Good Behavior: An MM Forbidden Romance (Wild Heart Ranch Book 2)
Good Behavior: Chapter 14

Abort, abort, abort. Take it back. Take it all back.

“I shouldn’t have said that, Nacho.”

“Nah-ah-ah,” he teases, waving his finger in my face. “No takebacks.”

“I have to, Nacho. I should’ve never done any of this. It’s incredibly inappropriate, especially considering our history.”

“Our history? You mean when you had all the power in the world to suggest my freedom or continued incarceration?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I would say I regretted my action, but he’d know I was lying.

“I know. That was inexcusable and so inappropriate.”

His eyes sparkle like he’s enjoying my discomfort. “Inappropriate? Dr. Barlowe, you humped me in the H-E-B parking lot. Hell, you smashed my face into your crotch in our last session together. The inappropriate ship has sailed.”

He’s right. Of course he’s right. It’s killing me not to fuck him against that couch to show him how right he is. Instead, I try to pull it together.

“I’m sorry, Nacho. We are long overdue for a conversation, and that’s my fault. I’ve been putting it off until we could talk privately.”

“Can’t get more private than this,” he says, gesturing to the space around us.

“I…I don’t want to do this where I work. It blurs too many things for me,” I admit.

Blinking widely, he asks, “Why? Because you don’t wanna lose your license?”

I startle at his implication, then sit back, shaking my head. “I wasn’t thinking about that at all. I just…I’ve never done something so awful in my life and—”

His teasing expression gives way to hurt, and he scratches his nose, his eyes going red.

Argh, I’m doing this all wrong.

“I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything awful. It was me. It was all me, and even though I still don’t regret it, talking about this in my place of work makes me feel like the biggest asshole.”

Shifting his jaw, Nacho lifts his chin. “Fine. You don’t want to talk in here? Then let’s go for a ride, asshole.”

Yeah, I deserve that.

I gather my things and do the final walkthrough, turning off the lights and setting the alarms. The horses have been fed and had their stables cleaned by Ant and a few other volunteers. We walk outside, and Nacho waits for me as I close and lock the big barn doors.

Grabbing his keys, he heads off toward his truck, and I follow him, kinda…helpless to do anything else. He gets in and pushes the start button as I round on the other side.

“Seat belt, Ignacio.”

“Fuck you.”

I curse under my breath. “Sorry. Habit. That’s not an order. I just…me and Levy? Our lives were saved by wearing our seat belts, and I would never let someone I care about ride without one.”

He snorts. “You? Care about me? Doubt it.”

He’s covering up uncertainty—uncertainty I placed there—and it’s like a closed fist around my gut. He would have no doubts had I handled this whole…thing…like an adult.

You still can’t even call it by its name, Abraham.

“I do,” I rush to assure him, ignoring my loud inner critic. “I care about you very much.”

“Sure,” he says, reaching across his shoulder to pull the belt before snapping it into place.

I grind my back molars as he carefully backs out of the parking space and pulls out of the property. Within seconds, we’re on a back road, with nothing around us but dark sky and hills covered with green trees.

Nacho is silent, and I take my fill of him as he drives into the night. He’s got his elbow propped on the door, leaning his head onto his fingers as he steers with his right hand. Here, in this atmospheric almost-blue light, he again reminds me of an editorial model, mysterious and brooding, his tattoos lending a sense of danger.

I’m heavily tattooed, yes, but I look like a hipster who wandered into a courtroom. He looks like he’s broken laws. Like danger and orgies wrapped in sexy brown skin and impossibly thick black hair.

He glances in my direction with pursed lips and judgment in his dark, knowing eyes. I feel like a kid caught masturbating, shameful with desire.

Refocusing on the view outside, I try to come up with something to say for myself, only to be met with internal silence. I let out a frustrated groan, unaccustomed to this inability to replace the right words. Finally, as though we’re already halfway into the conversation, I stumble forward with a crude confession through clenched teeth.

“This thing between us turns me on. Not talking about it makes me hard every time I see you.”

Met with silence, I glance over as Nacho scrubs his jaw.

