I’d already changed my sheets and done a few loads of laundry. My plan for later was to watch a movie or two. First, though, I wanted to get some organizing done. It was all a means to distract myself, but to be honest, all I’d thought about since I’d gotten home late the night before was the stroke of Stevenson’s fingertips as he’d pushed my hair back.

  Having the ability to remember almost everything was a curse sometimes, especially when that curse came with anxiety that made you play out every mistake you made in perfect detail. I missed the interaction with Stevenson I'd had, the way he'd laugh when I flirted with him. There was no way it would've gone anywhere, but I'd felt safe to do so until I'd pushed him too far.

  I jumped at the knock at my door, and I set my oversized mug aside, pulling my long sweater tighter around me as I peeked out the window. Stevenson stood on my stoop, and I frowned. I opened the heavy metal slide lock that I used while I was home alone and pulled the door open.

  “Hey.” His smile was unsure as he looked down at me, a takeout bag held in his hand.

  “Hi, did I miss a call?”

  “No, no, I just wanted to stop by.”

  “Okay, come in. It's getting chilly. I think they mentioned snow on the news this morning.” Great, talk about the weather, I rolled my eyes as he stepped past me, and I closed the door, lifting it a bit to get it to seal. Another thing I needed to have fixed.

  “I'm not interrupting, am I?”

  “No. Rare day off. I was just cleaning up. Finally getting around to putting my books on the shelves. Only a year late.”

  “You have a great place. Mine’s a shit hole. Very bachelor chic.”

  I laughed as he pivoted on his toes to smile at me. “Mine’s just absentminded professor. This place is as old as the original funeral home. The assistants used to live here. It was part of their employment package. I just made a pot of coffee. Would you like some?”

  “That would be great.”

  I nodded as I crossed the room to the kitchen and tried not to remember this was almost exactly like the night I fucked up. “You can take your jacket off and put it anywhere you find a spot.” I motioned over my shoulder. I glanced behind me when I heard him step away, and he draped his jacket over the back of the overstuffed couch in front of the fireplace with a battered wood coffee table I'd cleared of books earlier.

  His bulky upper body was highlighted by a navy cable knit sweater with two buttons at the collar exposing a t-shirt beneath. The jeans he wore strained against thick thighs, and I jerked my gaze away before he caught me looking.

  “Black, right?”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  I turned around and held out the mug, and I jerked away before his fingers could touch mine.

  “I bought an early lunch.”

  “That was nice. I hadn't even thought about food yet. A man who can't forget who forgets to eat.”

  “Doc, um, I wanted to, I guess, I don't think I made it clear how sorry I was I hurt your feelings. I'd never make fun of you like you thought I would yesterday.”

  “It's fine, really. You didn't have to go to the trouble.”

  “Morgan.” I jerked my gaze to his as he used my name for the first time. “I don't think apologizing for being an ass is trouble. Me blowing up at you had nothing to do with you.”

  “It's okay. I'm just too much, I annoy people.”

  “Dammit, honey, you don't annoy me.”

  I flinched, and he cursed. I wrung my hands together as he set his mug down on the kitchen table too hard.

  “Would you please stop doing that? I made you think I'm an asshole, but I'd never hit you.”

  My hands shook as I shoved my hair behind my ears and lowered my gaze to the floor.

  “I'm good at pretending. I do all the right things to make people believe that I'm just this flirtatious goof, but I'm not. I was in the closet until my mid to late twenties. My ex-husband, Joseph, I don't think I told you his name. He was my first relationship, sexual experience. I was so excited about being out and having a boyfriend. I wanted to be affectionate and do all those things gay teen and college me couldn't.”

  “It's normal for a person who comes out of the closet to have a sort of puberty, a discovery period. It's completely natural.”

