Chapter 13

Chapter

Thirteen

Dr. Lucas Hamilton

I knew Sumner and I would be amazing together. I have never had such a strong response to anyone, male or female. He ticks every box for me, physical, intellectual, and emotional. I'm drawn to him as if predisposed by the fundamental laws of nature, by gravity and physics, and matter, and time.

I even like the way he smells at the end of a long day—like whisky and hard work and the lingering warmth of sweat. I tested our attraction out with a simple kiss on the stairs, but nothing could ever be simple between us. We've built up so much heat, I'm surprised we didn't burn the clinic down.

I'm normally not shy when I want someone. I don't see any reason for romantic games. But Sumner lives in a world, where homosexuality is still considered a mental illness. I don't want to shock him by coming onto him like we met at a Lady Gaga concert.

He's so delightfully shy . Even a bit coy. I can tell when he's surprised by the little shocked gasps he gives when I do something he doesn't expect. I want to hear every noise I can get him to make. I want his secrets to spool out for me so I can weave a tapestry of sensual pleasure for him.

I want to see his face when he comes.

"May I?" I ask before I touch his skin. He nods. The heat beneath my finger is infernal, his cock is rigid, and his cheeks are flushed. His eyes have lost focus. He looks shameless.

"Say it," I whisper. "Tell me I can touch your dick."

"Yes, Luke. Please, touch me." His lips curve into an uncertain smile.

"Thank God." I'd have to crawl away on all fours if he didn't want this. He's wearing his one-piece underwear. I make a production of unbuttoning the worn cotton fabric and revealing his salt and pepper chest hair, his strong, mature body, and a surprising number of scars.

I draw in a shocked breath. "You were wounded?'

"It was a minor incident. The Germans shelled the hell out of us. I caught some shrapnel."

I need to kiss each scar I see. Imbue each one with gratitude that this kind man, this good man made it home when so many didn't. My eyes are stinging when I look up at him. He combs his fingers through my hair as though he wants to comfort me . Christ. Are there really men like this? Men who give everything and keep on giving without asking for a single thing in return?

I move the fabric of his drawers aside. His cock springs free, hot and sticky at the tip. He's beautiful—larger than I expect and uncut—a column of pale cool skin with a plum-colored flush at the head. I give his cock an experimental pump with a loose fist, fascinated by the way my touch makes Sumner quiver for me.

"Oh, my." His back arches and his legs slide apart.

"This okay, sweetheart?"

"Yes." He's blushing. I can't stand it. He's so responsive. If I don't get to taste him soon, I'll die. I tug shirt and undershirt off his shoulders and move his drawers aside to give myself room, and I lick my lips in anticipation.

I look up at him. "May I taste you, Sumner?"

He draws his hands away. "Yes, Luke. Please."

I reach out and put his hands in my hair. Maybe he doesn't want to crush my head between them or choke me by going too deep, but I wouldn't mind. I don't second-guess my good fortune. His cock is beautiful. It's slick and ready for me. I start slowly, tonguing the tip and teasing the head from its hood, but I can't keep my hands off his balls. His pale inner thighs.

I leave damp kisses down his cock and move it aside to take one of his balls in my mouth. I love the fragrance of him, thick with arousal and hints of ivory soap and washing powder and that warmth that is Sumner. Just Sumner. Sweet and salty and robustly male.

I give my attention to his other ball and nuzzle his sac, carefully rubbing my fingers over his taint. He trembles and slides down with a groan that sounds like I dragged it from the very heart of darkness.

Oh, likes that.

I wonder what he's done in the past. Has it been hand jobs? Blow jobs? Has someone licked his taint and tongued his ass until he screams? Has he had a man's fingers inside him? A man's cock? Would he do that to me, if I asked nicely? Would he play with my ass and then sledgehammer me to the mattress?

My heart is beating so hard, I feel my pulse in my ears.

My face and neck are hot enough to fry an egg.

I go back to Sumner's cock and take my time licking and teasing before swallowing it down. His hips buck up and immediately, he retreats.

"Sorry…."

"Mm." I pull off. "That's all right. I want you to use me."

He swallows, and I start over. This time, his hands clasp my head, and his fingers dig into my hair. This time he stretches my lips, and I feel him in the back of my throat. Yes, that's it. Now I can drown him in a myriad of sensual pleasures while he pushes in and out of my mouth.

"God, Luke." His voice is a low growl that I feel in my balls. "I'm already close. You should?—"

Whatever he thinks I should do, it's lost when his cock thickens and a blast of hot cum hits the back of my throat. He lets out a grunt and goes from pulling to petting my hair. I take that as a signal that I should be gentle, but I'm still greedy for him. I milk his cock and swallow every drop until he pushes me back.

When I look up, he slow-blinks, like a contented cat. His eyes are fixed on me, his pupils large in the low light. I rest my head on one pale thigh and let my hand graze the other, up and down.

"I was rather too close off the mark." He shakes his head. "What must you think of me?"

"I think you're perfect." I tuck him in and start to fasten his buttons. "I think you're lovely. Was it all right?"

"At the very least, dearest." He lets his forearm fall over his eyes. Is he shy after he comes?

