Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

A fter plucking his earbuds away as he walked onto the front porch, Mack shook his head, spraying water in all directions. Of course, he had to time the furthest spot of his run to coincide with the thunderstorm. At least the lightning had arced far enough away he didn’t worry about getting struck.

“You’re soaked, Mack. You’re going to catch a terrible cold,” Onelia warned as she opened the door for him.

“I’m fine. Ah-choo!” Mack quickly attempted to cover his mouth when he suddenly sneezed. “Sorry, Onelia.”

“Fine, hmm?”

“Really, I never get sick,” Mack assured her. Everyone seemed to be coming down with the sniffles. Almost all his customers at Armando’s yesterday had coughed or blown their noses repeatedly.

“Go get in a hot shower before you get too chilled. I’ll put some chicken soup in your lunch for today,” Onelia told him.

“Thanks, Onelia. I think your soup could battle any germs and win,” he told the efficient housekeeper as she bustled away.

Running his hand over the back of his neck as he walked toward the bedroom, Mack tried to shrug off the weary feeling he’d battled during his run. It had taken all his energy to force himself out the door, and now he felt awful.

This was going to be a long day at work.

He forced himself past the enormous bed he enjoyed sleeping in with his Daddy. Grey let him decide where he wanted to sleep. The novelty of the racecar bed had worn off after a few nights. It was fun, but sprawling over Grey’s amazing mattress was the best. Or even better, sprawling over Grey. Now, he usually chose his racecar for naps and the king-size bed for long sleeps.

Mack smiled to himself as he stripped off his clothing. His Daddy always made sure he went to bed early enough for him to get plenty of snooze time even if play time happened as well. Mack really loved play time.

Once in the shower, he dunked his head under the spray and left it there. The heat made his aching forehead feel better. Only the knowledge that he needed to get dressed for work motivated him to finish showering.

Thank goodness he didn’t have to decide what to wear. Dressed in a white shirt and black slacks, he stepped into his comfortable shoes. They were probably the most expensive clothing item he owned. Well, other than his running shoes. Supportive footwear was a must whether he dashed around the restaurant for a long shift or raced around the neighborhood.

“I feel like crap,” he admitted to the room empty of everyone except his stuffies.

Shaking his head, Mack dragged himself out to tell Onelia he was leaving. Seeing the concern in her expression, he pulled himself straighter as he picked up the lunch she’d made for him. Chicken soup by the weight of it.

“Thank you, Onelia. This is just what I need.”

“I don’t think you should go to work, Mack. You don’t look good,” the housekeeper told him.

“I’ll be fine once I get there. They’ll never be able to find someone to take my shift at this late notice.”

“Mr. Grey isn’t going to be happy with your decision,” Onelia warned.

“I know. Between you and me, he’s a bit of a worrywart.”

Mack turned and started toward the door. His legs felt like weights were attached to them. Distracting himself from his misery as he walked to the bus stop, Mack imagined he was wrapped in Grey’s arms as they watched a movie on the large TV. Thank goodness his regular bus driver noticed him standing there and called the bus route number so he could scramble aboard.

He'd always had a professional self. The one he used to greet customers and take care of them throughout the meal. Mack was thankful he could hide his misery behind that persona.

Often when he left the dimmed light of the restaurant to go pick up food, Mack ran into someone in the brightness of the kitchen who remarked on his paleness or the feverish red patches on his cheeks. He made sure the customers couldn’t tell he wasn’t feeling well. Mack couldn’t fool his co-workers.

“Are you okay to work?” Armando himself asked.

“I’ll get through my shift, sir. Then I have the next two days off. I’ll be better by that time.”

When the post lunch slowdown hit about two, Mack took advantage of not having customers to sit and roll silverware for the evening rush. He disinfected his hands often with hand sanitizer to make sure he wouldn’t pass anything along to the customers. Trying not to breathe on anything was the hardest feat. His professional persona was practically worn out.

“Mack. Go home,” Armando ordered. “We have enough staff to make it through the afternoon and you look dead on your feet.”

“Thanks, Armando. I’m sorry. I’ll work a couple hours past my schedule next week for leaving you in a lurch,” Mack promised as he cleaned up his area.

“You won’t. Clock out and go home. You’re a good worker, Mack. You can call in sick every once in a while. I’m not going to fire you,” the restauranteur promised.

“Thanks, Armando,” Mack repeated with the last of his energy.

He headed for the time clock and checked out before sluggishly waving goodbye to those he saw on his way to the back door. Mack hoped he could make it up the steps into the bus. That seemed overwhelming.

