Dr. Perfect: An MM Contemporary Romance Bundle

by J. P. Oliver

  I opened my mouth to say something—whatever words I had lined up melted into a moan as his finger, slick and large, slid into me. My body arched at the touch, head tilting back and baring my neck at the mixture of pain and pleasure. His lips worked over my skin, soothing as he pumped his finger in and out at a slow pace.

  My arms came up around his neck and he added another finger, scissoring me open slowly.

  Words devolved into useless babbling, a heady mixture of English and Spanish phrases I paid little attention to. With my eyes shut and a third finger pressing inside of me, I could imagine it was his cock splitting me open; it made me hungrier for the real thing.

  “Put it in,” I huffed against his sweat-glossed temple. I squeezed my muscles around where his fingers were buried, licking at the shell of his ear. “I’m ready for it.”

  I missed the stretch of his fingers as he pulled them from me and I watched patiently as he slicked lube over his cock, straining against his skin. I burned the image into my memory, deciding I wanted to be in this moment of anticipation for forever. I didn’t realize I was smiling until Hassan caught the look on my face, raising an eyebrow in his confusion.

  “What do you look so giddy about?” he asked, wiping his hand on the blanket.

  “I’ve thought about you fucking me for the past week.” I tilted my jaw out defiantly. “Sue me. I’m happy.”

  Hassan pressed himself into my space, lips hovering over mine. I smiled at the almostness of it. Hassan was infuriating and contradictory and a million other things that frustrated me on a daily basis—but I cared about him. I’d almost lost him today and it was a possibility that came with every day.

  Outside this moment, I was in danger and he was continuously putting himself between that danger and myself.

  In this moment though, I was allowed to feel without concern. Hassan was relaxed, which is what he deserved even if that peace only lasted a moment.

  I felt his cock press into me slowly, his thickness stretching me; my brows pinched at the burn of it. His arms shook slightly on either side of my head. It was painful, but good; addicting. I willed myself to relax, taking my cock in my hand and pumping liberally, the pleasure outweighing the burn in time. He slid into me slowly, breath hitching with every inch I took.

  He waited a moment, allowed me to adjust. I could easily get off like this: touching myself with his cock inside me.

  “Hassan,” my voice coming out as a rather wrecked sigh. “Move.”

  It started slowly, a careful back and forth that brought him deeper with each snap of his hips. The stretch became easier, my hands coming around his shoulders again to claw loosely at his back. Judging by the noises he made, he seemed to like it.

  With a rather harsh snap of his hips, I felt a hot streak of pleasure rip through me. “There.” My nails dug harder into him and a gruff noise was drawn from deep in his chest. “There….”

  Hammering into me experimentally, his cock pressed that ridge of intense pleasure. It wasn’t exactly a secret and the moment I asked, “Faster,” he obliged. Slow strokes mounted steadily, rising like an orchestra, building the piano wire tension in my stomach, in my back, in my cock, all of it pulling at me. Hassan’s body pushed into mine with a rhythmic slapping, skin on skin, our voices mingling.

  My pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along my neck as he fucked me without mercy, pushing me into my pleasure; my moans built on top of one another, rising in pitch on each breath until my body tensed violently around his, heels digging into the small of his back and my mouth fell open around a broken, muted cry.

  Hassan didn’t stop, fucking me through my orgasm and the oversensitivity that began to crawl through me afterwards. I stayed tight around his body, licking and moaning deliberately, sleepily, into his ear.

  “Hassan.” His hips twitched out of their rhythm at the sound of his own name. Spanish dribbled from my mouth into his ear and as I bit at his neck, he came with an ardent growl. I moaned again at the heat of it.

  For a moment after, we were still. Silent. The house around us lost the spell of noise we had cast upon it and again, it was my house—he’d made me forget such a simple fact—and we were in his room.