  “I know that, but being inexperienced, well, I guess I thought I was too much because he didn't like it. So as much as I flirt and put on the act of the out and proud gay man, another out and proud gay man made me ashamed. He didn't like when I touched him. Didn't want public displays of affection. So I respected his boundaries and ignored my wants and needs. God, I had so much fun with you, you were so open and happy, and I ruined that.” I opened my mouth to protest, and he shook his head. “Let me finish. There is nothing wrong with crawling through a ball pit or a tunnel to go on a rescue mission. You were so cute in your victory slide. I just want you to know that I never looked down on you for playing dolls or cuddling on anybody's lap that would let you. I miss the friends I thought we'd become before I got frustrated with my own hang-ups and took that out on you. Morgan, you did nothing wrong, and I want the old Doc back. The one who flirted and batted his lashes at lightspeed to the point I wonder how you didn't get dizzy.”

  My lips twitched at his description, but I wouldn't look above the center of his chest, which was right in my eye line. “It's a talent, takes decades of practice.”

  “Well, you're exceptionally good at it. Please look at me.” I flinched as he placed his fingertips under my chin and urged me to look up. “I made up for some of that inexperience after the divorce, but it never felt right, so I just quit. I'm a very sad and middle-aged, monogamist.”

  “Worse things to be. Sleeping around isn't all it's cracked up to be. Sex is okay, but I like the other stuff more. Remy says it’s about finding your right person. It would feel better. Vega says it just takes practice.”

  “I can see her saying that. Can I say, I like you with the longer hair.”

  “Midlife crisis thing.” I laced my fingers to avoid reaching for him. And I refused to lean into his touch when he tucked my hair back where it tended to escape. I let out the breath I realized I'd held as he dropped his arm to his side.

  “Worse things to do. My dad bought a motorcycle and wrecked it the first ride, broke his leg in three places.”

  “At his age, that was probably a long recovery.”

  “It was, and he bitched the entire time. Are we okay?”

  “Yeah, with people who've known me forever, and, you know other Littles and their caregivers, other kink practitioners, it wasn't a big deal. A man my age shouldn't want to play with dolls. Or cuddle on someone's lap. Or giggle like a teenager.”

  “Hey, if Remy taught me anything, it’s that the need you have has nothing to do with age. I think he said it was a state of mind.”

  “Still, it doesn't get easier when you're older and still single. And you find a really nice guy, and then it goes bad.” I refused to touch the scars through my sweater and t-shirt. “I went to a club, it was nice, and I met a guy. We hooked up because I was lonely, and it had been a long time. I said the word, ya know, and he got rough to finishing getting off and then kicked me out. Since then, I've been kinda sensitive. So it wasn't all you.”

  “He was wrong.”

  “He was, but he wasn't the only one. I'm going to be fifty-six in two and half weeks. Maybe it's time to grow up.”

  “Don't do that. I like you as is, and your friends love you. You think Robert would've taken care of you like that if he didn't want to?”

  “No, but they're my friends.”

  “Don't change, and don't let me being an ass ruin the fun you had. I used to watch you and Roo play. You were really cute.”

  “You don't have to say that.”

  “I don't, but I want you to understand that my issues aren't your problem, they're mine to fix, and I will. Just be patient with me while I figure it out. So, what do you say about us having lunch? I’ll help you organize all your books, genius, and we see if I can make up for being a major dick?”

  “That would be nice. I planned to catch up on movies which I'm probably also a year or more late watching.”

  “You and me both. I'm home so little I don't even bother with a TV.”

  “Your coffee is probably cold. I'll get you—” As I went to grab the mug, a calloused hand slipped under my hair and curved around the back of my neck. I tensed as he pulled me close, and I inhaled the scent of man and cologne, and my eyes slammed closed as his lips brushed the top of my head.

  “I'll make it up to you, I promise.”

  I nodded because my throat closed up, and I fisted my hands in the sides of his sweater. This could be the best thing that ever happened to me or the start of the worst mistake of my life.

