Good Behavior: Chapter 10

I spend the rest of the weekend berating myself. I’d done so well the entire evening, and then right at the very end…I had to say it. Pursuing anything with him would be illegal at this point, but Ignacio needed to hear that he’d pleased me as much as I needed to say it.

I know it’s fucked up and that I’ve been lying to myself. There’s a reason I never responded to the email he sent me when he got out, even after I knew we lived in the same area. Even after he showed up in the kitchen on the day of the therapy center’s grand opening.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself around him.

I’m still chewing on it on Tuesday, so I take the day off and decide on a long drive. Heading into Austin, I go to a hiking trail Levy and I have been wanting to check out.

When I told Levy I wanted to go alone, he didn’t question it, and I’m grateful. With the way things are going, I’ll probably have to tell him about my connection to Nacho, and I’m not looking forward to it.

After hiking for a few hours along Lady Bird Lake, I’m starving. I end up in a food truck park on Barton Springs. I thought I’d done a good job of clearing my head, but all I can think about as I eat tacos dripping with hot sauce is that I can’t wait to bring Nacho here to show him how much I want and approve of him.

I spend the drive back swinging between excitement and dread, knowing, at the very least, I’ll get to see him every Friday for dinner.

A few miles from the turn-off for the ranch, Nacho appears on the side of the road as though my overwrought mind has somehow produced him from thin air. His Jennings work truck is parked off the shoulder, and he appears to be repairing a section of fencing.

Despite knowing the havoc he wreaks on my self-control, I pull over. He’s wearing earbuds and hasn’t seen me yet. Taking a deep breath, I approach him, putting my hand on his shoulder. He startles and turns around, looking up at me with wide eyes.

“Dr. Barlowe,” Nacho says, removing his earbuds. “How are you?”

The way he says —breathy and reverent, like an honorific—goes straight to my cock.

“I’d be better if you had on a safety vest, Ignacio. Or at least some cones to signal to other drivers to slow down.”

“I’m well off the highwa—”

“Where is your water?” I ask, cutting him off.

He pulls his chin back, confused. “In the truck?”

“How long have you been working out here, and why don’t you have Ant or Justin with you?”

He raises his brow, amused.

I don’t know why I’m peppering him with so many questions, but I need his answers. Right now.

Patiently, he answers, “About an hour, and this was a last-minute request from this customer.”

“Fine. But you’re going to dehydrate out here if you’re not careful.”

He drops his chin, a troublemaker smile playing on his lips. Finally, he raises his chin and looks me in the eye. “I told you, Dr. Barlowe—I have a water jug in the truck, and I’m used to working out in the sun all day long. No need for you to worry over me.”

“Just because you’re used to it doesn’t mean you should go without water for extended periods. Going forward, keep your water with you at all times. Also, where’s your hat? Are you even using sunscreen?”

The day started off in typical Texas style: chilly in the morning and scorching in the afternoon. There’s no way he should be out here waterless and hatless.

“I’ve got melanin,” he says, gesturing to his darker skin with a gleam in his eye. “I don’t need sunscreen.”

“Even people with dark complexions need sunscreen, Ignacio. Please start using it regularly.”

“I don’t want to,” he challenges, and I secretly love it. “It leaves a white cast on my skin.”

“If you don’t care about the health of your skin, at least think about your tattoos. They’ll begin to age if you don’t care for them.”

“And what kind of sunscreen do you use on your tattoos, Dr. Barlowe?” he asks, tracing the dragon scale pattern on my lower arm.

After letting him touch me for a little too long, I pull my arm back. “I use a sunscreen that doesn’t leave a white cast. I will text you my recommendation.”

He taps his inked fingers on his pretty lips, considering me.

“Ignacio, this is nonnegotiable.”

His chest rises sharply. “Yes, Dr. Barlowe. I look forward to following your recommendations.”

“Good—” I cough. “Excellent. Also, where do you live? I don’t have your full contact information on my phone.”

“Just a few miles past Wild Heart, in that little RV park off 165.”

Because knowing is dangerous.

“Is that place even safe?” I ask as I type in his information.

“Is any place truly safe, Dr. Barlowe?”

He’s mocking me, trying to spin me up, and I refuse to rise to the bait. This doesn’t discourage him in the slightest.

I narrow my eyes, and he licks his lips before answering me.

“If we’re talking about my Airstream, I’ve refurbished it and added a new lock. I’d say it’s safe enough.”

“Are you sure? What kind of lock are we talking about? It’s a deadbolt, I hope.”

I’m not worried about his safety, but I need to give him a task, something to do just for me.

“Now, now, Dr. Barlowe. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m a free man and an adult human being at that. I know how to keep myself safe.”

“I’m sure you do, Ignacio, but you’re not allowed a gun, and that RV park has a reputation.”