“Mack?”

Grey’s voice had to be a mirage. He was in court today. Mack continued to place one plodding foot in front of the other.

Someone wrapped a warm arm around his waist, and he looked up to see Grey’s concerned face. He barely contained the “Daddy” that wanted to burst from his lips and instead said, “Hi. You shouldn’t get so close to me. I’ve got the crud.”

“I think you’ve got more than the crud, Mack. Let’s get you home,” Grey suggested.

Mack vaguely heard Grey calling his secretary and asking her to reschedule his afternoon meetings for a couple of hours. That arm around his waist absorbed more and more of his weight as they reached Grey’s car in the parking garage. He collapsed into the contoured seat and felt Grey wrap the seatbelt around his waist.

“Thanks, Daddy,” he whispered when Grey joined him in the car. Seconds later, he gave into the exhaustion blanketing him.

“Come on, Little boy. Let’s get you in bed.”

“I’ll just sleep here, Daddy,” Mack protested, snuggling into the seat as he refused to open his eyes.

“I don’t want to spank your bottom while you’re sick, but I will if necessary.”

“No spanking, Daddy.”

“Then let’s get out and you can get into bed with Poutine and Hops,” Grey suggested.

“I have Poutine,” Mack protested, reaching up to push his fingers through his messy bun. His eyes flew open to look at Grey. “I lost her. We have to go back.”

“Let’s go check inside. I think she’s there,” his Daddy told him.

“She’s going to be pissed. I always take her.”

“Poutine will forgive you. I bet she and Hops are having fun together,” Grey assured him.

“Or I lost her.”

Grey tugged him out of the car and supported him into the house and back toward the bedroom. Mack didn’t know how it happened, but a short time later, he was tucked into bed with Hops and Poutine. So thankful he hadn’t lost his best friend, Mack kissed the stuffed otter. To make sure Hops didn’t feel left out, he gave the kangaroo a kiss as well before closing his eyes.

He felt a cool hand on his forehead and pulled the covers closer around his neck. “No, Daddy.”

“Don’t tell your Daddy no, Little boy.”

Mack scrunched his nose but didn’t bother answering. He felt Grey’s presence disappear, and he turned onto his tummy to crash into sleep.

A cool breeze on his bare bottom made him wiggle away. He recognized Grey’s touch as the older man pressed a hand on his hip to hold him in place.

“Dr. Richards needs to know your temperature,” Grey explained.

“Oh.”

While he pondered who Dr. Richards was, he heard Grey open the jar of lubricant he kept in the nightstand.

“No sex, Daddy. I’m sick,” Mack reminded him.

“Definitely not, Little boy. I’m going to take your temperature.”

Mack opened his mouth, ready to get this over with so he could go to sleep. Grey wasn’t going to give up. He slammed his mouth shut with a click of his teeth when Grey lifted one of his buttocks to press a gob of lubricant into his bottom. Automatically, he tried to squirm away, but Grey held him firmly in place.

“Hold still, Mackie. Daddy’s getting you ready for the thermometer.”

“Not in my bottom,” Mack croaked. Even he could hear his voice was getting hoarser by the moment.

“All Littles have their temperature taken in their bottoms. I should have started checking for a fever days ago so this was familiar to you. We’ll start that from now on to make sure you stay healthy.”

Mack shook his head. He felt too bad to process all that, but he knew it didn’t sound like a good thing for him. That finger invading his bottom, combined with his illness, made it hard to concentrate. Even sick, his body responded to Grey’s skilled touch.

When the intimate caress withdrew, Mack protested, “No!”

“We’ll play when you are feeling better, Mackie. Now I need to check your temperature.”

A cold tube slid through that tight entrance despite Mack’s automatic attempts to block its passage. Grey pushed it in deeply before twirling and adjusting it even further inside. Mack shivered at the feel of the cold intruder.

“I don’t like this, Daddy,” he complained even as he felt his body continue to respond to the stimulation.

“Shhh, Mackie. Daddy’s taking care of you. Just a few minutes.”

He was almost asleep when he felt the thermometer slide from his bottom. Grey wiped the excess lubricant from his bottom before covering him with the soft bedding.

“Good boy. Go to sleep. I’ll call Dr. Richards and make an appointment for you so you can feel better.”

Mack felt a kiss on his temple before Grey moved away. He heard part of Grey’s conversation before his Daddy left the room.

“Matt? This is Grey Bradford. Do you, by chance, have time to see a Little boy this evening?”

“Thank you. He’s a keeper. Unfortunately, he’s not feeling well. A temperature of one hundred and…”