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After the cock cage, he seemed awfully pissed. Dean doesn’t get angry easily. This might be one time I miscalculated his willingness to submit.

Dean doesn’t answer, not directly. But the guy who always fell to his knees if I so much as looked at him wrong looks me dead in the eye and says, “I don’t know what you mean, Mike. Sure does suck when someone thinks you’re easy to mess with like that though, doesn’t it?”

My neck cracks. “Is this about the cock cage? Vivica rarely ever wants to fuck after your dates. Do you really think I’d do that to you?”

He sets his jaw. “I don’t know. I’m not entirely clear on what you’d do, these days. For six years you’ve been paying me back for what happened to Billie. Is that still what we’re doing here?”

He’s not wrong, but… “For the last six years I’ve made it my mission to take care of Ella when you weren’t able to. I take her to school, I pick her up, I go to her damn ballet recitals.”

“Sure. You’ve done that. And I appreciate it. Thank you so, so much for helping me take care of my little girl.” He may say thank you, but his drawl is popping out and the cords in his neck are straining. Every muscle in his body is.

“You also haven’t wasted a single opportunity to make sure I knew how much I owed you, and to make me sorry for what happened to your family. As if I wasn’t already. As if hurting anyone was ever my intention when I was a dumb, horny kid who made a stupid mistake. I thought we were finally getting somewhere beyond all that, Mike. I don’t care what you thought you knew. The cage could’ve caused actual problems and you damn well know it.”

There’s a pang in my stomach. Maybe he’s got a point. “So you chose the nuclear option? You’ve blown up my entire business. Brennan’s accusing me of giving all the clients an STI, and fuck knows if I’ll be able to get work again.”

Dean lifts his chin. “Sure you will. You looking the way you do? Being so smart and so pretty and so good at talking to those rich assholes like you’re one of ’em? Everyone who meets you loves you. There’s plenty more where that came from.”

I open my mouth ready to argue. He can’t possibly know that.

Until I examine his body language, observing his defensive arm-crossing and the daggers his blue eyes shoot. The subtle pout of his lower lip. This isn’t just about the money, is it?

“You’re jealous.”

He shoves past me, heading to the bedroom. “Won’t argue it’d be nice to make the kind of money you do.”

He’s got his head buried in his closet and he’s pulling out hangers, stripping to change without looking at me. As he exposes the lean lines of his back, his dimpled ass, I’m feeling something completely unreasonable.

I should feel pissed. I am pissed. Also? Sort of pleased, because if Dean is out there trying to shut down access to my clients, maybe he’s doing it for the same reason I keep making sure he can’t go on dates.

In a few long strides I’m touching him, my front plastered to his back, my arm banded tight around his waist.

“That’s not what this is about. You’re jealous,” I repeat.

His forceful breath pushes his stomach against my arm. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re doing it again. Stop. Are you worrying about what you and I have, Dean?” I’m absurdly, unreasonably pleased by this.

“I’m not—” He cuts off when I spin him around and get on my knees in front of him, running one hand up his leg.

“Mike, what are you—we can’t—not now. I’ve got a—and Ella’s got to get picked up from school⁠—”

“Better come fast, then.” Then I dip my head and take him into my mouth.

I flick my gaze up to his, to his parted lips and his wide eyes. His hand goes to the back of my head, pulling me forward despite his protests. It’s a matter of seconds before he’s thrusting into my mouth.

For a quick second, I pull off. “Good boy. That’s it. Fuck my mouth. Show me how needy you are.”

His whine follows as I dive back in, taking him deep. One benefit of doing a lot of boyfriend experiences is I actually don’t have to have as much sex as the other guys. There’s some, sure, but my clients also want someone to cook them dinner and cuddle with them on the couch and go to art galleries and whatnot. Doesn’t mean I don’t still have the chops to suck someone’s brain out through their dick.

Before long Dean’s breathing gets ragged, and he’s thrusting in a way that’s messy and uncoordinated. He’s about to blow.

So I pull off.

“What the fu—” He nearly doubles over, reaching for me, but I pull away. “What? You’re back to denying orgasms now?”

“Oh, you can have one.” There’s no holding back my smug-as-hell grin. He reaches for me again, but I lean away from his touch. “As soon as you tell me the truth.”

His jaw nearly hits the floor. “About what?”