"Hey. Don't hide from me. You were beautiful." I sit up and prod his nearly boneless form to do his trousers up and put his vest and shirt to rights. There's something deeply gratifying about caring for him like this. It's pure and domestic and heartbreakingly sweet. I've never felt like pampering anyone ever. Except Sumner. I could pamper Sumner.

"You're a very clever man." He runs his finger down the side of my face.

"You sound like a fortune cookie." I kiss his finger. "Have you had one?"

"The folded wafers with a message inside? Yes. At a tea garden in San Francisco."

"We play a game whenever anyone gets a fortune cookie at work," I say. "You have to read it out loud and add in bed to the end."

"Hm. So yours would say, ‘You're a very clever man in bed?'"

"See? Cookies know me so well."

"What would mine say?"

I catch his hand and kiss his knuckles. "A mysterious stranger will pleasure you. In bed."

"God, I hope that one comes true." He pulls me close. "You were kind enough to see to my needs. What can I do for you?"

I'm fine, actually. Still hard, but not blue ball hard. I like knowing I took good care of Sumner. I don't need him to return the favor like someone is keeping score.

"You need your sleep."

He sits forward. "Bah, that's not fair."

"It doesn't have to be fair. I'm satisfied and happy. We share an exciting secret. I want to hold what happened close and think about how you make me feel. All right?"

"Of course, but are you sure?" Sumner's expression is soft and dreamy. "I still have a few tricks up my sleeve, you know."

"I'm sure you do." I rise and pull him up with me. "But I'm going to take this book downstairs and dream about you. In bed."

He laughs, but the humor doesn't reach his eyes.

"What is this?" he asks, motioning between us. "What are we doing?"

"I don't know what you're doing." Unexpected tears sting my eyes. I blink so they won't fall. "But I'm falling for you, Sumner."

"That's good, isn't it? If it's reciprocal?" He doesn't hide his joyful smile. He has no artifice at all.

"I'm so glad you feel the way I do. It's still complicated for me. So much of my life is somewhere else." So much of what makes me who I am is beyond my reach. It's terrifying.

Falling for Sumner, even knowing he's falling for me, doesn't take that pain away.

"Would you go back if you could?" He studies his folded hands.

"It would kill me, but yes. I'd want to stay here with you, but Sophie needs me more right now."

He cups my jaw with one hand. "Whatever you want from me, it's yours."

"I was so sure I'd wake up, and this will all have been a beautiful dream."

His breath caresses my cheek, "If it is, I don't want you to wake up."

I kiss the tip of his nose. "If it were only about you and me, I'd feel the same way."

"What we have is special. It could be everything." He kisses my forehead. "I don't have all the answers. I wish I did."

"Fuck the answers. I wish I knew the questions." I can't help leaning forward, planting my face in the reassuring homeliness of his vest.

He wraps his arms around me. "Hush, now. You'll be all right."

Sumner pets my hair until I feel safe and so very cared for, but I can't hide from my thoughts. In this time and place, we can't be who we are. We have to conceal what we mean to each other. I can't live like that. I want to take Sumner to a world where we're allowed to want this. To have this. But it's impossible.

Later, lying in my cot in the infirmary, I read and reread the same paragraph without focusing on it. My thoughts are all on this odd little town, and the clinic, and Sumner, and love.

I don't like being stuck in a past where everything I've worked to learn is science fiction. I don't want to live through the global events I know are coming. I won't do well in World War II, or Korea, or Viet Nam. I want my cell phone, and my Starbucks Nitro Brew. I want the internet.

I'm sick with fear for Sophie.

I've complained about reality television and the state of politics and fast food. Obviously, I didn't know what I had when I had it. I like Sumner. I more than like him. But is caring for someone enough to sustain me in a place that will never feel like home? I have all these questions. Some, we could talk about. Some, I can't share with Sumner. Sleep eludes me for over an hour. Fortunately, I know he keeps a bottle in the kitchen, and we left the cards there.

At some point in the past, they used to call Solitaire "Patience." As I'm laying out the cards to play, I realize that's one commodity I will probably never have. I sip my drink and begin to turn the cards. This is as familiar as anything I've done here. Red jack goes on the black queen. Move the pile over to the red king. On and on until I run out of possibilities and must shuffle the deck and begin again.

Like anyone else, I didn't get a choice of parents when I was born. And honestly, I didn't get a lot of choices after that. Not good ones. I liked having parents when they weren't angry with me. I liked having somewhere safe to live, getting an education, moving out on my own where my choices were less limited. All that happened one battle at a time.

But being here feels like starting from a Petrie dish. I need to navigate an entirely new system. I get murder hornets in my stomach when I imagine being forced to live here forever. To start with, I just committed a criminal act. My truth is considered a mental illness. I have nothing here: no family, no property, no job, no way to prove I even exist. I have a shirt, a pair of skinny trousers, good loafers, and a friend. A lover.

Sumner is amazing.

Sumner could be everything I've yearned for in a man and a partner. But the possibility of love can't compensate for losing everything. It can't make up for failing my daughter, even if it's technically not my fault. I don't know if I can stand starting over with nothing, even for love.

I scrape all the cards together to deal another hand of solitaire, and then I stare at them for a long time. Instead of laying out another hand, I turn off the kitchen light and drink whisky while I stare out the window and think of home.