“Yeah.”

Yeah? What does that even fucking mean? Yeah, he sees it when I get hard? Yeah, he feels it too?

Yeah, what?

“Use my name, Ignacio.”

Rolling his eyes toward the ceiling, he starts with the Spanish curses, then ends with, “You are un-fucking-believable.”

“Ignacio, please,” I press, needing it more than I can admit.

He sighs. “Yes, Dr. Barlowe. It is a turn-on.”

“It’s not just about the sexual tension,” I admit, finally using the words that describe these last several months since I first saw him at Wild Heart. “It’s about…I see how hard you work. How hard you try. Even with setbacks, it’s like you’ve already got the goal in mind, and you’re not going to let anything stop you. When I see where I can direct you, where I can help you to make better choices…”

My words trail off.

“Yes, Dr. Barlowe?” he nudges, disrespectful even as he gives me a glimmer of hope.

Grinding my jaw, I admit, “It’s very satisfying.”

“Satisfying how, Dr. Barlowe?” Nacho asks, smirking. “Does it satisfy you sexually?”

It would if I let it.

“Maybe, but it’s also fulfilling in a way I don’t often get in my line of work.”

I dart a look in Nacho’s direction just as his brows meet in the middle.

“You don’t replace your work fulfilling? I mean, Lyle Underwood is doing some volunteer work with us before school, and they said you helped them understand it was okay to be masc-presenting and yet know oneself to be nonbinary. Hell, they’re out there helping others because you suggested our little community outreach project to them. You’ve changed their whole perspective.”

I shake my head. “At best, it’s half me, half my brother, which is why we work so well together. That part is fulfilling. I’m thrilled with Lyle’s outcome. But for every Lyle, there are, I don’t know…fifteen Ants,” I say, then curse under my breath. “Please forget I said that.”

“What’s wrong with Ant? He shows up to work on time, works his ass off, and he’s part of our community projects too, you know. He’s a good egg.”

“He is…” I hesitate. “Good.”

“That’s a ringing endorsement from someone who can’t even get him to go to therapy.”

“Shut up,” I grumble, unwilling to discuss the troublesome things I see in Ant’s eyes.

I’ve blurred and crossed so many lines it makes me dizzy, but another admission tumbles out of my lips.

“The limitation of therapy is that I can’t stitch people back together. At best, I’m the person informing them that, after everything they’ve been through, they are the ones who have to do all the heavy lifting. I’m not supposed to say this, but I wonder if that’s not giving them false hope. Some of these people…I don’t know if recovery is fully possible.”

My words are greeted by road noise. Shame washes over me, my own words pummeling me for the failure I really am.

Finally, Nacho breaks the silence.

“That’s why…everything. Isn’t it? You think you can stitch me back together.”

The neutrality of his statement gives no hint as to his feelings on the matter. Once again, I’m left with a raw truth.

“Yes. And no.”

“Explain.”

I let the road roll under us for a few moments before answering.

“You respond well to direction. For all the things you won’t tell me, I know you’re a fighter.”

“You know my record, Dr. Barlowe. That Nazi motherfucker was the only fight I ever had on the inside, and he came to me.”

“But you were prepared. You knew exactly what to do. You took him out of the fight before he could do serious damage.”

“I dunno, Doc. Getting stabbed with a shiv felt pretty fucking serious to me.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

We hadn’t gotten very far in our therapy sessions, but I knew the first time I met Ignacio Rivera that he’d kept his sexuality well hidden. It was evident with the way he acted in those few moments before deciding he was interested.

Based on his record of good behavior and lack of violent interactions, I doubt he ever let anyone see his queerness. Not the way he showed me. When I think about how hard he would get for me…fuck. I loved that his arousal was for me and for me alone.

After a few seconds of riding along in silence, Nacho answers, gripping the steering wheel tight, “My father always said, ‘Never start a fight, hijo. But if someone brings the fight to you, make damn sure you finish it.’ Didn’t want to disappoint my old man.”

Sadness, deeper than I thought him capable of, crosses Nacho’s features as he stares out at the road ahead.

