HIS HELPER - PART 2

  TEMPTATION AND OBLIGATION

  BINK CUMMINGS

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Next in the Series

  Social Media

  Also by Bink Cummings

  His Helper- Part 2

  Copyright © 2023/2024: Bink Cummings

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  Ebook Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the Author and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Contact the Author:

  Email: BinkCummings@yahoo.com

  Editor: Mary Sittu-Kern

  Cover Designer: Bink Cummings

  CHAPTER ONE

  Beckett

  Remembering to grab the large print romance novel from the passenger seat of my Jeep, I tuck it under my arm, exit my vehicle, and go about work like it’s any other day. Only it’s not. Three days ago, I met a reclusive man on a mountain. We shared tea, and I made him come with my fingers. Well, my hand. Inside of him. Encased in tight warmth. A first for me. I can’t stop thinking about it or him. That’s also a first.

  Shaking my head to clear such thoughts, I enter through the front sliding doors of my second stop today. The nurses seated behind their desks wave and smile in greeting. Ever the gentleman, I return the gesture in kind as I seek out the one person I’m here to visit.

  Knowing she probably won’t hear if I knock, I carefully open the door and project my voice before entering. “Emmie, you decent?”

  As always, the sweet older woman doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m never decent, boy. But yes, you may come in.” She cackles to herself. I grin because how could you not? Emmie’s one of my favorite people.

  Sitting up in her recliner, television on low, a colorful Afghan thrown over her frail legs, she stares out the window, soaking up the mid-morning sun. The rays highlight the snow white of her perfectly coifed hair. I rest the book on her end table, so I don’t forget, before taking a plastic chair for guests. They’re in all the rooms throughout the facility. It takes Emmie a moment to register my presence. Her milky blue eyes blink a handful of times, squinting as if she’s trying to make out who I am. She easily forgets. That’s to be expected at ninety. She’s my oldest therapy client. We’ve been friends for years now. Even before she entered the nursing home, her out-of-state family hired me to help with mobility and overall quality of life.

  I’m an occupational therapist who works for a company that subcontracts to people like me. I go wherever I’m needed. Today is Emmie’s visit.

  The crooked smile that consumes her face when she realizes who I am could light up New York City. “Beck.” Her voice dances in delight. I’m thrilled she remembers me today and is just as excited to see me as I am her.

  “Ms. Emmie,” I greet.

  “You came back.”

  “Yes, I always come back, and I brought contraband.” I wink and gesture to the naughty romance novel on her stand. Slowly, she reaches over and fingers the glossy cover.

  “Did you bring what I asked for?”

  “Dirty romance?”

  “Yes. With a farmer?”

  “That’s the very one.” Trust me when I say Ms. Emmie is in for a spicy ride. Sure, it takes her a week or two to finish most books, as she tires easily and her eyes don’t work like they used to. But thanks to her magnifying stand that also holds her books, she reads a little at a time. The nurses are kind enough to make sure she doesn’t lose her spot. Boy, does this woman come with requests. One month, it was firefighters. Another was a threesome. She’d seen it on one of her salacious shows. Her words, not mine.

  We’ve now upgraded to farmers. This book is sure to please. I scoured the internet for the best farmer romance with lots of sex, and this one came recommended. To make sure I didn’t let her down, I read it last week, just to be certain. While straight sex doesn’t do it for me, it was entertaining enough to finish.

  Emmie clasps her frail, crippled hands in delight. “I thought I might catch fire with the threesome book.” She fans her face. “I lent it to Ed. He didn’t like it.” Her nose scrunches in disgust, and then comes the eye roll. “He’s a fool.”

  Pressing my lips together, I try not to laugh. Emmie knows Ed won’t like any of the books she gives him. Yet, he always seems to read them anyhow, then complains to her. The nurses have assured me it’s all in good fun, but Emmie’s vocal about her disdain. She and Ed are across-the-hall neighbors. Both lost their spouses decades ago. Both are in their nineties. They’re great friends despite their warring literary tastes.

  Knowing I can’t spend all day visiting, even if I want to, we chat a bit more about books and television shows before we get to the crux of why I’m here—to check on her, how she’s moving, and what I can do to make her life easier. We go over stretches and ways to keep her mobile for as long as we can. She’s a fall risk. That’s how she wound up here in the first place. She didn’t use the walker I provided at home and fell. Thankfully, she had Life Alert, and the paramedics were able to help. Nothing broke, but her family lives too far away for support, and they didn’t want to risk anything further. I can’t blame them. We came up with a plan, and I found an opening at this place. She seems content with her new living arrangements.

  “I can’t stand for long,” she grouses, lips thinning as if she’s eaten a sour grape.

  “Is it the knee?” I gesture to the worst of the two.

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “Now will you let me order the brace?” Each time I visit, I’ve been lightly pushing Emmie to let me order a custom brace for her knee. For the one that gives out. She’s too old for knee surgery, and if she expects to walk much longer, even if it’s only to the bathroom, she’s gonna need assistance. I already have her doing light leg and arm weights twice a week to keep up her strength. They have a daily group session here. She also goes to water aerobics once a week if she’s up for it.

