24. Skylar
24
SKYLAR
When I showed up early this morning to pick Kit up for his surgery, he gave me a distinctly disgruntled look.
“What? Did you think I’d forget about today?”
“No.” He fussed with his hat. “I may have hoped, though.”
Honestly, the hardest part was that he hadn’t eaten, and I hadn’t realized what a bitchy little queen he could be when his blood sugar was low. It was kind of cute, really.
Brandy had come with us to help me afterward. Cynthia was supposed to make the drive, but Reed was so anxious about his father’s surgery that we all decided it’d be better for her to stay and for Brandy to come instead.
Turns out, Brandy and I got along like a house on fire, which I think annoyed Kit even more. She and I held back laughter as we watched Dr. Kleinfeld figure out our little dynamic.
“So . . . Mr. Baker is your wife’s ex-husband?”
“Yes.”
Dr. Kleinfeld then turned to me. “And you and Mr. Baker are seeing one another?”
“Yes.” I held up my finger. “Point of order, all care I’ve ever given Mr. Baker was as an acquaintance and a friend. I’ve never charged him or done an official work up on him.”
Kit stared at me. “You’ve never sent an invoice?”
I shook my head, letting a smile play up on my lips. “Never wanted to dash my own hopes, I guess.”
His face softened and he kissed my temple while Dr. Kleinfeld looked at all of us like we’d just landed here from the Planet Zolton. Brandy took it with her usual aplomb.
“Queers have always had complicated relationships,” she explained matter-of-factly.
Dr. Kleinfeld turned to me. “Wait, does this mean I’m a bad bisexual with my boring relationship where my husband and I haven’t slept with our friends?”
“Not bad,” I promised, then teased, “Just rare.”
She laughed, then finished Kit’s prep and took him into surgery with tactical efficiency.
Thankfully, the surgery went better than expected. Dr. Kleinfeld was able to make a repair instead of having to cut away at the torn meniscus, and while that’ll take a little longer recovery-wise, it should result in more mobility and less of a chance that he’ll develop arthritis in the knee. Fingers crossed.
Kit was now out of recovery and high on pain medicine, and it was the funniest thing ever.
“Got a little drool there, partner,” Brandy said, wiping the corner of his mouth.
“Thanks, Brian.”
“It’s Brandy.”
“Isn’t that what I said?”
“Close enough.”
Brandy and I struggled to get him to the car, but only because he tried to insist he could walk on his own without crutches. Heavy emphasis on try because she was not about to let him get away with that. I mean, I wasn’t either, but Brandy was a little scary when you crossed her.
This whole recovery period was going to be an adventure.
Kit sang along to his Spotify list the entire way back, and Brandy and I shared many, many slightly hysterical glances in the rearview as I drove us home. Finally, when I pulled into Kit’s driveway, Cynthia and Reed were waiting for us, both looking a little worse for wear. Reed immediately came up to the passenger side, and Kit unrolled the window, singing “Do you hear the people sing?” at the top of his lungs.
Who knew my cowboy was a fan of musical theater?
Reed started typing on his iPad.
“What is wrong with him?” asked the British voice, anxious despite its digital monotone.
“Nothing is wrong with me, my beautiful pain in the ass,” Kit responded, if a little loudly. “I’m feeling the music. Can’t you feel the music?”
Loud , Reed signed, tucking the iPad under his armpit. Can feel it in my chest.
“Exactly.”
Cynthia, Brandy, and I tried—and failed—to hide our laughter. Reed, however, was beside himself. He started swaying and pulled his Totoro squishy out of his backpack. He held it under his chin, pressing it rhythmically, like a heartbeat.
Cynthia smiled and stood in front of him. “Your dad is acting a little silly because he has pain medication. The surgery went well, remember? And part of the recovery is making sure he’s not in pain. Or in as little pain as possible.”
But he’s singing , Reed signed emphatically. Really badly.
“Son, we don’t have any control over the quality of your dad’s voice. But now we know it means he’s not in pain, and that’s the good thing. Remember when you made jokes that time you had to get a filling?”
Laughing gas. Hated it.
“Well, this is the same thing. It’s okay. No one is in danger. And it’s nice to see your dad happy.”
He’s happy?
Cynthia looked over the car at me and smiled. “Oh yes. He’s very happy.”
