Blue Motel Room

by Tymber Dalton

  The man smiled up at him, his hands resting on Ivan’s hips and patiently waiting while Ivan slowly fucked himself on the man’s cock. He hadn’t had a cock this large—outside of toys—in a while.

  Not that he’d used many toys on himself lately, either. Hell, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d masturbated outside one of these weekend interludes.

  Porter stroked Ivan’s thighs but didn’t seem to focus on his scars. He reached up and played with Ivan’s nipples, not rushing him as Ivan took his time easing inch after inch of the man’s cock into his ass. Even the sweet, pinching burn was a welcomed sensation, keeping subspace swirling through his brain.

  Finally, when his hot, stinging ass met the man’s denim jeans, Ivan let out a relieved sigh and settled in, getting comfortable.

  Porter pulled him down on top of him, kissing him and spreading his own thighs a little, forcing Ivan’s legs wider apart and making him arch his back.

  Which pressed Ivan’s cock firmly between their abs.

  Porter hooked one arm around Ivan’s shoulders and the other planted over his ass as he slowly ground up against Ivan. With Ivan’s lips slanted over Porter’s, the man still took control of the kiss, his tongue slowly fucking Ivan’s mouth as Ivan fucked himself on that gorgeous cock.

  As Ivan’s ass adjusted to the intrusion, he started rocking faster, pre-cum oozing from his own cock and slicking the way between them.

  “That’s it,” Porter mumbled against Ivan’s lips. “Give it to me.”

  Ivan closed his eyes and ground against the larger man, struggling between wanting to ride him hard and fast, and drawing this out. It felt damned good, everything, all of it, and he didn’t let himself think about later.

  He couldn’t.

  The hand on his ass dug in and sent a fresh blossom of pain surging through Ivan’s nervous system, enough to shove him over the edge. Porter swallowed his cries as Ivan’s cock exploded, their abs suddenly slick as hot cum pumped out of his balls and spilled between them.

  “There you go.” Porter grabbed Ivan’s ass with both hands and held on tightly as he fucked his cock up into him, apparently getting his nut as he grunted and fell still with his cock deeply embedded in Ivan’s ass.

  One hand lifted, settled on Ivan’s head, holding him in place for a long, sweet kiss that nearly destroyed him. Ivan thought he’d have to pull away but as if reading his mind, Porter released him and let out a happy sigh. “I need to go take care of that.”

  Ivan rolled off him and Porter got out of bed, heading for the bathroom. He returned a moment later, jeans zipped and cleaned up, but settled in bed again after handing Ivan the hand towel from the nightstand to wipe himself off.

  Then he opened his arms to Ivan.

  Hating himself, he went, snuggling in and closing his eyes.

  Porter didn’t talk, thankfully, and Ivan allowed himself to relish the contact. In fact, Ivan was just starting to relax when Porter’s cell phone started buzzing on the dresser.

  “Shit, that’s work. Sorry.” He untangled himself from Ivan and retrieved his phone, returning to sit on the edge of the bed as he read the text, then made a quick phone call.

  When he finished, he turned back to Ivan, where he lay on the bed. “Sorry. That was the airport. One of the charter companies based out of there has a plane down and they need it for Monday morning. I gotta go. I’m the head mechanic there.”

  A mix of disappointment and relief swirled through Ivan, and he quickly shoved it down and away. “It’s okay. Thanks for this.”

  Porter studied him for a long moment, reaching out to stroke Ivan’s cheek. “I’ll leave you my card and number, okay? You want to talk, or want to get together, let me know. Even if it’s only the next time you want to come up here. Or if you just want to meet somewhere for dinner. I wouldn’t mind spending more time with you. Getting to know you better.”

  Ivan nodded.

  “I won’t force you to give me your number,” he said, “but I would appreciate a text tomorrow letting me know you’re okay. Or…even if you’re not okay and need me. I feel like a dick that I have to leave like this.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Nearly six.”