“It’s the way you liked being directed,” I explain softly, hoping to bring him back into the now. “That’s why it’s so satisfying. I can tell a brick wall to sit up straight, but what good would that do? To soothe and appease a fighter like yourself, to be the one person you are willing to take direction from…”

I let out a shaky breath as blood pulses in my cock, causing it to swell. Even Nacho shifts in his seat, uncomfortable.

“Yeah, I can see why we never talked about this,” he says, shaking his head. “Not exactly easy to admit how much I like your direction.”

I clear my throat and will the lower half of my body to calm down.

“And do you like that we naturally slipped into this? Or does that bother you?”

His silence makes my stomach drop. We’re already almost to Canyon Lake. He turns onto the next ranch road, going back toward home via a different route.

“Both,” he finally admits, his voice quiet.

I look over, horrified. “Nacho, I am so sorry. I—”

His irreverent eye roll stops me in my tracks.

“I like that you knew what I needed without asking.”

“Okay…”

“But…I’m always a little worried you’ll ask for something I can’t give you, and I don’t know what happens if I say no.”

I slap my hand to my forehead, staring at him. “Nacho, you can always say no.”

The withering look he gives me tells me it wasn’t as obvious as I thought. His words seal the deal.

“Well, thank you for letting me know, Bram.”

Heat tightens my chest and loosens my hips. Aaaand we’re back to irreverent.

“Okay, okay, okay.” I put my hands up, a gesture of surrender. “We definitely should’ve talked and established some guidelines before today. That is entirely my fault. I am so sorry.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “That’s, like, three times you’ve apologized already. Are you okay?” he asks, adjusting his grip on the wheel to touch the back of his hand to my forehead.

I love it when he does that.

I take his hand and kiss it. “I can admit when I’m wrong.”

“Genuinely didn’t know you were aware you could be wrong. So this is…surprising.”

“Shut up,” I say, glowering at his amused smile.

“Okay, then…what are the rules?”

“Rule number one is, you can say no to anything. I’ll never punish you for saying no.”

“You sure? I might like that,” he says, his shit-eating grin brightening the dark space between us.

I know he’s joking to ease the tension, but I can’t quite go there yet. “I’m not going to ignore you or walk away from you because you say no. This only continues because we both want it to.”

There’s a solid ten-count of road noise before he responds.

“So…you do want to keep doing this?”

The hint of uncertainty in his voice shames me to no end.

“Very much,” I say, looking out the side window.

He lets out a huff of air.

“Can you please look at me when you say that? Because I don’t… It doesn’t feel good when you look away from me like you’re doing right now.”

I don’t think Nacho likes having to ask for attention, probably because he doesn’t feel he deserves positive attention in the first place. Ignoring him…that’s the punishment.

And it’s not a punishment I’d ever willingly give out.

“I’m sorry,” I say, turning to look at him directly. “You will always have my full attention. Your thoughts are incredibly important to me. The way you feel about this dynamic between us is incredibly important to me.”

“Yeah?”

“If I didn’t think you enjoyed it, it wouldn’t be enjoyable for me. I could tell from the beginning that…”

“In our jail sessions?” he asks, smirking.

“Yes, in our jail sessions. I could tell you liked what I was doing. That you were turned on by what I was doing.”

“And I like that you never said anything about my hard-ons or the fact I sometimes did things just for your attention.”

It’s my turn to smirk. “That was fun for me,” I say. “Highly arousing.”

Nacho chews his bottom lip, thoughtful.

“What’s this look?”

“I want to do the things you ask of me. Really, really want to. I like the way you’re firm with me. But when you walk away, it feels blurry. Like, I don’t want you to be bossy all the time, but you can’t act like there’s not an us when we’re not playing. I need to know that we have something outside of the playing.”

Not gonna lie—that’s a gut check I’m not expecting. The clinician in me knows how very in-the-wrong I’ve been, not just with that but with all of this. The ex-convict setting the clear boundary is embarrassing but necessary.

“You are right,” I nearly choke out.

He laughs. “Man, that must’ve hurt for you to say.”