Brandy ended up taking Reed back to their house because seeing his dad this way made him too upset. I kind of understood how he felt. Of course, I was amused by Kit’s vocal theatrics, but they made me realize how much I appreciated his generally calm demeanor.
When he wasn’t panicking or hungry, that is.
Cynthia helped me get him into bed and get his knee propped up on a pillow, then headed back out to the hallway.
Still humming, this time an old Kenny Rogers classic, Kit reached out his hand for me. I took it and placed a kiss on his forehead.
When I pulled away, he had a sloppy grin on his face. “You’re so pretty”
“And you’re so handsome,” I responded, pushing the hair off his forehead.
“Thank you for making me get this done.”
“I’m glad you agreed to it. I think your knee is going to start feeling better pretty soon.”
“Me too. Love you so much,” he murmured as his eyes drifted shut.
I understood he was high as a kite, but his words had me rubbing my chest, wishing they were true. I kissed his forehead again, right as he started snoring. My heart full, I joined Cynthia.
“That man is a handful,” I said, wrapping my arm around her shoulders.
“That he is.” She looked up at me, a light in her eyes. “But don’t dismiss what he said, just because he was on pain medication.”
I picked at a hangnail. “You heard him?”
“He wasn’t exactly quiet.”
“True. His volume control leaves something to be desired.”
“But his heart is in the right place,” she insisted, patting my arm. “I can tell you that much.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little too soon for all of that?”
“You’ve known each other for a while now, right?”
“Sure.”
“Kit’s known since the moment y’all met that there was something special about you. Took him a while to figure out what it was, but now that he’s got it straight— ha —it won’t take too long now for him to start making moves and declarations.”
I went quiet, letting my thoughts settle as we walked into the living room.
“You think?” I asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.
“Skylar, I know . That man loves deep. And he don’t let go unless you do.” She looked at the ground. “Saddest thing I ever had to do was break my best friend’s heart. And if I’d had even a sliver of bisexuality, I would’ve stayed. Once I understood who I was . . .”
“You had to go. You had to make your life.”
She pressed her lips together. “It was hard on him for a long time. So, if you’re not there with him . . .”
“Oh, I am. I very much am right there with him. I just wish I trusted it a bit more.” My eyes widened as I realized how that sounded. “I do—mostly—trust him. It’s just the little niggle at the back of my head.”
“I understand completely. But, if you’d like my perspective?—”
“Yes. Please.” I held my hands in prayer mode to show her how serious I was.
“Kit wasn’t sure at first, but he’s sure now. You can take that to the bank.”
Her certainty made my heart speed up and wish for things I wasn’t sure I could wish for.
“How do you know that?”
She sent a look back toward the hallway we’d just exited. “I’ve known and loved that man since I was fifteen years old. I know what he looks like when he’s in love. I promise you, whatever remaining insecurities he has, he’ll push through them. He won’t be able to help it with you.”
My hand went back to my chest. “Me, either.”
She hugged me tight, like I was a friend. “I need to go check on my son, but you have my number. Ring or text me anytime.”
I thanked her and walked her out the door, watching as she made her way along the connected walkways, past the architecture she’d sketched out with her own hands and imagination. Having her blessing felt important. Big.
I turned back inside, shoulders set a little broader. Like maybe I was ready for big.
“You’ve got to keep your body relaxed, Kit. Or at least your legs. You don’t want to tense up around your knee.”
“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to accomplish that with you deep throating me,” he huffed out, frustrated and on the edge, right where I wanted him.
It was, on its face, a perfectly reasonable point he was making, but it had been six weeks since his surgery, and I had severely underestimated what a shitty patient he could be. The deep throating was the only way I got him to cooperate.
Darn.
I pulled away from his dazzling cock, popping my brows. “Don’t you want your reward for being a good patient today?”
“I’m not some little kid who needs to be rewarded for good behavior.”
Oh, yes you are.
“Fine. I’ve got an appointment with a new client this afternoon. I can spend this time looking through his files and catching up with Dr. K, or?—”
“Wait.” He gestured with both hands to his magnificent, dripping cock. “ Please .”
I wet my lips, all slow and dramatic-like before grabbing him by the thick base. I let my slicked lips slide over his desperate cock head, back and forth over the sensitive corona, teasing out all kinds of sounds from my favorite cowboy.
