Chapter Twenty
Hamish
There wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to remain in cum-stained sheets and covered in the sticky stuff. What with being a fastidious person and all.
Finally, once my sanity returned and my heartbeat was somewhat back to normal, I rolled off Donovan.
Our skin stuck.
Ick.
Tyson slowly rolled off the other side of the bed and languidly straightened.
His cock was flaccid, and I might’ve chuckled. Inappropriately, but it was what it was.
He glared.
Donovan laughed.
Playfully, I smacked his hip. “We’re all having showers and changing the sheets.”
A groan escaped Donovan’s lips. “I just had a really hard day’s work—”
“That has nothing to do with sleeping in clean sheets.” I scrutinized him. “I suppose I could just wipe you down—but you still need to move so Tyson and I can change the sheets.”
Donovan cracked one eye open. And met Tyson’s amused grin.
Tyson shrugged. “I’m with Hamish. He erupted like a geyser, and I came pretty hard as well.” He pointed to a significant wet spot.
I placed a hand on my hip—very aware my own flaccid dick hung loose. “So?”
“You head into the shower, and I’ll be right behind.” Donovan stretched. “And we better make it separate showers, or we might get frisky with each other.”
I perked up.
Tyson snickered. “Refractory periods are a thing.”
My cock agreed with him. Yeah, not in the next few minutes, anyway. “Later?”
“Count on it.” Donovan’s deep voice resonated through me.
I skedaddled to the bathroom and hopped into the shower. Somehow I hadn’t gotten cum in my hair, but it’d landed in other places.
Huh. None of us had actually touched my cock. I’d never come that way before. I always needed…a hand.
I snickered. Oh God, cheesy. Yet noteworthy. Donovan’d carried me away into a realm I’d never experienced before. As I cleansed my sensitive skin, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to do that with Tyson. And Donovan’d implied I might want to be the one giving at some point.
That didn’t sit right, but I was well aware people’s sexual preferences evolved over time. I might eventually become comfortable with the idea of topping one or both of them. Huh. Will Donovan ever let me top him? An intriguing thought.
And we hadn’t even touched the dominance and submissive potential aspects of the relationship. Do I want Donovan to break me? What would that feel like? Would it make me more empathetic to my patients?
Which circled me back to the hearing at the end of the month.
The college was moving swiftly with this.
They intended to speak to Donovan and Tyson as well as several colleagues.
Then they’d make a decision about my future.
I had no concept of what I would do if I wasn’t a psychologist. My first thought was academics.
But an ethical violation meant I couldn’t be involved in clinical trials.
I supposed I could write books or something, but if my disciplinary action were made public, I wouldn’t have legitimacy.
No, I was fucked.
Ha, I could say the word at will.
Things were changing.
For the better? I didn’t think so, but I couldn’t regret my men.
Without a firm resolution to all my problems, I finished rinsing off and stepped out of the warmth of the shower.
Steam rose around me. Huh…I hadn’t realized I’d turned the water up quite so high.
I loved my soaker tub, but my showers made life worthwhile.
I toweled off quickly and was slipping back into the bathrobe I’d snagged when Donovan sauntered in.
Without knocking.
Oh yeah, that’s what people in relationships did. Right?
He planted a kiss on my lips as he eased the bathrobe off my shoulders. “Don’t ever hide from me, sweetheart.”
A warm glow grew inside my belly. I liked his nickname for me. And that surprised me. I believed myself above such things. But with him, I felt cherished. Special. Something told me he wouldn’t use that nickname with Tyson—that he’d pick something else.
I poked him in the ribs. “What’re you going to call Tyson?”
“Sunshine.”
I burst out laughing. Somehow…it fit. When Tyson wasn’t being grumpy, he was totally sunshine. “He’s optimistic.”
“Sometimes.”
Donovan’s somber tone caught my attention.
“We need to talk.” He tapped my nose. “And you’re going to have to come clean as well.”
Before I could respond, he stepped into the shower, closed the door, and turned on the water.
Uh.
Fuck.
I discovered my room empty and still smelling a little like cum.
Like sex. Not unpleasant, per se, but not something I was accustomed to.
The guys had stripped the bed, and the dirty sheets lay in a pile on the floor.
I snagged Donovan’s jeans and methodically emptied his pockets.