  Holy shit. He’d lost several hours of time, and that usually didn’t happen. “I’ll be okay. Like you said, this is my…thing.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what do you do for a living?”

  “You won’t believe me.”

  “Try me.”

  “I’m a doctor. Surgeon.”

  Porter ran his thumb along Ivan’s chin. “Coping mechanism?”

  Ivan didn’t trust his voice. He nodded.

  “Okay.” He studied Ivan for a moment. “I hope I helped.”

  “You did. You were perfect. Thanks.”

  Porter leaned in for a kiss and it nearly finished Ivan. When Porter sat up, he sighed. “You probably won’t be texting me, will you? Even though I really hope you do.”

  Ivan shrugged. He didn’t want to lie to the guy, or hurt his feelings when yes, he had been perfect. “It’s not you, it’s me.”

  Porter smiled, but it looked wistful, almost sad. “If I see you here again, will you at least please come talk to me?”

  Ivan rarely went after the same guy more than once, but then again, most guys weren’t like Porter. “Yeah.”

  “I guess that’s all I can ask.” Porter stood and walked over to the dresser, took a business card out of his wallet, showed it to Ivan, and left it on the dresser. “That’s this phone. You can text me on it, even personal stuff.”

  “Okay.”

  “Thank you for today. I enjoyed it. Thanks for trusting me.”

  Ivan nodded. “Thank you.”

  Porter looked like he wanted to say something else, but he sighed and let himself out.

  Ivan rolled over and sniffed the man’s pillow, deeply inhaled.

  Yeah, he’d really enjoyed himself. Could easily see himself being with the guy again.

  Which was why that could never happen. Because he’d learned the hard way what happened when he opened himself to someone and made himself emotionally vulnerable to them.

  And it might just kill him if he ever let it happen again. So no matter how good Porter seemed—and that only made it more imperative that Ivan stay strong—nothing else could happen.

  Wasn’t Porter’s fault. He wasn’t the broken one.

  That was all on Ivan, and he’d own it.

  * * * *

  Two hours later, Ivan was unlocking the door to his apartment and stepping inside. He’d taken the card and dropped it into his laptop case. No, he wouldn’t text the guy. Not right now, at least.

  That kind of vulnerability could destroy him, if he wasn’t careful.

  And he was always very careful.

  But at least, for now, he had gotten exactly what he’d needed and knew he could function over the next week, as long as no serious complications or bad days cropped up.

  If they did?

  Well…then maybe he would find himself texting Porter.

  But more than likely he’d do what he always did and default to his usual routine to cope.

  That was always the safest option.

  He would e-mail the guy tomorrow and let him know he was okay. Porter’s e-mail address was also on the card, and that was a safer option than texting him. If the guy didn’t have his phone number, he couldn’t start texting and calling him.

  Couldn’t locate him. Not easily.

  Couldn’t wear him down and talk Ivan into seeing him again.

  Ivan popped a pot pie into the microwave and stripped while it was cooking. He’d eat, take a shower, and then spend the rest of the evening watching anime on TV.

  It’s better this way.

  At least he could leave the knife closed tonight.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Despite Ivan’s hopes for the day, this was not a good Monday.

  On top of his scheduled procedures, Ivan had
not one, but two emergency surgeries, back-to-back.

  Unfortunately, the second patient he lost on the table. Yeah, the guy had been seventy-five, obese, and had a slew of health problems like diabetes and gout, in addition to the heart attack he’d had that necessitated the emergency quadruple bypass, but he’d been on Ivan’s table, with his hands in the guy’s chest.

  It’d been Ivan who’d had to walk out there and break that news to his patient’s devastated family. He refused to push that duty off onto someone else.

  To them, the man had been father, grandfather, husband, brother, friend.

  Ivan never forgot that. Ever. He never failed to center the family when he had to perform this grisly last rite, because he remembered the kind doctors he’d seen as a kid, remembered the doctor who’d told them his grandmother had died in surgery, how nice he’d been.