“You’re killing me, Sky. Stop fucking around and take all of me like I know you can.”
I pulled away again, wiping the corners of my mouth before fixing a smirk at him. “Kit Baker, are you actually trying to stage direct my blowjob?”
“No.” He slapped his hand over his mouth. “Not at all,” he said through his fingers.
I laughed, then went back after him, teasing that perfect, fat head of his, backing off whenever he tensed up too much.
Two weeks out from surgery, he had tried to make his way over to the main office without his crutches. Sadie called me up, and I cut short an appointment, racing up the drive. The pain had forced him to return home, and he couldn’t make it past his couch. His clothes were drenched with sweat by the time I arrived, but that hadn’t stopped me from yelling at him.
His little adventure necessitated another MRI, which was itself an entire thing, but thankfully, he hadn’t undone any of the good work Dr. Kleinfeld had put into his knee. She did give him a pretty good talking to, and I was smug about it on the drive back home.
He admitted how much he hated feeling useless, which I never did understand—he hadn’t actually at any point slowed down enough to be useless. But it didn’t take an expert to find that the love he so readily gave to other people wasn’t a two-way street, and he was rather stingy when it came to himself.
Dr. Kleinfeld wasn’t fussed by it—she’d seen this foolishness with many of her male patients, and didn’t truck with his excuses. She also pulled me aside and said I should leverage something he did like to keep him in line.
I’m sure she was talking about something normal, like his love of riding horses. But, as it happened, he enjoyed my oral skills and my ass in frilly things. So, like any good boyfriend, I started leveraging blowjobs and lingerie for cooperation, visiting him in bed in my prettiest peignoirs. Suddenly—like a parishioner healed after the laying of hands—he was amenable to his daily physical therapy rotation.
Gotta say, if someone wanted to make that a home healthcare business model, it would catch on like wildfire. I, however, wasn’t interested in parading around in skimpy things for anyone but Kit Baker.
He hadn’t repeated his declaration of love in the month and a half since the surgery, but I saw it in everything he did for me. In every look, in every brush of a calloused hand over some expanse of my skin.
He was giving me that same look now, and I squeezed my hand around his thick cock, taking him down to the root, enjoying the way he fell apart under my ministrations. He kept himself loose, as directed, moaning through his orgasm. I happily swallowed what he had to give me.
“Please, at least let me touch you,” he said, begging.
I had been careful with him, not letting him get in on the action because I didn’t trust him not to do something stupid with his knee. But, seeing him sprawled out on the bed, his knee properly supported and braced, turned me on.
Don’t judge me, it’s an ortho thing.
I repositioned myself so he could take me in hand without jostling around too much, and I moved aside the see-through material of my robe to more fully reveal the ruby red silk underwear he’d purchased for me just last week.
He grabbed the lube from the bedside table and slicked me up and down, kissing me gently as he worked me over. Gone was the hesitation and in its place was a single-minded determination to wring every pleasure from my body.
I missed riding his cock, but as consolation prizes went, this was pretty damned good.
“One of these days I’m gonna be back to full strength,” he promised breathlessly, “and I cannot wait to show you how much you turn me on.”
Even as he said this, his soft, spent cock began to rise from the dead. Shooting it a look, I responded, “Darlin’, I can already see exactly how much I turn you on.”
He tightened his grip on the upstroke, and I arched, gasping.
“No, baby. I can’t wait to fuck you. I need inside you so bad.”
I’d already been on the edge, turned on as I was by making him come, and those words caused an eruption. Cum spattered all over his chest, which made him laugh and kiss me harder. So happy to be touched and loved by this man, I wiped him down and collapsed—carefully—on his chest.
When I finally regained muscle tone, I straightened my little outfit, ensuring the marabou fringe of my short robe grazed the bottoms of my ass cheeks exactly like he liked it. I then accidentally brushed up against him several times as I cleaned us up.
He, of course, couldn’t help but push his boundaries.
“So, if you were to come by and check on me this evening and so happened to catch me grilling up some steaks, how much trouble would I be in?”
I laughed, settling in next to him for a short nap. “You’re incorrigible.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Well,” I said, placing a kiss on the tip of his nose. “You’ve been following protocol—more or less—since your entire management staff mutinied and stopped sending you updates.”
He grumbled. “Yes.”
