13. John

CHAPTER 13

JOHN

We were the worst fucking first-time PI's in the business. I'd gotten so distracted by Brent and his amazing dick sucking skills that we'd completely missed every car in the parking lot had left.

"We can't do that again. At least not while we're supposed to be working."

"We're not PI's. We're security specialists. There's a difference."

I sighed as I made the turn to get back on I-280 to head north to our hotel. "We had one job. And we failed in our mission, soldier."

Reaching over, he rubbed his hand over my thigh. "Relax, John. It'll be fine. We'll get what we need tomorrow."

Nodding, I kept my eyes on the road while his heat radiated through my pants, doing crazy things to my heart. I needed to change the subject before he slipped his hand away.

"How did you convince GQ to book us at The Hotel Castro ? Or do I want to know?"

Brent smiled and patted my thigh. "I told him we needed to be in the middle of the action if we had to spend the day hunting down Turner. We were lucky as hell that they had availability. It only has twelve rooms."

"Really? It was that easy?"

"He's a stand-up guy. Since he's all loved up with Dom and Livie, he does whatever he can to make us happy. Now that Dare's married, I guess it's about me. That now means you too."

He removed his hand and sat up to get his phone. "Gotta check us in using the App."

Brent took care of the room as I took exit 52 from the interstate onto Diamond Street.

As we drove north up and down the iconic hilly terrain in San Francisco, the bay came into view from atop a hill. The neighborhood was filled with old and new family homes that sat side by side, sharing a common wall, sandwiched together with no space between. It made me anxious just looking at all the cars parallel parked on the street.

"Okay, we're checked in," he said, drawing my attention to him. "But you're not gonna be happy, hubs."

I grinned at his nickname as I glanced over and gestured toward the houses. "Why? And could you imagine living that close to your neighbors?"

"The only room available has two twin beds." He glanced over at the passing houses after dropping that bomb. "Holy fuck that's close."

I laughed. "Very little yard work to do. That could be a plus."

"But what if the walls are thin? I wouldn't want my neighbors to hear me railing someone."

"True," I replied, not mentioning the only railing in his future would be with me. I'd let him have a turn at my ass if he wanted it.

"You are loud when you beg. I'm going to have to find a way to shut you up. Might have to find a toy store close by."

"Last time I checked, there were 576. And I'm not any louder than you. We'll make a video and see who's the loudest."

Smirking at this outrageous conversation and how he knew that odd piece of trivia, I made the turn onto 18th Street. "So you want to make a sex tape. I guess we could do that."

Pulling up to the modern-looking hotel that sat on the left, I parallel parked on the street close to the entrance. When we got out, I grabbed my bag and automatically reached for his. "Looks like they have a terrace."

"Yeah, they do. I'll take you up there tonight."

Following Brent to the door, he pulled it open, then held it for me to enter ahead of him. I smiled at the gesture he probably didn't realize he was making.

"Age before beauty," he teased, winking at me.

"Smartass," I mumbled, trying not to smile.

We passed the Lobby Bar and took the stairs to our room. As promised, two single beds sat inside the originally decorated space. Its vibe was perfectly San Francisco, and the shower was more than large enough for two.

Tossing our bags on the other bed, I leaned down to test the firmness of the mattress. I chose the one against the wall, because it would keep one of us from falling out. He just thought we weren't going to share a bed.

"What's the plan?" I asked as he grinned down at his phone. I was almost afraid to hear his answer.

"Hell, yeah! Tonight is Underwear Night at my favorite club. You up to grab some dinner, and head over there?"

I held up my hand. "Wait. What exactly does that mean?"

That beautiful grin I was falling for took over his face. "We strip down to nothing but our underwear. And I brought some of my favorites. They're so barely there we could probably fuck on the dance floor."

I was going to have a heart attack. "We are not fucking on the dance floor. We can stay here for that."

Later that evening we walked around the neighborhood and grabbed dinner before heading to the club. The music was loud, and the bass was thumping, but we didn't last long. Our night in the Castro came to a screeching halt with one look.

Everything was fine as we danced to the pulsing beat of S&M by Rihanna. Hot and sweaty half-naked bodies rubbed against one another, but Brent was in my arms, bumping and grinding on me on the dance floor. We got lost in the music, our hands roaming all over each other.

I had my hands on his ass pressing his erect shaft next to mine. When the music morphed into Diamonds by Rihanna , it was impossible to stop myself from devouring his mouth. Brent was with me until I felt the first cramp hit his abdomen.

Pulling back, I took his face in my hands and looked into his eyes. His brows shot up as his hand left my hip and went to his stomach.

Leaning in to speak directly into his ear, I quickly developed a new plan. "Let's get some air."

He nodded as another cramp hit him. "John…"

I grabbed his hand and led him from the floor. With my free hand I pulled out my wallet and fished out a fifty. As luck would have it, I found our server taking an order at a table on the edge of the dance floor.

