Dr. Perfect: An MM Contemporary Romance Bundle

by J. P. Oliver

  “What?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing, I’m just….” and he shook it again, the hand at his cock reaching out for me to come closer. “I’m happy you’re here.”

  If I had heard it in any other context, I would have rolled my eyes. Having it directed at me was a different story; I felt my chest swell a little.

  He pulled my into him, and the skin-on-skin contact was like being consumed by a thick steam. It was hard to pull a good breath, but I didn’t care. Not when Fred was kissing me with intent and his hands were wandering over my back. He held me close, like he was afraid I might disappear any moment; I wanted to tell him I wasn’t going anywhere.

  “I want you inside,” he sighed finally, eyes hard with it, and there was that leadership I had seen while lingering on-set. He always talked about how happy he was I was capable, that he didn’t have to control or worry or micromanage when I was present. In moments like these, when he was stubborn with what he wanted, it was easy to understand why people followed him.

  “Lube?” I asked, untrapping him long enough for him to scramble up the bed to his nightstand, pulling it from the back of his top drawer. We knelt in front of one another, distracted again by the pull we felt, our lips running over one another as if we couldn’t get enough of the taste.

  “Want me on my knees?” he offered, but I shook my head, sitting like I had before when this conversation had first started. Fred watched me, confused as I lathered my fingers in lube, gesturing for him to come closer.

  “Facing me,” I told him and his face flushed another shade darker as he crawled over my lap, hovering, the tip of his cock pressing into my stomach. My slick fingers reached back, one entering slowly. His breath hitched in my ear and in his I murmured, “I want to see your face when you come apart.”

  “Hassan—” but whatever he planned on saying next was lost to the sound of his pleasure, my finger crooked deep inside him, stretching him before another finger was added. His arms hooked around my shoulders, fingernails dug into my skin as I scissored him open, the tightness of it promising. I mouthed lazily at his neck in an attempt to make it go a little easier, taking my time; the pace was maybe not enough for Fred, his hips rocked onto my fingers slowly, little attempts at getting deeper.

  I snickered quietly against his temple. “Ready for more?”

  He nodded quickly, exhaling as I stretched him. “Do it,” he hissed, desperation coloring his voice rather than anger or annoyance.

  As I reached for the lube, he took hold of it instead, hands shaky as he poured it into his palm, fist running in languid tugs over my cock. An animalistic noise was drawn out of me as he did it, eyes intent on my face and he licked his lips—I don’t know if it was on purpose or not—but I remembered the feeling of his lips around my cock, another pulse of arousal surging through me.

  Once he was satisfied with his handiwork, he wiped his hand blithely on a discarded shirt before lining himself up, sinking down on it slowly. My hands rested on his hips, an anchor as he guided himself down; my breath caught in my throat at the tightness of it, rough noises rumbling in my chest—his mouth opened around a silent cry, face pinching as he allowed himself to adjust, lower and lower, until he was panting and full.

  The heat of it was blistering. Fighting against the urge to shut my eyes, I studied Fred’s, twisted in first pain, though it melted into a more serene sense of pleasure. My lips ran over his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. He sighed against it, fingers curling and uncurling in my hair as he adjusted, the stretch fading away into something more pleasant.

  “Okay?” I asked, voice ragged. I wondered briefly if I looked as fucked out as I sounded.

  Fred nodded disjointedly, lips forming around a small smile. “Y-yeah,” he breathed, and he followed the guide of my hands on his hips, rising slightly—before dropping back down over me, the both of us groaning, a rhythm starting as he rode me.

  He bobbed over me with more stamina than I anticipated, my hands holding tightly to him, the tightness of it probably bruising, not that he seemed to mind. His eyes watched mine hazily, and I could feel the love in my chest, the feeling sure in this private moment. Fred had told me once he couldn’t imagine life without me in it; it occurred to me how easily taken away life was, how we were in a constant state of danger.