I wasn’t snooping—just being practical. Once I had everything dumped onto the bureau, I snagged his sweater and the sheets, then headed to the laundry closet.
After double-checking the washing instructions for the sweater—and finding a regular cycle would be fine—I put everything in and added my hypoallergenic detergent.
Then I opened the linen closet and grabbed a fresh set of sheets.
I hovered my hand over another flannel set, remembered how overheated Tyson and I’d been this morning, and opted for cotton.
Tyson smacked my ass as he sauntered past.
After shutting the cupboard door, I followed him into my bedroom.
He stopped short, snagged the bottom sheet from my hands, and started to lay it down.
I dropped the top sheet on the chair and helped him with the fitted sheet. What normally took me plenty of struggling time took mere moments.
Another grin crossed his face as he slapped me on the shoulder. “Always better together. My wife and I…” He faltered. The grin slipped.
Normally at this point of the discussion, I’d be fully dressed, we’d be in some kind of office, and I’d have my notepad. Here, though, in this bedroom, I was completely naked—and so was he.
Before I could react, however, he brushed past me and grabbed the top sheet. “I think the duvet’s going to be too warm unless we turn the temperature down a lot. I’m loath to hike it up—”
“Yeah, no.” I frowned. Yes, we mostly used clean hydroelectric power, but conservation was part of my nature.
And over the years, I’d lived in plenty of places that relied on fossil fuels.
That guilt didn’t alleviate easily, but keeping the temperature in my place lower helped with my mental stress over the state of the environment.
That and I hated to throw money away. “I have blankets—wool, cotton, and, uh…” I racked my brain to remember the fabric of the pale-blue one. “Fleece?”
“I think wool. But bring the other two, and we can gauge where we wind up.” He offered a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “My wife ran cold and insisted we have a vast pile of blankets. I was forever sticking my foot out to catch some chill.”
After a moment, I returned his smile—enjoying the image of him with a random foot stuck out. Maybe not so much the image of him sharing a bed with his wife. But that wasn’t jealousy—only concern for him because he struggled with those memories.
“Is the bed still not made?” Donovan strode into the room.
My mouth went dry. While we’d been in bed, I’d caught glimpses of him—but I hadn’t gotten a really good look.
I wasn’t someone who coveted beauty—in choosing my profession, I’d taken the position that all people were beautiful on the outside and, perhaps, damaged on the inside.
Not that I couldn’t appreciate that outward appearance affected how people interacted with the world.
I only had to think of the woman whose coworker had doused her with oil and lit her on fire to realize that.
She’d survived—barely—and I’d spent months helping her deal with the trauma.
The guy had gone to jail where he’d wound up killing himself, but she was dedicated to returning to the job she loved and overcoming the memory of the man who’d been obsessed with her.
Like Cole Hamilton and Meggibeth Smythe.
Funny, I hadn’t given that situation much thought since Donovan and Tyson had become my sole focus. Because of my suspension, I wouldn’t be there to help Cole go back to work. Although, since Meggibeth was safely in jail, he didn’t have that to worry about. Hala or Ian could take over.
Tyson touched my arm. “Where’d you go?”
Donovan struck a bodybuilder’s pose. “He was admiring my physique.”
I snagged a pillow from the chair and swatted him with it. Or tried.
He stepped back.
Before I could finish the swing, though, he stepped forward—right into my space.
My breath caught.
“You’ll share.” His dark-brown irises were nearly hidden by his widened pupils in the low light. “Whether we have the heart-to-heart tonight or in the morning doesn’t matter to me.” He squinted. “When’s the disciplinary hearing?”
“End of the month.” I tried for a smile. And faltered.
He tilted his head. “Tyson and I can give submissions?”
“Yeah. I mean, you’re not obliged.”
He scowled.
“But it would be appreciated. I have to write up a submission, but I have until the end of the week.”
“You’re worried about this.”
“I…” I hesitated. “What we just did made things worse. I should’ve…distanced myself. From both of you. You being here…” I blew out a breath. “It doesn’t help things.”
He nodded. “Fair. But I’m going to tell them I never saw you as my therapist.”
“I’m not certain your perception matters.”
“Well, I’ll make it matter. That is what’s at the heart of this. How I saw things. How I see things. To me, you didn’t cross any lines. And I know you see it differently. I can think you’re wrong and respect you at the same time.”