  He slid out of me slowly and I shivered at the loss, cupping his face as he studied my own. My fingers traced the always troubled lines of his forehead and brows, ghosted gently over the planes of his cheeks. He seemed to be thinking something. I wanted to ask what but it suddenly felt too private a question to ask despite what we had just done.

  Hassan kissed me then, slow and tired. Sated.

  “I’m going to get something to clean us up,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to my forehead—a temporary goodbye.

  I merely nodded, my voice departed.

  I fell asleep in Hassan’s bed before he could return with towels.

  16

  Fred

  When I woke the next morning from a sound sleep, I expected to find Hassan awake. Instead, I was surprised by the sight of him, unguarded for the first time in his life, sound asleep on the pillow next to me.

  The blanket rested low on the small of his back and his breathing was slow and even. It surprised me just how soft his face could be. No walls, no anger, no bad memories or things to plan for, to worry about.

  I grinned, fingers brushing through the ends of his hair, grazing over a mark on the back of his shoulder. He shifted slightly at the touch, eyes opening slowly after a moment. He squinted, though his face softened again as he recognized me. “Hey.” His voice was rough with sleep.

  “Good morning.”

  He shut his eyes again, sighing and I felt his hand beneath the covers, wrapping around my waist. He tugged me closer, his muscles hardly working to move me, even so early in the morning. I didn’t protest, laughing quietly as I was brought up against him. He rolled onto his side to face me, our heads parallel on the pillow.

  There didn’t feel like there was much to say. Only that it felt like something long overdue. His large hand trailed up and down my spine.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Fine. A little sore, but….” I shrugged one shoulder. “Not the first time.” I couldn’t find the time to be upset about anything in the moment; not when the smell of Hassan was still surrounding him, clinging to the sheets and now his body. “What about you?”

  “Me?” He grinned, eyes opening slowly. “Good. We slept for….” He glanced at the clock behind my head. “Ten hours, so.”

  “I could probably do ten more.” I moved in close, happy to continue sleeping. It was raining and all our inside shoots were wrapped; outside shoots weren’t likely to pick up again until the weekend.

  Unfortunately, work for Hassan never really stopped.

  “I’m sure Jackson’s shitting himself, having to do a double-shift.”

  “He’ll have to suck it up.” I grinned up at Hassan. “You got blown up and were in a car accident. You’re allowed to take a day off.”

  We stayed in bed together maybe another hour before I pulled myself reluctantly out of his arms. He watched as I hunted down whatever clothing he had peeled off of me the night before. I could feel his eyes on my ass as I bent over to pluck up my shirt.

  “I can feel you staring,” I sighed, unbothered by the attention. My shirt slid over my head. My pants followed.

  “Am I not allowed to?”

  “You are.” I knelt on the edge of the bed to give him one more kiss. It lingered. I’m sure I could easily be coaxed back into another round…. “Do you want something to drink? I’m going to the kitchen.”

  He nodded slowly. “Coffee?”

  When I returned with two mugs, I was surprised to find him sitting up in bed, speaking with a quiet professionalism into his burner phone.

  “Henry Carter.”

  I froze in the doorway at the name, the easiness that had followed from the prior night evaporating. Hassan glanced up at me as if he wanted to say something to me, but his phone call kept him from it.

>   “Yeah. Yeah.” Hassan looked away. I shut the door behind me quietly, passing the mug into his waiting hand as I sat myself on the edge of the bed. “We know he’s been to a shop up north of Morro Bay. I was also sent to an address a few days ago, but it doesn’t seem to be his place of residence. Right. I’ll have Doc send you the files we’ve been compiling.” He paused a minute, grinning slowly. “Thanks Jarvis. I owe you one.”

  Whoever it was on the other line—Jarvis—said something before Hassan hung up. He dropped the phone into the covers, taking a long sip of coffee before looking at me.

  “Who was that?”

  “An old buddy of mine who works in the government. Specializes in tracking people.” His finger touched along the rim of his mug, face thoughtful.