  I held him tight against me because I could, because he was warm and alive and wanting, clutching at me as my hips snapped up into him. There was little discretion, neither of us caring how loud we were, only thinly aware that there were other people in the mansion; I didn’t care.

  I wanted him to feel good; feel safe and protected and taken care of.

  “Hassan—Hassan, I’m—” he babbled, pulling and falling down on my cock faster now. His head tipped back as he fell down with a particular strength, my lips dragging over the arch of his neck; the moan that fell out of him was downright pornographic. When he looked back down at me, his eyes were wet. “Make me come.”

  And, how could I deny him that?

  Our bodies rolled, Fred splaying on his back as I fucked into him; his arms and legs came up around my body, clinging, holding me tight to his own. I felt an overwhelming desire to stay in this moment forever, my muscles pulling tight in my abdomen. I was going to come soon, I could feel the telltale tingling in my toes, the tension drawing in me like a rubber band, readying to snap; but Fred came first. He was closer and a tear slid from his eye; my lips ran over it as it trailed over his cheek, the salt of it heady on my lips as I kissed him. He licked at it, panting as our thrusts moved in a feverd tandem.

  Fred came with a rough cry, head arching against his sheets, and I could feel his toes in my back, curling in his apparent ecstacy.

  “Hassan,” and his voice dripped with affection and a wired desire for me to follow after him. He licked at my ear, panting against it. “I’ve never felt like this,” he mumbled, voice both bright and sleepy. I didn’t know if it was true; I only knew that Fred had not lied to me yet about things that mattered, and it was enough to undo me.

  I came with Fred’s name on my tongue and a twisted feeling in my heart. It belonged to him.

  I think I’m in love with you.

  I think I’m in love with you.

  Whatever attachments I had to others, whatever things still connected me to Henry, paled in comparison. It was clearest when my mind was at its most fucked out.

  We fell asleep on top of the covers, unclean and dragging sleepy patterns over each other’s skin, the words echoing as I drifted off:

  I think I’m in love with you.

  19

  Fred

  It took me two days to be able to walk right after Hassan came to my bedroom.

  He loved me. That in itself was a surreal thought, though it felt right. I tried to imagine a world where the opposite was true and my stomach twisted with it. I knew it the second I woke up the next morning, his body warm and naked against mine, the whiskey bottle resting against my leg. I wanted him to love me.

  I just couldn’t say it back yet.

  I’d woken up before him again; he was the earlier riser of the two of us, unless sex was concerned. Feeling a little devious and elated with what we had done the night before, I decided to do him a little favor.

  He woke up that morning with my mouth around his cock; it took twenty minutes.

  It turns out two days was just enough time to spare. On the third day, Hassan got a phone call from the scout he’d had placed outside of the survivalist compound. We’d received the go-ahead, he told me and the others, Doc,Jackson and Mikhail listening with rapt attention as we sat in their office. “He’s sending over the intel now. The amount of men, their posts. Exits and entrances. Watch rotations….”

  “So… when we movin’, boss?” Jackson asked, chewing the butt of a pen.

  Hassan was silent a moment. “Tonight.”

  It would be small team going in for the extraction and the goal was simple: find Henry, and bring him with us. This wa
s the ultimate offensive, Hassan had explained, and it was littered with variables and potential errors.

  “We need to be quick. We need to be quiet.” He paused a moment, hand tracing over the crude map his scout had drawn up of the compound. The outside was well-detailed, but the inside was more of a mystery. “I doubt we’ll get in an out without drawing any attention, but keeping a low profile is a priority.”

  It would be his team, the three men who I’d become so friendly with, each of them armed and prepared for anything that might go wrong. Hassan would be there and I would too, staying close to his side (one of his many conditions for letting me come). Aside from us, there would be his scout—a younger man named Sam—and that would be it. A small team would attract less attention.

  Their gear was set out across their desks. I watched as they strapped themselves into bulletproof vests; Hassan fitted me into a spare, before handing me a pistol.