“You have no idea. And I very much want an us outside of our dynamic.”

“That’s good to hear,” he says, looking relieved. I feel like an ass for not making that clearer sooner.

“It’s just…”—his words drift off, and I wait as he replaces them again—“something about you makes me want to spill my guts. Tell you everything about me. But some of my history doesn’t have a statute of limitations. I’d be a real fucking idiot to tell you those things when I’m not even sure you’re all in.”

“So when I pull away, it makes you worry.”

“Of course it does,” he says with a gesture, keeping the truck steady even now. “This isn’t casual for me.”

“I don’t want you to worry, Nacho. This isn’t casual for me either. You can say whatever you need to say. In your own time.”

He grips the steering wheel like he wants to say something but can’t quite get there.

“You’ve said that you have things that don’t have a statute of limitations. Maybe if you knew some of my history, you’d know you could talk to me.”

He looks over at me. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I don’t know if I ever told you, but Levy and I grew up in a tough neighborhood.”

He shakes his head.

“It was…I dunno. Rough, but everybody kinda took care of everybody else. Our parents owned a little convenience store that, you know, did okay. But we got robbed a lot, so we took classes at the community center and learned to defend ourselves. Fight back if necessary.”

Humming to himself, he responds, “Can’t let them think you’re an easy target.”

“Nope. We were pretty rough around the edges when we were younger. Disciplined enough to stay out of any real trouble, but nobody fucked with us.”

I take a deep breath. Only Levy knows this next part about me.

“Anyway, we had a friend, Ria. We’d gone to school together since kindergarten, and she was one of the first people I ever told I was gay. She had shitty parents, but she was always cool to be around.” The memories come thick and fast, and I give myself a chance to catch my breath. “But there was this one week where she left school on Friday, chatty and happy, but came back on Monday morning like a ghost of the girl we knew. It didn’t take much digging to replace out that her stepbrother had moved in over the weekend, and things had gone to hell. Fast.”

Nacho, hanging on to every word, curses under his breath.

“Exactly. He’d dropped out of college, moved into the apartment over his dad’s garage, and he just…you could tell he was bad news from looking at him. Ria never told anyone else what he did to her, and she made us swear we wouldn’t say anything. I kept my promise, but she didn’t say we couldn’t go after him.”

“Oh shit.”

“He came into the corner store the same night she told us what was happening. I was on shift and told him I had some expired beer in the back if he wanted.”

“Let me guess: no beer.”

“Not a drop. At least not for him. Got him in the alley, and he thought he was so badass, but he didn’t know a thing about putting up a fight. It took less than a minute. Broke a lot of the bones in his face with a few quick palm strikes. Kicked his knee so hard it went the wrong way.”

Nacho’s eyes widen as he looks over at me. I shrug.

“Fuck, Bram. You could’ve done some serious time for that.”

“Nah.” I rub my thighs, remembering that night so clearly. “Didn’t have a scratch on me. Didn’t use a fist, so my knuckles were fine. It would’ve been his word against mine. Also, I always carried a knife on me, so I held it up to his throat and told him everything I’d do to him if he ever laid another hand on Ria. Called him an ambulance, and he swore up and down he couldn’t identify his attacker. Left town as soon as he healed.”

Nacho drums his thumbs on the steering wheel, nodding along. We share a few silent moments, and then he begins to speak.

“I…I tried to be the good kid, you know? I didn’t want to be in a gang like my cousins. But, you know, shit happens. My mother only took the hard stuff if she needed help making it through a triple shift. Dad died of an accidental overdose when I was fifteen. Mom did the best she could. I still was okay-ish though. You know?”

I bob my head, encouraging him to continue.

“But my cousins would end up in these binds, and I would help because I thought I had to. Anyway, you know that part. The night I got arrested, I knew it was going to happen. Like, I told them it was a bad drop, but they had shit they were holding over my head.”

“The kind of shit that doesn’t have a statute of limitations?”

He nods. “It’s why I followed your advice and got the hell out of there. Didn’t want them coming after me again.”

He lets the road noise take back over for a few miles, and I don’t rush him.