  11

  Stevenson

  It was barely five AM, and I was standing beside Doc's bed, fully clothed and ready to leave to get back to my place to change for work. Weeks of stress had me passing out on his couch in the middle of our second movie. He'd made dinner, and it was the first time in years I'd spent most of a day and all night with a man just talking, joking, and having fun.

  He was curled up in the middle of the bed, his sheet, comforter, and quilt tucked up tight under his pointed chin. He didn't even have any stubble on his face. He was so beautiful, and I knew he wasn't for me, but I couldn't get the feel of him cuddling to my chest after I'd apologized out of my head. His hair had smelled like lemon shampoo and woodsmoke, and the few times I'd smoothed it back behind his ear, I was shocked at how soft the silver strands were.

  The delicate man needed something I wasn't sure I could give, but I still wanted his friendship. The freedom his flirting gave me. When the house had warmed up the previous night, he stripped off the long, baggy sweater, and his t-shirt and thin pajama bottoms had shown off a trim body that his usually ill-fitting clothes or lab coats hid. I wasn't ashamed to admit to myself that I had a brief moment where I wondered what his much smaller frame would feel like under mine, and my body had reacted. I couldn't remember the last time that had happened.

  He shivered, and I worried the cold would wake him up so I backed away from the bed, and I went to add more wood to the fire. His home was beyond rustic, but I liked it. It was a home with all its piles of books and odd items he'd collected over the years. He'd proudly shown off pictures of his uncles.

  Cyril had looked very much like Doc, short and slender, while Leonard had been a big, brute of a man. Heavy through his waist, and he'd said Cyril had spent a lot of time cuddled up to that bulk. His uncle had said Leonard had made him feel safe and loved. And once more, Doc had sounded so envious of that love. I wondered if he'd ever felt anything as close to that as Cyril had been lucky enough to find.

  Even in the closet, they'd lived a lifetime together, and I was jealous of the stories. I picked up my jacket and headed for the door. I grimaced at the loud creak of the hinges and turned the lock, before I eased it closed. Yet not before I took one more long look at Doc, he moaned in his sleep and turned over.

  I forced myself to leave and walk the distance to the main house where I'd parked my truck beside Doc's car. What I wouldn't give to be a different man? One that could give him everything he needed, but I had too many insecurities. Like I'd told him. I hid them well, and I’d figured out why he put me on edge. The alone time we'd spent together, I wanted him. Every adorable inch and quirk of him. Although, I knew he required a side of me I didn't possess.

  Hearing about the man who hurt him and kicked him out, I knew I'd never physically hurt him, but I could emotionally damage him when he couldn't be the person he was. I'd rather be friends than be the man who broke another piece of him.

  I hopped up in my truck and backed out. It was too early for me, but I still had to get home, shower, and gather up all the case files to take back to the office. The streets were deserted except for early morning deliveries and first shift people hitting the freeway. I propped my elbow on my door and rested my chin in my hand.

  I'd taken Remy's advice, I'd done what he said, and I was confident I'd mended some of the damage I'd caused. Yet, in doing so, I'd created a larger problem, but that was my issue to deal with, not Doc's. He hadn't done anything wrong. I turned off into the parking lot of the unit of studio apartments.

  As quickly as my tired body would go, I made it up to mine, unlocked the door, and stepped inside the barren space. I tried not to compare it to the warm, homey feel of Doc's, but he had decades of history there, and I arrived with the bare minimum. First, I boxed up the papers and my laptop and set them next to the door, and then grabbed what I needed from my single tote of clothes to get ready for work.

  I turned on the water as I waited for it to heat as the pipes screamed. I studied my reflection and decided against shaving. I brushed my teeth and stripped. I grabbed a threadbare towel and again tried not to think about how shabby everything I owned was. It was as if my shit belongings, or lack of, were a depressing metaphor for what was my life.

  I stepped under the water and hissed as I leaned my back against the cold plastic lining of the shower and let the water beat down on my hairy chest. My eyes drifted closed as I cupped my sac with my left hand and gently squeezed before dragging my palm up my thickening length. I moaned as I fisted my half-hard cock and gave it a few slow tugs as I curled my toes.