  I didn’t want him to consider keeping secrets for my sake anymore. “Is he going to be tracking… Henry?” It felt strange to have a name for the mysterious entity that had been following me, had been turning my life upside down. It was such a normal name; it reminded me that despite all the harm he had caused, he was still a person.

  Hassan nodded. “Yeah. If there’s anyone who can track him down, it’s Jarvis. He’s one of the best and he’ll be in touch with Doc and Mikhail….” There was a silence between us, almost awkward, but I knew it had nothing to do with the night before. At least, not for me.

  “You’re not regretting what we did last night… are you?”

  Hassan’s head snapped up from his mug, brows pulled together. “No. Why would you think that?”

  The insistence of his voice brought me relief. The corner of my mouth turned up on its own. “You just… seem like you have something to say, or… I don’t know. Like you have a lot on your mind, suddenly.”

  He grinned. “I’ve got a lot on my mind all the time, Fred.” Bringing his mug to his mouth, he muttered, “I’m always in a perpetual state of stress.”

  I hummed. “It doesn’t show.”

  He shot me a wry look. “We’re closing in on him and he knows it. He tried to kill me. Twice. Which is fine—” and I shot him a look. Hassan raised a hand “—it comes with the job. But he’s contacted you directly. Sent things to the kids—the fact that he even knows about the kids, or is considering them to be his as well….” He shook his head slowly. “Fred, I can’t pussy foot with him anymore. He’s crossed several lines and the closer we get, the higher the probability that real damage is going to get done. To you or to people you care about.”

  The hand not holding his mug came reassuringly over mine.

  I sighed openly, not willing to hide my distaste for the situation, but knowing deep down he was right in some capacity.

  “Fred. I know this isn’t what you wanted, but… he’s dangerous. We need to go on the offensive.”

  Henry was right about Jarvis. He was very good at his job.

  It took him four hours.

  In the time between, Hassan decided that as nice as a day in bed sounded, there was too much to get done. He finished his coffee in bed and dressed quickly. As he made for the door, I stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and as he turned, I pulled him in for one more kiss.

  My tongue brushed along his, the kiss languid and slow. His hands drifted down my back as he melted into it, cupping my ass in his hands and he gave a firm squeeze.

  “Fred,” he drew warningly, though there was an amusement to it.

  “You gonna leave me alone all day?”

  He kissed me deeper, hands massaging and kneading lightly as he touched along my back. I filed that information away for another day; perhaps it would be possible to convince him to give me a real massage. His fingers seemed strong enough for it.

  Hassan’s teeth bit into my lip suggestively, pulling gently and letting it snap back into place. The little jolt of pleasure was enough to wake a physical sort of interest. I wasn’t totally hard, but with the right help I could get there. I took hold of his wrist and as he made a questioning noise, I guided it to my cock, grinding carefully against it.

  Hassan groaned, lips drifting over my neck; he palmed my cock, the friction of it growing rougher through my pants, until I was beginning to breathe a little heavier with the pleasure it was bringing me. Brought to a state of full hardness, I moaned in his ear, ready to lure him away from his work for just a little longer.

  I felt his hand on my chest—gently guiding me back. Our eyes met and he smirked.

  “You’re gonna have to take care of this—” and he squeezed at the hardness pressed against his hand “—alone, Reyes.”

  My face pinched at the heated pressure. “Hassan—”

  He let go, reaching for the door handle, stopping only to spare me one more look. There was a mischievous look shared between the two of us.

  “We’ll finish this later,” I told him, righting my shirt collar.

  After he left, I slipped into the shower and went to check on Juan and Teresa. They were busy eating breakfast in the kitchen with Lorna—pancakes with little bits of chocolate chips, which Teresa mentioned shyly was her favorite.

  She was more timid than her brother, who was happy to ask for seconds and thirds. I indulged in a pancake or two myself before Lorna said she was going to have them meet their primary caretaker and take them on a tour of the estate. I pinky-promised them I would meet with them afterwards for lunch after I got a bit of my own work done myself.

