SWNOVELS Good Behavior: Chapter 12
After another horrifying session with Biyu, I need some fresh air. I borrow the ranch truck and go for a drive to check out the H-E-B in Marble Falls.
Letting my thoughts go, I pick up a basket and mindlessly peruse the massive produce section. Charlie usually provides soups and sandwiches for our visitors, but I want to cook something for Biyu outside of our Friday dinner. Care for her in a way that isn’t about rehashing her trauma.
Anders mentioned that one of his friends puts peaches on her pizza, and it’s surprisingly good. Since it’s the beginning of peach season, I went digging online and found a promising recipe I’m going to try out.
I’m bagging a few pounds of gorgeous-looking peaches when I get a text from Charlie.
Charlie: We found Biyu’s parents. They still live in the same house she grew up in. They told our contact they never lost hope.
Me: That’s amazing news.
Charlie: We’re arranging transport for her now.
Me: How does that work? Will she have to travel alone?
Charlie: No. A local female therapist will accompany her, taking her as far as Beijing, where she will meet with her translator and be united with her parents, then transported home.
Me: And we’ll get confirmation when she arrives safely?
Charlie: Yes. We’re also providing Biyu and her family with additional support.
Me: I’m glad to hear it. Levy and I have some ideas about providing online help to ease her re-entry.
Charlie: Wasn’t sure if it’s legal for you to provide therapy to someone in another country. Don’t want to involve you in anything that would threaten your license.
I laugh, thinking about the ways in which I’ve already done that to myself.
Me: Let us worry about the legalities. We’ll talk soon.
Charlie: Okay.
Gripping my phone, I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. Biyu’s story is one of the most harrowing I’ve ever heard, and the amount of strength in that quiet wisp of a young woman is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
Our shared living arrangements have never been totally comfortable, but she understands we’re trying to help. She chose to give us a chance despite previous repeated disappointments.
Not wanting to get emotional in H-E-B, I put my phone away and refocus on the groceries. When I look up to find the sign for the condiment aisle, I spy Nacho two aisles down, pushing a basket full of processed crap and not one single green thing.
Speaking of things that will get my license revoked.
I swear I seem to conjure him whenever I need him the most.
He hasn’t seen me yet, and it’s interesting to observe how other people react to his brand of swagger. He’s a friendly, sharp-dressed guy, up-nodding everyone he runs into, but he’s covered in prison-issue tattoos, easily identifiable as an ex-con.
The tight smiles he gets back are a little funny, though I’m less amused by the hot mom in velour track pants hungrily looking him over despite the huge rock on her left hand.
Eyes off the goods, lady.
Returning her flirty smile with a wink, Nacho turns to dip down the snack aisle, which finally sets my feet in motion. Knowing he’ll choose something absolutely awful, I double-time it, brushing past Mrs. Real Housewives of Burnet County.
As I enter the aisle, I stutter-step to a halt. I keep forgetting how sexy he is up close, even with the terrible grocery store lighting. Worse—better?—he looks like a giant kid, tapping his inked fingers together as he reviews the selections, finally landing on a huge box of Twinkies.
“Put those back,” I command.
Nacho startles and drops the box as he pivots to face me.
“Dr. Barlowe,” he says, his voice high and shaky. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
Narrowing his eyes, Nacho makes a disgruntled sound and spins back around. He bends to retrieve the box, deliberately displaying his perfect ass. Instead of returning the box to the shelf as I’ve instructed, he raises his brow in challenge as he drops it into his basket.
I walk over, pluck the box out of his basket, and put it back on the shelf. Biting his lip, he reaches for it again, defiant. I grab his arm, loving how his chest rises abruptly at the touch.
“Those are mine,” he pouts, amusement lighting up his eyes.
I like the pouting. Too much.
Taking the fresh veggies from my basket, I put them in his. “You need to learn how to eat better.”
He immediately tries to remove the vegetables, but I stop him with my hand over his in a firm grip.
“Ignacio, you will take these, you will cook them appropriately, and you will eat them.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I said so. Because you work in the sun and need to combat the free radicals bombarding your body all day long. Are you even using the sunscreen I recommended?”
He crosses his eyes and then points to a tube of that exact sunscreen in his basket. “Bossy motherfucker,” he mutters under his breath.
“Bossy, perhaps. But it doesn’t give you a white cast, now does it?”
He shakes his head. “It’s fine.”
The video he sent me, several minutes of him slathering sunscreen across every delicious inch of his body, showed at least one weakness I’d counseled him on.