  Quality of life is important, even for those pushing triple digits. Giving my patients what they need is paramount.

  Emmie waves me off in a huff. “Oh. Fine. I suppose.” Like most women her age, she doesn’t like anyone fussing over her. Emmie’s independent to the core.

  I smile kindly and reach for her hand, which she places into mine. I lean down to kiss the soft, wrinkled top in appreciation. She huffs again, less frustrated this time.

  The elderly, which is all I work with, struggle with life when they can no longer do what they once could. Most changes are progressive. Their hearing and eyesight go. So, we get them hearing aids, glaucoma surgery, or better glasses. Mobility is the hardest. Wheelchairs and walkers only do so much, and surgery is often out of the question when they reach her age.

  Wanna know the thing that pisses me off the most in my job? People spend so much time focusing on the youth they forget about the seniors. They toss them into homes so they’re no longer a problem they must deal with. These are people’s mothers and fathers. Grandparents. They’re humans. While I understand not being able to put your life on hold to become the full-time caregiver some of these people need, it breaks my heart to see how many of them are forgotten by their families. Like they’ve already died.

  I know… I know… I’m getting worked up. It’s part of my charm.

  Ya see, I grew up visiting my great-grandmother in a nursing home. Each week, I went with my grandma to visit her. The same grandma who raised me after my drug-addicted parents decided they couldn’t be bothered to be parents. No amount of rehab would ever change that.

  When my grandma was diagnosed with dementia and had to be put in this exact nursing home, I visited her often. She’s the entire reason I work with elderly patients. She’s why I’m focused on human interactions and refuse to visit ten clients a day. Quality over quantity. I’ve had to go through five companies before I found one that understood my ethics. I didn’t go to college for as long as I did to graduate with my master’s, to then forget why I’m here in the first place—to help those often forgotten.

  Every patient I care for is an extension of my grandma. The stories they share are full of priceless wisdom. Their bodies fail when their mind doesn’t seem to realize they’re as old as they are. Have you ever asked a ninety-year-old if they feel ninety? Most will say they feel physically old, but mentally, they feel as they did decades ago.

  For the next hour, I absorb whatever tales Emmie wishes to share. It’s her time to shine. All I do is sit back, listen, and speak when necessary. In between moments, I jot down notes about her stories on my phone to draw from later, along with reminders for what I need to bring the next time I visit. A knee brace and a chocolate bar, to name a few.

  Once her eyes grow heavy, I know it’s time to say goo
dbye. Before I do, I ask her one final question, the most important of the day.

  Returning my chair back to its place against the wall, I inquire, “What book should I bring next time?”

  A tired smile hooks at the corner of Emmie’s mouth as she thinks about it. “Gay.”

  My eyes widen. “You want gay romance?” I almost choke on my tongue.

  A firm nod. “Yes.”

  “That’s two men and their… parts,” I remind her, just to be sure.

  “Yes, I know what that means, Beckett.” Humor dances in her voice. “I wanna read what it’s like for two men to love each other. As you and your fella do. I can’t wait for Ed to read it.” Her evil laugh says it all. This is about Ed, not about me and my boyfriend. Not that she cares about my sexuality. It’s not something I hide. When Emmie asked if I was married years ago, I was upfront.

  To most people, I don’t present gay. Whatever the hell that means. More times than not, people assume I’m straight because I don’t check their preconceived gay boxes. I’m not feminine. I wear average clothes made for men. I talk like an average man and don’t like to gossip. All the things straight men do are somehow no longer possible because once you like dick, that automatically makes you less manly and incapable of liking anything that isn’t rainbow and pasted in glitter. Ignorance is bliss, I suppose. However, I do like rainbows and glitter on occasion.

  I digress.

  “Alright, you naughty woman, I’ll bring a gay romance next time,” I tease before I lean in, peck her forehead in goodbye, and see myself out.

  Four clients a day is my max. Only one more to go before I meet Walter at his apartment for dinner. By then, I need to put the memory of Finn behind me, for all our sakes.

  On my way out the door, I wave to the nurses, cross the parking lot, climb into my Jeep, and throw on the loudest, most obnoxious rock music I can find as a distraction. The less I think. The less I feel. The better.

  Staring at my lap, my thickening cock twitches beneath the zipper of my black dress pants.

  “Fuck you,” I curse him for putting me through this. This is the fourth erection of the day.

  As I exit the parking lot, gripping my steering wheel hard enough my knuckles blanch, all I see is pale skin, a gaping hole, and a body that writhes beneath my ministrations. What’s worse, I can taste his potent desire on my tongue. The need. And beyond that… I feel him, everywhere.

  Fuck.

  This isn’t good.

  The distractions aren’t working.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Hey, babe.” Walter comes in for a chaste kiss before stepping aside to let me into his place. He lives in the city, in the heart of bustling downtown, on the eighth floor of a high-rise apartment building. We met in college and have been in an unconventional relationship ever since.