I tapped him on the shoulder and handed him the money. "We've got to go. My husband isn't feeling well. Will this cover it?"

One look at Brent told him what he needed to know. "Yes, thank you. Go, go.."

I drug him out the door, thankful as fuck we weren't in our underwear yet, and into the cool evening air. We were only four blocks from the hotel, but I flagged a taxi down anyway.

"I can make —"

"No," I barked, opening the door. "We're taking a taxi."

Brent slid in as I gave the address to the driver. "Can you step on it? There's a big tip in it for you if you hurry."

The man's eyes widened with a knowing smile, but the grunt and groan from Brent were misinterpreted. "Yes, sir."

With one arm wrapped around his shoulders, I reached across him and put the window down. Then I grabbed my shirt that was tucked in my back pocket. I handed it to him and whispered in his ear. "If you need to, use this until we get out."

Nodding, he held it over his mouth while cramp after cramp hit his body. I could feel every jerk and twist that I knew was not going to stay inside him much longer.

When the driver made the turn onto 18th Street, I reached for my wallet and pulled out another fifty. Was it too much to pay? Absolutely. But it didn't matter. I just needed to get him to our room as soon as possible.

He pulled up in front of the hotel and I handed him the money. "Thank you," I said, opening the door. I got out as Brent quickly followed.

"Hang on, baby. Almost there."

We hurried to our room, Brent still clutching my shirt to his face. Entering the code, he moved quickly to the bathroom where he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

Grabbing two washcloths, I wet them with cold water. As I rang out the excess, I located the trash can. Luckily, it had a liner.

Stepping back into the bathroom, I stood over him to offer the washcloth. "Here, sweetheart," I murmured, handing him a cloth.

"Thank you," he said, taking it to wipe his mouth. "It must have been…"

Another round of vomiting ensued, so my job became flushing the toilet. I lowered myself onto the floor when things had slowed down and wiped his face with the clean cloth I held.

Brent turned his head and propped it on his arm across the toilet rim. He looked at me with exhausted red eyes as I continued to run the damp washcloth over his face. "Why are you in here?"

I gave him a soft smile and kissed his bare shoulder. "Because you need me. And this is where I want to be."

He remained quiet as I stroked his face until the next loud rumble from his body filled the silence. "I think it's the other end."

I nodded and got to my feet. He followed and assumed the position. I gave him privacy for that part but gathered the trash can and opened the door to the balcony before I took back the trashcan.

"I'm going to order some ginger ale from the bar."

He nodded as I stepped out onto the balcony to call downstairs. There was a grocery store across the street, and when he was stable, I'd hop over there and grab some necessities for him.

A soft knock came from the other side of the door. I opened it to find a man holding a tray with several bottles of soda and cups of ice. Over his shoulder were more washcloths and towels.

"Here you go, sir. Can I get you anything else?"

"Thank you," I said, taking the towels and the tray. "Do you know when the store across the street closes?"

He looked at his watch. "In half an hour. If you need something, I can go get it for you. The bar is almost empty."

I glanced back toward the bathroom and nodded. "That would be great. Electrolyte water and some saltine crackers will be a good start. Maybe a few bananas."

I opened my wallet and handed him some money. "Thank you. I really didn't want to leave him."

Brent, as if proving my statement, started up again.

"No problem. I'll knock and leave it at the door. Your change will be in the bag."

He turned and walked away as I returned to take care of my husband.

When it appeared his body had nothing more to expel, he leaned over and rested his forehead on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he croaked. "Not the way I saw the night going."

I brought my hand up to cup his neck. His skin was clammy and I knew he'd feel better after a shower. "It's okay, sweetheart. It's not your fault. Shit happens. Literally."

He chuckled, nodding.

"Would you like to take a quick shower? I think you might rest easier." I kissed his face and ran my hand lightly over his head.

"Yeah. That would be good."

He didn't move to get up, so I kissed his cheek. "Come on, I'll help you up."

Brent lifted his head and met my eyes. Something crossed there and I knew he was trying to figure out how to push me away. But that wasn't happening.

So I got to my feet and held my hands out for him. He took them as I pulled him up. Turning to the shower, I twisted the knob to warm the water as he stripped out of his jeans. He'd never made it back into his shirt, and his shoes and socks were gone long ago.

Standing exposed in front of me, my heart gave a squeeze for the insecure little boy inside this grown-up body. So I went with my instinct and stripped off my clothes as well. Stepping into the shower, I held my hand out for him. Brent took it and stepped under the water with me.

I'd never been more thankful to find the pump dispenser of shampoo and body wash that hung on the shower wall. I gathered the soap into my hands and lathered him up. Massaging the tense muscles that I knew would come with such violent actions of being sick, he let me clean him from head to toe. And when I rinsed the soap away, he stepped into my arms and let me hold him.

And for the first time in a long damn time, I knew what had been missing from my life. It was him.