  How the man had been wiping back his own tears as he’d broken the news to them.

  He’d sworn he would never make an already horrible situation worse by being an asshole and dropping the news on them and just turning his back.

  No matter how much it gutted him and made his own soul bleed.

  He sat there, struggling and failing to hold back his own tears and feeling like a failure as the patient’s family cried and asked questions and tried to…process.

  Finally, Ivan let the chaplain take over and made his way back to his locker to have a moment for himself before his next surgery.

  He’d still had two procedures on the schedule, at that point.

  And it was only Monday.

  Fuck.

  If the week kept hammering him like this, it would definitely be a Toucan kind of weekend. If he was lucky. Even this close to his last one.

  He’d spend the fucking money and go and maybe even break down and cozy up to Porter again, if he had to. If the guy was even there.

  That might leave him fighting more demons of a different kind come that next Monday, but anything was preferable to the tar pit currently comprising his soul.

  Even risking emotional oblivion.

  It was nearly eight that night by the time he’d checked on his last patient and was going to head out when one of the nurses flagged him down.

  “Dr. Mercado? There’s someone in the surgical waiting room asking to speak with you. She asked for you by name. She’s been waiting for a while.”

  This was…unusual. And, he suspected, it would probably have to do with the patient he’d lost. A family member with more questions, most likely.

  “Thanks. I’ll be right there.” He ducked into a bathroom and took a few deep breaths, splashed water on his face, and then headed back to the waiting room.

  The waiting room volunteer had already left for the day, and the first couple of people he approached hadn’t been waiting to talk to him. He didn’t spot her at first, until his gaze swiveled over to the windows looking out at the dark night, where a lone woman stood, her back to the room.

  Kimbra.

  He recognized her hair, and for a moment gave serious thought to bolting out of the waiting room before she spotted him. Their night flashed back into his mind, like he’d just relived the whole thing in real-time.

  As if hearing his thoughts, she turned, delivering an unreadable tightening of her lips, maybe a smile, maybe not, he wasn’t sure. She seemed reluctant to close the distance between them, but she finally did.

  “Hi. Sorry to drop in on you like this, but we need to talk. In private, please. Now.”

  * * * *

  Lord, even sober he looks nearly as young as he did that night.

  Except now, in the harsh light of the waiting room’s fluorescents, she spotted the weariness in his expression and the fine lines around his eyes. Even with the white coat and the neatly combed hair, she couldn’t help but think back to that night.

  There was a fragility to him today, even more than that night, that made part of her want to hug him tightly and tell him everything would be okay in a motherly kind of way, despite not knowing what he’d been through to make him look like that today.

  Thank god I saved that picture.

  She never would have believed he was thirty-four, even now. Maybe late twenties, if that. That was pushing it.

  He turned and led her to a small consultation room just off the waiting room, where he flipped on the light and closed the door behind them before setting his laptop case on the table.

  “What’s this about?”

  She sat, choosing to try to keep this as friendly as possible, and waited until he sat to hold out her hand. “We weren’t really properly introduced that night. Kimbra Luzon, attorney at law,” she said, waiting until he shook with her.

  “Dr. Ivan Mercado.”

  “So you really are a doctor, huh?”

  “Yeah. Cardiothoracic surgeon, specializing in cardiovascular. What’s this about?”

  “There’s no easy way to say this—I’m pregnant, and it’s yours, because you’re the only guy I’ve had sex with in a couple of years. Going on seven weeks.”

  “What?”

  “Exactly.” She waited him out, watching the shock and disbelief first flood in, then out again, followed by…something she couldn’t identify.

  He slumped back in his chair while she awaited his next response. She’d hoped for something not assholish, and so far…well, at least he wasn’t being an asshole.

  Yet.

  He didn’t meet her gaze. “You said you’re an attorney?” he quietly asked.

  “Yeah. Criminal law. My wife’s a corporate attorney.”

