Page 43 of Over and Above

I couldn’t lie and tell them not to worry about the bills because I knew firsthand how harrowing medical bills could be. I could strongly advise them to seek care, but I couldn’t force a conscious, competent adult into the ambulance. In many cases, the patient wasn’t the one to call for the ambulance, so there was often a fair bit of anger to navigate as well.

Magnus made a soothing noise. “And that’s hard because you’d like to be able to use logic and reason to get them to go in.”

“Exactly.” I quirked my lips, not sure I liked how easily he’d pinpointed my primary issue. “Am I that predictable?”

“A little. I see your same attitude in Wren. Family trait?” Magnus gave a warm laugh. “It’s natural, though, to want to use science to solve a problem. It sucks that people have to worry about money and insurance in the middle of an emergency.”

“Exactly. It hinders my ability to provide good care, and there’s not an easy solution.” I rolled my shoulders, stretching my surprisingly tense back muscles. “You’re right in that I prefer straightforward problems or at least ones I can solve with my medical skills.”

“One thing I’ve found in my years tending bar is that there is value in simply listening.” Magnus reached across the table to pat my hand. “Just by showing up on the scene, you are making a difference, even if it feels like shoveling snow at the North Pole.”

“True.” I exhaled hard, another wave of stress leaving. I wasn’t about to change professions or stop responding to calls, even ones where I had a strong suspicion we’d return with an empty rig. “And I suppose that’s all I can do—keep showing up, hoping and working for change, but being there nonetheless.”

“And cut yourself some slack too.” Magnus squeezed my hand, peering deeply into my eyes. “You’re only human.”

“I’ll try.” I nodded, my throat strangely tight but my shoulders far lighter. “And okay, you weren’t wrong. Talking did help. And the wine likely didn’t hurt either.”

“Good.” Magnus used that opportunity to top off our glasses and turn the conversation to lighter topics like the annual secret Santa exchange I orchestrated among the teens of the house.

As we finished eating, I couldn’t believe how relaxed I felt. Pleasantly buzzed from the wine, yes, but there was also something to the company and the effort Magnus had made to create a nice night for us.

“Let me help you clean up.” Standing, I reached for his empty plate, but he batted my hand, instead pulling me away from the table.

“Later.”

“Later?” I frowned. In all my forty-odd years, I hadn’t ever been one to skip cleanup, which Mangus well knew.

“Live dangerously. The dishes will wait. This song won’t.” He pulled me into a stiff approximation of a slow dance. I wanted to argue that the dishes wouldn’t take five minutes, but the song was from the first movie we’d watched together. The serendipity of it coming up in the playlist at this exact moment had me shutting my mouth and letting Magnus lead us in a gentle sway.

“You’re a good dancer.” Carefully avoiding the table, he executed a deft spin. Another song started, but I didn’t pull away. Across the room, the dogs snored in time to the music, and the scene was so cozy I had to close my eyes.

“Thanks. I guess I forgot how much I like slow dancing.” I leaned into Magnus, enjoying the heft of his shoulder under my palm, the closeness of our bodies, the scent of his spicy aftershave, and the sweetness of the song flowing through us as we danced. “Especially like this, not in a noisy club or dim bar.”

“Agreed.” Magnus leaned in for a soft kiss, achingly tender, and we forgot all about dancing in short order. He tasted earthy and also like expensive wine, the contrast oddly seductive. I deepened the kiss, wanting to savor more of him. We easily shifted from him leading to me, and unexpected power thrummed through me.

Another few kisses and one of us would likely drag the other up to the loft, but I had another agenda and steered him toward the loveseat.

“Now what are you on about?” Taking a seat in the center of the small couch, Magnus gazed up at me through heavily hooded eyes, like he didn’t know perfectly well even before I dropped to my knees in front of him.

“You won’t let me do dishes, so I’ll have to get creative. Show my appreciation…in other ways.”

“Please do.” He made a go-ahead gesture before leaning back, making it easier for me to undo his belt.

And oh, this was something else I’d forgotten how much I loved until Magnus came along. Quickie oral had been one of our go-to things over the past few months, but I wanted something more epic, as befitted such a perfect evening. I made a show out of slowly drawing out his thick cock, jacking him with my hand before delicately tracing the length with the very tip of my tongue. Shifting, he shimmied out of his pants so I had more room to play.

We’d done this enough that I knew perfectly well how to get him off in short order, but I teased and experimented as if it were the first time all over again. The weight of cock on my tongue and the way his girth provided a nice stretch to my jaw never failed to turn me on like crazy, more so going slow like this. And I discovered a few new things as a result, like that the base of Magnus’s cock was extra sensitive, especially the thinner skin where it met his heavy balls. I teased those lightly too, little kisses and flicks of my tongue before carefully sucking one into my mouth.

“Oh damn, Eric.” Magnus groaned, a shudder racing through him. “Let a guy breathe.”

“Sorry?” I released his ball with a lewd plop.

“Don’t you dare apologize.” He shot me a stern glare. “More. Please.”

I took that as an invitation to get serious about paying attention to his balls, so I sucked one and then the other, using my tongue to elicit deep moans while jacking his cock with a spit-slick hand.

“Fuck.” Magnus’s thighs trembled under my palms. He tipped his head back against the loveseat as his cock pulsed even harder in my grip. “You better decide in a hurry where you want me to come.”

He likely meant to decide whether I wanted to swallow or take things upstairs and finish with fucking or frot. But rather than the mouth or ass dilemma, my brain kept flashing to a particularly filthy image. His cock was right at eye-level, and I couldn’t help imagining my face dripping with his come.

---