“You know, in our neighborhood, there were these white supremacist wannabes. Why they would choose to live in the neighborhood everyone called Little Mexico, I still don’t get. They always caused trouble, but low level. Until one night, they beat the shit out of this old guy down the street. Robbed his rent money and left him for dead. We all knew who did it, but the cops couldn’t make a case. So they got away with it. And I didn’t want them sniffing around my mom’s house because…yeah, fuck that.”

“So you did what you had to do.”

“Exactly,” he says, gesturing. “I wasn’t going to wait till they showed up. I knew where they lived and had one of my cousins come as backup. Shit got ugly. Me and my cousin made it out. They didn’t. I got one. He got two.”

He swallows uneasily, ticking his jaw.

“You never got over killing someone.”

Nacho shakes his head, tapping his thumb on the steering wheel. “My cousin pounded my back, telling me I was one of them now… I threw up that night when I got back to my mom’s house. Lost a bunch of weight, couldn’t think about what I’d done.”

“Sounds like you and I might be more alike than we think,” I say softly, rubbing his arm. “Thank you for trusting me with your history. I promise it goes nowhere. Not even Levy.”

He swallows thickly, not yet able to look me in the eye. I lean over and kiss his cheek, and his body releases some of the tension he’d been holding.

“You were protecting your mom, Nacho. That was incredibly brave of you.”

A tear rolls down his cheek.

“It’s funny, me crying. My cousin—the one who went with me? He said we had to get the teardrops to let people know not to fuck with us. I never wanted this thing,” he says, gesturing to the tattoo on his face. “And after I was convicted, I decided I’d keep it to look tough in jail, maybe get it lasered off after.”

“And now?”

“It’s a reminder to leave that life in the past.”

“Think you’ll ever get it removed?”

A sexy smile curls his lips. “I don’t know, Dr. Barlowe. What do you think I should do?”

“I think you should do what is right for you, Ignacio. Either way, I’ll be proud of you,” I say, kissing the back of his hand, letting my dominant side purr to life.

“Yeah?” he asks, looking over at me hopefully.

“So very proud.”

The remaining tension leaves his body on a big exhale. “Thank you, Dr. Barlowe.”

I shift in my seat with how good he makes me feel.

“I like it when you call me Dr. Barlowe,” I whisper, leaning over to kiss the outer shell of his ear.

“I know,” he whispers back, glancing at me expectantly before returning his eyes to the road.

“Thank you for setting a boundary. I know that wasn’t easy. I’m still figuring out how comfortable I am with other people knowing. So if you can, I’d like to keep it between us.”

“Of course, Dr. Barlowe,” he says so genuinely it makes my heartbeat speed up.

God, what he does to me.

“I don’t know if that’s fair though,” I admit.

“Why is that?”

“We have been in public, and I have instructed you.”

“Yes, but you are always discreet when you do it. You don’t do it to humiliate me in front of other people. You do it because you want me to be…right.”

I let out a slow hiss. “Yes.”

“Then please keep doing that, Dr. Barlowe.”

“You have no idea how much it pleases me to hear you ask for instruction, Ignacio.”

“And it pleases me to comply. Most of the time.”

I’ve been calling him a brat, but that’s not true. He’s just asserting his boundaries. It’s good. It’s healthy. And I like it very much.

“And do you like it when I call you Ignacio?”

“Yes. But there will be days when I just want to be me—Nacho. And, same as you, I don’t want you to do it around other people. Too many questions.”

“I usually think of you as Nacho, but then I enjoy calling you by your given name.”

“I like that.”

“We’ll keep this private then.”

“Thank you, Dr. Barlowe.”

“Is there anything else you’d like me to do?” I ask, knowing the answer but needing him to say the words.

He smooths his hand over his crotch, and I tsk, shaking my head. He moves his hand back to the wheel, grabbing tightly.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Barlowe. Been kind of a heavy night. Talking about this turns me on.”

“That’s a good, healthy reaction, Ignacio. I like seeing it. I like to reward honesty. But this is about telling our truths, being open about what we want from each other.”

He nods.