“And how is it going with you getting the back of your neck? I seem to remember you overlooking it in your video.”
His lips hook into a tiny little smile. “Yes, I have Ant get it for me.”
Is he lying just to get a rise out of me?
“Do you actually need help applying sunscreen?” I ask, hating how jealous I sound. More than that, hating how jealous I feel. “Even children can apply their own sunscreen.”
He shrugs. “I’m just trying to follow your directions, Dr. Barlowe.”
“Perhaps we should discuss flexibility exercises so you can reach the back of your neck by yourself. You need to be more self-sufficient.”
“But if I were self-sufficient, how would you ever help me?” he asks, letting his smile spread into a full grin, teeth and all.
“Even self-sufficient people need guidance, Ignacio. For instance, I assumed you would be interested in preserving your many tattoos, yet you still needed help remembering to use sunscreen.”
“You’re right, Dr. Barlowe. I might lose my head if you weren’t here to tell me how to keep it screwed on straight.”
Slowly running his teeth over his bottom lip, he inspects my body from head to toe. “Well, not straight, come to think of it.”
Frustrated by my arousal, I ask, “Why are you here? There are grocery stores in Johnson City.”
“I could ask you the same question,” he says, throwing my words back at me.
I grind my teeth, not wanting to cause a scene.
Grinning, he walks past me, trailing his fingers along my arm. “As stimulating as this conversation has been, I’ve got a hot date to prepare for,” he says, pointing at the enema box in his basket. “See you around, Dr. Barlowe.”
If he were mine, I’d drag him from this store and make him forget the thought of another man. But he’s not, and this thing between us is…pretend. Before I can think of a way to make him stay, Nacho disappears around the corner, whistling.
Forcing myself to walk in the opposite direction, I pull up my anonymous Instagram account. Nacho is vain about his beauty, as he should be, and he likes to share his workout selfies with the public. I haven’t addressed this yet. If I’m honest, it’s because this is the only place I can see his body how I want to.
Shamefully, I did look to see if he has an OnlyFans or similar account, but he doesn’t. Refocusing on Instagram, I remember he likes showing off his body and having people see what he’s doing. For instance, there’s already a selfie outside of H-E-B, telling people he’s shopping for a cozy night in.
Busted.
Ignoring the many, many offers to join him, I take a few breaths to center myself. When my heartbeat finally stabilizes, I return to the produce section and replace what I gave him, then make my way over to the checkout lanes, hoping to avoid trouble.
Trouble, however, is waiting for me. There’s only one available checkout line, and Nacho is in it. While he’s kept the vegetables in his basket, there are Twinkies by the checkout, and he’s put two—three!—of the smaller packages onto the conveyor belt.
He’s as insolent as he is gorgeous, and once more, I imagine what I’d do if he were mine.
As Nacho swipes his card to pay, he turns and spies me, startling before fixing that same little smirk on his lips. Wiggling his fingers at me, he gathers his bags and heads for the exit. I’m tempted to throw my things aside and follow him, but that’s too much, even for me.
There’s an elderly gentleman ahead of me who, thankfully, only has two items, and the gal at the checkout gets through my things pretty quickly. When I exit the store, Nacho is rounding his truck, about to get in on the driver’s side. Leaving the basket behind, I grab my bags, practically running toward him, having disagreed with myself about this particular boundary.
As he opens the door, I set down my groceries and step up to him, practically pressing against his back. He turns around, surprised, and I body him against the truck, nose to nose.
“Are those Twinkies in your bags?”
He licks his lips, his tongue dangerously close. “I told you. I eat what I want.”
“Twinkies need to be earned, and you haven’t earned those yet.”
He scans the parking lot, ignoring our closeness. He leans in and whispers, “Dr. Barlowe, you’re making a scene.”
“No, I’m not. There’s no one out here to make a scene in front of,” I insist, pressing against him.
This is the first time we’ve had full body contact, and the weight of his cock against my thigh nearly makes me lose the last withering vestige of my self-control.
Gathering myself, I step back. “You want to earn these, don’t you?” I ask, sliding one of the Twinkies out of his bag, holding it just out of his reach.
He lunges for it, and I pin him against the doorframe. “Come now, Ignacio. Wouldn’t you feel better if you earned them?”
His eyes meet mine as we share a breathless moment.
“Yes, Dr. Barlowe. I would love to earn them.”
Ticking my jaw, I wipe the sweat from his hairline. “Better. Show me your water bottle.”