  “Hassan, are you sure?” I asked, the weight of it in my hand suddenly more than I had anticipated.

  “It’s just a precaution.” His hand rested reassuringly on my shoulder. “If everything goes according to plan, you won’t need to use it.” He put it in the holster at my hip for me, sure to give me a basic rundown of how it worked.

  The others loaded their weapons into their kevlar vests and their back pockets, some things obvious remnants of their time served overseas. Mikhail strung a pair of dog tags around his neck, kissing the back of them, the act reeking of superstition. I wondered how many times he’d been on a mission like this one.

  We were dressed strategically—part of the intel Sam had delivered had to do with how the compound members dressed, their clothes plain and unmarked by any kind of brand—as we made our way to the most fortified car we had: an SUV that Jackson had souped up over the years. It could handle rough and uneven land, could take a decent beating and was quick enough. Doc and Mikhail sat in the front and the three of us sat in the backseat, the glow of the radio washing everyone in a rather serious, sickly green light.

  I didn’t realize my leg was shaking until Hassan’s fingers touched at my knee.

  “Uh… shit, sorry.” I stilled my leg.

  He looked over me, cold eyes steely. I suddenly missed the warmth I’d come to see in them. “You’re nervous.”

  “I guess so.” It felt uncouth to admit it in front of the others, but I wasn’t like them. “The closest thing to war I’ve ever seen was while directing stupid action movies. Now I feel like I’m in one.”

  Hassan considered it. The mask he had constructed for such a mission was more like the Hassan I’d known when we first met. It was distant and curt and cold. For a moment though, that facade chipped away. His hand came over mine and he brought the back of my hand to his lips in a decisive move. They brushed over my knuckles and a warmth crept under my collar at the action. Not just because it had happened, but because the others had seen it as well.

  I was distantly aware of Jackson mumbling, “I knew it.”

  “You’ve survived everything that’s happened to you this far. You’re tough.” Hassan gave my hand a light squeeze before letting go, his eyes fixed with mine. “And, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  It was a promise I was eager to believe.

  We rendezvoused with Sam two hours later. The city was long gone, lost in the rearview mirror, the safety of the city miles away. We were getting into the desert now, its sloping hills and dry brush, the trees sparse and less healthy. He leapt from behind some bushes to flag us down, nearly giving me a damn heart attack in the process.

  “This is it,” Doc hummed. We unloaded and watched as he backed the SUV into some kind of cover, tucked behind a large overgrowth. Sam was busy giving last minute details to Hassan and the others; I tried to pay close attention to the plan—a simple in-and-out mission—and thought of it as blocking a mission in a film. It was the easiest way to swallow the pill of what were were about to embark on.

  As he began a short hike, descending into the valley, Hassan’s hand rested on my shoulder once more, the weight of it reassuring. Part of me wanted to turn back, to let him handled it like I knew he could: alone. But it wouldn’t be right. This was ending tonight; it was my fight, my problem.

  I caught Hassan’s eye as he checked the top of his gun holster. Only in case of emergency, I reminded myself, feeling the weight of my own weapon at my side. He nodded to me and I was amazed at the control he had. The placidity of his face, as if something like this totally unaffected him. It was the thing I liked most about him, what drew me to him: his reliability, his assuredness, even in the face of total chaos.

  Hassan nodded to me. “You ready?”

  I shot him a blatantly nervous smile. “No.”

  “I’ll be watching your back.”

  Our descent would take us into the heart of the small valley and after only ten minutes, the light from the compound was visible. It really felt like a war film, the situation surreal, despite the very real danger. Hassan murmured something to Sam, pointing out at the compound.

  We slid lower through the dry dirt, keeping low behind the brush as we drew closer, stooping into what was once probably a creekbed, now dried up, parched by the hot California sun. My heart was hammering in my chest, so loud I began to worry that the others could hear it.

  “We’re going in the front,” Hassan said decisively and the others nodded in agreement. He turned to me, slightly concerned. “You remember the passwords?”

