuck it. You’re sleeping at my place.” I headed north toward the lake and the small collection of homes surrounding it, including the one I was working on for my mom, who owned a number of lake-view rentals. At least there I could guarantee he’d be safe, and he’d have someone nearby when he inevitably got sick.
“I am?” Quinn sounded drowsy but intrigued.
“Sleep. Alone.” I kept my voice all stern since that apparently worked with him. “In the morning, I’ll make you my famous hangover cure, and you’ll thank me.”
I hoped, at least. And maybe sober we could revisit the topic of what sorts of kinky things he might be into. Damn how I wanted that, wanted him, although I wasn’t holding my breath.
“I’d thank you more if you fucked me,” Quinn announced right as I pulled into my driveway. He raised his hand, reaching for me, but I forced myself to ignore both the invitation and the way his touch made me shiver.
“You’re hell on my good intentions, Doc.” I parked, turned off the truck, and exited in a hurry. I needed to get him inside and myself in a cold shower. I rounded the truck and opened the passenger door.
“I don’t want to be Dr. Strauss right now. He’s boring. I want…” He tried to reach for me again and then stumbled as he climbed out of the truck.
It was just as well. I might be what he wanted right now, but he’d be back to being Dr. Strauss soon enough, and I’d still be the bar man with the rattly truck.
“Whoa. Easy there.” I steadied him before he could face-plant and then led him into the small house.
I’d only been working on this one a couple of weeks, so it was pretty sparse in terms of furniture and comforts. In the entryway, there was a case of bottled water I’d bought for a camping trip, so I fetched him a bottle before steering him toward the bedroom. “Start drinking this now. I’m gonna let you take the bed because it’s closer to the bathroom, and I’ve got a feeling you’re going to need that.”
“We could share.” His smile was a little sad. Yep. The teary stage was not far off. But comforting him would not end well for either of us.
“No, we couldn’t.”
“Such a mean Daddy.” He plopped down on the bed.
“Nah, I’m a nice one.”
Not that I would tell Quinn, but being nice could be a problem. The same young guys, who liked letting me call them boy and who had hookup app profiles advertising how much they wanted a Daddy in the bedroom, tended to ghost when they discovered that I was younger and more cuddly than they’d hoped.