  My brain brought up an image of Doc. I bet he was smooth all over. I'd already heard the teasing about the size of his dick for being so short. Just knowing him, he'd be a greedy bottom. My thighs tingled, and goosebumps covered my skin as my mind let me have him. Pushed to the shower wall, I bet he was tight as fuck, and I squeezed my cock, imagining the feel of him. The way he'd stretch around me as I loved on him slow and deep—because I knew that's what he needed—what I wanted to give him.

  There was one barrier. I couldn't imagine kissing him. He had lush lips, and if I pictured it, I'd never be able to look at his mouth. I stroked faster as I brought up the memory of him pressed to my chest, the warmth and slight weight of him. I swore I could smell him, feel his small body clinging to mine as he begged me to make him come. I forced myself closer to the edge, fighting the need to linger and savor my first orgasm in I didn’t know how long, but I wanted it too much.

  My right arm shot out to brace myself as I jacked off as my chest heaved, and I groaned as I shot onto the shower wall. My thighs shook as I milked every second of pleasure as I fought the overwhelming need for the connection to be real.

  “Fuck,” I groaned out as I tipped my head back, letting the water sting my cheeks. I cleaned up, got ready for work, and tried to forget. A fantasy never hurt anyone. No one had to know but me. It could be my little secret; my bit of selfishness.

  After my mental pep talk and the ride to the precinct, I was seated at my desk as Remy and Robert stumbled in.

  “What the hell are you doing here so early?” Remy stared at me suspiciously.

  “Wanted to get a start on pulling some old files, and I still have to track down Sandowski. I don't hold out much hope he has anything in his personal notes, but I don't have much else to go on.”

  “Did you talk to Doc?”

  “Yeah, yeah, we worked everything out. Friends again.”

  “Good. He'll be back to his flirty self in no time.”

  I was dreading and looking forward to it. Maybe he'd let me hold him again, curl up on my lap so I'd know exactly what he felt like. I clenched my fists as I brought my attention back to my notes and decided where to start looking at unsolved attacks. That's if anyone even filed reports or just took notes and let it go as some random thing. It was best to work the case and forget everything else, at least until I could be alone and allow myself the one pleasure I could.

  I got up and grabbed the inventory board, flipped the pages back to almost the beginning of the files, and worked my way forward. Jotting down case numbers as Graves dragged his ass in, looking like he'd tied one on, which was weird for him. He sat across from me, and Remy and Robert started making calls to check on the forensics they and Vega ordered.

  Work as usual. I could deal with work.

  12

  Doc

  “Look at the walking dead.” Remy's amused voice made me glare at him from over my mask as I put my newest case in the drawer and flipped him off as I closed the door.

  “If you're here without coffee, you can turn around and leave.”

  “Someone's cranky, plentiful sex would cure that.”

  I flipped him off on my way to my desk where he was currently perching his oversized ass.

  “Sex isn't a cure-all.”

  “You're just not having the right kind.”

  “Any kind would be good right about now.” If I thought I was sexually frustrated before, after having Stevenson in my home had made it worse. When he'd fallen asleep on my couch, I'd turned the movie on mute and turned to watch him. He'd seemed so relaxed, like he'd been before our disagreement. I'd liked him in my house, in my space as he'd helped me make dinner. We'd worked to put all my books away, and he'd randomly picked one up and asked me what it was about. I gave him a play-by-play of each one.

  He'd smiled at me and not like he was making fun because I'd read and remembered thousands of books in my fifty-plus years. He'd seemed impressed, and I loved that I made him feel like that.

  “Well, your favorite Detective is on his way with coffee. He said he was picking one up for you when he stopped for himself.”

  I looked down at my desk to avoid eye contact with my friend because he'd see shit I didn't want him to. I'd never been great at hiding my emotions. Although, I was great at masking them with sarcasm and flirting.