  I did; we’d gone over them several times in the car on the way up. I flashed a toothy smile, put on a brave face. “Of course,” I murmured. “A good actor never forgets his lines.”

  He clicked his tongue, shoving away whatever amusement my line had brought him, though I caught a glimpse of it in his eyes. “Alright. We’re moving out. Stay alert, stay close.”

  I wanted to kiss him for good luck or something. Instead, I took a deep breath and climbed over the lip. Adrenaline ripped through my body as we stepped into the open, the flood lights mounted on the roof of the compound like the kind they kept in football stadiums: high-powered and harsh, and it was a bodily fight to keep from running just to expend some of it. I was an actor, I reminded myself. If there was anything I knew how to do, it was play a part convincingly.

  The first guards spotted us nearly right away, shouting things to one another as we approached. My stomach twisted, but I kept my cool as we were ushered to the front door, all chainlink and topped with barbed wire.

  “We’ve come a long way,” said Sam, who headed the group. He held up his hands to show he meant to harm. “Please, we’re here as new recruits.”

  “From where?” asked one man.

  “Washington.” It was Hassan’s voice now coming from behind me. “It was a long drive.”

  When the guards seemed skeptical, I held up my hands as well. “Please. We want to taste the water untouched by man.” It was one of their phrases, their strange passcodes; hesitantly, they opened the gate for us and escorted us inside.

  After that, it was another phrase and a vigorous pat-down before we were allowed into the main compound. Our weapons didn’t go undetected, but we were allowed to keep them; the man who patted us each down took note of our weapons in great detail before allowing us to pass.

  “They’re not going to take them?” I asked Hassan quietly.

  He shook his head. “Everyone here has them.”

  It was almost comical how easily we had walked in through the front door.

  Each of us was equipped with a small sedative and a wristwatch, and a timer was set on every one: fifteen minutes to scour our designated section for Henry. After fifteen minutes, we would reunite outside of the mess hall. If he was found by one of us, we would wait near him until the fifteen were up; the others would find them in their zone after regrouping and from there, we would escape with Henry in tow, sedated, out one of their back doors.

  Everyone was on their own, aside from me and Hassan. It had been one
of his exceptions to letting me come on the mission; I had to stay at his side so he could be sure nothing happened to me. As an employer, it was the smartest move, I thought; as a person, I could see how much he cared.

  Hassan and I took to the Eastern wing and it was a surprisingly residential space. It reminded me of a dorm house, the long halls barren and the doors labeled with the last names of those who lived inside them. It wasn’t like an action movie now; we moved slowly through the halls, surveying each door, searching for ‘CARTER,’ pretending like we belonged there. We were new, so we got a few strange and interested stares from those who had their doors open. Hassan nodded to them; I waved. We were supposed to be part of the community. We had to act the part.

  Still, there was a time crunch, the reminder strapped to both of our wrists. The seconds ticked by without any sign of Henry Carter.

  Three halls later, we had only four minutes left. I felt Hassan tense beside me, stopping short in front of one door. I backtracked up beside him.

  It was there on the door.

  ‘CARTER.’

  We could hear shuffling, someone moving around inside. It made me sick to my stomach, itching to finally put this all to rest. Sure, we still had to get him out of the compound, but… this was different. This felt final.

  My stalker was there, just on the other side of that door.

  Hassan’s hand fell on the handle.

  I swallowed, nodding for him to go ahead.

  I remembered there was something at stake for him too, an old acquaintance of Henry’s. We would conquer this together.

  With a quick movement, Hassan pushed the door open and we looked into the bright of the small bedroom.

  The barrel of a gun stared back.

  “Henry?” I asked, shaking slightly.

  “That’s not Henry.”

  Hassan’s voice was chilling. The man in front of us was younger, barely twenty, with a long head of hair and a knowing smile. He relaxed in his chair as he brought a radio to his lips.