  His head snapped up at that. “Your wife? You told me you were single!”

  “That’s the line? That’s where you get upset?” Okay, maybe that was bitchy, but she hadn’t expected that reaction.

  “You told me you were single!”

  “I was. We got married a couple of weeks ago, before we even knew about this. If it’s any consolation, while we were still in sorting-shit-out mode, she also had an…encounter. And you’ll love this—she’s pregnant, too.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. By my best friend, if you can believe that. Yes, as in our case, alcohol was a contributing factor.”

  His gaze dropped and he went quiet. She didn’t break the silence.

  Finally, a hoarse, choked plea, whispered. “Please don’t ask me to help you get an abortion. I can’t make you have the baby, but please don’t ask me to do that. I…I mean, I’ll…” He sobbed. “I’ll pay for it if you do, but—”

  “I’m keeping it. We both are.”

  When he propped his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands, she expected nearly anything.

  Except for him to break down quietly sobbing. Deep, agonizing, even more so because of how quiet he was being.

  Finally, she had to reach over and gently pat his back, because the human being she was couldn’t stand seeing another human so obviously in emotional pain.

  She also waited him out again.

  “I’ll pay as much child support as I can,” he finally choked out as she handed him tissues from a box of them on the table. “But I’m not rich. I’m still trying to pay off my student loans. I’ll give you my savings and cash out my 401(k), but it’s not a lot. Please don’t write me out of their life just because you’re an attorney and you can because I can’t pay.”

  “No, hey.” She patted his shoulder. “That’s not what this is about. No, we’d never cut you out like that. Not unless you were, you know, abusive or something.”

  She took a deep breath, gentling her approach even more now that she knew he was on board with this. “I wanted to tell you in person, for starters. I didn’t want to do this over the phone. But Eve and I want you and the other guy to come over tomorrow night, if you can. We wanted to sit down with both of you, all four of us, to talk this out.”

  “Talk it out?”

  “We want you guys to be involved as much as you can be. Or want to be. He wants to be.”

  He nod
ded, but in that quick, sharp, rapid way she knew meant he was probably going to start crying again.

  Unable to help it, she leaned in and hugged him, noting how damn desperately he hugged her back.

  “I’m sorry I’m such a wreck,” he finally managed. “It’s been a crappy day. I lost a patient in surgery.”

  Now she felt like shit for doing this to him here instead of just hanging out and waiting at his apartment like she’d planned originally. “I’m sorry to drop this on you.”

  “How’d you find me, anyway?”

  “I Googled you. I still had your info from the picture I took of your license that night. You came up on the hospital’s website and on the state medical board’s site. Connected the dots from there. I stopped by Friday, but your office told me you were out of town.”

  “Oh.” He grabbed more tissues to blow his nose again but didn’t try to escape her arm around his shoulders.

  Now she felt she needed to try to reassure him. “I’m not taking any options off the table yet, but if you’re hurting that badly for money, maybe we can work something out where you move in with us. At least for a while, until you can get your feet under you. I don’t want you to cash in your retirement or savings.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “But you might regret that when you get to meet Eve. She can make me look cuddly when she’s cranky. Two pregnant women in the same house, due nearly the same exact time? You must be a masochist.”

  Finally, the ghost of a smile. “You’re not bullshitting me? About maybe moving in?”

  “I mean, we don’t even know each other yet, so I’m not moving you in tomorrow. Hell, I can’t even remember a lot of the really dirty part of our night. But if you want to be involved in your baby’s life, and the three of us find out we can stand each other under the same roof, we can probably work out something.”

  More tears, more nodding, and she pulled him in for another hug. “Baby, I’m the pregnant one. I’m supposed to be emotional and hormonal, not you.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She finally chuckled. “Honey, I was teasin’.” She gently rocked him. “You are seriously gonna have to find your chill, son, or you’re going to need a padded room by the time he or she pops out.”