  “What do you do?” Teresa asked carefully. “For work.”

  “I work on movie sets. I make sure everything goes right and stays on time and everyone is working and happy.” Laughing at the starry-eyed looks on their faces, I promised them they could come along to work with me one day.

  I took to my office for the rest of the day; while I could technically leave whenever I wanted, I doubted Hassan would let me just waltz out on my own so I figured I might as well use the time to my advantage. I was productive for the first hour or so, until I began to remember the night before.

  Memories of it crept in slowly, bare limbs and the sound of his voice mingling with my budgets and schedules. It was getting harder and harder to focus on working, the more time that passed. Still, I at least tried to be diligent, shoving the thoughts away as best as I could, neglecting the dull throb of arousal where it sat low in my stomach because this work needed to be done… even if it got done slowly.

  As I reread the notes Hank had left for me in the margins of my script (for the eighteenth time), I found myself easily distracted by the sound of footsteps as they neared by office. I silently wished for them to stop outside my door, to give me a good reason to put my work aside.

  The universe and all its luck smiled upon me.

  Whoever it was on the other side had barely knocked more than three times before I was answering; Jackson flinched at my speed. He thumbed over his shoulder. “Hassan wanted me to tell you: we need you downstairs.”

  Jackson seemed more serious than usual. I nodded, shutting my door behind me and followed. “Did he say what about?”

  “Uh… yeah, yeah, he did. His government buddy got back to us.”

  A nervous kind of hope bubbled in my chest. “And?”

  “And, uh….” He stopped on the final step, rubbing the back of his neck. “We think we might know where Henry is.”

  I could feel the hours passing faster now. I had promised to have lunch with Teresa and Juan but with the latest details, I told Lorna to apologize to them for me. I wouldn’t be able to make it.

  I sat in Hassan’s desk chair in their congested office; monitors and wires spanned the wall and there were two computers, a display of radios, personal and work effects. It was very much lived in. Doc pushed up his glasses, offering me another cup of coffee.

  I glanced at the clock. We had been here for nearly two hours now.

  Hassan sat me down the moment I arrived with Jackson, detailing what they knew so far.

  Jarvis, he explained, had been able to track Henry Carter through a database of groups of interest that had been compiled in ca
ses not having to do with mine. The groups of interest were of a wide variety: small cults and political groups with extreme ideas, underground groups, potential theft rings. All people who weren’t big enough fish for the government to go after, but dangerous enough to warrant being kept an eye on.

  It was an underground survivalist group that lead us to Henry.

  I learned a lot about Henry in those two short hours, more than I had expected to. The group he associated with were sort of like doomsday preppers, but to the extreme. There was a compound built, a safe distance from Los Angeles, fortified to withstand most apocalyptic scenarios: nuclear fallout, raids, etc. All of the talk about saving me and the end of the world was beginning to make more and more sense. Slowly, with little pieces, I was starting to put together a picture of who my stalker was.

  “Jarvis said they were keeping track of a few members last year,” Hassan explained. He seemed more tired than when he had left his bedroom this morning. “They were all individual persons of interest and then they all joined this group. They didn’t know if it was just coincidence, so they decided to keep an eye on the entire group. Henry Carter’s name popped up in their intel.”

  I folded my hands in my lap, clamping down on the desire to touch his shoulder or something. “That was last year, though? How can we be sure he’s still there?”

  “I was given coordinates by the shop clerk where Henry bought the knife he sent.” Hassan moved over to a map on the wall where there were colored pins places in seemingly random areas. He pointed to one, a bright red. “These are those coordinates. Out in the middle of fucking nowhere.” He turned to me, eyes set and hard. “Guess where the survivalist compound is located?”

  A plan was slowly devised.

  I sat by while they carefully began to coordinate each move, interjecting where I felt it was needed. This was, after all, because I had called them here; I needed to have a say in the matter.