He swallows thickly and then stretches to the passenger seat, his lower body still pinned by my hips. Hooking the bottle with an outstretched finger, he straightens, holding it in front of my face, proving he has, in fact, kept up with his water consumption. I take the bottle from him and unscrew the top, sniffing the contents.
“What is this?” I ask, regarding the bright lemon smell.
“It’s a calorie-free water enhancer,” he mumbles. “Plus, I add a little Topo Chico to keep it interesting.”
Watching him carefully, I take a sip. “Mm. This is tasty. I approve.”
“You know how I live for your approval, Dr. Barlowe,” he snarks, then leans back as I stand over him.
“You giving me attitude right now?”
“No, Dr. Barlowe,” he says, comically rounding his eyes.
As much as he’s playing with me, the pulse in his neck is going off like a telegraph as his chest rises and falls rapidly against my confining weight.
The sound of birds overhead reminds me we are very much in public and I need to stop. Hell, I needed to stop in the store, and pressing my body against his is yet another line crossed. The lines are like a bag of potato chips at this point. I couldn’t stop at one if I wanted to. Crossing one makes me want to hunt down the others and obliterate them.
Taking a deep breath, I step back and open the package of Twinkies, sliding one out.
“You’ve earned this today,” I say, holding it up.
Instead of using his hands, Ignacio takes the Twinkie with his mouth, capturing my gaze with a heated look as he bobs up and down before biting half of it and smearing the fluffy white center around his mouth.
“Mm. I love a good cream filling,” he moans, licking his lips.
Pushing the remaining half into his mouth with my thumb, I growl, “Stop playing with your food.”
Grabbing my hand, he swallows the Twinkie, then licks the remnants from my skin before letting it go. Completely out of my gourd, I raise my thumb to my mouth, sucking the tip, tasting the sweetness. Tasting him.
Maybe I could have pulled back before now, stopped the fucking runaway train before it went off the tracks. But the small taste of him on my tongue…that’s the breaking point.
Panting, possessed, I attack his mouth, moaning wantonly as he kisses me back with equal passion. I snake my hand behind his head and pull him impossibly closer, plundering his sweet mouth. He rolls his hips, and I let him, angling my thigh between his legs, giving him something to hump against.
His practiced cool gives way to a feral sexuality that nearly has me coming in my pants. I pull back, and our eyes lock as his breaths become increasingly ragged, our hold on each other—physically, sexually, hell, psychically—unbreakable.
He’s so fucking close. I can see it in the widening of his pupils.
“Come for me, Ignacio,” I roughly whisper in his ear before pushing my tongue past his waiting lips.
I grip him tight as he hunches against me, profane and perfect. With one final grunt, he pulls away from the kiss, pressing his face into my neck, gripping me tight as his body bucks and shivers through his orgasm.
I hold him as he goes limp, supporting his body until his muscles work again. Then I hold him for a moment longer. Because I have to.
“See how satisfying it can be to properly earn your treats?” I whisper, nosing his ear.
“Mm-hmm,” he says, still clutching my shirt tightly.
My heart pounds and alarms go off in my brain as the reality of what I’ve done finally hits me. I didn’t just cross a line. I crossed the line. Breathing heavily, I tuck in his shirt and straighten his collar, avoiding his eyes.
Swallowing, I step back.
“I’ll be watching your water consumption,” I warn, my voice a cracked husk. “Continue to send updates, and don’t get cute with your sugar intake.”
“Yes, Dr. Barlowe,” he says, equally breathless as he lets go of my arm.
“As for the sunscreen, try your best to apply it by yourself. We will work out a schedule to address your flexibility.”
“Yes, Dr. Barlowe.”
“Good boy.” I take another step backward, still avoiding his eyes. “I’m glad I ran into you today, Ignacio. Keep up the good work.”
I turn on my heel and walk to the truck with Wild Heart emblazoned across the side, my hands shaking. I’m glad there are no small children around because my pants do nothing to hide the outline of my raging erection.
The mere pressure of my underwear is nearly enough to trip my wire, and I’m reminded of a small detail from my therapy sessions with him. I am circumcised, and he is not.
I’ve never been intimate with an uncircumcised man, and I admit that curiosity has the better of me. Climbing into the truck, I imagine what would happen if I ordered him to slide his foreskin over my bare cock…fuck.
I start toward home, quickly realizing I’m risking an accident if I don’t get control of the situation in my pants. Pulling over, I unzip with shaking hands and push my shirt aside. I’ve barely started stroking when the orgasm hits and cum paints my belly as a gravely Ignacio crosses my lips. I let it dry on my skin, reveling in the tight sensation all the way home.