“Ignacio, I need you to hear me when I say this.”

He glances at me, completely trusting.

“This thing we’re doing? It’s wrong. It’s been wrong from the beginning. You just shared something very heavy, and that makes you emotionally vulnerable. Which makes this line of conversation…”

Looking over, Nacho licks his lips and finishes for me. “Wrong.”

“Yes. I like that it’s wrong. And even though I never would’ve abused my power over you, I liked that I had power over your freedom.”

“You did?”

“Made me feel like a god,” I confess. “No, not a god. Your god.”

“And now I’ve given you that same power all over again,” he says thoughtfully, his knuckles turning pale as he continues gripping the steering wheel.

I shiver on an inhale before hissing out, “Yes,” my cock aching against its restraints.

“I like that,” he admits breathlessly, his eyes on the road. “That I can make you feel so powerful.”

“Good,” I say, running my hand over his jeans, enjoying how swollen his cock has become. “Good boy.”

“Thank you, Dr. Barlowe.”

I remove my hand from his thigh, needing to gather myself. Our heavy breaths sync, and we drive through the night, staring out the windshield, knowing Nacho could say the word, and I’d order him to pull over and wrench orgasm after orgasm from his willing body.

The fact that he enjoys me having this much authority over him is heady stuff. But I can’t enjoy that without first acknowledging some important truths.

“As much as I like how wrong this is…”

His chest rises sharply, and I take another breath to wrangle my impulses.

“As much as I like that, there’s wrong, and then there’s not checking in. If you’re willing to be wrong with me, we’ll be wrong together, but consent is important, and I should have been upfront with you way earlier.”

“I definitely want to be wrong with you.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he goes quiet. I raise my chin, silently encouraging him to continue.

“Is it still wrong?” he asks. “I’m not your patient anymore.”

I let out a long breath.

“Legally, we’d have to wait another few months to hit the two-year mark from our last session. But I don’t plan to wait unless you want to.”

He snorts. “Yeah, no. But…what about after the two-year mark?”

“We’re technically in the clear unless someone can prove we had sexual contact prior to that time. However, the power differential that comes with me being your therapist doesn’t go away. The therapeutic community regards any sexual contact with a patient as deeply unethical, regardless of the time passed or the circumstances.”

Worry marks his brow. “Is that…will you being with me fuck up your career?”

Slowly and with absolute certainty, I shake my head.

“I could give a shit about my reputation in the larger therapeutic community. The thing I worry about most, aside from your consent, is Wild Heart’s reputation.”

He nods along. “You love the ranch.”

“I do.”

“But we can keep doing what we’re doing?”

“I’m hoping we can do so much more,” I admit, shocking myself. “That is if you’d like to do more.”

He shifts his hips, looking out the windshield as his chest rises and falls. Finally, I ask the one question a therapist should never ask their patient.

“Will you let me fuck you, Ignacio?”

He nods, gripping the wheel tight.

“I need your words.”

He takes a deep breath and…fuck. His cock is so hard underneath those uncomfortable jeans.

“Yes, Dr. Barlowe. I need you to fuck me.”

“Good. Good boy. That was brave of you to say. It turns me on when you tell me what you want.”

“Thank you, Dr. Barlowe.”

“And to be clear, Ignacio, I like that this is a dynamic we can take in and out of the bedroom, but I don’t want it to always be about the dynamic with you.”

“I’d like that too. It’s a little dirty, but it’s actually…helpful? At the same time? There’s something about knowing you’re looking out for me and wanting the best for me. It helps me make better decisions for myself.”

I curse under my breath, gripping my thighs.

“You want to kiss me now, don’t you?” he teases.

“Boy…”

He grins, proud of himself.

“One of these days, you and I are going to get some real privacy, and I will show you exactly how I feel about all of this,” I say, lowering my voice half an octave to prove how serious I am.

He groans, tilting his hips. “Might’ve fucked myself over on that one.”

“Still, you didn’t know you could say no, which was an unacceptable omission on my part. So let’s talk about how to do that. Most people in a Dom-sub dynamic have a safeword. Do you want that?”