Ignacio shakes his head as his eyes twinkle with far too much mischief. “C’mon, Dr. Barlowe. That place is full of swinging retirees. I’m the youngest person there by about thirty years. As for , you know as well as anyone that there’s a difference between what is allowed and what is done.”

Groaning, I run my hand over my face. “Ignacio, please do not tell me you have an illegal weapon in your possession. They will put you back in jail, and I won’t be there to…” I stop myself.

“Advise me? Protect me? Ask the warden to let me out early?”

Cracking my neck, I will myself to stay in place only to shuffle back, afraid of what I might do if I stay close to him. “Exactly.”

“By the way, I like your tattoos,” he says, gesturing at my uncovered forearms with an ink-covered hand. “Never would’ve guessed it.”

“It was important to maintain a professional appearance.”

“Good call. Couldn’t have anybody thinking anything untoward was going on in our little sessions, now could we?”

Ignacio’s eyes sparkle with the implication, leaving me with just my bare fingernails holding on to self-control.

“Not if I wish to keep my license,” I finally answer, narrowing my eyes at him with no heat behind the gesture.

Even as I take another step back, I scan him from head to toe. The Jennings’ Fencing Supply-branded clothes he’s wearing are good quality, fit perfectly to his trim form, and are neatly starched and ironed despite the fact he’s been working all day. He could be the catalog model for this brand of work attire.

Actually, he could be a model for far more expensive brands, given his lustrous hair, thick eyelashes, and sharp cheekbones. Even the teardrop tattoo under his eye enhances his pouty, dangerous aesthetic.

His boots, however, stand out. He’s clearly cared for them as best he can, but they have seen better days.

“Are you not making enough to buy better boots?” I ask, concerned.

“I make plenty. I’m just saving my money. I paid off my court fees, and now I’m saving for a down payment on a house and some land. If that means I’ve got to wear shitty boots for a little longer, I’ll survive.”

Needing distance and something—anything—else to focus on, I stalk over to his truck and grab the water bottle from his cooler, returning to shove it in his hands.

“Here, drink at least half of this.”

“Now?” he asks, a grin tugging at his lips.

I square my jaw. “Right now.”

Locking eyes with me, he unscrews the cap, maintaining eye contact as he swallows the cold water. I’m distracted by the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple along the column of tattooed skin, and his smirking grin makes me wonder if he can read my mind.

If he knows what I’d do with him—

—if given half a chance.

Pulling the bottle away from his lips, he tilts it toward me so I can see that the water is, indeed, half gone.

“Happy?”

“That you’ve clearly been dehydrating yourself while working in the hot sun with subpar boots? No. But I do appreciate your compliance just now.”

“I would hate to worry you,” he purrs.

My eyes fall to his crotch, and I inhale sharply at the visible bulge. He catches the movement and takes another drink of water, letting some dribble out of his mouth and down his long, perfect neck.

Purposefully, I think.

I exhale softly, letting the words I’ve been biting back for what seems like an eternity tumble from my lips.

“Good boy.”

Ignacio chokes a little on the water but recovers quickly, his deft fingers gathering the escaping droplets from the edge of his plush lips.

I send him a sharp nod and turn on my heel, walking away from him quickly without making it seem like I’m running.

“It was nice seeing you again, Dr. Barlowe. I’ve missed our sessions,” he calls out, his voice full of tease and promise.

I walk a little faster, opening the car door as his gentle chuckle reaches my ears. Dropping into the seat, I shut the door and close my eyes, grateful no one is here to witness this tragedy. Pressing my palm against my hard cock, I order myself to calm down. The pressure doesn’t erase the need, however, and I check for traffic and then pull onto the highway, going much faster than the speed limit.

I’m home soon enough and, thankfully, Levy and Ant appear to be in their rooms. Practically running to the bathroom, I unzip my jeans as soon as I shut the door. Spying the hand lotion next to the soap, I pump it into my palm and stroke myself, desperate for relief, knowing this won’t take long.

Gripping the countertop with one hand and tightening my grip on my cock with the other, I speed up, carefully keeping my harsh breaths and the shlick-shlick sounds of jacking off to a minimum. I imagine Ignacio kneeling in front of me, his mouth open, waiting. That visual is all it takes for the massive orgasm to slam into me. I aim the thick stripes of cum into the sink, managing to get it everywhere but, and shuddering as my knees give out from under me.

Gripping the counter with both hands, I bring my head up, catching my reflection in the mirror. Shame and desire flush my cheeks, and I cannot account for how this man affects me. Taking a few deep breaths, I wash my hands and use bleach wipes on the mirror and countertop to erase all traces of this foolishness.

The reality is, had we not been in public, I would have taken things much, much further. I know I should stop myself, but there is not a single atom in my body saying no.