Page 38 of Puck Me

What am I going to tell Chester? He’d never accept being in the trial on the basis of blackmail. As much as he wants to be part of it, he’s too good to stoop as low as I have.

I… I’ll have to lie to him. That thought is almost worse than the blackmail itself, but the truth certainly won’t do.

Chester is still lying in bed when I get home. I hesitate, wondering what the best way to say it will be. I’ll need to make this sound convincing.

“It’s okay, Storm,” he says dully without looking at me. “You can say it. They didn’t accept me into the trial.”

“Actually, they did.”

Chester spins around to face me. “What?”

“It took some convincing, but I made a case for your mental health and the danger you’re in from yourself as things currently stand. They agreed to make space for you for that reason.”

It seems plausible enough, and Chester clearly thinks so as well, because he accepts my lie without question. That, of course, just makes me feel even worse. He trusts me, and I’m betraying his trust. But at the same time, I can’t let him spiral further into depression. I can’t bear it. If there’s anything I can possibly do to help, I have to do it.

“I can’t believe it. I’m really in the trial?”

“You are. Remember, this isn’t a guaranteed cure, but the results are hopeful, and—”

My words are cut off by Chester’s lips on mine as he launches himself out of bed and into my arms. I scramble to steady him without his crutches, but Chester is more interested in kissing me than preventing us both from crashing to the floor, and it’s not long before I come around to his line of thinking.

I guide us to the bed and start kissing Chester in earnest, rubbing my hard cock against his thigh, reaching over to caress his own stiffening member.

My phone starts ringing.

“Fuck,” Chester mutters.

I echo the sentiment. We both know that I have to answer my phone. It could be a patient in distress. If someone dies or gets hurt while I’m too busy having sex with my hot boyfriend to notice, I’ll never forgive myself.

I groan and roll off Chester before answering the phone. “Hello, Dr. Harris speaking.”

“Dr. Harris, you naughty boy.”

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

“If you’re with Chester, you might want to go into the other room.”

“Who is this?” I repeat.

“Someone who knows what you did. With Dr. Kline back there.”

Shit.

“I’ll be right back, baby,” I murmur to Chester. “It’s a patient.”

He knows not to listen in if I’m talking to a patient. I despise lying to him, but this is too dangerous of a conversation to have in front of Chester.

I go to the living room, closing the bedroom door behind me. “Who are you and what do you want?” I demand.

“I’m someone who’s been watching who Chester spends his time with.”

This is worse than I thought. Not only does Chester have a stalker, something I’m sure he’s unaware of, but that stalker is obsessive enough not only to stalk Chester, but the people close to him as well.

“You know that’s illegal, right?”

“Like you’re one to talk. Listen to this.”

Before I can protest, there’s a click and a recording is playing. My breath catches in my throat. It’s a recording of the conversation I had with Dr. Kline, word for word. If this gets out… Well, I’ll be lucky just to lose my medical license.

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