“Not in any place where it would be obvious I’m using a safeword with you. I just wanna be able to say what I said today. No, or that it’s none of your business.”

I narrow my eyes. “None of your business doesn’t sound all that respectful, now does it, Ignacio?”

“Well, demanding something that’s none of your business is also not super respectful, so…you tell me how to handle that, Dr. Barlowe.”

He has a good point.

“Fine. I will take whatever you say at face value when we’re in public.”

“And when it’s private?”

“We can play it by ear, but a safeword might be good for now.”

“I hate lima beans,” he says rather immediately.

“You came up with that pretty quickly. Been thinking about a safeword for long?”

He shakes his head. “I just read somewhere your safeword should be something you don’t like very much, and I hate lima beans.”

“I like it. And is lima beans good as we continue to progress sexually?”

He takes a deep breath. “Yes. But…I doubt I’ll ever use it.”

“It’s not a contest, Nacho. I want you to say it. I want to know when things are too much.”

“I will, Dr. Barlowe. I promise.”

“As you can tell, we’re playing with the dynamic now, Ignacio. Are you aware that talking about consent while we’re playing is wrong?”

“Yes, Dr. Barlowe,” he admits with zero remorse. “It’s very wrong. That’s why I like it so much.”

“Me too. But that means I have to double-check—do you have anything else you feel uncomfortable about?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

Something in his expression tells me that’s not entirely the truth, so I go quiet until he shifts his eyes to mine. I lift my brows.

After letting out a frustrated sigh, he answers, “Like, I know we have to check in sometimes, but not talking about it turned me the fuck on. Is that weird?”

“No. The not talking made it feel a little more dangerous. Taboo.”

“Yes,” he says, taking my hand.

After sending me a quick look, he sucks my middle finger into his mouth, fellating it. I let him do that for far too long before slowly sliding it from the wet heat.

“I don’t mind not talking about it often, as long as we’re on the same page with how often we do talk about it.”

“Once a month should do it for me,” he says confidently.

“Good. Then we never had this conversation, Ignacio.”

“What conversation, Dr. Barlowe?”

I roll my eyes. “Good boy. But I do have one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“We haven’t progressed sexually because what I want to do with you is wrong too.”

“Oh?”

“I want to fuck you raw. Want to see my cum dripping from your hole. Want to know I’ve marked you as mine and nobody else’s. Do you understand?”

“No hookups? No orgies?” he asks, palming his cock. “Not even if Erik—”

“No,” I growl. “Nonnegotiable. You. Are. Mine. Say it.”

I have no right to make this demand, but I need to hear it from his mouth.

With heavy lids, he grabs my hand and places it over his erection. “I’m yours. Only yours.”

“And I want us to go to the clinic next week and get tested for everything. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Dr. Barlowe.”

“Excellent,” I say, stroking faster, harder over his straining cock. “You don’t mind dropping me off at the ranch?”

“But…”

“Not tonight, Ignacio. Let’s get tested first so I can come inside you.” I let my fingers drift to his undercarriage and back up again.

“Fuck,” he says, throttling the steering wheel.

“Good. Now, let’s try that again. Do you mind dropping me off at the ranch, Ignacio?”

“Not at all, Dr. Barlowe,” he says, nearly breathless as my hand continues to work him over.

“Thank you, Ignacio.”

We spend the rest of the ride in silence, the atmosphere between us tipping back and forth between relief and anticipation as I rub and squeeze and tease him.

I remove my hand when we pull into the ranch.

“Do you have a dildo, Ignacio?” I ask as he parks.

“Yes, Dr. Barlowe. A few.”

“Excellent. You were so brave and honest tonight, Ignacio, and that should be rewarded.”

“It should?”

“Of course. I want you to go home and douche, then set up your phone like you did when you put on your sunscreen. I want you to take a video of you fucking yourself on your biggest dildo and send it to me. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Dr. Barlowe.”

I get out of the truck, and before I ascend the stairs to the bunkhouse, I meet his eyes through the windshield and mouth good boy to him one more time.

However wrong or bad or unethical this is, I refuse to turn back now.