Page 53 of If Cain Were Able

“You’re such a dick, Rosemont. You would do well to remember you’re not invincible.”

I snort, but the sound hurts both my chest and my throat.

“As if that bullet didn’t just teach me that exact lesson,” I point out.

“Fine. I’ll discharge you. But I want daily pictures of your incisions. And so help me God, if you miss a follow-up, I’ll send EMS transport after your ass faster than that bullet hit you. Am I clear?”

I can’t hide my smirk, already excited about the prospect of being alone with Patrick for as long as I can convince him to stay.

“Declan, if you want daily pictures, join my OnlyFans.”

“Trust me, Rosemont,” he says as he washes his hands in the sink in my room, “I’ve seen enough of you to last me a lifetime. Just the incisions, please.” Exiting my room, Declan looks back over his shoulder at Patrick. “I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“Me too,” Patrick mutters once Declan is gone.

“I’m not going to beg for it,” I lie.

“Good, because you’d be wasting your breath,” Patrick responds, setting the tray across my lap.

I’m definitely going to beg for it.

Patrick has been waiting on me hand and foot for three weeks. He won’t let me lift a finger. His boss approved three months of remote working and promised no on-site assignments until I could take care of myself. Liam has been checking on Patrick’s house, and outside of that, Patrick has made the move from Raleigh to Boston pretty easily.

Easily enough that I’m starting to wonder if he’d make it permanent.

“Come on, one blowjob never killed a man. I blew you after heart surgery!” I argue, starting to get desperate.

“Jesus Christ, Cain. You still have bullets in you, for fuck’s sake, and the drain only came out of your chest a few days ago.”

I narrow my eyes.

“Well, according to Declan, the bullets are permanent souvenirs, so I hope to God that’s not why you won’t blow me.”

Patrick gives me the sternest look he can muster, which might work in a boardroom, but is soft around the edges when he aims it at me.

“Do you know how traumatic it would be if you ruptured something while I was choking on your cock?”

“I’m about to rupture something because you aren’t choking on my cock,” I counter.

“One more week,” he argues.

“ANOTHER WEEK? Patrick, I’m going to lose a testicle by then.” Time to show him just how desperate I am. “Please?” I ask.

Patrick folds his arms and cocks his head.

“That’s not going to work.”

“Pretty please?” I counter. Still nothing. “Oh, for God’s sake.” I push my sweatpants down my thighs and wrap my hand around my dick, needing relief. “I’ll do it myself then, but it seems such a waste when you’re standing right there.”

“Fuck, you’re insufferable,” he whines.

But he drops to his knees as he says it.

And so it goes for the next two months.

Push and pull.

Give and take.