“And you’ve already started cooking breakfast, which hasn’t seemed to put you in too much pain.”
“Yeah, because eggs are so demanding,” he muttered.
“Hey.” I smacked his chest. “What I’m trying to say, if you would stop your fussing, is that I might miss your steaks, and some light grilling should be fine.”
He grinned wide enough to crinkle his eyes and light up his usually serious face. “Good. Now, can you tell my son and my ex-wife that?”
I laughed, imitating his pout. “Oh, poor baby. Did your shitty attitude cause everyone around you to join together in forcing you to accept the love, rest, and recovery you deserve?”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Just for that, I’m going to make your steak well-done.”
I kissed him, then kissed him again. “No, you won’t.”
“No. I won’t.”
We napped—with his hand cupping my ass under the pretty silk knickers until it was time for me to get dressed and make my afternoon rounds in the Texas Hill Country.
As I stretched up to kiss his perfectly square jaw, the camera on his phone clicked. He grinned, showing me the picture he took of us. Our eyes were closed, and we had smiles on our faces. His hand was on his chest as my lips touched his jaw, and we were in bed. It was clearly a picture of two lovers.
He pulled up his account and went to post the picture.
“Hey there, cowboy,” I said, stilling his hand. “Don’t let the pain meds get you in trouble on social media.”
He looked at me quizzically. “I ain’t taken a pain med—other than that Advil and Tylenol mix of yours—in over a month. I just wanna share this picture of you and me. Unless you don’t want me to?”
I knew he’d been slacking off on his pain management, but even that shocked me. It shouldn’t have.
More shocking, though, was his willingness, fully sober, to share such an intimate snapshot of our relationship. Our closest friends knew we were together, but he was not out in the community, and I was in no hurry to force a timeline on him. This little bubble of togetherness had been amazing, and to be frank, I didn’t want to push him.
“Kit, I need to make sure you understand this means we’ll be social media official. It means everyone you know—plus many who don’t—will see that we’re together. They’ll know you’re not straight,” I said, respecting the fact that he hadn’t yet landed on a specific label.
“I understand, Sky,” he said, pulling me in for a kiss. “I’m posting this on purpose. You’re mine, and I don’t want anyone thinking otherwise.”
Be still, my heart.
“So, you don’t mind?” he asked, his thumb over the button.
“I don’t mind it at all.”
He hit the button and then stole a celebratory kiss. Seconds later, a notification went off on my phone. Assuming the app was notifying me that he’d tagged me, my mouth turned down when I saw the message.
“What’s this look?” he asked, kissing my cheek.
I held up my phone. “Guess who just saw our picture?”
Rich, using yet another throwaway account, had found my regular account and sent me a message, asking if I was still with the broken-down cowboy.
The first few times I’d shown Kit the texts I still sometimes got from Rich; he’d wanted to murder the man. I then broke sugar baby code—I maintain he deserved it—and shared with him some of the details of Rich’s ‘prowess’ in bed, which had Kit rolling with laughter. Now, when these messages came up, we made fun of them together.
“Doesn’t he have a wife?” Kit asked, kissing the top of my head as I blocked yet another account.
“That he does.”
“Does she have an account? Maybe you should DM her.”
“I can’t,” I said, shaking my head. “I signed an NDA.”
Kit snorted.
“Baby, I have to take it seriously,” I said, hitching as his fingers slipped under the silk, skimming along the inside of my thigh. “He could sue me for the few things I shared with you. He’d one hundred percent take me to the cleaners if I made anything public.”
“I know what an NDA means, Sky,” he said, cupping my balls, kissing my collar bones. “I’m laughing because you signed an NDA, but I didn’t. And I’ve got time.”
I threw my head back and laughed, then hitched again as his lips found a nipple. “You would not.”
“You’ve taken screenshots of all his messages, right?” he asked, sucking lightly.
“Yeah . . .”
He kissed down my centerline as his hand found my hardening cock.
“Then send them to me. If you get into trouble, I’ll say I stole them from your phone.”
He thumbed my waistband. “You know these assholes aren’t hardly letting me do any work at all. Please, give me something to do.”
Laughing as he lowered my expensive underwear, I sent over the screenshots. “All right, baby. Do your worst.”
He nosed along my length. “You got it. Just let me take care of this first.”