  Not bothering with niceties or the dinner I know he prepared, I tear my clothes off in his living room and leave them in a pile on the floor to deal with later. Walter doesn’t ask questions when he strips out of his dockers and dress shirt alongside me. We don’t kiss. We don’t say a word as I snatch a condom from the bowl he keeps on the coffee table and roll it down my cock. He bends over the couch arm like a goddamn saint.

  Tearing a lube packet with my teeth, Walter reaches back and spreads his ass cheeks like a champ, ready and willing to take anything I wanna give. I pour the cool liquid over his hole and don’t bother prepping the well-used entrance when I slam home. Stars dance in my eyes, a pent-up breath rushing out as I finally get the relief I need.

  Fingers bruise the ass beneath my iron grip as I fuck him senseless. I don’t go easy. Not that he cares. Walter’s hole is always ready and willing for me to use as I see fit. Hell, it’s ready and willing for anyone to use. He’s a slut. A cock slut. A fiend. So, I fuck him until sweat blooms across my skin, until I can’t draw another breath. Until his short, brown hair turns into long, dirty blond before my eyes. Grunting at the sight, I slam forward. The legs of his couch screech across the hardwood floor and knock into the side table, sending the lamp to the ground in a fit of noise. But I don’t stop. Nor does he ask me to.

  Walter moans in pleasure, gripping the couch as I use him. Because I can’t take it anymore. I masturbated last night. This morning. Yet, he lingers there. Finn. The adorably awkward man with the massive cock. The most beautiful human I’ve ever seen up close before. Flawless skin, a voice that…

  I groan at the memory.

  “Beck,” Walter cries out in need.

  “Grab it.” I back us off the couch just enough so he can reach down to jack his cock. Walter beats his slim prick frantically, chasing the end goal, as I do the same.

  In and out, I plunder him. When he coats his fist and couch in cum, I don’t stop. I throw him onto the floor. Landing on his hands and knees, Walter stays upright as I nudge his lithe legs together and straddle him. Pointing my dick downward, I drive myself between his slick cheeks, straight into his awaiting body.

  Skin slaps skin. I grip his shoulders for leverage, abs drawing up tight, but I’m not there. Pleasure races up my spine with each thrust, balls aching. Walter says something, but I can’t hear it above my growls, above the pounding in my ears, through my potent fantasies.

  Closing my eyes, Finn’s shy smile paints the backs of my eyelids. He chews his bottom lip in desire for me and me alone. My name pours like honey from his lips as he comes, and I let go alongside him, riding the waves of ecstasy. Cum fills the condom.

  Spent, I collapse onto the floor beside Walter. He curls up to me, head resting on my pec as I float back down into reality. I tug off the condom and drop it on the floor to throw away later when I’ve caught my breath and can see straight.

  Walter traces a finger down my sternum, through the valley of my abs, to my half-hard cock. “You’re an animal.” He laughs.

  “I needed that.” More than I thought.

  “Tough week?”

  “Not exactly.” It’s been the best week I’ve had in years.

  “Hard week?” He shimmies with innuendo.

  “Very hard week,” I groan, head dropping back on the hardwood. I stare up at the smooth white ceiling.

  “That was the best you’ve fucked me in years.” Walter sounds wistful.

  I chuckle. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

  “Oh, you know I will. If I can walk tomorrow. Sheesh, your cock is massive. He knows how to mark his territory.”

  That he does. If only he got to mark what he craved most. But that’s never gonna happen.

  “Had a lot of smaller dicks lately?” I ask, already knowing what he’s gonna say.

  “Yes. Actually.”

  Bingo.

  “Toby?”

  He pokes my cockhead. “Yes. Toby.”

  “He loves you.” A statement.

  “Yes, I know. He loves me, but I’m not his boyfriend.”

  “Only because I came first.”

  “Tonight, you didn’t,” he jokes.

  “Ha, ha,” I deadpan, a smirk kicking up at the corner of my mouth. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  “I do, but it sure is fun to tease you, especially when I get you like this. All touchy and soft. Not needing to be in control.”

  “Just existing,” I offer as an explanation.

  Walter rubs his cheek against my pec like a sweet kitten. “Yes. That’s a clever way to describe it. Existing. You don’t let yourself exist very often.”

  He’s right. I don’t.

  “I’m busy.” And always need control.

  “I know. I know. Beckett, the old people whisperer. Beckett, the commander of needy assholes. Beckett, former cuddler extraordinaire.”

  A low, throaty laugh makes an appearance. “That’s quite the description.”

  “All true.”

  I hum. “Agreed.”

  “I haven’t seen my boyfriend in a week. Though, your homecoming was sure fucktacular.”

  That it was.

  “Toby not dickin’ ya down well enough these days?”

  Walter sniffs dramatically as if I’m full of it. “He has a talented mouth.”

  “So I’ve heard.” I swallow my amusement, not wanting to offend my boyfriend.